Date: Wed, 6 Jul 2016 18:51:37 -0600
From: Colton <coltonaalto@gmail.com>
Subject: Spring Break Happens in Vegas - chapter 9

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SPRING BREAK HAPPENS IN VEGAS

By Colton Aalto

CHAPTER NINE – LAID ON THE LAKE – PART TWO

After getting butt fucked by Marcio, Katsumi and Dillinger, I was zoned
out, a victim of too much sex, drugs and alcohol. My ass was juiced with a
veritable United Nations of cum: a big load of Latin American splooge, a
huge Japanese spunk dump, and a giant helping of black American jizz. To
say nothing of the two loads of babybatter my twin brothers had deposited
in my boi pussy in the morning.

I vaguely remember struggling to slither back into my metallic white thong,
in particular stuffing my sensitive cock and balls into the C-ring, and
later laughing as I danced with Katsumi and some other dudes on the deck of
Benny and Austin's boat. The Japanese hunk spoke minimal English, but
Marcio and another guy did some basic translations. If I understood Marcio
correctly, I was the first American boy Katsumi had fucked and after
sampling my ass, he was fired up to breed more Yankee ass.

My afternoon liaison with Marcio, Katsumi and Dillinger was apparently the
worst kept secret on Lake Havasu. I got plenty of stares and comments. They
varied between high-fiving congratulations and hissy accusations that I was
a slut. Mostly, however, dudes were jealous of the three-stud black-haired
tag team that had assaulted and conquered my ass.

The number of boats anchored in the gay cove slowly expanded as the
afternoon drifted into evening. I guess gay boys are not the earliest
risers, at least not during the middle of spring break. Marcio and I went
boat-to-boat, and Marcio seemed to know guys on every boat we visited. We
probably could have jumped from boat to boat rather than using Marcio's
raft, because by the evening the cove was a massed collection of boats
roped together. The only boats that could move were the ones on the
outside, and being the recent arrivals, they weren't inclined to budge.

My head was spinning and I was in a euphoric mood as Marcio and his friends
kept funneling drinks down me. The last stop on our boat-to-boat tour was a
huge white ship that was twice as big as anything else on the water, except
for Austin and Benny's giant yacht. "Having dinner with the Europeans,"
Marcio announced.

The group Marcio called the Europeans consisted of several German, Dutch
and French models – along with a few Brits – who had chartered the
boat. Aside from Austin and Benny's yacht, the Europeans' boat seemed to be
party central. Marcio knew everyone. I felt a little like a fifth wheel,
but I was too buzzed to care.

Marcio and I found some food, and as I finally had something solid in my
stomach, I felt my day beginning to catch up with me. Maybe the pill Jon
had given me was beginning to wear off. I wondered where my brothers had
gotten to, but they had been clear that I was on my own until tomorrow
morning. I had a vision of the two of them chasing down attractive boys. I
felt a twinge of jealousy, but then I hadn't exactly been waiting for them,
not with three loads of ball juice periodically leaking from my hole.

After dinner, Marcio got into a long conversation with some friends and I
wandered to the top of the boat and watched the sun begin to sink into the
western sky. I couldn't believe that less than a week ago I was stuck in
southern Illinois, a virgin and a hopeless geek. I was still a geek, likely
still hopeless, but my virginity was a problem I would never have to
overcome again.

"I've never seen you in any modeling shoots," a voice said. I turned around
to see Cedric Diggory standing in front of me.

Well, not the real Cedric Diggory, because Cedric was fictional. But I was
staring at a guy who looked exactly the way I pictured Cedric Diggory. If
Cedric had been in a swimsuit.

Cedric was a character in one of the Harry Potter books, played by Robert
Pattinson in the movies. The young Robert Pattinson, not the current
version with the constant scruff and hairy chest. Younger even than the
pale vampire version of Pattison in his Twilight fame. The version of
Robert Pattinson in the Harry Potter movie was the teenaged one with long,
wavy, disheveled brown hair that fell over his forehead, ruddy cheeks and a
long, straight jawline.

I was stunned, a reaction made much worse by my drugged and inebriated
state. What was with me thinking that guys in Vegas looked like British
actors? First, my brothers were dead ringers for Freddie Fox, then my uncle
was a slightly older version of Alex Pettyfer come to life, and now this
guy was the young Robert Pattinson, playing Cedric Diggory.

My father intensely disproved of the Harry Potter books and movies. Given
his religious fanaticism, that probably goes without saying. He never would
have permitted me to read the books or see the movies, but my mother,
noticing every kid around me was enamored with Harry, ignored my father's
commands and bought me the books and movies – used, of course, but I
didn't care. It was one of the few times she stood up to my father, but she
told him that she would rather have me reading books than playing video
games and that was the end of the debate.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hogwarts, Dumbledore and even the Weasley twins came
alive for me in the pages of the books and on the movie screen. But Cedric
Diggory held a special place in my heart. Heroic, honest, handsome and
honorable, I was in love with him. And now his identical twin was standing
inches from me, smiling and offering me a drink.

I accepted the drink and began chatting with Cedric. Of course, his real
name wasn't Cedric. My Cedric turned out to be named Quentin. He was a
Brit, like Cedric and Robert Pattinson, a fact apparent from the first
words he spoke. He had been modeling for almost two years, although he was
only 17. Bizarrely enough, we were exactly the same age, down to sharing
the same birthday. We even got into the detail of the time of our
births. It appeared Quentin was the oldest, by less than an hour, but after
piecing together that I was born in Monaco and Quentin in London, because
of the different time zones between continental Europe and Britain, I was
exactly fifteen minutes older. Weirdly, that was the difference in age
between my twin brothers Jan and Jon, too.

In the inebriated and stoned state I was in, I decided Quentin was the
friend I never had growing up. He was easy to talk to and didn't mind my
being a hopeless geek. We shared a love of the Harry Potter books and
movies, not something I chose to admit to Jan and Jon, as they seemed far
too mature to like kids' stuff. But Quentin and my shared interests didn't
stop there. Quentin seemed to like virtually every stupid kid thing that I
liked. We debated the merits of Star Wars and Star Trek, and the
superheroes from DC Comics and Marvel. We both adored The Lord of the
Rings, the books as well as the movies. We talked and laughed for what
seemed like hours, consuming the evening as the air turned chillier and the
massive lake party began to move inside the boats tied together on Havasu.

Quentin didn't want to go inside, and I didn't either, so he disappeared
for a couple of minutes and returned with an armful of blankets and
pillows. Giggling, we snuggled under the blankets, still wearing only tiny
swimsuits. Feeling his warm body next to mine gave my cock a little nudge
and I wondered if maybe something would happen between the two of us.

Quentin told me he went to a public school outside London, which I
initially envisioned as the equivalent to my high school in southern
Illinois. But it didn't take long before it was apparent Quentin's public
school was far different from mine; it didn't sound anything like what I
was used to. To start, it was a boarding school, and Quentin had been there
since he was 13. It wasn't free like US public companies; it cost $50,000 a
year, which was about what my entire family lived on. I liked Quentin, a
lot, but it was clear we came from different worlds.

"Snuggle me," Quentin asked as the moon peaked out behind some thin desert
clouds. I was happy to do exactly that, and soon our swimsuits were off and
we were feeling each other up and kissing. It wasn't the frantic kissing I
had done earlier with the black-haired trio of Marcio, Katsumi and
Dillinger. It wasn't even the kissing I had done with my twin brothers. It
was slow and passionate all the same.

I don't even remember how we got on the subject, but I ended up confessing
to Quentin that I could suck my own dick.

"No way!" he responded. He paused for a minute and added, "Show me."

I was semi-hard from rolling around and kissing Quentin, so I started to
beat my cock, but Quentin took over. I liked the way he seemed to enjoy
playing with my cock, paying close attention to it. It didn't take long for
me to get hard. I was pretty sure Quentin was sporting a stiffy, too.

I rolled my legs over my head and began licking the head of my dick,
swallowing it. Quentin got quiet and watched for a couple of minutes, but
then dove in, kissing me and licking my cock. With my back arched and my
legs in the air, it was cramped quarters, but kinda hot, too. I had never
kissed a guy and my cock at the same time.

Quentin soon took over working on my cock, licking my shaft and tentatively
taking the head in his mouth. I couldn't believe Cedric Diggory was sucking
my dick – and liking it. I was beginning to get close, but I wanted to
return the favor, so I pulled Quentin into a big, sloppy kiss. Before I
could maneuver down to Quentin's dick, however, he gasped, "I want you to
fuck me."

Oh, shit.

I had been thinking of asking Quentin the same thing, but his question put
me on the spot. I had five days of experience as a bottom, but none as a
top. I could probably figure out what to do, but the dudes who had used my
ass seemed to know when to pull out, how to enter me, and, most
importantly, precisely how to manipulate my prostate. I would be clueless
on that score. My lack of confidence in sexual matters would be on full
display.

"Um, I want to, but, um, I haven't really done it before," I mumbled. "I
mean, I've had sex with another guy, but, um, I haven't topped."

I halfway expected Quentin to laugh at me and tell me I was a total
hayseed. But he responded, "Cool. I haven't gotten fucked before, so I
think it's great that it will be both of our first times."

Quentin was wonderful. I immediately relaxed and felt comfortable. He was
exactly the guy I wanted for my maiden voyage into another dude's ass. And,
to be honest, he had an awesome ass, kind of a muscly bubble butt. I had
been having trouble keeping my hands off it.

Quentin climbed back into his swimsuit and went below deck before
reappearing with towels and lubricant. We 69ed each other for a long time;
I suspected both of us were a little apprehensive about the next step. I
know I was. But finally Quentin lubed up my cock while I did the honors on
his asshole and we were ready.

"So, like, you gotta tell me if this hurts," I said. "We don't have to do
it if it hurts too much."

"Yeah," Quentin responded in a way that was sort of distant. I wondered if
he didn't realize getting your ass fucked, particularly for the first time,
might hurt. But he charged ahead, saying, "I'm gonna do it even if it
hurts. I want your dick inside me, mate. I'm done being a cherry-boy."

Quentin got on his back and put his legs on my shoulders. He looked
beautiful beneath me in the dim light. Between my cock and Quentin's ass,
there was enough lube for a week of fucks. I began to probe only to
discover I wasn't close to his hole. With that problem fixed, I got the
head of my cock inside him. Quentin grabbed my arm and his eyes got big,
and I knew I had to hold off before going farther inside him.

He still seemed uncomfortable, so, recalling how Jan had taken me the first
time, I pulled out and kissed him before entering him again. This time I
could tell it was going better. Quentin moaned and whispered, "Fuck me!"

I took my time forcing my cock into his tight ass, pulling out once more
and staying put for a long couple of minutes when I sensed my dick was
hurting Quentin. I finally got my rod all the way inside him and began to
pump his ass. Damn, I kept thinking, I'm fucking a guy. Fucking an awesome
guy.

Quentin kept alternating between using his hands to pull my ass into him
and to grab my head and pull me into deep, sloppy kisses. Fucking his ass
felt incredible. I wanted to keep fucking Quentin but I wanted to nut in
his ass, too. Regardless, I wasn't going to hold out long before I seeded
my first dude.

"Oh God," Quentin gasped in my ear. "I want this to go on forever."

Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen. Not that fucking his ass
didn't feel incredible and not that I didn't want it to last, too, but my
balls were about to take over the show. I slowed to a stop, but I was past
the point of no return. After a couple of minutes, I was back to drilling
Quentin's tight ass, and this time I was going to nut. "I'm, I'm gonna
cum!" I groaned.

"Fuck yeah," Quentin said. "Cum inside me!"

I clamped my mouth on Quentin's and rammed my cock as far inside his hot,
tight hole as I could and felt cum rocket through my shaft. Fuck, fuck,
fuck, I thought. I've fucked my first guy. It had happened.

To my surprise, Quentin's stomach was smeared with tons of his own spunk,
and it had coated by abs, too. I felt dumb, having not even known when he
came, but after recovering, we busied ourselves licking cum off of each
other's abs. Then we went back to French kissing, huddled under the
blankets.

I wasn't going to go to sleep without returning the favor of letting
Quentin fuck my ass. Actually, it was more a favor for myself. Etched in my
memories of that night is a vision of a blanket of bright stars in the
background and Cedric Diggory in the foreground, hovering over me with his
wavy brown hair mussed more than usual as he rammed his cock into my
hole. By the time we finally fell asleep on the boat deck, spooning under
the blankets, we each had a couple of loads buried in the other's ass.

I got a breakfast of British school boy cream early the next morning –
Quentin sucked me off, too – but all too soon Jan, Jon and I were headed
back to Vegas. I was excited to have met Quentin and kept thinking about
him. He was such a cool guy and I felt totally comfortable around him. And
he had let me fuck him and said I was the first. Whether that was the case
or not, I didn't really care. I was happy.

Jan broached the subject of my sexual escapades the day before. Nobody knew
about my night with Quentin, but my fourway with Marcio, Katsumi and
Dillinger was apparently a widely discussed topic. "So, bro," he said,
staring at me in the rear view mirror of the SUV. "I heard a number of
reliable reports that you got fucked by Dread and, from what I see in the
back seat, you lived to tell about it."

"Dread?" I questioned.

"Yeah, you know, tall, ripped black guy with the long dreadlocks. Tall,
ripped black guy with the colossal cock made to rip assholes to shreds."

"Oh, you mean Dillinger."

"Bingo," Jan replied. "He's a legend. Or at least his cock is. You actually
take that thing in your ass?"

"Um, well, I guess so," I mumbled, my face flushing.

"Fuck, that is so awesome," Jon said. He had reclined his seat until he was
almost in the back seat with me, and he reached up to high five me. "And to
think Jan and I were convinced before meeting you that you were probably
straight and we'd have to work like hell all week long just to get inside
your boi pussy one time. You da man, dude. Fucked by a legend and able to
walk afterwards."

I wasn't certain I liked my brothers knowing the details about who had
fucked my ass, but they didn't seem bothered. Their conversation veered off
to their own escapades, and it sounded as if they had both gotten laid on
the lake. The details were a little sketchy, however, because Jan and Jon
weren't bothering to fill me in on exactly what happened. As usual, they
seemed to be talking their own private language, but I took it that some
hot dude had been fascinated enough by Jon's Prince Albert ring to want it
up his ass, and Jan had romanced a Nordic God and fucked the guy all night
long.

I thought back to the international cock train – Latin, black and Asian
– that had been in my ass the day before, but I kept coming back to
Quentin. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I probably should have kept my
mouth shut, but I casually asked Jan and Jon if they knew him.

"Fuck, yeah," Jon said, gazing up at me from his reclined seat. "Everybody
knows Quentin. He's been around modeling long enough that he probably
modeled diapers. He's done a ton of modeling shots. That boy is a damn hot
property, too. Something about him makes every gay boy lust after
him. Hell, probably half the straight models wouldn't turn down an
opportunity to get into his pants."

Jan interjected, "I used to think Quentin had the most awesome bubble butt
in the universe. When Jen got off the plane on Sunday, I immediately
realized Quentin had competition. Can you imagine having both Quentin's and
Jen's fine asses to choose from? Damn that would be hot."

"I'd love to grind my cock into that luscious bubble butt," Jon said, "but
Quentin is a cock tease. The little fucker won't give it up. Jan and I have
both tried, like two or three times. Nobody else has had any luck with him,
either. He's saving it for some lucky boy."

I was a startled by Jon's comment, wondering if I was the guy Quentin had
been saving it for, but immediately discounting that possibility. I was a
dweeby dork from southern Illinois and what famous model would be saving it
up for me? Still, Quentin had said I was the first guy who had fucked him,
and I believed him.

Jon looked up at me and smiled lazily. "Bro, if you get a chance to fuck
that dude, you absolutely gotta go for it. Just do it, little bastard."

My surprise at Jon's saying Quentin was `saving it' turned to hurt at being
called a `little bastard.' Jon had called me that earlier in the week, but
for some reason I was more bothered after hearing it again.

At my high school the week before spring break, a kid had called me a
bastard in front of a group of other kids. He did it in a way that made it
clear he wasn't using the term in the throw-away manner that teenagers
typically use derogatory terms. Instead, he knew the word's dictionary
meaning and intended to apply the term to me, the born-out-of-wedlock
child. The jerk had had the poor judgment to yell at me in front of a
teacher, who promptly disciplined him, but the damage was done. Two dozen
other high school kids had heard him call me a bastard who didn't know who
his daddy was, and I could sense each kid filing the derogatory term away,
contemplating exactly when and how to use it on me. I dreaded going back to
school after spring break, because I had no doubt that I was going to hear
the term repeatedly. Faggot and queer wouldn't be far behind.

I must have been noticeably quiet after Jon's comment, because when we
stopped for gas and Jon went in to get drinks, Jan draped his arm around
me. "What Jon said back there – calling you a little bastard – don't
let that get to you. All three of us are bastards, and Jon and I call each
other that all the time. I'm first bastard and he's second bastard. So it's
really just his way of saying you're one of us. If somebody else were to
call you a bastard, Jon would beat the shit out of the guy, and I'd be
right behind him. It's something the three of us will always live with, but
we'll live with it together."

I felt immensely better. It was funny how Jan and Jon were identical twins,
but sometimes they were polar opposites.

"You know, that was what she called the car," Jan added.

"Car? What car? Who?" I puzzled.

"Our mother," Jan replied. His voice took on a melancholy tone. "The car
she was killed in. She named it `little bastard' after you, because she got
the car right after you were born. James Dean called his Porsche `little
bastard' and she thought that was funny and since she had a new little
bastard – you – that's what she named the car."

I was quiet. I almost felt responsible for her death because the car was
named after me, although I realized that at six months, I couldn't have
been responsible for much of anything other than crying, throwing up and
soiling a diaper. The little bastard. Jan broke the silence by saying, "You
know, you're the best little bastard in the world."

I smiled and thought for a moment before saying, "Thanks, FB."

"FB?" Jan asked.

"As in, first bastard," I cracked. Jan laughed and feigned chasing me
around the car. But Jon emerged with his arms filled with Red Bulls and
Monsters and Jan topped off the tank and hopped back in the SUV. I was
happy to have brothers. Happy to have Jan and Jon. Happy to be the twins'
bottom brother.


TO BE CONTINUED...


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