Date: Wed, 18 Mar 1998 23:38:57 PST
From: Danny Nalgene
Subject: MATT

	I hope you like it, it's my first try.  Let me know if ya do.


				  "Matt"
			     by Danny Nalgene

	Let me tell you about Matt.  As ripe as my body is for fucking, his is 
even better. 
	His hair is short and dark brown and spiky.  But by the end of the 
summer it's nearly as light as mine.  The dude is slim, but firm.  And 
the curve of his butt challenges even mine.
	Though we're both eighteen, he's taller than me.  But not by much.
His grip is firm.  His fingers bony and callused.  I dream of what his hand 
would feel like wrapped around my cock-stem.  
	Don't laugh.  It may happen.  He's a very physical, hands-on dude.  He 
likes to grab and wrestle, delivering light - and not so light - punches 
and slaps.  Our slap fights can get pretty heated, leaving us both 
pretty red and sore, though I often have to bow out early because I 
start to get hard.  
	Growing up with Matt, I've watched his body lengthen and harden.  I 
trip on it.  Recently, I find myself eye-balling him all the time.  He 
thinks I'm critiquing his skateboarding skills, but it's more than his 
footwork I'm studying.  More like his thighs and savory ass.
	About his dick I'm not sure.  We've often stripped in front of each 
other for one reason or another, but Matt is discreet and has offered me 
only a glimpse of his soft spike.  I've tried to provide him long 
lingering looks at mine, but he's never seemed that interested.
	Skateboarding is not a crime.  That's what the sticker says.  But 
that's shit.  Me and Matt have got us enough tickets to convince us it's 
a major fucking violation of some kind.  It's costing me so much cash 
that I can hardly keep myself in Captain Crunch.  And, dude, let me tell 
you, I need those succulent crunch berries to survive.  
	I'm not into conspiracy theories and shit, but it seems like all that 
those fucks on the Santa Cruz city council do all day is make up these 
ordinances designed to screw me and my buds.  Once we find a kick-ass 
new place to skateboard they're there the next day posting and shutting 
us down.
	We were about to break down and go to the fucking rip-off skateboard 
park, when this twitchy dude we know named Riddle gave us some cool 411.  
He clued us that there was this motel that died when if found itself out 
in the middle of a big field somewhere when the highway got moved.  The 
motel got trashed, but it was supposed to have an empty swimming pool 
just made for skateboarding.  Riddle and his girlfriend were going out 
there for a couple of days and wanted to know if Matt and me wanted to 
go.
	I'll tell you what happens when we get back.  I don't know why -
I'm no Psychic Friend - but I think something might just happen between Matt 
and me.  Or maybe I've just decided to make it happen. 

			*	*	*	*

	When we finally found the place, it turned out it was actually three 
motels, and they each had at least one rip-ass dry pool.  I could hardly 
wait to grab my board, hop the low chain link, and plunge in.  There 
were a bunch of dudes already on the plaster slopes, but they were happy 
to see us.  Or maybe it was the cooler full of Dos Equis.  
	Most were locals, but I recognized a couple of them.  One of them - a 
half-Vietnamese dude named Carr - gave me a hot, smirky smile when he 
saw me.  And brushed his hand over the front of his shorts.  A couple of 
months back I'd let the dude finger my ass and suck my weanie on a 
mattress in his converted garage near the beach.  The dude really 
tripped on my dick.  Would gaze and play with it for hours while I 
watched ESPN on his TV.  The dude was really lean and strapped with 
brown muscle.  And tall and nicely dicked.  He was into all this karate 
shit, and had a yin and yang tattooed in the middle of his back, and I 
only let him fuck me because it was like I was being fucked by Bruce 
Lee.  Forget "Enter the Dragon."  "Enter the Skateboarder."  He even 
made that cat-like growl when he came.  If I read that smirk of his 
right, he was ready for some more dick gazing. 
	Though Riddle had told us the place was called Motel Hell, all the 
locals referred to the three motels collectively as the Masturbates 
Motel - you know, like in "Psycho" - or just Masturbates, for short.  
	That first day Matt and me checked out each of the pools, and each was 
different, and they were all fucking great.  We ended up spending a 
couple of hours at each.  And when I wasn't skateboarding, I sat back in 
a collapsible lawn chair and watched.  
	The day was hot and all us dudes had stripped down to just our shorts 
and pads.  It was prime viewing.  Firm male bodies flew and crashed, 
tumbled and rolled.  Sweat dripped from hard, young forms.  The boys 
seemed to touch themselves more than usual, running their hands down 
their arms or thighs, checking themselves out.  Without 
self-consciousness, these dudes scratched and adjusted their cocks, or 
pulled down the backs of their shorts to show a friend a scraped patch 
of road rash.  I about came in my shorts watching this one dude massage 
the cramp out of another dude's knotted calf.
	But, for the most part, I watched Matt.  He seemed in especially good 
form, laughing and attacking each pool with confident, strutting skill.  
He was better than most any of the other dudes out there.  He'd told me 
recently that he skateboarded best when I was watching him.  I liked the 
idea that he was performing for me - trying to impress me.
	I'd brought along a small HI-8 camcorder that I sometimes borrowed
from my brother, and it gave me an excuse to focus my full attention on the 
dude.  Following him with the camera, I couldn't help but moan quietly 
and make whispered lewd comments.  
	Mostly, I'd zoom in on Matt, isolating his naked chest as he rubbed 
gently where he'd biffed his tit in a fall; framing tight on the sweat 
stain that emphasized the crack of his butt; filling the frame full with 
his crotch as he reached his hand inside his shorts for a quick 
adjustment; and again tight on his dolphin-smooth chest as he cooled 
himself with a splash of water from a sports bottle.  
	When I got home I'd edit it all to VHS tape, cutting out the faggotty 
bits, and dub on a cool soundtrack of lounge music.  Matt would love it.  
And I'd add the censored clips to my personal jack-off tape.
	When Matt went around the side of the building to take a piss, I 
followed like a stalking paparazzi, and captured the whole thing.  
Zooming in, I finally got a good long glimpse of his boy-meat.  In the 
light of late afternoon, his beautiful cock was sweaty and gleaming.  He 
even gave it an friendly couple of strokes before tucking it back away.  
My hands were shaking, and if it hadn't been for that stabilizing device 
built into the camera, the picture would've looked like we'd been having 
an 7.0 temblor.
	A little later, Riddle's girlfriend pulled her chair over where I was 
sitting in the shade under the motel balcony, and sat down beside me.  
She was a tan, hard-muscled girl, but she didn't skateboard.  She was 
hot.  I've poked a few girls, and it was okay, but they just don't get 
me as hard as guys do.  And I don't cum like I cum in a dude's ass or 
his mouth.  But the worst thing is that girls don't have cocks.  I need 
cock.  For me, fucking a girl is like it was for that monkey chick to 
kiss Charleton Heston at the end of "Planet of the Apes."  Not something 
I'd want to make a habit of.  But I would've fucked Riddle's girlfriend 
in a pinch.
	She was sitting there beside me for something like ten minutes, 
squinting against the bright, reflective light bounced up from the 
bottom of the pool, when she finally spoke.  "I've noticed the way 
you've been looking at Matt," she said.
	That freaked me out.  I didn't say anything.  Just hid there behind my 
sunglasses. 
	Riddle's girlfriend continued.  "I was watching Riddle, getting off on 
watching him jerk his little body around on his skateboard, when I 
looked over and saw you.  You had the same dick-in-your-mouth look on 
your face as me."
	The girl kept talking.  All very matter-of-factly, like she was on 
"Loveline" or something.  And I began to relax as I realized she was 
cool about it, and we talked.  She said she wouldn't say anything.  She 
thought it was sweet, and asked me if Matt and me had ever hooked up.  I 
told her everything.  Without her even asking, she said she'd help 
arrange it so that Matt and me shared the same room.  The rest was up to 
me.
	As it started to get dark, most of the locals took off, and the
rest of us started checking out the rooms.  Some had been used as shooting 
galleries, with more needles littering the floor than that time I left 
my Christmas tree up through February.  But others had been cleared out 
not too long ago by skateboarders, and aside from some old Zima bottles 
and skanky mattresses, weren't too bad.  Matt and me rolled out our 
sleeping bags, and then went and hanged with Riddle and his girlfriend 
and the few remaining skateboarders.
	Somebody went for a beer run, and we all sat around drinking, smoking, 
and talking into the warm night.  A few of us dudes - including Matt, 
Carr and me - happened to go and piss at the same time.  As we pulled 
our cocks out in unison, I was hoping things might degenerate into a 
drunken circle jerk.  Urine flowed.  Finished pissing, Carr and me 
hesitated in zipping back up, and Carr flashed me his grin.  But after a 
little friendly waving of dicks and some faggot jokes, Matt zipped up, 
and then the rest of us, and we all returned to our beach chairs.
	After a few more brews and a couple smokes, people started drifting 
drunkenly off to their rooms.  As I left with Matt, Riddle's girlfriend 
gave my hand a squeeze.  I was so nervous I could hardly return it, but 
managed to give her a weak smile and nod. 
	As it was still hot and showed no sign of cooling, Matt and me kicked 
off our shoes and pulled off our socks and crashed on top of our 
sleeping bags, wearing only our baggy shorts.  There was no door or 
curtains, so the light from the moon flooded the room.  Matt had turned 
his head away from me, so I was free to rape the dude with my eyes.  His 
smooth skin shown bright in the cold, bluish light.
	I wanted to reach out and run my hand over the scratches on Matt's 
stomach, and then follow the faint trail of hair down to his throbber.  
But I couldn't move.  Maybe this was all a big mistake.  
	But then my horniness kicked in and I didn't care.  I wanted Matt's 
cock in my mouth.  In my ass.  And I'd consider opening up new holes if 
he'd promise to fuck them.  I reached out toward my friend, my fingers 
stretching till they were inches from the dude's stomach.  My fingers 
were making their final descent when Matt started to breathe hard.  I 
hesitated.  Then aborted.  I couldn't fucking believe it.  Matt was 
asleep.  And I wasn't gonna grope the dude while he slept.  I have a 
certain moral code.
	Still horny as a Kennedy, I put on some shoes and got up, nearly 
kicking over my video camera as I headed for the bright open doorway.  
	The night outside was quiet and eerily beautiful.  The Masturbates 
Motel glistened like an ice sculpture or something.  Or like something 
from a David Lynch movie.
	I hadn't gone very far when I saw some shirtless skateboarder dude 
standing outside his room taking a hit on a cigarette.  Thinking maybe I 
could use a smoke, I went over to him.  As I got closer, I saw the dude 
blow a fine sheet of smoke through his smirk.  It was Carr.
	"Hey, dude," he said.  "I was waiting for you."  He took another hit.  
After a moment, smoke leaked from his mouth and nostrils.  "Or for some 
dude like you."
	"Give me one of those," I said.
	He tossed me a cigarette, and then I hit him up for a light.  Igniting 
the butt, I tossed the lighter back.  After a few puffs, I flicked away 
the cigarette, and watched its glowing head as it skipped over the lip 
and into the dry pool.
	I turned, and without another word, grabbed at Carr's cock through the 
nylon of his shorts.  He made some kind of cat sound and I grabbed 
harder.  He was hard in a moment.  Rock-hard in two.
	Crouching, I bit and licked at the outline of his cock for a minute.
I tasted a great, spreading stain of pre-cum as it soaked through the thin 
material.  Dropping to my knees, I jerked the shorts off Carr's smooth 
dark ass, and he kicked them away.  His cock sprang up, hit his stomach, 
and remained at so acute an angle as to almost press flat against his 
hard, flat belly.  
	Grabbing hold of it near the base, I levered his steeply spiring cock 
into my mouth.  I snacked away on the straining flesh of his knob, then 
took more of the shaft.  
	Bucking his hips, Carr rammed his tawny cock home again and again.
The thick veins of his snaky dick stood out in sharp relief and rippled my 
lips as they pushed back and forth.  The dude was already spilling so 
much of his cock juice into my mouth I'd don't know if it could 
accurately be called pre-cum.  
	I angled my head up to watch Carr as he fucked my face.  The dude had 
lost his perpetual smirk, replaced by an actual, unpretentious smile.  
The guy was blissing out, biting his lip so hard it was a wonder he 
didn't draw blood.  I was pretty much gone myself, tearing up my knees 
on the concrete, yet hardly noticing it.  The way he was letting loose 
with those cat whimpers, I was amazed the place wasn't filling up with 
randy strays looking for some tomcat action.  Carr uttered something in 
what I guess was Vietnamese, and began to spurt.  Though he'd tried to 
hold back, Carr didn't know enough about baseball to distract himself, 
and he came in great gooey waves.
	Almost before I'd finished swallowing, Carr disappeared into his dark 
motel room.  In a moment he was back, wearing only his skateboarding 
knee pads.  He dropped to face my crotch.  He nosed around my dick and 
balls, pressing in against the material of my shorts.  My dick, 
semi-hard from moment I'd dropped on the sleeping bag beside Matt, 
swelled to full rage.  Fuck Matt, I thought, who needs him?  
	One of Carr's hands slipped under the waistband, and the other 
squirreled up the leg of my shorts, both hands converging on my cock.  
Bunching the loose material, Carr pulled my screaming cock out through 
the leg of my shorts.  It flashed in the moonlight for only the briefest 
of moments before disappearing into the darkness of Carr's hungry mouth.  
Carr's half-Asian tongue swept around my cock, doing wholly un-American 
things to my piss-slit and dorkhead, and raising goose pimples despite 
the night's warmth.
	When his lips left my dick for a moment, I stepped out of my shorts.  
We must've been quite a sight, the two of us naked except for our shoes 
and his knee pads, our strong, 18-year-old bodies radiant in the 
moonlight. 
	With his hand gripped tightly around my churning balls, Carr pinned my 
dick flat against my stomach, and with the wide, flat expanse of his 
tongue, slowly licked the underside of my shaft from my balls upward to 
my cockhead.  Writhing with nirvana, I made a sound like one of those 
underwater recordings of whales.
	"I'm gonna come," I whispered a few minutes later.  Carr braced for
it, pressing down tighter with his constricting lips.  My whole body spasmed 
once, and then the spasm epicentered on my cock, and it erupted, pumping 
hot jerks of sperm into Carr's squirming mouth.  Though he swallowed 
most of my load, some of my little swimmers leaked out the sides of his 
mouth and dribbled on Carr's chin.  Carr's smirk returned as he rose, 
locked his eyes with mine, and licked my spum off his chin.
	I stumbled back to my motel room still drunk on beer and cock, and was 
about to drop down on my sleeping bag when I noticed that Matt's 
sleeping bag was empty.  Matt was sitting up in one of our folding lawn 
chairs.  Wide awake and watching me.  It gave me a startle.  The liquid 
of his eyes glinted in the pale blue light.
	"Jesus, man, you almost gave me a thrombo," I said.  "I thought you 
were asleep."
	"I was," he said.  "That's the thing about sleep that differentiates
it from death.  With sleep you wake up every so often."
	I wiped my face with my hand, hoping there were no lingering traces of 
Carr's cum still there.
	"Where ya been?" he said.
	"Had to take a piss."
	"That must've been some piss," he said.  "I've been awake at least 
twenty minutes.  You must've just about filled the pool."
	I grabbed the box of Captain Crunch I'd brought and dropped into the 
other chair.
	"And I walked a around a little," I said, stuffing my face with the 
sugar bombs.  "What're you doing up?"
	"Oh, I don't know," Matt said.
	That's when I noticed he was holding my camcorder.  I freaked a
little.  My heart raced in my chest.
	"I've seen the video," he said, and clicked closed the little screen 
that you could hinge out from the body of the camera.  "It's a cool 
camera, even plays back sound."
	I didn't know what to say.  The way the chairs were positioned, Matt's 
face was dark, his body a silhouette.  His voice was low and cool, 
giving me no clue.
	"I just wanna know one thing," he said.  "How have you managed to keep 
your hands off me?  Just a couple minutes ago I got a wild rager while 
watching me.  I nearly raped myself while waiting for you to get back."
	Matt set aside the camera, and shifted in his chair, and even in the 
bad light I could see his dick tenting his shorts.  And this was no pup 
tent either.  This was the big top.
	"Your running commentary was pretty hot," Matt said.  Your foul-
mouthed play-by-pay got me even harder."  His voice dropped lower.  "You
really want to do all those things to me?"
	"Yes," I said quietly.
	"Good," he said, and got up out of his chair.  "Then we'd better get 
started.  That was quite a list."
	As he came toward me, I dropped the Captain Crunch, letting it spill, 
and got up to meet him.  Even with my eyes ripped out of my head, I 
could have felt his presence as he neared me.  Waves of heat radiated 
off his killer body.
	I reached for his throbber, but Matt brushed my hand away.  "I wanna 
take this slow," he said, and kissed me.  His lips were chapped, and 
lightly scratched mine as they brushed.  Our mouths then crushed hard 
into each other.  Our tongues ventured out and swam in each other's 
mouth.  Our tongues flicked and collided, twisted and danced.
	After a few minutes of this, Matt pulled back and looked me in the
eye. 
	"I never kissed a dude before," said Matt.
	"Me neither," I lied.  
	"You taste like crunch berries," he said smiling.
	"Shut up, dude, and shove your tongue down my throat."
	Matt needed no further invitation, and pressed his rough, chapped lips 
back against mine.  He worked his tongue so far down my throat that its 
tip was nearly flicking out of my asshole.  As we kissed, I bit at a 
tiny, loose flap of his chapped skin.  Holding on, I peeled it back with 
my teeth, tearing it loose.  Matt flinched and swore and rubbed his 
tender lip.
	"Fuck you, dude," he said laughing.  "That hurt, man."
	He arched his neck and I went for his throat, sucking and tonguing his 
jawline and his bobbing adam's apple.  He groped my back and ass, 
running his hands freely over me.  "God, you're hot," he said between 
gasps.
	Opening our sleeping bags, we stretched them out next to each other, 
providing a big fuck-matt for us.  Matt and me dropped down onto the 
sleeping bags.  We quickly got rid of our shorts and shoes and pulled 
each other tight.  Tongued and nibbled each other's nipples till they 
were raw.  As we ground our dicks against each other, we smeared our 
bellies with each other's pre-cum.

	As I had so often imagined in my dreams, Matt grabbed his bony, 
calloused fingers around my cock, and clenched tight.  I nearly came 
right there.  Without hesitation, the dude guided my throbber into his 
mouth.  I was finding it hard to believe my friend had never snacked a 
dude's cock before as he finessed my dick.  But Matt was always quick to 
pick up the latest skateboarding move.  And had nearly mastered 
snowboarding in a weekend.  So why should it be any different with queer 
sports?  
	Though I'd gushed buckets just a few minutes ago in Carr's smirk-hole, 
it was as if I still had a full load when I let go in Matt's mouth.  As 
I was jerking out my third spurt, my cock flew loose of the dude's lips, 
and as Matt frantically tried to retrap it, I got a shot off in his ear 
and across his stubbled chin.  Matt giggled like a kid.  I cleaned up 
his ear with an eager tongue, and kissed the cum from his lips and chin.  
	As Matt was trying to process the experience, I took advantage of his 
confusion to work my way to his ass, and spread his ass cheeks wide.  I 
swirled one of my fingers around the bud of his asshole and Matt moaned.  
I slobbered saliva over the pink hole, and worked one of my fingers into 
the tight tunnel.  Matt was very inviting, and after a few minutes I 
worked a second finger into him.  His body rose and fell and quivered.  
As if he'd been tazered.  It made me proud to have my best friend in my 
sexual thrall, squirming with pleasure.  
	Unable to wait any longer, I went after Matt's dick.  I devoured that 
dude's cock like... uh... well... like a faggot.  Man, I worked that 
dude good.  Like I had something to prove.  And like I always do, I 
watched his face as I snacked sloppy.  But this was different from any 
of the other dudes I've sucked sperm.  I knew this face as well as I 
knew my own.  This dude was my bud.   
	Though I didn't mind him cumming in my mouth, Matt said he wanted to 
shoot all over my face.  Whatever makes the dude happy, I thought.  And 
when he came, he came like a broken Slurpee machine, spraying the shit 
all over me.  He splashed ribbons on my cheek, and across the bridge of 
my nose.  A single pearl on my chin.  A clinging gob on my eye lashes.  
	Throttling his dripping dick near the stem, he bounced it against my 
face, gently slapping it again and again against my open, swollen lips.  
Matt dragged his still-hard cock across my face, smearing the cum all 
around like he was frosting a cake.  
	"Now just let that dry over night," Matt said, half-joking.  "Don't 
touch it.  I want to wake up in the morning and see you with my crusty, 
dried spum on your face.  I want to show you to everybody like that.  It 
marks you as mine."
	"Right," I said, roughly wiping my face with his shirt.  "Here.
Here's your souvenir."  I tossed the cum-sticky t-shirt at him.
	He caught it and flicked it back at me.  This initiated a long, rowdy 
slap fight.  We both got in some savage licks.  Though there had always 
been something faggotty about our wrestling, now it was up front.  And 
unlike our other battles, this one didn't end when I got hard - only got 
better.
	I couldn't find the rubbers I'd brought, so nobody's ass got fucked 
that night.  But I bought some the next day, and for the rest of the 
weekend we ripped our asses something good.  As Matt fucked me he made 
me keep my eyes open.  "I always do better when you're watching me," he 
said.