On Archimedes Street (25 page)

“O’en yeh oiz. Loo ah me,” he said, his nose to Flip’s nose. Then he caught Flip’s gaze and opened his mouth to show Flip the semen pooled there. A little dripped onto Flip’s neck. Then he closed his mouth and swallowed. The huge Adam’s apple bobbed as he did.

“
Now
do I look gay?”

A boneless Flip slapped limply at the bigger man.

“Fuck. Just shut up, asshole.” He dabbed ineffectually at his neck with a corner of the sheet. Then he circled his arms around Dutch and shivered a little. Soon he was dozing.

But not Dutch! He ambled naked into the kitchen, where he quickly dispatched the rest of the Gorgonzola on a loaf of the crispy french bread the LaNasa woman obtained from the Vietnamese bakery. A true gourmand, Dutch marveled at its airiness. After he tore it, he could see the wisps of bread clinging to the crust and all the air pockets in the dough. He belched with satisfaction. As he was spreading the last of the soft cheese on the capichon, the butt end, Flip entered the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb.

“That was pretty hot.”

“Maybe.”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get you off too.”

“Hmm.”

“It was just so intense for me. But maybe I could, now.”

“You don’t fool me for a second, Pencil Penis.” Dutch tossed the last bite of bread and cheese into his mouth nonchalantly. “You just want a shot at my bodacious bootie, so rock-hard and manly. And all this under the thinly veiled ruse of wanting to get
me
off. Haw.” Dutch stood, turned to face away from Flip, and clenched his gluteus muscles, then looked over his shoulder at Flip and smirked. “Well, have at it, cowboy. See if you can make it good for me too, but what with the pencil equipment and all….”

Flip thought it a pretty impressive sight—the broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist, and below… well, below. Those tree-trunk thighs circled around his lower back? His dick sunk into the marble of that butt? What would it feel like? The “pencil” remark he just ignored. He might not be as long and thick as Dutch, but he was plenty big enough. Flip had showered in enough gym classes to know he was above average—way above. And hadn’t Dutch choked on it?

“It
was
part of the deal.”

“Verily, verily, you little pissant. Just let me clean up a second.”

“Clean up?”

“Well, I take it you won’t appreciate Gorgonzola breath, for one thing. And for another—well let’s just say I want to be kissing sweet.”

“You’d let me kiss you?”

“Well, there are
parts
of me I’d let you kiss. No kissee, no fuckee. Haw! Haw! Haw!”

As Dutch sloshed and wallowed in the tub and did God knows what else in the bathroom, Flip turned over “no kissee, no fuckee” in his head. How should he play this? It was something he’d fantasized about, going beyond Dutch’s balls, beyond the taint, licking and tonguing there, using his own saliva to ease his way in. He lay back on the bed. His cock was responsive to the idea. It nestled into the gold fuzz on his belly, leaking already.

Dutch sauntered in insolently, fresh from his ablutions. “Whoa, Pencil! No foreplay needed, eh? Just the thought of possessing my pulchritudinous bottom, and you’re creaming yourself. I guess this will be quick.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

Dutch hopped onto the mattress, making it bounce. “How do you want me? What position will provide for maximum pencil penetration?”

“You really know how to set the mood, Dutch. All right. If that’s the way you want it. On your hands and knees, like a dog!”

Dutch scampered up on all fours. “Yeah.
Talk
that talk!”

But Flip didn’t talk. He ran his palms reverently over Dutch’s lower back, his glutes, his balls. He let one finger feather over the cleft, barely brushing the furled entrance. Then he knelt behind Dutch and started to blow gently across the balls, across the cleft. He brought the tip of his tongue to the sensitive patch of skin behind them.

Dutch tensed and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, I was joking, Flabbott. About the no kissee no fuckee thing. You don’t have to—”

Flip just looked Dutch in the eye and said, “Oh, yes I do.”

Dutch was taken aback. This was something he had no intention of reciprocating. “Well, then….” Then he snorted. “It
is
the area most abundantly endowed with apocrine glands, after all. You can’t resist the temptation of burying your nose up in there, eh? Haw-haw.”

“Just. Shut. Up. And feel.”

Dutch dropped his forearms and brought his forehead to the mattress. It seemed he was sticking his ass up and out, offering it. Flip was glad to take Dutch up on this offer. He started at the lower back and licked his way just up to the entrance. Then he mouthed the balls a bit and finally went back to the taint. Dutch was making low humming sounds. Finally he brought the flat of his tongue over the knot of muscle and lapped, applying pressure.

“Yeah! Lick that hole! Tongue-fuck it!”

Which Flip now did, curling his tongue to a point and inserting it over and over again. Dutch squirmed and pushed his ass back into it. The clear slick was dripping from Flip in thin strands. And from Dutch’s too, as he found out when he reached under the balls and between the spread thighs. He circled his thumb over Dutch’s glans as he speared him with his tongue.

“Oh, yeaaaahhh.”

Dutch seemed to be opening under this lingual onslaught. And Flip realized he couldn’t wait much longer to enter. The apocrine scent, though faint, was aphrodisiacal, and he felt he could come from the sounds and scent alone.

That he definitely did not want to do. So he fumbled for the lube and smeared it over himself and Dutch liberally.

“Fuck! Cold!”

“Sorry.”

He looked to verify position as he angled himself for entry. He did not want to mess this up with clumsiness. He slid in slowly, an eighth of an inch, a quarter, a half. This was silk, velvet, glycerin. And warm, so warm. Flip hissed in appreciation.

“Fuck! Take it out! Take it out!” Dutch shouted. He bucked to throw Flip off.

“What?”

Even with Flip out of him, Dutch was clutching the sheets, face twisted in pain.

“Cheese and rice! That hurt like hell!” Dutch had a pinched, panicked look on his face.

“It hurts a little when you first do it, but you’ll see, it soon feels good enough.”

“So I always thought. But shit! That was excruciating. Not a burn, not a stretch. Like nothing I’ve ever felt. Like a knife!”

Flip was beginning to feel annoyed. When Dutch had first taken him, he hadn’t prepared Flip nearly as well. And sure, it stung a little, but not so much as to merit the big production Dutch was making out of it. Then the thought crossed Flip’s mind that Dutch was faking it, to get out of being fucked. Yeah, considering this was Dutch, that sounded about right.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll take it slower.” Flip tried to think back to when Dutch had first fucked him. What had Dutch done? What had
he
done? He stroked Dutch’s back softly, patting, settling. Then he let a finger trail over the cleft, over the opening. Maybe he should open him up with a finger first?

“I’m going to get you ready with some lube and my finger. Okay? You’ll see. Really, Dutch, it feels
so
good.”

“’Kay,” Dutch mumbled into the pillow. He didn’t sound persuaded. “Wait. Go get your briefs.”

I may as well humor him
, he said to himself. Did he want to see Flip’s dick sticking out of his briefs while he fucked him? Actually, once he’d blown Dutch while he still had his pants and underwear on, with only his dick sticking out, and it had been pretty hot. Flip rose and went to the bureau.

“Your
used
underwear, imbecile.”

“You want to smell my drawers?” Flip was blown away.

Dutch gave him
the look
. The look that spoke disdain, contempt, and disbelief rolled up together. He’d been getting
the look
since day one.

“You have apocrine glands too, retard. Maybe it’ll get me in the mood, like it gets you in the mood and makes you beg for my pecker.”

Totally stoked, Flip ran to the bathroom hamper. Fortunately, Beatrice and her pink laundry van weren’t due until tomorrow. He fished out briefs, socks, Tees, and sped back.

“Here, use these as a pillow.” Dutch lifted his head and let Flip fluff up the redolent faux pillow. Dutch let his head sink down onto it without comment.

Dutch tensed at the first generously lubed finger but otherwise didn’t complain. At the second, he broke out in a sweat. He started shivering, and his skin was cold and clammy. Flip began to get worried.

“Maybe this is not such a good idea.”

“It’s okay. Getting used to it.” He could feel Dutch relax against his fingers.

“Dutch, I’m a lot thicker than two fingers.”

“Pencil,” said Dutch, but without much conviction.

After about five minutes of prep, Flip decided to try again. “Ready? I’ll go slow.”

Dutch didn’t speak, but buried his nose directly into the crotch of one of the briefs. He nodded in assent.

Eighth of an inch. Wait. Wait. So hard to wait. Fourth of an inch. Still. Stay still. Half an inch. Then shuddering and a moan of pain. Dutch was covered in a cold sweat.

“Bear down! Bear down on it, like you’re gonna squeeze me out of it.”

As counterintuitive as this advice struck him, Dutch complied. And then, a wonder. The pain receded slowly. Dutch relaxed a little. “Go on,” he said tentatively.

Flip could sense that something had given and began a torturously slow entry, moving a half an inch at a time. Then he remembered something Dutch did that was especially pleasurable. Flip did it now. He moved his hips in a circle during each half inch of headway, advancing slowly. When Flip’s pecker was halfway in, Dutch began to circle his own hips onto the advancing dick. It was then Flip knew he was in like Flynn, and he seated himself in one last languid thrust, then stilled, letting Dutch grow accustomed.

“Pfft. What did I tell you? A pencil.”

At this, Flip drew out an inch and plunged in with a sharp jab. Dutch startled. “I’ll show you pencil!”

Bingo! Prostate! “Oh, shit! Oh, yeah! Oh fuck! Keep nailing it in just that spot!”

Flip was more than willing to oblige. He calculated the prostate-poking angle, drew out, and then plunged in again. “Oh, God, feels so good, Dutch.” He withdrew a little bit more each time until pretty soon, he was taking it almost all the way out before sliding in again. Then suddenly there was Dutch, pushing back onto Flip, making sure his gland got nailed.

“Yeah!
Pork
that hole, Flabbott!” Flip realized then that Dutch just
really
liked dirty talk. It wasn’t about humiliation at all. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he became even more turned-on. His dick felt on fire and in ice at the same time. Smooth, so smooth and tight.

Flip increased the pace, and Dutch scooched up and moved a pillow beneath him to position his ass for maximum pleasure.

“Talk dirty to me. Call me something dirty.”

Flipped stopped for a moment. “Like what?”

“Aw, for crying out loud!
I
don’t know. It won’t work if the words have to come out of
my
mouth.”

Flip’s mind was a buzzing beehive. The words in his head?
I never dreamed it could be this good. You feel so incredible. Thank you for letting me, Dutch. Oh, fuck. I can’t believe you’re really gay. Do you know how beautiful you are? Yeah—well, I guess you do. You’re so much smarter. You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger. When you sniffed my shorts, do you know what that did to me? Can’t you see I’m in love with you, you fucking asshole!
Those wouldn’t do.

Instead, he said, on the downswing, “Take that dick!”

“Dirtier,” grunted Dutch.

On the upswing, he thought about what dirtier thing he could say, but his mind was filled only with his own pleasure.

So, on the downswing he said, “Take that dirty dick!”

Dutch froze. He waited a beat. “Oh, Flabbott, I mean, Pencil—you are a caution!” Then he got up on all fours and began to snicker.

“Quoth I, ‘Talk dirty.’

“Quoth he, ‘Take that dick.’

“Quoth I, ‘Dirtier.’

“Quoth he, ‘Take that
dirty
dick!’” All the while, Flip was still seated to the hilt.

And then Dutch dissolved into hiccupped haws and shrieked hees, pounding a fist into the mattress in a fit of hilarity. “Dirtier. Take that
dirty
dick! Haw! Haw!
Haw
!” The spasms of laughter squeezed Flip’s penis out of his ass.

“You’re just trying to get out of this.”

“Not at all, Sancho. Just give me a sec to recover.” Still laughing, Dutch turned onto his back. Flip fingered himself with one hand and Dutch’s hole with the other, feeling for the prostate and massaging it, trying to get Dutch in the mood again. The prostate massage finally quailed the haws. “Yeah, that. There. Gimme that pencil. But I wanna see your face when you shoot. And I wanna shoot at the same time.” Dutch lost the ten-cent words when they had sex, Flip noticed. He grabbed Flip by the neck. “You get that, Pencil? At the same time! We’re gonna shoot, as Elwood would say, ‘togedder’!” And then he snickered again. “Take that
dirty
dick! Haw!”

“I’m no pencil!”

“C’mon, Pencil. Give me that pencil! Look at my big member. It’s leaking for a
dirty
pencil just like you. Haw.”

After so many interruptions, Flip swore he would carry this out to its conclusion while trying to make it good for Dutch. He seemed to be succeeding. He used long, languid strokes. Every fourth or fifth one, he would seat himself fully and withdraw just a bit, giving short, fast jabs—knock, knock, knock!—right on the gland. When Dutch started in on his bicycle chant, Flip knew Dutch was flying in pleasure and that his dick was home. He joined in contrapuntally.

“Uhm uhm
bwah
, uhm uhm
bwah
, umh uhm
bwah bwah
.”

“
Da
-wum
da
-wum
da
-wum
dah
.
Da
-wum
da
-wum
da
-wum
dah
.”