My Best Friend the Faggot

"Fuck me," she moaned. Her hands clutching the side of her face as closed eyelids took her to worlds beyond. A glistening of my spit on the side of her mouth. I sank deeper into her, grabbing her bouncing tits like a steering wheel, pressing them to keep myself in balance as my lower body plowed her senseless. The soft lips sucked my dick as it drilled her sobbing hole. God, I loved fucking a bitch. I didn't even know her name, but just the feeling of a soft, woman's body at the mercy of my strength and lust got me to the edge. I didn't even know how but I increased my speed and her words drifted into a loud moan. One of my hands left her boob and smothered her mouth. No need to wake the guests.

"Fuck damnit, shit," I screamed. Screw the guests. I unloaded into her and couldn't help but grunting as my entire body fell into an epilepsy of pleasure. I let myself fall onto her as if she were a pillow and sighed exhausted into her hair.

"Hmm, well done boy," she grinned, her legs stroking the side of my ass. She laughed, pushed me off of her and walked to the bathroom. I stared at the beige ceiling of the hotel I worked at and wondered how I found myself here again. I couldn't deal with the consequential existential spiral so I jumped up, wiped the remaining juice and cum off my dick and slid into my work outfit. I was, after all, only her roomservice. Perks of the job is when you truly get to service guests. I heard a shower which was all the tip I could expect. I buttoned my shirt, fixed my hair as much as it let me and closed the door behind me.

**

"I swear she was so wet, it's a miracle I didn't trip!" I laughed and smoked and drank. The shift was over and it was time to brag to my gullible interns who couldn't fathom doing what was now pretty much part of my job. I had worked at this hotel for over five years now and had mastered spotting the look of depravity from women of all ages and nationalities, hungry for a young hard dick. They would learn too, soon enough. I wanted to continue my humble brag but I could feel his disapproval from across the room. There he was, my best friend Marc, goofy looking and awkward as always. Drinking water instead of beer, sitting as far away from us as custom would allow. Staring at his phone.

"Bet you wonder how that feels huh, to be a man, Markie Mark?" I joked. The interns laughed loudly, their volumes racing for my approval as they distanced themselves from him.

"What? You don't like to hear how women long for my dick? You jealous?" The interns screamed, pissing themselves.

Marc only looked up, stared at me with that look that pierced my soul, knowing full well what the two of us had shared. For a brief second I was afraid he would tell. He must've seen me sweating because he returned to his phone with a renewed confidence. It made me angry. I felt the stares of the interns, breathlessly awaiting my next move. I jumped up.

"What? You too faggy to enjoy my stories?" I walked over to him, my beer in my hand, my shoulders broad as if that would intimidate him. What was I doing? He didn't look up.

I slapped him.

"Hey, I asked you a question, damn queer!" The interns laughed. God, this felt good. His silence made me even more angry. Was he gonna tell? Why couldn't he just play along? Why did he have to be so fucking weak. I slapped the back of his head. Hard.

"Bet you wanna suck my dick huh? Bet you never tasted pussy before. Freak! You wish you were a man like me." I spit at him but it landed on the table. The interns laughed uncontrollably. I sipped my beer and walked away.

"I never want to be like you". The room fell silent. He had stood up and looked at me. There was no fear in his eyes, but he was welling up. I hurt him, damnit. Why did I have to hurt him. How could he be so vulnerable when everybody was looking. He stared me with betrayal and pain and all I wanted to do was beg his forgiveness. Hug him and remind him that we were best friends. We had shared years of loud guests, messy rooms and annoying feasts here in the hotel. We survived together. My deadbeat dad, his dead mom, my college drop out, his graduation to a job market that didn't want him, we survived, together. Why couldn't he see that? Why did he have to ruin everything by being this pathetic, open wound?

I put my beer down so hard I wondered why it didn't shatter. I walked over to him and every instinct in my soul urged me to make-out with him. To tell the world we were one soul, one heart. To relive that magical night in the fancy hotel looking over our ordinary lives of getting drunk and fucking girls, and creating a brand new experience of sex, love, friendship and cum. That's what I wanted to do. But instead I watched as my fists spattered with his blood. As his face dropped to the floor. As my feet kicked his fat body. As the jeers turned to gasps. I picked up my bottle again, emptied it and walked out.

**

The beat of the jazz band bounced through my blood. Something was stirring in me. Middle-aged folk in fancy clothes swung on the dance floor and my colleagues seamlessly slid through them with cocktails and finger food. It was a wedding and that meant an all nighter. My eyes scanned the guests looking for a piece of meat I could unload in. It had been a week since my steamy hook-up in the hotel room and my balls were itching. I flipped a couple of bottles to much delight of elderly women awaiting brandy and wine from their ever charming favourite bartender. I obliged. Perhaps I'd go classic tonight. Whilst picking which shrivelled steak I'd indulge for a quick hit, I saw Marcs ass skipping about through the room on the fast paced beat.

God his pants fit tight. Blood filled my dick faster than I could poor a drink and the warmth of my pole reached my inner thigh. Marcs ass had that effect on people. As he passed along I could see several stares of married men follow his round bottom across the floor. Marcs girly behind didn't require a sexuality. From the most masculine popstars to the girliest gays, Marc flirted with any and all. Of course, he never slept with them. Not during the job anyway. I knew whom he wanted. The elderly women offered me tips and I snatched them without my usual crooked smile. I had to see Marc. I had to signal to the hungry beasts hunting him that he was taken. He was mine. The song reached its coda and Marc was no where to be found. My pants shrunk.

By the time the new song started I had entered the kitchen. My head clear again. What the fuck was I doing.

"You don't look so good man," one of my fellow waiters joked as they returned to the dance floor. No shit. I was fretting over who got my best friends ass when I didn't even want him. I wanted pussy. Old, young, I didn't care, as long as it was a attached to a moaning bitch with bouncing tits. I hit myself in my face. Yes, women was what I wanted. And Marc only distracted me because his behind looked like one. I couldn't help myself. Suddenly I heard crates move. I looked around but no one was there. A screech. Definitely crates moving.

I walked towards the cellar. It was a huge cabin built in the corner of the kitchen to store food or drinks cool for big parties like this, because the regular pantry was too far away. I opened its door but didn't see anything. I wanted to walk out but in the corner something moved. I jumped at the sight of the best man leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. I shoved some crates aside and found Marc on his knees with a big, fat cock in his mouth.

"What the fuck!" the tuxedo proclaimed. I stared at the sight of my queer best friend with a dick on his lips and it drove me wild. I repressed any urge to kiss him, fuck him, suck that dick with him. Fuck no, this is disgusting. The suit shoved his dick inside his pants and stumbled out, looking at me terrified. I wondered why until I realised my face had darkened into fight mode. While he escaped my deadly stare, Marc got up.

"You've come to beat me up. Or are you jealous?" He said, with a feisty sarcasm I wasn't used to. This was Marc, my quiet, loyal friend, who was there for me always. Yet, after my lashing out last week we hadn't spoken. It helped our schedules didn't intertwine this week. And yet here he was, defiant and unafraid. It angered me. It angered me that the taste of another man's cock was probably still on his tongue. That my fists were still raw from out last encounter and yet I hadn't made a dent in his power over me.

"What the fuck are you doing here, with some drunk guest?" I sounded much more like a supervisor than I intended.

"Didn't realise you already reserved this spot for you and some housewife," he said as he tried to pass me. I wouldn't let him and pushed him back into the corner. For a second he looked scared, his brow still scarred from my hands. But he refrained quickly and gave me his inescapable stare again. My heart quivered in fear. What was he gonna do with me this time?

His tongue, his dick tasting tongue, licked his lips. His faggy, soft hands unbuttoned his pants. I froze.

"I had prepared to get banged by some sad, confused bachelor from the wedding. But I should've known you'd want firsts". What was he saying? Had he planned this? Why did it feel like he was in control? He smiled with that brand new confidence and it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. My stomach tingled and I couldn't stop my body from being drawn to him.

I smashed into him, his head bouncing against the cellar wall. My tongue licked his violently and my hands squeezed his face. He kissed me back, briefly, before he turned and leaned over a couple of soda crates and exposing his bare ass. I couldn't think anymore. I couldn't hear the beat from the dance floor nor the colleagues who could barge in any second. I whipped my dick out, which was surprisingly hard and revealed it to the cool air. When the tip hit his warm, hairy hole, I thought I'd pass out from horniness.

"Fuck me" he whimpered and it made me harder than any woman, any person, saying the same thing. Knowing this was Marc, my best mate Marc, with whom I did this gross, secretive thing with. This pleasure hidden from the world, where I could channel my anger and despair and turn it into love with him... I had to hurt him. Tear him apart. For making me want him so much. For looking so damn good even though he looked like a bloody guy. My raw, dry cock forced it's way into his tight, dry hole and the warmth zeroed out any resistance of our skin or genitals. My dick needed to get inside and his hole needed me inside. It sucked my pole like it had missed it and damn had I missed it too. He let out a high-pitched noise and I a low moan. I fell on top of him, our work shirts still on, my tie falling over his shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his boyish demeanour and held on to his belly, while our bare lower bodies intertwined. And I started moving. Hard, panting. Loud slaps of muscled skin against bubbly fat in a cold freezer cell. Bodies moving in short, brief hits. My dick reaching deep, stroking his bowels, rather than pulling out.

My body couldn't fuck like it normally would, I was completely surrendered to the ecstasy of feeling a boy's inside again. Feeling my best friends inside again. I pulled him up, while my tongue searched for his in his mouth. He grabbed my arms and for a second time we were one, radiating heat from one man inside the other. We moaned and kissed and I came faster than I had ever done before, deep inside his ass. My cum impregnating his belly exploded my brain. We both sighed deeply and I stumbled backwards. As if my mind came back into the cold cell full of drinks and snacks I buttoned my pants and walked out as fast as I could.

What the hell just happened. Did I fuck Marc again? Was I definitely gay? Then why did I feel so disgusted. But why did it feel so good. Was there no escaping my hunger anymore? I walked outside the dance floor with all interest in the old ladies evaporated. I only saw the best man in his tuxedo. He looked at me, frightened, and I smiled. I won. I took my place behind the bar and saw Marc skip out onto the floor with his plates of champagne and caviar again. He smiled at me confidently. I knew: he won.