A week passed. Carlos and Gorilla texted each other every single night. Gorilla and his wheels traversed the east of the country, while Carlos summoned up the courage to make the treacherous journey all the way from his bed to his desk at the office and then back again.
Carlos teased his supervisor at every available opportunity. He was absolutely merciless. He leaned across desks, showing off his tight ass to his boss before looking back over his shoulder and winking. He stood up and adjusted his balls for absolutely no reason in the middle of meetings, while looking directly at his supervisor. Whenever he caught his boss leering at him, he poked his tongue in his cheek and made the blowjob sign, suggestively raising his eyebrows. While he knew the modest amount of money he made at work would help his band, he had absolutely no interest in his job.
He left at 5 o'clock each afternoon and travelled home. He quietly played his acoustic guitar on his apartment balcony by night, a six-pack by his side, thinking about the open road and the men who traversed them. He was probably annoying his neighbours with his guitar, but he didn't care. On warmer nights, he played nude -- none of his neighbours would ever have known.
He always woke up the next morning to go to the office again: lather, rinse and repeat.
He'd printed off a map of the continental United States which he'd pinned to a wall in his apartment. He used it to track Gorilla's location as he travelled around the nation, waiting for his truck to turn back towards Atlanta.
Band practice on Wednesday night was amazing. For Carlos, it was a total release of everything -- drilling the songs that were already in their set, experimenting with new tunes and making the good ones better, drinking beers, and feeling their collective noise pummelling their rib cages.
There's something about being in a band that's just indescribable, and right now, Carlos felt it.
The other thing he wanted to feel was a fat cock in his ass, but that'd have to wait.
At a break halfway through rehearsal, the drummer approached Carlos. "Hey, man," he said. The other two band members were chatting outside.
"Hey, Pete, how's things?"
"Good," said Pete.
There was an awkward silence. Pete had always lusted after Carlos, and when Carlos came offstage horny as fuck after a show, it was usually Pete's mouth that got him off before he went off in search of prey. And for Pete, one of the best things about being the drummer in Ass To Mouth was being able to spend an hour watching Carlos's pert, tight ass as it swayed in front of him.
"You went away?" Pete asked. For as long as Pete had known him, Carlos had never had a boyfriend. He would've loved to share a bed with Carlos, but he'd already learned he wasn't Carlos's type. He was satisfied with blowing him after their gigs, and sometimes at rehearsal. He hoped this arrangement would never change, but he feared it might -- especially if Carlos landed a steady man one day.
Carlos focused on Pete's shoulder-length red hair and his Irish freckles. Those freckles were so goddamn cute. He loved cumming on Pete's face after a show, playing connect-the-dots with his load. 'Cute' is always nice, but cuteness wasn't an attribute Carlos was looking for. There was absolutely nothing 'cute' about Gorilla, yet Carlos felt inexplicably drawn to him. Having said all that, he knew from long experience that Pete had an expert mouth.
"Yeah," Carlos replied, "I was out of town, but just for a night or two. I know it meant we cancelled band practice one night, so I'm sorry about that."
"I missed you," said Pete, licking his lips.
Carlos's noticed how wet and inviting Pete's juicy mouth was. He catapulted across the minefield of meaningless verbal bullshit by unzipping his jeans and flopping out his cock. He sat down on Pete's drum stool. "Yeah, I know exactly what you missed, dude. I know what you want. Come get it." Pete was on his knees in a matter of seconds, his fat lips wrapped around Carlos's rapidly stiffening dick.
Carlos sighed as his cock stiffened further. "Fuck, I love feeling your hot mouth on my dick, Pete. Chupa mi pene."
"Fuck, so good," Pete moaned, his tongue teasing Carlos's sensitive head. 'If only it could be like this forever,' Pete thought to himself. 'I know he doesn't want me as a boyfriend, but I'll take his cock down my throat for as long as he'll let me.'
Carlos looked down at Pete's skull as it pistoned back and forth. Pete's head game was A-1, and his wet mouth and eager tongue was about to send Carlos over the edge. "I'm 'bout to cum," Carlos declared.
The door to the rehearsal room opened. Their two other band members walked in just as Carlos unleashed his sticky goo into Pete's mouth. It wasn't anything the others hadn't seen before.
Carlos zipped up and picked up his guitar. Pete swallowed, stood up, and picked up his sticks. "We ready to play some more?" he asked his bandmates, sitting down on his drum stool.
"You don't want to rinse first?" joked the bass player.
Pete shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." He prepared to count the band into a new song. Seconds later, the rehearsal room shook with the sound of unholy metal. Pete tasted Carlos's sperm in his mouth as he rocked out.
An hour later, they'd packed up and they were ready for a post-rehearsal beer. Carlos joined his bandmates, but he maintained some mental distance from them -- he wasn't ready for the conversation he suspected Pete wanted to have with him. He downed two or three beers with his bandmates before taking his leave. "Got work tomorrow," he said.
He walked home, showered, dried his sexy mane, and texted Gorilla.
Carlos: hey sxy where r u 2nite and when r u coming back
Gorilla: u wouldn't believe me if I told u
Carlos: come on tell me
Gorilla: i'm in dc
Carlos: don't get caught in a riot you might get your ass subpoenaed
Gorilla: this place is batshit crazy i can't wait to get out of here
Carlos: you headed back this way soon big guy
Gorilla: yeah should be in ATL just after the weekend maybe tuesday next week
Carlos: FUCK YEAH
Gorilla: how was band practice tonite
Carlos: good, the drummer still likes me
Gorilla: he suck you off?
Carlos: yeah man gave him a sweet load of babies to swallow
Gorilla: hot
Carlos: he loves my dick
Gorilla: he's not the only one
There were a few moments of silence. Carlos noticed the time. He didn't want to keep Gorilla up too late, he assumed he'd have an early start in the morning.
Carlos: i better let you get to sleep, i imagine you've got another long day at the wheel 2mrw
Gorilla: yeah that's how it goes, text you tomorrow nite
They slept peacefully.
*
Carlos went to work on Thursday morning, determined to deep-fry his boss's brain. He wore a ripped t-shirt that was one size too small and left one of his nipples exposed to the world, a pair of denim shorts deliberately buttoned tight and low to showcase the top of his briefs, and the sexy thigh-high fuck-me boots he often wore on-stage. He was curious to see what might happen. His job was as boring as fuck; he needed a little fun right now, and if things turned sour, he didn't really care about the consequences.
He arrived at his building and purchased an Americano coffee from the café on the ground floor. He swiped his pass and caught the elevator to the ninth floor. He stepped out onto the floor, found his desk, fired up his PC, and took the lid off his coffee.
He'd barely sat down before his boss arrived at his desk to complain about the reports Carlos had left on his desk the night before.
"Morning, Carlos," said his supervisor, noticing his employee's unacceptable work attire.
"Hey, boss." Carlos took a sip of his morning joe. He pointed towards the cup. "Good coffee, boss. An Americano. You know what they call this type of coffee in Australia?"
His boss shrugged. He had more important things to discuss right now than coffee nomenclature.
"They don't call this an Americano down under, boss. They call it a long black, dude."
His boss was perplexed. "I'm here to talk to you about the reports you left on my desk last night. Why are you talking to me about coffee?"
Something inside Carlos snapped. "Because I know what you want." His face was a lusty, domineering scowl.
His supervisor began to blush. He looked at Carlos's exposed nipple. He realised how badly he wanted to feel it between his fingers and on his tongue, making it hard. He looked at Carlos's sexy neck, and he couldn't deny how desperately he wanted to kiss it and suck on it.
"I don't have a long black, but I've got a fat brown." Carlos stood up. "You want my fat fucking brown, don't you?" Carlos grabbed his crotch. The outline of his penis was plain for all to see. He put a hand inside his waistband and slowly began to stroke it.
Carlos's colleagues stopped typing. Phone calls ended abruptly. His boss had no idea what to say or do in response, but his silence was incriminating. He already knew his corporate reputation had been destroyed.
All Carlos's boss wanted to do was to take him to the bathroom and get on his knees. He'd always fantasised about sucking Carlos's beautiful Mexican dick until it exploded in his mouth, but his fantasy unravelled on the office floor. "Come suck on this, boss," said Carlos, unzipping his pants. His juicy cock flopped out. "I know you want it, man."
Everyone in the office had stood up to see what was happening. The office ground to a halt. All work had stopped. A heavy silence fell. His boss hesitated.
"Come on, dude. Come suck my fat brown cock." Carlos began stroking it, and his shaft stiffened further in his palm. "You want it, I know you do. Everyone on this floor already knows you want me, boss. It's no secret. So come on. Come get me. You can have me."
His boss gazed at Carlos's beautiful, thick penis. He drooled, wanting nothing more right now than to feel it on his tongue, filling his mouth. But not like this, and not here. And definitely not in front of his colleagues.
As Carlos watched his supervisor turn on his heels and exit the floor in extreme embarrassment and shame, he already knew he was gonna be fired. He didn't care. He zipped up and he returned to his tasks as if it was a regular work day. Everyone else settled back down to their own work, but Carlos expected to be frogmarched out of the building well before lunch.
And that's exactly what happened. Someone from security arrived at his desk around 11am. He asked Carlos to log off and shut his computer down, then he took his ID pass away and escorted him down to the lobby.
Carlos spent his unemployed afternoon lying in a park, face up, catching some rays. He had a small amount of accumulated savings, perhaps enough to keep himself from eviction for three or four months if he lived like a monk, but he knew he'd need to tap a new source of income soon. For now, those worries could wait.
The warm sun shone down. Carlos's beautiful face tilted up to meet the light, and he slept on the grass.
He woke up around 5pm. If he still had a job, it would've been time to head home. There was only one snag -- he didn't have a job anymore.
He bought some takeout for dinner on the way home. There was beer in the fridge. He wondered where Gorilla was.
*
