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Chapter 11: Explosion
The drive in Ryan's Jeep took only a few minutes -- only a few blocks from the surf shop. Actually, only a few streets down from my own. It surprised me to think that our chance encounter didn't happen in our little community, but rather at a beach way outside of town. Then again, I rarely went outside when I was at home -- only to go to school, only to drive somewhere. So it stood to reason we wouldn't run into each other after all.
The house we pulled up to wasn't anything magnificent. It was different from my own, but it didn't scream wealth or poverty either way. It seemed like your ordinary cookie-cutter middle-class two-story home, the kind people buy in the first few years of the job they know they're going to be at forever, the kind people buy after they've paid off their student loans and decide now's the time to start a family.
Maybe I was generalizing. That's something I did a lot, and, to his credit, Ryan never seemed to do much of. Or if he did, he didn't talk about it.
"Home sweet home," he said, leading me through the front door. The door entered into the living room, with the kitchen and dining room toward the back and the staircase leading up to the second floor off to the left. The furniture and decor looked like it had been hand-picked by an interior designer -- you can always tell, because everything matches. Unlike my house, where things are bought and paid for little by little as the days, months, years go by -- the couch doesn't match the rug or the walls or the knick-knacks on the shelves. Nothing matches -- an uncoordinated mess that would probably give any decorator an aneurysm.
I focused on that part maybe a bit longer than I should have. After spending several days with Ryan, it seemed like he'd be the one to act spontaneously in every aspect of life, and I'd be the one to overthink and plan things meticulously. But our living spaces, at least to me, seemed to reveal something very different: Ryan wasn't as spontaneous as he appeared. At least his parents weren't. There was some structure. And he felt okay with that. Me, on the other hand -- I would have much preferred the guided coordinated eye of an interior designer. But I've learned to live with what I've got -- after all, the choice belonged to my parents, not to me. I'm just along for the ride. For now.
"Something to drink?" he asked, breaking my concentration. We walked into the kitchen, and he pulled out two glasses from the cupboard.
"Anything is fine, thank you," I replied back.
Ryan pulled out two bottles of water and poured them in a glass of ice. I thought this was weird -- it's just water, why pour it in a glass? -- until I tasted it and realized it wasn't water. It had a bitter, fizzy taste to it. I must've made a face, because Ryan smiled and then he spoke up.
"Not a fan?"
"What is this?"
"Carbonated water," he said. "It's good for you."
"Is it?" I wasn't so sure.
"You don't have to drink it," Ryan said, extending a hand, an offer to take the glass back.
"No, no, it's fine," I said, my eyes averting his glance. "This is fine."
He leaned his back against the counter. "Seltzer water, if you're from the east coast."
"Oh really?" I asked.
He took a drink. "Well, yes and no. Ask anyone on the east coast what seltzer is, and they'll say it's more complicated than carbonated water."
"Oh."
"There's whole articles about the subject online. The differences between seltzer, mineral water, carbonated water..."
"I see," I said, interrupting him.
He continued after another drink: "Some people overthink things. Who cares what it's called? It's delicious."
I wasn't sure where this was going -- although I was slightly offended by the overthinking things comment, but maybe that's because I'd just spent several minutes overthinking the decor in his living room, comparing it to my own.
"Want to check out my room?" he said, changing the conversation.
"Sure," I said, assuming that's where things were headed anyway.
Glass in hand, he walked across the kitchen to the sliding glass door, opening it with a push to the side. He motioned for me to follow him. I stood there, initially, confused -- I assumed we'd be going up the stairs. Maybe he had a guest house or something in the back all to himself? I followed him to find the answer.
The first thing that caught my eye outside was the in-ground swimming pool. We didn't have one at home, but if we did, I'd probaly spend more time in it than on the computer or at the beach. Ryan probably felt different -- he had one, so he didn't see the need to use it all the time. I secretly hoped we'd find ourselves enjoying it someday.
The pool was surrounded by a well-manicured lawn. Off to the side, elevated on a separate foundation, was what I assumed was a hot tub. It was covered and didn't seem to have any water in it, but that was just a guess. There were other things outside too, but those were the ones that caught my eye.
Ryan walked around to the side of the house, and I followed in step. Immediately after rounding the corner, I understood why we needed to go around the house instead of through it -- off to the side was a descending staircase. Ryan's room was in the basement of the house.
He casually walked down the stairs, looking back to see if I'd follow. I grabbed the handrail clumsily, like I needed it to balance me, like I'd never walked down a set of stairs before. I realized in this moment that I was nervous, and at the same time excited, unsure where the moment was going, but ready for it nonetheless.
Ryan took a key from his pocket. "It's always locked when I'm away," he said as if he had to explain himself. I expected a dark, damp, grey room when I walked through the door. But what I found was different: A brightly-lit room with light-colored wood-paneled flooring and walls to match. All the things you'd expect to find in the room of a teenage guy were there -- a desk, a dresser, a bookshelf, a bed. A tall wooden wardrobe took the place of a closet.
I grabbed my phone out of my pocket to look at the time. No signal.
Ryan, seeing the look on my face, laughed. "You're not going to get a signal down here," he said. "Concrete walls."
"I know," I said, "I just thought..."
"The wooden walls are fake," he replied. "I mean, it's real wood and all. But there's concrete behind it, so you're not going to get a signal in here."
He sat down at the computer, jiggling the mouse to wake it up. "I can't even get Wi-Fi down here," he said. I walked up to the desk, standing next to him.
"How do you get online then?" I asked, remembering our conversation the night before.
He leaned over and pointed to a small box on the wall. "That," he said. "The old-fashioned way."
I maneuvered my head around to take a look. A thick, yellow cable ran from the back of the computer into a small plate on the wall.
"Ethernet out the back of the computer to the router upstairs," he said. I knew what he meant without the explanation.
"That works for you?" I asked.
"Kind of," he said. "It'd be nice if I could get wireless Internet down here, but this works fine for now."
He placed his fingers on the keyboard, hammering out a few letters to unlock the screen in front of him. A generic desktop appeared -- he'd never bothered to change even the default wallpaper, let alone personalize it any other way. It almost seemed like a brand-new computer.
"You could run Ethernet to a wireless router and make your own little hotspot for down here," I offered.
"Eh," he said, shrugging off my suggestion. "It's not worth it. This works fine for what I need. YouTube. Netflix." He paused for a moment. "Porn."
He turned to me with a smile. I nervously grinned.
He turned back to the computer. "If you stand near the window, you might get a signal, if you need to make a call or something." I looked across the room at the small-framed window near the ceiling. I crossed the room, my phone out, waiting for a bar to appear. When I reached the window, none did. I gave up, understanding now why Ryan added me as a friend online the day before -- it was more out of necessity.
"No luck," I said as I rejoined him at the desk, standing on his other side. He had a browser window open with several tabs open, his e-mail account in the active one. He scanned through several messages as I scanned his tabs -- a few YouTube videos waiting to be watched. A few porn sites he'd forgotten to close out of -- or maybe he just didn't mind that I could see them.
"Oh, oh!" he exlaimed. "Check this out!" He clicked open an e-mail, revealing something that looked like a newsletter. Except it wasn't a conventional newsletter -- it was just a series of links with images below them. Five images in all -- all showing completely undressed guys. Some solo shots, some couples -- or at least people I presumed to be couples. As Ryan scrolled through the photos, one caught my eye -- a picture of two guys making out on a bed, their bodies pressed together revealing their nude state but nothing more than that.
"Hot, huh?"
It was hot. Especially that picture. It revealed enough to know what was going on, but concealed enough to leave something to the imagination.
"Uh huh," was all I could muster out. I felt my dick growing in my pants, and wondered how long it would be until Ryan noticed. "What is this we're looking at?"
"Some guy's blog," Ryan responded, placing a hand on the front of his own shorts. "He posts a few photos every day, and then he has some plugin that blasts them out in an e-mail."
"That's cool," I said, still transfixed on the photo in front of me.
Ryan gave the front of his shorts a slight tug. "Mmm," he moaned. He looked up at me to find my face transfixed on his crotch. "You like what you see?"
I nodded. He moved his hand from his crotch to the front of my pants, lightly groping the bulge forming inside.
"I guess you do like," he said with a smile. I simply nodded. "Do you want...?"
He didn't need to finish to see that I did. He unbuttoned the top button and tugged my pants downward. They fell to my feet, my tenting boxers now exposed.
"Nice," he said quietly to himself. I smiled. "Thanks," I mustered out.
My dick was rock hard now, straining the fabric of my underwear. Ryan moved his hand back to my boxers, cupping my dick through the cotton, massaging it lightly. I let out a soft moan of approval, which he took as a sign he could go forward.
His fingers traced the outline of my fly, their tips finding their way inside. His hand plunged into my boxers and wrapped itself loosely around my rock hard shaft. "How's that feel?" he said as he slowly ran his fist up and down my shaft.
"Mmm, good," I replied. I closed my eyes, giving myself the opportunity to take in the sensation of Ryan's hand on my dick.
He pulled my dick through the fly of my boxers. It stood straight out in front of me, hard as ever. Ryan smiled. "So nice," he said in a low voice that neared a whisper.
"Thanks," I said again.
He leaned forward in his chair, his face creeping closer to my bobbing cock, his eyes transfixed on the shaft in front of him. He inspected my meat for a few seconds before taking the plunge.
The next thing I knew, his lips were cupping the head of my dick. His tongue slid slowly under the shaft of my cock as his lips traveled down to the base. He took it all in with one swoop. As slowly as he traveled down the base of my cock, his head moved back up. He repeated the motion several times, lubing up my dick with his saliva along the way until it was nicely coated, slick enough to continue.
He pulled his face away from my dick for just a moment, looking up at me. My eyes met his. "You like that?" he asked. And this time, he was whispering.
I couldn't speak. I only nodded. I felt my breathing become heavier as Ryan's face plunged itself back down my cock. His lips -- his strong mouth muscles -- locked firmly on my shaft. Yet it felt more like a kiss this time around than a massage.
I closed my eyes and threw my head back in agonizing pleasure. Instinctively, my hands made their way to the back of Ryan's head, and I played with his hair as his head continued to bob up and down on my dick. At one point, his lips loosened on my cock. He opend his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue, and ran the muscle up and down the shaft, licking my dick as if it were a popsicle on a hot day.
I didn't open my eyes. I couldn't. So much was going on. It was a lot to take in. Ryan's hand rubbed my dick for a moment before his face returned to my member. He continued his mouth massage, tasting every inch of my cock, my shaft enjoyin every second of this tongue ride.
"Oh fuck," I mumbled. I caught myself right before I said it, but I knew it'd come out anyway. "Oh fuck!" I said again, this time a little louder.
"Mmm," Ryan said. He pulled off my dick. "Yeah man, you love it."
"Mmhmm," I said, breathing harder, eyes still closed as Ryan returned to serving my cock.
No more than a few seconds later, I felt that familiar feeling in the base of my cock, sending a signal to my brain that I was approaching the point of no return. "Ryan, I'm..."
I didn't get to finish my sentence. I didn't need to. Ryan picked up the pace, understanding where this was going. I threw my head back again, moaning even harder now, my hands still fixated on the back of his head.
"Oh fuck," I said as my orgasm started. "Ohh fuck!"
Ryan plunged down on my cock, the tip of my dick nearly reaching into his throat. The first shot was small, a warning shot if you will of what was to come -- no pun intended. The next three shots -- I could feel they were strong. I could feel his throat muscles working overtime to swallow all of my seed.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I moaned in a whisper.
If Ryan's face wasn't buried on my dick, I knew he'd be smiling at the pleasure I was experiencing. In all, six shots entered his mouth. I'm not sure how much of my cum he swallowed, but it wasn't everything: As he looked up at me, I could see a smail trail of white jizz creeping out the corner of his mouth. His smiling mouth.
"How was that?" he asked me.
"That..was great..." I said, panting. "Amazing."
I opened my eyes, surprised at the sight in front of me. At some point, Ryan had unzipped his pants. released his cock and massaged it to the point of explosion. His limp dick nestled itself on his shorts, his foreskin pulled over the head. The aftermath of his cum blast covered the front of his shirt.
"Looks...looks like..." I was still panting, but Ryan knew what I was thinking.
"Hah, yeah," he said, looking down at his own shirt. "Couldn't help myself."
No problem, I thought to myself, but at the very least I wish I had seen it. Maybe even helped him out. A small wave of guilt crossed over me. Ryan had given me my first blowjob -- my first AMAZING blowjob -- and I'd just stood there, taking it, offering nothing in return.
Ryan pulled his shirt off, wiping the edge of his mouth clean with the sleeve of his tee. Any other time, and that'd probably cause a sensation in my pants. But first, my pants were on the ground. And second, my dick was having the opposite reaction. With my balls drained, it was deflating.
"Let's get cleaned up," Ryan said as I stuffed my member back into my boxers. "Well, I'm going to get cleaned up anyway," he said with a smile. "You don't have much to clean."
"Yeah," I giggled nerviously. I pulled my pants up, fastening the top button.
Ryan walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt. He tossed his cum-stained shirt in a basket, making it from across the room. Impressive, I thought. I'm sure he's had a lot of practice.
"Well," he said as he sat back down in his computer chair. "That was fun!"
"It was," I said in agreeance, my breathing finally returning to normal. "Thanks."
"Anytime squirt," he said with a grin. "You hungry?"
"Uh..." I said, thinking for a moment. "Are you?"
"Well, I probably would have been if you hadn't fed me just now," he said with a laugh.
"Yeah, how was that?" I asked.
Ryan looked at me. "You've never tasted...?"
I shook my head. "Not even your own?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders.
"It depends on what you've had to eat," he said. I gave him a skeptical look. "No, it really is!" he said, trying to convince me. "A lot of it is diet-based. If you eat a lot of fatty, starchy, salty foods, your jizz is going to be bitter."
"Well, how did mine taste?" I asked.
"I mean, I'm not a spunk connoisseur," he said, "but it tasted alright to me."
"Just alright?" I teased.
"The food you eat isn't bad," he said. "Probably eat a lot healthier than most people. But I'd expect nothing less from someone who likes salad."
I laughed. "That's true," I said.
"I don't do it for everyone," he said, turning his attention back to the computer screen. "Only on a special occasion."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean, I'll let someone bust in my mouth, or on my chest or wherever, but I don't always swallow."
"So what was the special occasion today?"
"Your first blowjob!" he exclaimed, fists pumped in the air, as if he was celebrating a major accomplishment. The sight made me laugh.
"In all seriousness," he continued, his right hand going back to the mouse, "Your jizz tastes fine."
"Good to know," I said.
"And, honestly," he said as the mouse navigated the screen in front of us, "it's great you're being so cool after your first blowjob. Most guys are like, ahh!"
He was right. I was being remarkably cool, given what we'd just done. I mean, he's had experience. Me, on the other hand...I was surprised my first reaction wasn't to head for the door.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess..."
He turned to look at me. I shrugged.
"I guess I feel comfortable around you."
He smiled. "Well, I'm really glad to hear that." He turned to the computer before adding: "Because it hopefully won't be the last time."
My stomach flittered at the sound of those words.
"Here, I want to show you something," he said. "One of my favorite porn sites."
"Sure," I said. I thought it was a little weird to pull up porn after the blowjob, but I wanted to see where he was going with this.
He typed into the address bar "Frathouse Fuckers." He pressed enter, and a splash screen appeared, warning us that we needed to be over 18 to continue. Were we? Ryan decided we were, clicking through the dropdown menus, choosing a fake birthday that put us somewhere around 40 years old.
"What is this?" I asked.
"One of my favorite websites," he said.
"What's it about?"
"These college guys who rent a house -- I think they're in Arizona or someplace like that -- and they throw wild parties and host orgies and stuff."
"Ah," I replied.
"But I like the one-on-one stuff. They have these auditions from time to time." He clicked around the site. "Those are the best, because they seem the realist."
"Is it real?"
Ryan shrugged. "Probably. I don't know. They claim to be a real frat from a real college." He paused for a moment. "Honestly, I'd love to go to college there, if this is what's in store for me."
We both laughed. Ryan moved the mouse to a button labeled "AUDITIONS." Scrolling halfway down the site, he stopped at a thumbnail of two guys -- one in a red shirt, the other in black -- sitting on a cream-colored couch that could have been anywhere.
"Here we go!" he said, clicking on the photo before I could get a good look at it. A dialogue box popped up asking for a username and password. Both fields were already filled in; Ryan simply hit "Enter." It went by too fast for me to see what his username was, but whatever it was, I was almost certain Ryan wasn't paying for legit access to this site. But I didn't queston it, and I tried not to overthink it either.
"Watch this," he said as he leaned back in his chair, waiting for the video to start. "This is one of my absolute favorite blowjob scenes. One of the guys kind of looks like you too!"
The video started with a title screen: "FRATHOUSE FUCKERS PRESENTS: Paden and James." It dissolved into a warning that the video was for people over the age of 18, with the boilerplate disclaimer that everyone who appeared in it gave their consent and was a legal adult when the film was shot.
A few seconds later, a picture came into focus: A young man wearing a black shirt and black basketball shorts sat on the couch in front of the camera, his partner from the thumbnail noticeably absent.
"What's going on Paden?" asked a voice from behind the camera. Paden smiled, "What's going on?" he responded.
"Just waiting on your friend to get here," the cameraman said as Paden looked directly into the lens, staring back at his invisible audience.
"I know," Paden said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know what's up with him, he's always late!"
"You excited for this scene?" the cameraman asked. "One of your first blowjob scenes, huh?"
"I'm more of an orgy guy," Paden replied. "But yeah. Hoping he gets here soon, or it'll be a solo scene!"
The cameraguy laughed. "So how did we get to this point? Tell us the story, where'd you meet your friend?"
"Internet," Paden said. "We've been chatting back and forth a few months now."
"And he thought he'd stop by while he's in town?"
"Yeah, he always brags about his dick-sucking skills so I thought, I gotta see this in action."
"Does he know we're filming today?"
"Yeah, he's totally down, but if he doesn't get here soon..." Paden grabbed his crotch. Ryan looked over at me to see if I was watching. I was. "...we're going to have to take care of this."
"Plan B!" the cameraguy said. The doorbell rang. "Soundslike your friend!"
"About fucking time!" Paden said as he got up off the couch. The camera followed him to the door.
"Here it comes!" Ryan said. "Check this guy out! I swear he looks kind of like you."
I watched in anticipation. Clearly whoever was behind the door tickled Ryan's fancy. On screen, the door opened. "What's up buddy?" Paden said.
"What's up?" the guy in the red shirt asked from off-camera, the microphone barely picking up his words. His voice sounded a little familar, but I couldn't place it.
"About time you got here! Come on in."
The video faded to black before fading back in, both young men now seated on the cream-colored couch.
"I'm James," said the guy in the red shirt, a broad smile spread across his face. For the first time, his face and his voice were in full focus, the camera professionally trained on both.
"Oh my God," I said, my hand cupping my mouth in shock as I listened more to what the man on the monitor had to say. My eyes were glued to the screen in front of me. My heart sank into my stomach as James continued his introduction. I disagreed with Ryan -- I didn't think he looked anything like me, at least I didn't see it -- but I did recognized the tone of his words, and his face was unmistakable.
It was Dan.
That's it for Chapter 11! Sorry it took me so long to get this out -- I had a few life events happen over the last several weeks that kept me away from the keyboard. Hopefully this story -- and its cliffhanger -- make up for it. As always, I'd love to read your thoughts on this story: Shoot me an e-mail at cullen.dyer@gmail.com. And as always, please support the Nifty Archive!