MATT

By Danny Nalgene

Published on Mar 19, 1998

Gay

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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.

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