Date: Sat, 14 Mar 2009 05:16:36 -0700
From: Jacques Strap <torgo.rawks@gmail.com>
Subject: Dreamy Damien and his Delicious Dong
So, now that I lost my staff-writing job at CBS, I figured I'd give writing
bad net-fiction a shot. Wish me luck.
Dreamy Damien and his Delicious Dong
So, he's cute, right? I mean, sure, he's cute, but...I dunno...I
wanna make sure that it isn't just me. No, it can't be just me. He's so
sexy. Wait, I moved from "cute" to "sexy" in about two sentences. Fuck!
Okay, so maybe Matt's right, maybe I do have a crush...
Oh, there he is. Taking his shirt off, showing his smooth skin and
tight stomach. Hint of a six-pack. That's so fucking hot. Actual
six-packs are kind of gross, but the hint of one? Insta-boner!
Here come the shorts. He wears boxers, unfortunately. Didn't use
to, but does now. I can understand why, though: if I had a cock his size,
I'd probably a) try to keep everyone from seeing it, and b) get sick of
stuffing that much meat into a pair of briefs. Just seems painful. Still,
it's such an amazing thought that--
A sharp jab to my side made me look away from the cornea-scorching
hotness.
I looked to my left and saw Matt giving me the OK sign with his
fingers.
"Subtle," he said approvingly.
"What?!" I demanded.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but laughed a little.
By the time I looked back, he had already pulled his speedo up. I
turned back to scowl at Matt.
"Sorry," he said with a half-hearted shrug.
He fuckin' should be! I only get to see this three times a week.
Matt just cost me 43% of my weekly wank material! They cane you in
Singapore for shit like that, you know.
So, anyway, back to the hotness. He was tying the drawstring on his
speedo. Ooh, he wore his red ones. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear
he did it just for me. Those are my favorite! It makes his junk look a
bit smaller, yeah, but it's so ginormous that you don't really notice. But
it does make his ass look bigger and more delicious.
He grabs his goggles and heads out, sort of glancing my way as he
exits the locker room. I, of course, stare down at the ground as he
leaves.
"Smooth," Matt said scornfully. He started taking his clothes off
and I followed suit.
"I dunno how to act around him!" I said defensively.
"Ya know, the whole school knows he's gay. You could--"
"Offer to clean the little puddle of drool off his shoes? I dunno
how not to perv on him. And anyway, yeah, he's gay, but so fucking what?!
He's fucking popular, and gorgeous, and he's packing--"
"Okay, TMI!"
Matt's been my best friend since, like, he saw me streak at a party
about two years ago. We were the only two who had the balls--well, perhaps
not physically, but whatever... Shut up! We were, like, twelve and
shit!--to actually do it. Funnily enough, back then, he was gayer than me.
We wanked together cos he wanted to. Back then, I looked at boys just fine
and all, but I didn't really care about it all too much. He really liked
mine and I was kinda flattered, so we jacked many a time together. Then we
turned thirteen, and my balls dropped, and he discovered the internet.
After that, I was all about boys, and he was all about boobs. (I know.
Kinda two of the same thing, innit?) Shame, too, cos Matt's kinda cute.
Since then, I think he recoils at all the times he wanted to see my dick,
so he's kinda sensitive about things like my drooling over cock.
"Well, anyway, Damien could have whoever he wants. Why would he want
a scrawny little freshman like me?"
Matt brought his index finger up to his lips and pretended to think
for a second.
"You make a good case."
"Thanks, dude."
"Well...ya know...how d'you expect me to act? You always talk about
him."
"Huh?!"
"Damien. You always stare at him and talk about him and..."
"Are you jealous of him?!" I demanded.
I honestly couldn't believe it.
"Well..."
"Okay, you're straight. I've been on your computer. I've seen the
evidence."
"I know. But, like, I'm 97% naked here too. I wear the same bathing
suit he does, and you never..."
"Matt, you want me to perv on you? Would that make you feel
attractive?"
"Well, no, but, like, a quick glance every now and then, maybe..."
It was too stupid to be a lie, and the earnest look on my best
friend's face confirmed it. He was straight as they come, but I guess he
kind of missed when I had a harmless crush on him and stole glances of his
junk. Neither one of us was particularly popular with...our desired sex,
so perhaps it was up to us to make each other feel wanted.
"You're a weird fuckin' dude," I said with a grin. He blushed a
little. I glanced down at his speedo-clad package, and I was actually sort
of mesmerized. I forgot how yummy Matt's cock and balls looked in lycra.
I stared thoughtfully at his junk. As a matter of fact--
Matt put his hands in front of his goods and told me to look up at
his face.
"Okay, good enough," he said sheepishly. "I feel sexy again."
"Good, cause now I'mma get you drunk and get me some of that."
"Psh!" Matt said and playfully punched my shoulder on his way out to
the pool.
"C'mon, Shap, before coach makes you do laps on the track instead of
the pool!"
"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed as I hastily tied my drawstring and ran out
to the pool.
So, would now be a good time to introduce the pertinent members of
our little saga? Well, sit there cos I'mma do it anyway. Kthx. I'm
Llewelyn Shapiro. I know. Yes, I know. Believe me, I know! Go ahead,
get it out. Laughter's good for the heart, they say. ...Done? Good.
Yeah, I can't explain it either. My parents probably felt bitter when the
condom broke. They couldn't take it out on the good people at Trojan, and
my dog's fucking adorable, so it was up to me to take a hit for the team.
(Kidding, mom and dad, should you be reading this! I love you guys and I
know you love me, and I approve of you not supporting the
evil-baby-name-book industry. I hear they experiment on the elderly. I
still don't get why you named me Llewelyn, but hey, adversity builds
character.) So anyways, I'm fourteen and I live in Santa Barbara,
California. I go to school at Bristol High. I'm obviously a freshman.
Which...really sucks. No, not for the generic waa, waa, pimples, waa, waa,
seniors, waa, waa, Jared Leto's too high to date me reasons. If my parents
had just had sex three years earlier--hey, there's a sentence I never
thought I'd say. ...Again--I'd be seventeen and a very eligible gay
senior. And then I'd walk up to Damien and be all, "Sup." And probably
wink. And he'd be like, "You're creepy and weird," and walk away. But at
least I'd have talked to him! As it stands, I don't have the balls to even
ask him for some gum. Which, according to Matt, I need frequently. My
orthodontist looks like a fat Tina Yothers, so I hope you can understand my
reluctance to go as often as I should. (And no, that's not redundant. She
lost the weight on Celebrity Fit Club. Jeez. I dunno how you can live
without bad reality TV. When I grow up, I either wanna marry Tila Tequila
or Bret Michaels. And Damien can be our "pool boy." And I can pound him
in our pool. Then everyone's a winner! Mmmmmmm, sticking it in someone
who's got an abnormally large cock is so sexy. It's, like, talking dirty
to someone who's deaf. ...I'm really fucked in the analogy section of the
SATs, huh?)
Anyway. Since I just mentioned pounding his tight ass, now's as good
a time as any to introduce the resident sexy bitch. He's Damien Stevens.
(That bitch gets two first names. I couldn't even get one. ...Still love
ya, mom! Can we have chicken tomorrow?) So. Damien. Seventeen. Brown
hair. Foppy and emo-ish. Given to wearing skinny jeans and fitted shirts.
Amazing brown eyes. Yummy lips. Killer bod. Nice, tight stomach and
smooth legs. Tight, fuckable ass. And, OMG, the BIGGEST cock you've ever
seen! Well...maybe not the biggest one *I've* ever seen, cos I'm fourteen
and have internet access (oh, xtube, why you so good to me?), but probably
the biggest one you've ever seen unless you've actively looked. So...
Where was I? Oh, yeah, my favorite subject: Damien-cock. Thick. Cut. I
dunno how big it is hard, but soft, it's about seven-and-change. In my
head, it's ten inches hard. Course, in my head, I ride it like a pony
every day of the week and twice on Sunday. (Hey, if God didn't want me to
fantasize about big cocks, he wouldn't have invented them. Ha! Take
*that*, Reverend Jacobs! If I'm going to hell for sinning against the baby
Jesus, I'm taking you with me! I'm...not sure how, exactly. Most of my
half-brained ideas revolve around getting Damien to become my boyfriend.
Or, at the very least, my plaything. Perhaps once I solve that riddle,
I'll figure out a way to get that creaky old gasbag to take a sleighride to
hell with me. So.)
Oh, yeah, back to the story, as it were. He trims his pubes.
Which...we all do, right? But it looks sexy on him. Makes his monstrous
cock and giant balls look bigger. Fuck. Why the tease?! Like, you know
how they say straight boys are irresistible cos they're unattainable?
Well, Damien's yet more irresistible cos he's theoretically attainable.
I'd rather he be straight. Then I'd know I don't have a shot in hell. But
he's just like me! Well...if I were funny and popular and gorgeous.
Anyway. My sidekick in these misadventures is my best friend Matt
Fowler. Remember him? Odd dude who wanted me to perv on him just a tad so
he could feel hott? Yeah, him. He's a great guy. Hopefully we'll go to
the same college and get drunk every weekend and have sloppy, amazing sex.
I mean, he's my best bud, but he's also kinda cute. And staring at his
junk reminded me that if wishes really don't come true--I was saving the
birthday candle-one and any shooting stars I see to give me an opening with
sexy Damien--then Matt could be a solid Plan B.
Oh, who gives a fuck if he's straight? It's 2009, maaaaaaaan.
Haven't you heard The Emo Song? Two dudes can make out without it being
gay. Damn you, Matt, for outgrowing your sexual bicuriosity!
But the story's not named "Meaty Matt and his Magnificent Manhood,"
is it? Nope. (Mental note: Great story title for later.) So perhaps I
should get back to the real story here before you guys realize what a crap
writer I am and start reading, like, literature or something. I'd never
forgive myself if I let that happen.
So. Now that you know my band of merry men, back to the "plot."
(Hey, least I'm honest.)
After swimming, and after leering at Damien as long as possible
before he caught me and came over and gouged my eyes out like Moe, me and
Matt walked home.
"You could just ask him out," Matt said again.
"And you could walk up to...um...shit! This example worked really
well in my head before I realized that I dunno the names of any popular
cheerleaders. Bah."
"Lotsa things work really well in your head, crackie." A big smile
crossed my face. "Ew!"
"You. Me. Damien. Circle-jerk!"
"That just wasn't necessary," Matt said, honestly to himself cause he
knows once I start, I can only be contained by either pornography or
velcro. ...What?! It's compelling stuff, dude! It, like, sticks
together, but then it doesn't. Dude who invented that must live like a
total pimp. Fuck! I wanna have bitches too! I better get back to the
story before I start pouting. ...Where was I? Oh, yeah, making Matt
regret the day he met me.
"And by circle-jerk, I mean that I'm jackin' you both while you both
jack me."
"I just don't understand why this needs to happen to me."
"And I'd use his precum to--"
"I mean, I give money to homeless people when I can. I helped my
cousin learn to ride a bike. I even bought some muffins from that church
bake sale last week."
"And his delicious dong would...wait, muffin?"
(Oh yeah. Food too.)
Matt grinned.
"Yeah."
"You braved church food?"
"I figure if God really is everywhere, he's seen both the stuff on my
hard drive, and the unspeakable things I do while looking at it. Maybe a
muffin'll give me one less week in purgatory."
"Dude, I've seen both the stuff on your hard drive, and the show you
put on. How big was this muffin?"
"Normal-size?"
"Gonna take an industrial-strength muffin, my lad."
"So. Tomorrow's Friday."
"And? We have no lives."
"Well, that's where I was going with that, yeah. Wanna come over and
flick my Bic?"
Relax, old-pervy dude with your wang stickin' out your fly in front
of your screen. He means his lighter.
"I'm not lighting shit on fire with you anymore."
"But it burns!"
"Last time we lit that dog food can on fire in the alley, the kids
across the street looked at us with such disappointment."
"...And?"
"They're fucking middle-schoolers!"
"Even Meathead?"
"Especially Meathead!"
Meathead is my eleven-year-old neighbor. Kid's like 6'3" and such.
Scares the fuck outta me. He's a friendly dude, but every time he raises
his hand to wave, I think it's a menacing gesture, and I get the odd
compulsion to scream like a woman and run.
"Oh, shit. Well. I don't wanna jack off for hours again, Shap!"
"Is *that* why you didn't wanna hang out last week?!" I demanded.
Matt grinned shyly.
"I had a good rhythm goin'," he said cheerfully.
"Well, we can always go to the mall. Give our generation a bad name
and such."
"Hmm. My dad said he'd give me money if I mowed the lawn."
"Gay."
"I know. He figures that'll motivate me or something. I know he's
gonna gimme the money anyway."
"Sweet. You bring the cash, I'll bring my pert little ass."
"Ugh. When're you gonna dump those fucking skinny jeans?!"
"I can't lose `em until Damien agrees to move to Vermont and be in a
civil-union with me!"
"Can I be your best...civilian?"
"Well, if you--"
"No circle-jerk!"
I stuck my bottom lip out.
I love Matt, but honestly, sometimes he's such a diva.
So the next week at school (Aren't you glad me and Matt spent all
that time talking about what our plans for Friday were, just for me to skip
that altogether and jump straight to Monday? I love my fucking story!
It's so bad!), I was sitting by the vending machines waiting to see if
anyone dropped any change. My mom made a lunch, but it was all nutritious
and such. I refuse to eat anything unless I'm sure it's gonna
significantly shorten my life-expectancy.
So, there I was, sitting by the vending machine, when I see Matt and
Damien's cock coming at me. ...Oh, I guess the rest of him was technically
there too, but he was wearing his skinny jeans. All I saw was penis.
Eventually, my brain remembered that you see with your eyes and hear with
your ears, so it started registering some of what Matt and Damien (and his
cock) were saying.
"I hate to bug you, but you're one of the seniors and all."
"No, I'm glad you came to me. Brad's a douche and I'm pretty sure
Alex's a date-rapist."
"Oh. Um, thanks for the heads-up. So. This's my friend
Lle...um...Shapiro. We call him `Shap.'"
"Shap?" Damien repeated, looking at me.
Don't worry, by the time they were reasonably close to me, I was able
to tear my eyes away from the world's greatest sextoy. Of course, it took
me thirty seconds to realize that he'd said something to me. It took
another thirty seconds for me to realize that I should probably reply. Ten
seconds after that, Matt put on his best, "You're dumber than that can of
dog food stuffed with litter and prunes that we lit on fire that one time"
look.
I looked at Damien and his cock and I attempted a smile. If we'd
been playing Charades, and I got Bell's Palsy as a clue, I'm pretty sure
that "smile" would've conveyed it perfectly.
"Hi Damien. No one calls me Matt but Shap. And that's mainly cos he
doesn't know anyone. What a loser! I, on the other hand, know tons of
people. ...People like Meathead. You don't know him. He goes to another
school."
Oh yeah! Since I stuck the landing, the judges just *gotta* give me
the gold!
Damien (and his cock) shook his head and turned back to Matt.
"So, what've you guys been struggling with?"
"The breast-stroke," Matt replied.
"Geometry," I replied at the same time.
Matt looked at me, incredulous. You think he'd know after all this
time that I'm more or less hopeless.
"Well, I'm pretty good at math, but I'm not sure I'd make much of a
math tutor," Damien said, clearly amused.
"Well, then help us with the breast-stroke, then," I said quickly.
"I dunno why I said that. I don't even take geometry."
"So anyway," Matt said quickly, trying to change the subject before I
managed the rather impressive achievement of putting both feet in my mouth,
"think you can help us out? We'd really appreciate it."
Damien looked at Matt, then at me.
"Do both of you really need help?" he asked simply.
"Yes," I said.
"Not really," Matt replied at the same time.
We looked at each other, then we both switched our answers. Too bad
I wasn't really fat. Then Matt could be my David Spade.
Damien grinned.
"You can leave now," he said to Matt. Matt looked at me helplessly.
"I'll return him in one piece."
Matt looked at me and knew I wanted him to stay, and he was about to
say so. But then he totally punked out and backed away, forgetting to
close his mouth. Damien (and his cock) sat next to me.
"Whatcha doin'?" he asked simply.
"Waiting for someone to drop change on the floor so I can swipe it
and buy myself a lunch that my mother would never approve of," I said in
one breath.
Damien nodded. I don't think he believed me.
"So many guys're bi-curious," he said thoughtfully. "I think it's
the new emo."
"You're emo," I bleated out. Oh, if you think that that had nothing
to do with anything and was a stupid thing to say and that I dunno how to
handle myself around gorgeous boys, then you're stupider than you look and
your parents were related and you suck at life.
"But I think you're the real deal," he continued.
"Oh, the realest."
"You must be gay. You're always looking at my junk."
"You can't say *always*!" I said, genuinely offended. Damien (and
his cock) looked at me with his eyebrow raised. "Look, `always' means `all
the time.' I'm not always looking at your huge, sexy cock all the time.
Like, right now, for instance. I'm currently looking at your face. But
now," I looked down at his lap, "I'm looking at your crotch." I then
looked back up at his face. "Face." Then back down again. "Crotch."
Then up. "Face. Down. "Crotch." And then I think maybe all the
attention was getting to his delicious dong, and it perhaps started growing
a bit. Needless to say, I kept my gaze down. Damien had to nudge me to
get me to look up.
"Yes?" I asked simply.
He grinned at me.
"I've never had someone so sexually inept interested in me. This's
kind of adorable, I'm not gonna lie."
I got hung up on the first half of that sentence, and completely
overlooked the second half.
"Hey, you dunno how many women I've been with! Tons! Wait...I
mean...not women, but... No, actually, can you imagine how much play I
must have if cougars want me. Oh, and they do. Fat Tina Yothers kinda
winked at me last time I went for a cleaning, and that was before my last
growth-spurt. If she saw me now, she might gas me and--"
"Let's go to the bathroom," Damien interrupted.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
Okay, look. Confession time: when I was seven, my cousin Jesse dared
me to run into a wall. Let's just say that no one ever questioned my
courage after we got back from the hospital. Concussions make me gassy.
"Because you need to pee," Damien (and his cock) said as he stood up
and pulled me to my feet.
"I don't think I do," I said, unsure of even that much at this point.
"Sure you do," Damien said cheerfully as he dragged me along.
As soon as we were in the bathroom and he confirmed we were alone, he
gently pushed me against the wall.
"You're cute," he whispered.
"That's what my gammy says," I whispered back.
"I don't think you're very bright," he whispered again.
"I know. Someday, when I'm rich and famous, I'mma buy the state and
kick Jesse out of it."
He leaned forward and kissed me. Did it change my life? Pfft. Fat
Tina gave me more than that. Oh, wait, is that his tongue passing over my
bottom lip?! Ooh... Sorry FTY, but I'll see you when my parents can
afford braces.
So. Damien-kisses? The seventh wonder of the world. ...Oh, really?
No shit! Fuck you, Taj Mahal! You suck on my tongue and then we'll talk!
So, after that mind-blowing experience that made my dick leak like a
broken fucking faucet, I looked up at Damien, confused.
"Thank you?" I said dumbly.
"More?" he asked playfully.
"I don't have any money," I told him sadly.
What a fucking jerk! God, I'm a moron. He looked confused, and then
angry. I decided my grave wasn't deep enough, so I got my shovel.
"No, I mean, a guy like you'd need to be paid to be with a guy like
you. But a guy like me can have anyone you want, and I need--"
He leaned forward and kissed me again. This time, I decided to put
my hands on his waist and back and pull him into me. It was my
first/second kiss, so I was determined to make the most of it. He
responded by murmuring his agreement and kissing back more passionately.
After a few minutes, he finally broke off. He smiled when he saw the
look on my face, which I imagine is much like a breast-fed baby whose tit
was just taken away. I was just about ready to cream my pants. A look
down confirmed that he, too, was hard as fuck. He put his hand under my
chin and forced my head up.
"I'm a person too," he said seriously. "I have a brain. I'm not
just a piece of meat. If this's gonna work, you need to see that."
"If what's gonna work?"
He reached into my pocket, groping for my phone. He touched my dick
a little accidentally, and I was sure I'd wank to that memory until the
Republicans were back in office. He flipped it open, dialed a number, and
waited a few seconds. "Thinking of You" started blaring from his own
pocket. Satisfied, he put my phone back in my pocket. Perpetual Wank
Memory, the Sequel. Featuring all the original cast members! I *love*
when that happens!
"Can I reach for yours?" I mumbled.
He giggled and kissed me quickly on the lips.
"You know, you're the reason I stopped wearing briefs in the locker
room."
Fuck. Matt was right! It's actually best to assume people aren't
legally blind. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck that.
"Really? I'm sorry! I'll stop staring! Just bring back the goods!"
He smiled again and gave me a playful spank.
"I've got your number now," he said with a grin. "And you've got
mine. We're going on a date sometime soon. Dress cute and if you stare at
my junk all night, you're gonna find yourself walking home."
He gave me another quick kiss and walked out. I stood there,
dumbfounded. I...couldn't believe that had happened. I pulled out my
phone to call Matt. Me and Damien's firstborn Vermontese son was gonna be
called Matt. It was a foregone conclusion. I looked up at the ceiling
thoughtfully.
Ha, Edison, you punk-bitch, *you* never invented anything this
fucking awesome...
Okay. That's it for now. There may or may not be a second part. It may
or may not be radically different from this one. And you may or may not
give a fuck. :-)
P.S. I've never worked for CBS. Ew.