Myth Debuned

Ian was on a roll. With the second draft of lyrics well under way and the melody writing itself, he knew he'd finally gotten it. He'd finally written a love song to rival all love songs. Honest, pure, impossible to ignore: exactly what he was going for. Becca had to listen to this. She'd have no choice but to love him and allow herself to be loved in return. He's just started mapping chord progressions when someone knocked on his door.

Becca wasn't due for an hour, and he wasn't expecting any packages, so he tiptoed to the door slowly, trying not to alert the stranger to his presence. The missionaries had been out of late, energized by the warming weather and the temporal proximity to Easter. But the stranger on the other side of his door wasn't a missionary, at least he didn't think so. He opened the door to his shirtless neighbor just enough to peek his head out.

"Can I help you?" He eyed the blond suspiciously. This...Russell person who lived next door, he never wore a shirt, always waved to his Becca, and could frequently be seen doing push-ups on his front lawn. He was competition, plain and simple, the very reason he wrote a love song in the first place. If he didn't convince Becca to want him soon, she'd likely end up with this Russell fellow, and he looked the type to ruin her for other men.

Russell quirked a brow at Ian's question, though Ian didn't find much confusing about it.

"Can I help you?" he asked again, feeling his eyes narrow.

Russell cleared his throat. "Yes, I... I definitely think you can." He smirked in a way that Ian found infuriating.

"Well?" Ian was already tired of this idiot. "What do you want?"

"My pussy."

"Excuse me?"

"My cat. He's on your roof."

"I didn't know you had a cat." He definitely didn't have a cat. And if he was looking for his "pussy" as euphemism, Ian didn't like it one bit. First of all, Becca was not his. Second, she should never be referred to in such a way. And third, Becca was definitely not his.

"I just bought him yesterday," said Russell. "I named him Willow, as in Pussy. Willow. I thought it would be funny." He chuckled but let it die off. "Guess I was wrong."

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, and seeing as Becca wasn't around to be flirted with, Ian asked politely, "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Can I come inside?" Again with that stupid ass grin. "I'll be quick, in and out. Then you can continue pretending not to notice me."

What the hell was that supposed to mean, Ian wondered. Notice him hitting on his girl? Notice him showing off in the street for all the world to see? He hadn't been covert in his observations of these things. Ian watched through his blinds like a stalker and glared menacingly whenever the three of them were within yards of one another.

"Be quick about it," said Ian, stepping aside. "Becca will be home soon."

Russell nodded and walked in, taking a look around. "Did you decorate yourself?"

"Becca helped. Actually, I pretty much just funded it. She does whatever she wants in our house." He was sure to put emphasis on the "our".

"So... She's your girlfriend?"

Ian's first instinct was to blurt out a "yes" and tell Russell to get a move on, but he found he couldn't lie about this. What if Becca liked the guy? What if she preferred him over Ian? How could he ruin her happiness? He sighed. "No. She's not my girlfriend. But I'm working on it." He glanced over to the wastebasket, overflowing with his failed attempts at declaration. Russell followed his gaze to the pile of crumpled sheet music and sighed as well.

"Ahh... Love'll drive a man nuts," he said, clapping a hand on Ian's shoulder. "That's why I make it a point to never fall in love. Keep it fun. Avoid intense emotion; it's the only way to stay sane out there."

Ian stiffened. "Don't you have a cat to save?"

"There's a window with roof access on your house. Which one is it?"

Ian thought it through. There were actually two windows with roof access. One in his bedroom, and one in Becca's. "This way," he said, heading for his own room. "You can climb out through here."

Russell followed him up the stairs, keeping oddly quiet for such an obnoxious ass until they reached Ian's room.

"Niiice," he drawled, running his hands over Ian's sheets. "Your not-quite-girlfriend pick these out too?"

Ian blushed, the rich satin had actually been his own doing. And though Becca's possible enjoyment had been a largely motivating factor, she'd never even seen his bed. Any time she'd tried to enter Ian's bedroom, he found some excuse to get her back into the hallway. God only knew what would happen if he had Becca alone in his room. Whatever it was would likely be more embarrassing than smooth.

Instead of answering Russell's question, Ian gestured toward the window.

"Better get after my Pussy," Russell said with a smirk, trailing his finger along Ian's bed as he made his way over to the window. He raised the blinds and flipped the lock with ease, but when he pushed upward the glass wouldn't budge.

"There's a latch there," Ian offered. "Here, let me."

"I got it," Russell protested, angling himself to push harder. The window groaned and let out a CRACK.

"You're gonna break it." Ian tried to shove Russell out of the way, but he was surprisingly solid. Instead, he ducked under the man's arms, finding the right button easily and releasing the sash. With a grunt Russell lurched forward as the window unexpectedly sprang up, taking both his and Ian's hands with it.

"Shit!" They both yelled. Ian landed on his knees and immediately brought his finger to his lips. He tasted blood, but the pain had already receded. Russell hadn't fared as well.

"Fuuuckk," he groaned from the floor. He help one palm to his forehead, which he seemed to have bashed against the windowsill, while his other hand ghosted over his crotch, as though afraid to touch.

Ian turned professional in a moment, removing Russell's hand from his face and inspecting the damage. He would have a good-sized bump on his head, might need a doctor, but would probably be fine with some ice and an Advil. And yet, he still groaned in pain.

"You'll be fine, asshole. It's just a bump," he admonished, tapping the bruise for good measure.

"It's not that, you dick, it's my leg. You elbowed me and it fuckin' kills."

"Where did I get you?"

Russell motioned to the crease of his thigh, just where his leg met his pelvis. A very sensitive area.

"You'll be fine in a minute."

"What, you're a doctor now?" Russell asked through gritted teeth. "Feels like I got stabbed in the nuts."

"I'm an officer, and this is nothing serious. Trust me. Just massage the muscle until it relaxes and the stinging sensation will cease."

"You've had this happen to you?" Russell seemed hesitant to touch the tender area, but eventually gave in. It wasn't getting better on its own.

"Once or twice," Ian admitted. "Violent drunks with bad aim will do that for you."

Russell hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes closed as he rubbed along his thigh, his face slowly smoothing as his body visibly relaxed. Ian remembered the feeling. The few times he'd experienced something like this, his entire torso had locked up. Everything from his ass to his abs had become so tight it did not nothing but magnify the pain. Getting loose seemed like a miracle. The relief had been so great, it was almost orgasmic.

It probably helped that he'd thought of his Becca while attempting to calm his body and relax. Only the opposite had happened, hadn't it? As the pain had receded, the flood of endorphins hit him hard, turning his goal from relaxation to pleasure. A new type of stiffness had overtaken him and he'd been forced to ride it out to its conclusion each time.

Almost on cue, Russell let out a moan. As Ian's eyes focused, he suddenly realized what he was doing. His unseeing eyes had been transfixed on Russell's hand the entire time, watching him rub perilously close to his groin for minutes on end while he'd been lost in memories of jerking off. And what's worse, he was almost hard from it. Ian dithered, debating whether or not to remind Russell of his presence. He didn't want to call attention to himself and his "condition", but if he didn't stop the man soon, he was likely to start wanking right there on his bedroom floor.

Ian glanced again toward Russell's face, just to be sure his eyes were still closed. Only... they weren't. Russell's eyes were wide open and transfixed on Ian's crotch. Ian let out an involuntary gasp.

Russell met his eyes and smiled. "Welcome to the party."

Ian's initial reaction, despite the oddity of their circumstances, was confusion. Party? He'd just been caught with a semi while watching another man work out a kink in his... As Ian's eyes traveled in the direction of his thoughts, he realized that Russell was no longer working to relax his muscles, but very openly and obviously rubbing his cock through his pants.

It was like a train wreck. Ian didn't want to see it, but he couldn't look away. Russell moaned while he stared, transfixed by the sight of another man's pleasure. Was that his dick? The clearly outlined rod in his jeans looked big. Bigger, maybe, than Ian's, although he couldn't really be sure. Why was he thinking about this? Why was he looking? Abruptly, he turned away.

Russell chuckled. "It's okay to like what you see, Ian. It's for you. This rock hard cock is for you."

Ian chanced another glance, noting how Russell squeezed the denim near his base for emphasis.

"I'm not gay," he told Russell. Himself. And he wasn't. From his first crush to the woman he was convinced would be the love of his life, Ian had always been attracted to women. Men did nothing for him. Even now, with Russell, it had been thoughts of Becca that had brought on his excitement. Russell himself was nothing but an annoyance, a catalyst for great memories at a very bad time. And yet, he continued to wonder. Was Russell bigger than him? Was he circumcised? Did it always lean slightly to the left, or was that just the way it lay in his jeans?

And he was staring again.

"You think every guy that likes cock is gay?" Russell asked, seemingly amused by this.

"That's the basic definition."

"Let me ask you something," Russell said, sitting up and putting complete focus into their conversation. "Have you ever watched porn?" Ian grudgingly nodded. "Have you ever noticed how exceptionally large those guys are? Pretty strange considering you're meant to focus on the women."

"I've watched lesbian porn."

"It's not the same though, is it? Is it because we like to imagine it's us on the screen, that we have fantasy dicks that make women scream like that? I'm not buying it. I mean, your cock is good to you, right? Wet, dry, pussy, mouth, hell, just your hand and a good mental picture and the big guy makes it awesome. Ever wish you could suck your own dick?" Luckily the question was rhetorical "I do. We all do. We're all in love with our own... Kinda makes you wonder about the rest."

Ian wanted to argue, but found he had no idea how. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about, but it did make a lot of sense.

"Orgies, threesomes, DP... And what about strap-ons," Russell continued. "Ever used one of those?"

To this Ian was able to gave an honest and emphatic no. Although one of his college girlfriends had shown him the benefits of a prostate massage, he had never wanted anything larger than a finger up there, and he never would. Finding himself oddly at ease with Russell—now that he wasn't touching himself—Ian confessed to his experience.

"So you're a top."

"I'm not-"

"I know, I know. You're not gay, and I believe that. Really, I do. But you have to admit to being curious. You want to know what I got goin' down there, and I am more than willing to show. All you have to do is ask, Ian. Tell me what you want, I guarantee you'll get it."

Ian kept his eyes on Russell's smirking face and not the bulging seam in his pants. The guy was attractive—he wasn't homophobic enough to deny it—but he wasn't actually attracted. Nothing even remotely sexual crossed his mind when he looked at that face. The shoulders and chest in his peripheral vision were well-defined, muscular, angles a woman wouldn't have. No breasts, only pecs, and some hair. Women didn't have hair there.

Ian's erection began to deflate. No, he didn't want anything from this man, and he absolutely intended to say so. All he had to do was convince himself it didn't interest him that his arm was moving. Not in the slightest. Whatever Russell was doing with his hand was out of sight, and that suited Ian just fine. Really.

"Russell."

"Yes, Ian?"

"What I want... is for you to go home."

"You're lying, Ian." Russell's smile turned evil, the arm on his right sped up.

"Go home, Russell."

"Not until you look."

"What?"

"I'm not leaving until you look at what I'm doing."

"You said I would get what I wanted if I asked you, and right now I'm asking you-"

"You'll get it, Ian. I'll keep my word. Look at my hand and tell it what you want it to do. Stop and go home? Okay. But only after you look at it." Russell's attempt at innocent eyes was almost laughable. Challenge was written all over his face. All they were missing was the "triple dog dare you," and Ian didn't doubt it would come to that.

He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve for one last glimpse. What was the worst that could happen? Russell hadn't unzipped his pants yet, and the rubbing, no matter how vigorous, was something he'd already seen. Seen. Survived. Lost his hard-on over. He was just going to look down and get this freak out of his- "Oh, shit."

"You were saying?" Russell's hand wasn't where Ian expected it to be, rubbing on the outside of his jeans. No, instead of relative chastity, Russell had somehow snuck his hand under the waistband and was working himself from within. Ian didn't know how though, those jeans were so tight, so full of Russell that he just didn't fit. Even as Russell's flattened palm continued what looked to be a painful mashing, the tip of him peeked out over his belly, a small bead of moisture precariously balanced on top.

As Ian watched, the droplet grew, and with one powerful stroke, it set to rolling down the side of Russell's length. The moment he lost sight of it, Ian growled. "Take them off."

"I'm sorry, Ian. Did you-"

"Take them off or get the fuck out of my house."

Wisely, in Ian's opinion, Russell help his tongue this time, removing the denim to reveal the bareness beneath. Devoid of restriction, Russell took himself fully into his fist and set a painfully slow rhythm. Looking on, it was all too easy for Ian to picture doing this himself. Russell was longer than him, but not quite as thick. His garden was better tended, but they both had the same cut, the same lean, the same vein bulging in a spiral to the top.

Like any honest man, Ian loved his penis, and watching one so similar being pleasured so effectively began to take its toll. Before long, he had a palm over his hard-on, not to cover or deny it, but to stroke it in time with Russell's. Though incomplete through the denim, the feeling was incredible. Ian groaned. In response, Russell sped his hand, giving a twist over the head on every third stroke accompanied by a grunt.

Ian's cock soon grew envious of Russell's. It ached to be handled the same way, to have the same freedom of movement. Abandoning pretense, Ian quickly removed his own jeans, taking his briefs down with them. He stood over Russell, staring at his hands, mirroring their every move. They twisted, he twisted. They cupped, he cupped. When Ian's breathing became shallow, the other hands slowed, and his own instinctively followed, bringing about an oddly consensual torture. These were the unpredictable acts of a stranger in the comfort of his own expert hands. This was something like heaven.

Ian's eyes never strayed, terrified to look away, as though the moment would be gone if he missed a single stroke. But when the other hands seemed to pull out their signature move, his own were forced to copy, and the resulting spasm sent a tingle up his spine. Ian closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his imminent release.

A foreign sensation jolted Ian from his stupor, foreign yet oh so familiar. The introduction of a warm, wet tongue to his slit almost had him cumming on the spot, but the shock of it held him back. Then the realization that it must have been Russell's tongue set in and his arousal took a drastic dive.

"Aww, he doesn't want to play anymore?" Russell's teasing voice brought Ian completely back to reality and he rushed to cover his softening erection from view. "Don't be like that," Russell continued, tugging at Ian's hands. "A mouth is a mouth is a mouth. Just feel."

Ian disagreed, but his traitorous cock had other plans. Russell had managed to grip him at the base, retaining what hardness remained, and began a teasing assault directly on the head with his tongue. With a few seconds and some light suction, Ian was back to his former glory. Unable to watch and unwilling to stop, Ian gave over to the sensation, closing his eyes and going along for the ride. In his mind, Russell could be a woman.

He could be Becca.

Teasing licks turned to assertive swirling and sucking at his tip, a warm hand grasped the rest, pistoning fluidly. He'd only dreamed Becca would be so good at this, so enthusiastic ,and so skilled.

"Oh, that's it. Deeper. More, please." Ian heard himself beg, and he couldn't find the shame. The mouth descended slowly, increasing suction and lightly scraping its teeth on the way up. "Fuuuuck!"

Abruptly the mouth removed itself, a hand taking its place. "You like that, Ian?" A man asked. "Has anyone ever done it like this? Does your girlfriend know how to-"

Ian's eyes snapped open. A mouth was a mouth, but that voice had to stop. He glared down at Russell, hoped he understood the "shut the fuck up," grabbed his hair, and shoved himself down the man's throat.

"You like that?" Ian asked, closing eyes and pulling back, then thrust forward until he felt tonsil. "You like this big, thick cock filling your mouth. How long have you wanted it, huh? How long have you waited to gag on this dick?" Ian didn't know who he was thinking of anymore. Becca? Russell? Did it matter? A mouth was a mouth. A hole was a hole. He'd passed the point of no return.

"You wanted this, now take it. And maybe, if you're a good little cocksucker, I'll let you have it all. Would you like that?" The mouth hummed around him, sending vibrations to his toes. "You want it. You want this"-he pushed forward- "buried inside of you, splitting you open like no one ever has. I won't be gentle. I'll ruin you for other men. And you'll see me everyday, knowing exactly what I can do, but you'll never have me again. Is that what you wanted? Is this what you came for?"

Russell responded by taking Ian deep into his throat and letting out a growl as one of his fingers moved to push at his back entrance.

"Oh no," said Ian. "You don't get to touch that. I'm a top, remember? So get on the bottom."

Ian pulled Russell off by his hair and looked at him. Surprisingly, the sight of a man's body didn't turn him off, but when Russell tried to kiss him, Ian pushed away. The body and face were neutral, and Ian wanted nothing to do with them physically.

"I said get down!"

Russell turned and got comfortable on all fours while Ian rolled on the condom. He looked content on the carpet, but Ian didn't want to kneel there. He moved them up to the bed, but even with Russell settled on the edge, where Ian could easily enter him standing, it didn't feel right. This pissed him off. If he didn't fuck something in the next three minutes, his balls were going to turn purple and fall off. Sexually frustrated and perplexed by his own inability to perform, Ian let out a roar.