Alpha Male

Chapter 16: Thesis and Antitheses

I sat in the stands in the bleachers watching the team work out. My green notebook was in my lap, but I was not writing. Instead, I was lost in thought as my eyes surveyed the boys. Adam. What the hell to do about Adam? If Sharon was right, and I had every reason to think she would be - she was very good at what she did - then I couldn't leave the camp. That was why my suitcase, still open and partially packed, lay on a corner of the floor of my bedroom instead of full and in my car. Studying Adam would mean not only a sure pass on the dis, but, evidently, a great deal of money. Who knows? A Nobel Prize in chemistry or medicine? It was not like me to be so grandiose, but I had never heard Sharon that excited before. But how could I study him if he had such power over me? He was beginning to infect me. That dream!

My advisor's voice rang distantly in my head. The scientific method, it said. Question your assumptions. What if you are wrong? Think it through.

What if I was wrong? If I were wrong, then Adam was right - he was a knight in shining armor, using his extraordinary powers for the good of people rather than for his own perverse jollies. If I were wrong, then Adam really could divine what people needed, and supply it for them. If that were the case, then, Corey really did need to get raped in order to teach him how to treat others gently. If that were the case, Brad, for some reason, was getting something - learning something - by giving Adam blow jobs. And Matt. What was Matt getting from Adam turning him down? That was mystifying, and lent credence to the idea that I was not wrong, not misreading. And then, of course, there was his total misreading of me.

But wait, said the voice, think it through. What if you are wrong? If I were wrong about myself and Adam was right? Then I was due for some grand revelation about what I wanted out of life. But what would that be - or, rather, what would Adam think that would be? The first time we had an encounter he made me beg to blow him, then refused me. The second time, he made me cum merely by finger-fucking my mouth, and slapping me. In both cases, I was humiliated, used, and abused. Is that what Adam thought I wanted? To be treated like chattel? To be made to serve? To be property? A toy? His property? His toy?

I watched him work the pommel horse. His hands slapped its leather surface as he moved, swinging in perfectly pointed arcs, from one end of it to the other. I could hear the smacks of his hands on the leather from where I sat, and, despite myself, my dick began to respond. No. That could not possibly be it. I mean, I enjoyed the occasional role-play as much as the next guy, but to suggest that that was what I needed? I was going to have a nice boyfriend and a nice white house in the suburbs with a picket fence that wrapped all the way around and tied in back. It was all settled. Sharon had offered why he had made me beg, why he had made me cum. It was nothing more than chemistry - a chemistry I had, theretofore, neither been able to fight nor protect myself against. But it was nothing more than that. It was not what I wanted, it was, as Brad had said, what he was making me think I wanted. It was his hormones in my bloodstream. Nothing more. But the dream. He had said, and Sharon had confirmed, that he could not work at a distance. How then, to explain the dream? And the fact that I was uncomfortably hard as I sat there, watching him at 100 yards match his muscles against the inflexible challenge of the pommel horse?

No, Adam could not be right. I was not some mindless SM bottom looking to play with whips and chains. I was in a doctoral program in psychology, for Christ sake! No. And if he were wrong about me, it would stand to reason he was wrong about Matt, about Brad, about everything.

Yes, he certainly had skills - there was the obvious chemical one, of course, and his tremendous skill in the gym. But there was more. He was very good at the mind-fuck, which, of course, made sense as he had had so much practice at it. He was very good at using people for his own ends, because he could. I wondered what would happen if I had had the same powers as he. Would it affect me in the same way? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I remembered the Mule from the Azimov series I had read as a child: the mutant who could turn people's minds. He, too, had said he was bored, and the fact that he fell in love - that he didn't turn the mind of his love interest - became his undoing. But Adam couldn't turn his power on and off. I assumed so, at least. The process must have been autonomic. So he affected everyone around him - male, female, old and young - and all the time. Christ, I thought, but he must be lonely.

No wonder he was so off the mark. No wonder he was so deluded. He was lonely. He was desperately, and terribly lonely.

Feeling more settled, I opened my notebook and returned to transcribing behaviors. Hamstring stretch, abdominal stroke, pose 6, abdominal stroke, verbal exchange… The rat was back in the lab.

After dinner, I went to the commons room. I needed to be social, and, more importantly, public for a while. I had to sort out how I could defend myself should he approach again, and didn't want to be alone in my room before I could do that.

Corey was on his seat watching the tube, of course. I looked at him again, more closely, looking for clues as to what was within. But he was engrossed in Home Improvement, and offered no more information beyond the occasional chuckle. The never-ending poker game continued. From the size of the piles, it looked like Doug was, as ever, losing. Steven was reading. As I had brought my book along with me, I sat down next to him, and found my place in it.

After a while, Matt bounced into the room. He came over and sat down next to me.

"Hey," he said.

"That's Heywood," called Brad, from the poker table.

"Fuck off and die," I shot back, good-naturedly.

"Well, one outta two, dude," he said, and winked.

"So long time no see," Matt said, grinning.

He was joking, of course, but Christ! He was right! Was it only yesterday that we had fucked? So much had happened since then. It seemed like eons ago.

"Miss me?" I asked?

"I did, amigo," he said. "I did, a lot. Dreamt about you, in fact." He was not whispering, but he had lowered his voice, to make the conversation more private.

"Really?" I said. "I dreamt last night too."

"That's so cool. Simpatico, huh, amigo?"

I didn't have the heart, at that point, to point out the error in his logic.

"Must be," I said, and smiled at him.

He really was beautiful. Those eyelashes should be against the law. He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and shorts. Even through the loose-fitting, thick material, the round fullness of his form was evident. The hem of the shirt sneaked up as he moved his arms, revealing his diminutive bellybutton and a thin horizontal swatch of smooth sun-browned skin.

The room had suddenly gone silent, and Matt's turn to the door caused me to look in that direction as well. Adam stood in the jamb, thumbs hooked in his front belt buckles, looking over who was in the room. His gaze fell in our direction, and his lips pursed slightly. Looking directly at me, he said, "Matt. You're up." Without responding, Matt arose, and headed toward the door. Adam disappeared down the hall, and Matt turned to me. "Later," he said, before turning the corner himself. His look was neither of joy nor fear. It was more like resignation.

Seconds later, Dan turned the corner, coming into the commons room. He walked directly up to me, holding a chess set.

"Let's play," he said, and moved over to the table in the corner.

I was somewhat surprised. Dan had hardly said two words to me the entire week I had been there. He always seemed too busy watching Adam, emulating Adam, studying Adam. I laughed internally. Well, we had that last part in common, at least.

And now, out of nowhere, a chess game. What the hell, I thought. I did enjoy a good game of chess - though I doubted he would be much competition - and it was a good opportunity to get to know another of the boys. Particularly good as it was one so close to the source of my research. Besides, I thought. I had some information to share with him. Important information.

"Sure," I said, walking over to the table where he was already setting up the pieces. I sat, and chose one of the pawns he presented to me, hidden in his hands. It was black.

"So what brings this on?" I asked.

"Adam said that he thought we'd like each other. So I figured we could play a game. Meet."

"Adam, huh?"

"Um hum," he said, moving his knight out as an opening move. "So you're a psych major?"

"Yeh," I said, figuring the cat was out of the bag anyway. "Getting a doctorate."

"I took a bunch of psych classes. Liked them a lot," he said. "Toyed with becoming a major."

"You didn't?"

"Nope. Changed my mind."

"How come?"

"The classes got boring, and too many majors were too fucked up. It was like they were taking the classes in unsuccessful attempts to do self-analysis."

"Yeah, true," I said, "I know a lot of people like that. Go into psychology to figure themselves out. They're usually weaned out by the graduate level, though. So what did you switch to?"

"Philosophy."

"You're a philosophy major?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing. Just surprised a little."

"Oh? Why?" He stopped and looked up at me, scrutinizing my face.

"No reason," I said. "Nothing at all." Returning his attention to the game, he took one of my pawns with his bishop.

Dan was truly stunning - a fact that I had noticed the first night, and was starkly reminded of sitting opposite him. While he was dark-haired, he had fair skin - an interesting mix of northern and southern European. His eyes were light blue - an almost steely gray, in fact - and larger than normal. His irises were ringed with bands of blue much darker than the field of color they surrounded to create a striking and compelling effect. He exuded strength, grace, and control. His musculature was extraordinarily pronounced - even for the boys - and unlike the rest of the team, he was tall. He was, in fact, the only of the guys who was taller than I was. And his slight southern accent was markedly erotic.

"So you enjoying the summer?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, yes. Very much so. The opportunity to work with Johnston was one of the reasons I transferred to the school in the first place. My routines are really coming along. It was this or the Olympic Training Camp - but I thought this would be better. Smaller, more team-oriented."

"How much of a team effort is gymnastics, really? I mean, I always thought it was much more of an individual kind of thing."

"More than swimming," he said, "less than soccer. It depends. When we go to the NCAA Championships, the team is everything. You're really competing for your school. But when you go to the Nationals try-outs, it's every man for himself. Still, you definitely want your teammates to make the cut with you. It's so much better working with guys you know and like."

"And you like these guys here?"

"Sure. A lot. Don't you?" Again, he looked up at me, aiming those blue rings of ice into my mind.

Eyes are so important. They tell us so much about a person, and we base a disproportionate amount of our opinions of people on them. Eyes are one of the first things that fix babies' gazes. Eyes tell us when people are lying. Studies have been published determining that in some respects, our species has a universal concept of beauty that is inexorably bound up with the symmetry of the face. All peoples, it seems, rank some aspects of beauty in the same way, from the Yanomamo to the Innuit. All find symmetric, unwavering eyes appealing. I averted my gaze back to the game. I was finding his stare somewhat unsettling in its perfect intensity.

"Yes," I finally, said, "most of them are really nice. The ones I've gotten to know, anyway. I've only been here a week."

He attacked with a knight, I parried with a pawn. He was a better player than I had expected.

"So what are you going to do after gymnastics?" I asked. "I mean, what does one do with a degree in philosophy?"

"You sound like my father," he said, smiling.

"Fuck, mine too! I could just as easily have chosen soc when I was a sophomore. My dad kept saying, 'what are you going to do with it?' I kept saying, 'not every undergraduate degree has to lead directly to a job, you know.'"

"Well, not every undergraduate degree has to lead directly to a job, you know."

"Well played," I laughed.

"I'm trying to take things as they come. I have an old-style view of college. It's a time to discover what you like, and practice it, not a time necessarily to prepare you for the world beyond."

"I couldn't agree more," I said. "So you discovering what you like?"

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea," he said, taking my knight with his bishop.

Fuck that bishop, I thought! Where did it come from? How is it he's four points ahead already? Time to call out the reserves. My queen came forward.

"So Adam thought we'd like each other, huh?" I asked.

"That's what he said."

"Why?"

"Didn't ask. He's usually a pretty good judge of character, though, so if he says he thinks we'd like each other, we'll probably like each other."

"You think he's a good judge of character?"

"Absolutely. Why, you don't?" He asked.

I hedged. "I've only known him for a week. You've known him much longer."

"True," he said, "still. He's pretty up front. What you see is what you get."

"You like living with him?"

"Absolutely. He's a bud. He's helped me a lot."

"Really?" I asked. "How? You guys have sex too?"

Dan laughed deeply and heartily.

"Me and Adam? Sex?" he said. "Hardly."

I was confused. I had meant the question somewhat sarcastically - as a pointed jab. Dan hadn't taken it that way. None of the boys, save Matt it seems, caught my sarcasm as it related to Adam's sexual proclivities. Why would that be? "Oh, you don't do guys?"

"Naw, that's not it. I have no problem with doing guys. Guys, girls, whatever floats my boat. Just Adam and me aren't…compatible." "What does that mean?" I asked, now truly confused. Dan looked up from the game again. The muscles of his lower jaw flexed, causing a temporary furrow from his temple down to his mandibular joint. "It means that Adam's not what I'm looking for," he said, training his eyes on me again. "Oh? What are you looking for?" "Something quite different," he said, taking my queen without even looking at the board. "You're good!" I exclaimed. "Yes," he said calmly, evenly, authoritatively, "I am." He was still looking directly through the windows of my eyes, and I got the distinct impression that we weren't talking about chess. The conversation continued through the game. Dan was erudite, interesting, and a wickedly good chess player. He was also somewhat annoyingly cocky, a state that I found myself forgiving once he actually beat me at the game. Arrogance is the lording of perceived superiority. If you're actually good at something, it's not really arrogance - just an accurate self-image. We sat around after my king was trapped by three of his pawns, and talked about everything from Spinoza to Spanish magic realism. I found myself at ease with him, liking him, being wonderfully and unexpectedly captivated by him, being impressed by him. This was the first time I had ever seen him without Adam present. Maybe that was all it took. "Listen" I said, my thoughts returning to Adam, "I have something I have to tell you." "And what would that be?" he asked. "I think you should move out from Adam's room."

Dan laughed. "And why would that be?" "I think he's dangerous." "Please," Dan said, "Adam wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, I got, like, three inches on him." The ideas shocked me - both the suggestion that Adam wouldn't hurt a fly, and that Dan had considered what would happen if there were a fight between them. More surprisingly, he had determined that he would win. Could anyone actually beat Adam at anything? I wondered. "No," I said, "not a fight. I think being around him is dangerous." "Why?" Dan was smiling, somewhat condescendingly. "You sound like Corey used to. Did he fuck you, too? Is that it?" "No," I said quickly, emphatically, then, more calmly, "no. He hasn't fucked me. I can't really say why. I'm not able to explain. It's just that…well, do you know why I'm here?" "Sure. Adam asked for you." "Do you know why?" "Prolly something to do with his talents. I never asked." "Yes. And I've begun to understand some things - things I can't talk about yet. All I can say is I don't think it's healthy to share a room with him - to be around him so much - in that much physical proximity." "You sound jealous, Mark," he said. He was taking what I was saying lightly, and making fun of me. I didn't know how to continue. I couldn't tell him what Sharon had told me. She had made that perfectly clear - a great deal was at stake. "I'm not jealous," I said, trying to sound as calm and reasonable as I could, despite the deeply insulting implication. "I'm just saying that there could be some…physical side-effects of being around him so much." "I wouldn't care if Adam caused leprosy, Mark," he said, leveling his gaze into my eyes to reinforce his seriousness. It had its effect. His eyes had some powerful effect on me, I had begun to notice. "He's my bud. He's my best friend at this point. He's helped me a lot. If being around him meant that I couldn't compete, I wouldn't compete. You understand what I'm saying?" "Yes," I replied. His voice was so solemn, his face so set, so intense, so compelling, I almost found myself adding, "sir." Matt tripped back into the room, looking relieved if not somewhat haggard. He caught my eye, smiled broadly, and came over to me. "Hey, amigo," he said. "Hey," I said. "Matt, you know Dan? Dan, Matt." "How do you do?" Matt said, extending his hand to Dan, playing along with the joke. "Chahmed, I'm su-ah," replied Dan in his thickest southern accent. For a moment, I expected Dan to take Matt's hand and kiss it chivalrously, but then dismissed the idea. That might have been funny if Matt weren't gay, or a teammate. Matt turned to me, and said, in a voice I'm sure he felt sounded innocent, "you mind if we talk? You got some time?" "Sure. You don't mind?" I asked, turning to Dan. "Not in the least." "I had a really good time. Wonderful conversation, good game - though I'll beat you the next time." "I doubt it," he said, grinning asymmetrically, "I don't lose often." Rising and following Matt out the door, I was again left wondering if we had been talking about chess. As soon as we got into my room, Matt turned and draped his arms over my shoulders, leaning into my body. "So what did Adam have to say," I asked. "Same old same old," came the reply. "We talked about my floor routine."

"Did he mention me?"

"You? No. Why would he?"

"Nothing," I said, "no reason. He's just got me a little freaked. Let's talk about something else."

"Okay," Matt said, coming forehead to forehead with me, trusting my answer.

"I had a really fun time yesterday,"

"Me too, pup," I said.

"Wanna do it again?" he asked coyly.

I brought my arms around his waist and rested my hands on the shelf of his ass. "So that's what you wanted to talk about?" I asked, feigning surprise.

"Did you really like it yesterday?" he asked.

"Yeah, pup," I said, kissing him lightly on the lips. "It was fun."

"I'm glad," he said, "cause I really did too."

His lips met mine again, and opened. The sweetness was still there. He was all honey and fluff. His tongue yielded to mine, as I explored the inside of his mouth, tasting his flesh, his teeth, his breath. His hands, encircling my arms, came down to my ass. He pulled me forward, grinding our groins together. His dick was hard and proud, prominent despite the shorts that covered it. We kissed more deeply, and he ground me closer. One of his hands slid down to my thigh, which he pulled up so that my knee rested on his hip. I thought I would lose balance, but how could I? I was in the arms of a boy for whom keeping balance was as natural as breathing was to me. The spread of my legs rotated my hips, and pushed my dick higher than his. His root pressed into my ball sac, and I became aware of the sheer strength in this kid's arms. If he pulled me any closer, I'd be behind him. The hand that had raised my knee now found the flesh of my thigh, and, following it up under the hem of my shorts, began to knead and stroke the flesh of my ass-cheek. I broke the kiss, and, turning his face with my chin, attacked his ear, laving it, chewing lightly on the lobe, fluttering behind it with my tongue, sucking in the air millimeters above it to cool the skin where I had made it wet. He shivered - the correct response - and renewed his manual attack on my ass. I licked his sideburns, or rather, what in five years would be his sideburns. My tongue continued down his jaw-line in upward strokes, licking against the fine grain of his beard. "I really want to fuck you," he said, pulling away. "That could probably be arranged." "Good. I jerked off twice last night thinking about you." He let go of my leg, and led me by the hand into the bedroom. Coming to the bed, he turned and faced me again. I took the hem of his sweatshirt and raised it slowly over his head. He raised his arms, allowing me to strip him. I brought my hands to the satin skin of his chest, riding my fingers over the muscles there like ten miniature roller-coasters. Bringing my lips to his left nipple, I whispered, "I'm a lucky, lucky man," before clamping on to the sensitive, brown circle of bumpy flesh. I dabbed at it with my tongue, beginning my attack by tasting it. It was soap and sugar and gold leaf. His hands began a rhythmic stroking of the muscles on either side of my spine, reaching down to the small of my back before, fingers spread and each applying pressure, he pulled his hands back toward my shoulders, pulling me into him while massaging me. I pointed my tongue, and began a circular sweep around his aureole, trying to attain the roughness of a cat. Blood began to fill his nipple, making it harden as my tongue brushed past it. Finally ready to hit my target, I took the nub between my teeth, and gently chewed on it, applying a shiver to my jaw muscles. It made him jump, but he did not release his grip on me. With my teeth, I pulled his nipple away from his chest, bringing the skin along with it. He could take no more - his hands came to the sides of my head, and he pulled my face up to his. Again, my tongue was in his mouth as he created a vacuum around it, sucking it in, increasing the contact with his lips and cheeks. The undulations of his tongue pulled mine in farther, let it slide back, then pulled it in again. He was fucking his own mouth with my tongue, and it felt sublime. He broke the kiss again, and all but tore my shirt off of me. This time, his hug was skewed - one arm on my torso under mine, the other over my shoulder. I thought this was prelude to another kiss, but was wrong. It was a wrestling move. Gripping me firmly, he twisted my upper body, and we fell onto the bed. We jockeyed for position, rolling, grinding, first me on top, then him. Our legs intertwined, our skin sliding in fiery contact. Buttons were somehow undone, and zippers lowered. Our shorts left us as if they themselves were eager to be free. He was on top of me, now, and his second knee found a space to join his first between legs, forcing them apart. He raised himself to a kneel, and looked down on me. "I like you a lot," he said. "Good thing," I laughed. "It's so much nicer to know the guy who's about to fuck you blind actually likes you." "Do you like me?" "I think you're incredibly beautiful, and you're sweeter than sugar," I said. "I think you're beautiful too," he said, bringing his hands down to lightly stroke my chest. "And smart, and nice, and wonderful, and kind, and…" "Oh, shut up and fuck me, already!"

He laughed. He was wearing tighty-whities, and I grabbed his balls through the tight, smooth material. He filled the pouch so wonderfully. His dick pushed out the cloth above my hand, outlining itself starkly in white. He took my briefs and lowered them down off my waist, which I hiked up for him.

He then pulled them upward, while, my hips back on the bed, I raised my legs into a V before him. Off went the underwear. He stood, using my heels as support, and piking, lowered his own briefs. He straightened again, standing before me, resting my legs vertically against his, my feet at his hips.

"Can you support me?" he asked?

"I don't make that much money," I said, and he laughed.

"You're a goof," he said, and began to lean forward, pivoting on my heels. "Keep your knees locked."

He made sure the connections between heel and hip were secure, then brought his legs up off the bed, swinging to a layed-out horizontal position, flying, as it were, on my outstretched legs. I was supporting his full weight. While small, he was quite dense. Between my legs, his dick hung down fifteen degrees from his torso, its fullness and tensile strength fighting against the gravity. He put his arms out, testing his balance, then slowly spread his legs so that his body, resting on the two points of my heels, took on the shape of an X. His stomach tensed both to help maintain his balance, and the coplaniarity of his body. His abdominals tightened, elongated, and stood out in bas-relief all at once.

"Now competing in the Queer-Sexual-Olympics, Matt VanLuyken, of the United States," I called, imitating an amplified, announcer's voice. This made him laugh, which made him lose balance, which made my knees fold. He came tumbling down on top of me in a heap.

"You all right?" I asked. He was still laughing.

"Better than I can ever remember," he said, and we kissed again.

I broke the kiss and reached over to the night table while keeping as much contact with his body as was possible. Retrieving the lube, I threw it on the bed. Getting the picture, Matt returned to a kneeling position, and, in one quick move, hoisted my leg up over his body to his other side so that he was centered between my thighs.

"Whoa, there, partner," I warned as he threw my ankle about, "not all of us are so flexible."

"That's okay," he said, "I'm enough for the two of us. Gonna show you a little trick." He reached for the lube, and squirted some on his hand. He wet first my hole, entering it a little, and working the slickness into my skin. Then he added a liberal amount to his own dick, making it shiny. He was kneeling back on his heels, and rather than lean forward to aim his dick at my hole, he picked me up by the hips, pulled me down toward him, sliding me along the bed, and aimed my hole at his dick. Slowly and with great attention to my expression, he lowered me down onto himself. His head stretched my hole, and popped through with little resistance. Doug had stretched me out the day before, and I was still loose from his gentle, consuming onslaught. Matt's biceps flexed as he suspended my hips over his dick, slowly lowering me down, filling my chute with the wonderful feel of him. I was now fully impaled, resting on his thighs, enjoying his girth as it touched my favorite places.

"That's your trick?" I asked.

"Naw," he said, "that's not the trick. This is." In one move, he bent impossibly forward in two, arching his back out in a way that human beings aren't supposed to be able to bend. With one hand, he raised my dick off my abdomen, and, in one swift motion, deep throated me.

"Whoa!" I cried, aghast at the sensation, "that is some trick!" Lot's of guys had been able to give me a blow job of a sort while they fucked me in this position. No one, in my experience, had been able to fully deep throat me. My heels dug into the bed, and I began to raise and lower my hips, raising myself off of his dick and into his mouth, then falling, full force, from his mouth back onto his dick. Never had so much sensation come from just one guy - usually that kind of attention required a three way. With his hands, he reached up and began playing with my nipples, increasing to three the number of erogenous zones he was manipulating. I threw my head back into the pillow and shut my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me. I assayed to see how far I could lift off his hips without him withdrawing fully from me, which increased the pleasure for both of us as I plunged back down again. He began rising to my thrusts, coming up off his heels as I fell, shortening the time it took to skewer me, but doubling the force of the impact, and thus gaining those precious few extra millimeters of depth. The lube began to heat from the friction, and I could feel the ring of my muscles pull at the skin of his cock. Up and down, up and down, he met me blow for blow. And throughout, he blew. Only someone as skilled as a gymnast could coordinate all the movements he was pulling off at once: the up and down thrusts of his hips in opposition to mine, the tongue and lips working my dick as it rose into and fell from his throat, the coarse skin of his fingers playing my nipples like an instrument. I tried my hardest to open my eyes to watch the action that was playing out on me - the look of his shoulders as they hunched forward over my waist, the glimpses I got during the down thrusts of the concavity of his abdominals, my dick as it disappeared into his mouth, only to reappear, glistening, steely, ready to erupt -- but I could not. Each time I tried, my eyes would glaze over, and my lids flutter shut as the electric feel of his mouth and dick traded primacy in their service of me.

I don't know how long it lasted. Not long, I think. Doug's gracious hand job, and the quick and furious fuck I had thrown into Matt were my only releases of the week, other than self-inflicted ones. All too soon I was warning him that I was going to cum.

Matt took this news by redoubling his efforts, pushing his dick even harder into my ass, sucking with a renewed vigor, pulling on my nipples until they were sore almost, but not quite to the point of distraction. And I met his abandon with an enthusiasm of my own, grinding myself down onto him, trying to get him to touch that secret place that seemed to be always just out of reach. Our pace grew faster, faster, and faster still. My hamstrings strained at the work of gyrating my hips upon him. And then I felt it begin, almost from my toes. It was after a down thrust, with his dick firmly embedded in my ass that the first wave of the orgasm hit me. It doubled me up into a crunch, bringing my chest to the top of his head where I could hold it down on my dick, keeping the movable part of his tongue away from my sensitive cock head, lodged, as it was, deep in his gullet. My sphincter spasmed as the first overwhelming burst of pleasure coursed through me. That was what Matt needed, and with one final push of his already fully rooted dick, I felt him release into me, the jizm expanding his urethra in pulses as it flowed into my thirsty chute. Again and again. Soon, our spasms were coordinated, like the menstrual cycles of close women.

I shivered, causing him to shiver, causing me, again, to shiver. It was a cycle that lasted forever, until, completely spent, I collapsed back onto the bed in sublime relaxation.

It was only then that I came to wonder when was the last time that he had breathed. He had clamped down on my own cock when I had started to cum, and had stayed there, taking my seed completely down his throat as I was taking his completely up my ass. He had made no move to extract himself from either place, as greedy for my cum as I was for his. I pulled him off me, and held his face. Ah, the lungs of an athlete. Almost as much of a miracle as his flexibility. We looked into each other's eyes, still panting, still taken with the intensity of the orgasms. But before I could say anything, he began laughing hysterically.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"I'm sorry," he said, tears beginning to form in his eyes, "I always do this. I can't help it."

"It's not the most consoling thing, you know, after sex, for your partner to crack up."

After a while, his laughter subsided to giggles.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "I know. It's awful. It's just that…"

"What?"

"Well, it's so stupid, don't you think?"

I eased his softening dick out of my ass, and pulled him forward, lowering him onto me. Carelessly and easily stroking the smooth, damp skin on his back as he lay his weight on me, I asked, "what is?"

"The whole thing. Sex. I mean, who designed it? It's such a stupid thing to do."

I pulled his face up again, so that I could look into his eyes. They were innocence incarnate. I kissed his lips tenderly.

"Perhaps," I said, "but whoever did, did a pretty good job."