The Ooh

The weekend dawned bright and warm that Saturday morning in September. The large tree whose branches reached my third-floor window was swaying lightly in the autumn breeze, casting a flickering orange glow across my room.

I was vaguely aware of a dull throbbing sensation at the back of my head; a remnant of last night's incautious drinking. My head was still swimming, perched precariously at the edge, between a mellow feeling and the urge to vomit.

My eyes flickered open and I looked at the ceiling of my room, covered in fluorescent celestial stickers which were shy to shine in the morning glow. I could hear birds chirping right outside the east-facing window set in the wall against which my bed stood. There was a pleasant sort of smell about the morning, like a mixture of grass, dew, and that light musky scent which comes off of clothes in a moist closet.

There are worse Saturday mornings to wake up to, I thought. I made to run my hands through my hair but found my left arm pressed by the glistening body of my boyfriend of two months. Much worse...

I turned myself onto my left side and looked at the specimen of a person that he was lying down next to me, fast asleep on his belly with a thin line of drool running down his chin. My hand was pressed beneath his chest, and he had draped one arm over mine. My palm had lost all sensation, but I could still feel the warmth of his smooth skin against mine.

I pulled my hand out from under him slowly, trying my best not to disturb him. I needn't have bothered: the man could sleep through a parade and then some, without so much as a stir. I winced as the blood returned to my fingertips, and flexed them to ease some of the pain. I inched closer to him and drank in the sight.

Hidden behind the modest bed sheet that covered us, he was as naked as I was. He had a beautiful tinge to his skin, like beaten copper mixed with fresh rust, and it shone in the warm orange light. His head was covered with coarse black hair cropped short, and the early hints of a beard shadowed his face. His eyes, when open, were a molten hazel so deep it felt like you were drowning in a river of chocolate just looking at them.

He wasn't well built. In fact, you could go so far as to call him lean, but his shoulders were broad and his back arched steeply such that his chest bulged outward, giving him a part muscular, part toned look. A nascent beer gut was creeping out of him, but it only served to make him that much more beautiful and acted as a soft pillow if nothing else. I ran my fingers down his slightly muscular back (the most muscular part of his body, second only to his calves), and deftly removed the white cloth of the bed sheet to reveal the perfect, rounded bubble-butt that I'd come to love. The humps led to his longs legs, which contributed significantly to his towering frame.

I rested my hand on his right butt cheek, cupping it lightly. The feeling was nice and familiar, and I found myself getting drowsy due to the comfort. I pushed my head closer to his such that my nose was resting in the crook of his neck, and with each breath, I was drunker than I had been at any point last night. I brushed my hand over his butt and I could feel the spots where my cum had dried out. I took in a deep breath, and memories of last night came flooding back.

The smell of sweat and cum predominantly hung in the air, courtesy of the three used condoms scattered across the bed. His neck smelled of him, and last night's alcohol. The curious mix of his cologne, vodka, cigarettes, and his scent was making my head swim. A smile crept upon my lips as I thought of last night: the shaking of the bed, my screams muffled by his large, strong hands, his spit across my face and neck, the way he quivered when my tongue swept in and out of his ass...

Something stirred in my groin. I felt myself getting steadily harder, and the bed sheet shifted slightly. "Resistance is futile" echoed somewhere in my brain. I pulled my hand away from his butt and sucked on my middle finger until it was dripping wet. I slipped my hand back to his ass while grabbing onto his neck. I all but devoured his neck, even as I thrust my finger inside him, such that my chin was soon wet with my spit.

He moaned; a deep, sonorous sound which seemed to originate in his chest rather than his throat, and reverberated within me, causing me to shiver. I had fallen in love with his voice even before I'd even really known if he was interested in men, let alone me. The chase was worth it, more for having that voice moaning in my bed than anything else.

He stirred and turned around such that both our bodies were clung to each other face to face, chest to chest, and groin to groin. My erection pressed against his, even more so when he wrapped his arm around my back and pulled me close, a feat which was easily accomplish considering my slight frame. I was a twink-esque creature in the desperate attempt to put on some weight. On more occasions than one, I'd been chastised for being so much bone that hugging or holding me was painful at best. I had learnt to see the better parts of being a skinny, small boy, though; being wrapped up completely in the embrace of a big man was certainly amongst the top.

"Morning, baby doll," he croaked into my ear, shifting his head so that my head fit more snugly into his neck. I pulled my finger out of his ass and slid it across his thigh to lay it on his hardening cock. I cupped his balls and began playing with them. His hold on me tightened, his moan deepened, and he began to quiver. It was so easy to make him quiver.

I pushed him flat onto his back and began sucking on his nipples, stroking his chest with my thumb with one hand and slowly stroking his cock with the other. I worked on his nipples for some time, but then my lust overcame me and I went down and wrapped my lips around his now fully erect cock. His short gasps and deep moans only encouraged me to go further, and his grip on my hair tightened. I took the sheet from around his leg and tossed it to the ground: modesty was a thing of the past. I took him all in and felt his head graze the back of my throat. I pulled up for air, and he chuckled.

"What?" I asked, slightly put off by the reaction.

"You almost sucked Jack off yesterday." He laughed out loud.

"Bullshit. You're making this up. I wasn't that drunk." I lied.

"You were sloshed, babe. I'm not surprised that you don't remember."

But I did remember, and I could feel my face getting hotter with the memory. Thank heavens for the dark tinge that my skin bore: the blush would be harder for him to see.

Jack had been my roommate for as long as I had had roommates. We had been roommates in school since the eighth grade, which is when I'd met him for the first time. We'd gone on to share a room with two other boys in high school and then shared a dorm in college. After we'd graduated, we decided to get an apartment together since both our workplaces were so close. Jack was also my best friend and had been since a few weeks after the day we'd met. I couldn't imagine a single situation where either of us would get put off by or be uncomfortable with the other.

Perhaps that was because we had already ridden the uncomfortable train all the way to the end and back. We'd both jerked off for the first time in our lives together while watching porn for the first time huddled in the tiny bathroom stall of our boarding school. We'd been vaguely aware that the concept of two guys jerking off together wasn't "normal", and the prevalent homophobia had kept us from being open about our acts. However, the jerking off sessions had carried on and had eventually progressed to hand job and blowjob sessions.

We'd been each other's firsts in many ways. We'd shared our first kisses with each other, sometime in the middle of tenth grade, during a particularly cold winter when I'd gone over to share body heat with him. We'd had sex for the first time a year later when he'd slid a finger inside my ass and I'd squealed and bitten his neck. By the time we had reached senior year of high school, we'd started to acknowledge ourselves as a proper couple, despite there being no romance from either side.

That is another lie. I'd had a steadily developing crush on him since a bit after we'd met. Forever the champion of honesty, I'd voiced my feelings to him at the end of our senior year, and we'd decided that it would be best if we didn't go about our friendship as we had thus far, but dealt with it as regular straight boys do.

That resolve had lasted four days. On the last day of senior year, he'd fucked me in our closet with an intensity that spoke of raw, unadulterated passion. I had had to stuff his underwear in my mouth to stop me from screaming, but he had screamed so loudly when he came that the effort was for naught. We were sure that someone was going to find us in that closet, crumpled in a naked mess on top of each other, and too spent from our efforts to care about the world.

My ass had been sore for three days after that, but I wasn't done with him for the day. He was going to be travelling in the summer before he joined the college with me, and his sexual ferocity had come from his desire to have something to remember me by while he was away.

I had decided that I needed a keepsake too, so I threw him onto his bed and blew him, longer and harder than I had ever blown him before. For half an hour, I had sucked on his cock while he grabbed at fistfuls of my hair whenever he came close. We had been lying there, out in the open, with the threat that anyone could walk in at any time and see us both naked, with his cock in my mouth and my finger in his ass.

The risk only seemed to get us both more excited, and the load he shot in my mouth that day was rewarding on a whole other level. I'd straddled him then, stroked myself a few times, and sprayed his face as I came. The taste of his cum had lasted with me for months afterwards.

The college had kept us busier than I would have liked. After the first year, we had stopped having sex. It was getting too much to manage sex with all the other responsibilities that we had, and all the other people we both had met. The second and third years had seen a further decline in sexual contact, and by the time the fourth year had drawn to a close, we were like any other straight pair of college roommates. He had learnt that he wasn't into guys, other than me, and I had learnt that I wasn't into girls. It seemed to work out well for the both of us: I could bring guys over to our room, and the girls, and it never got awkward.

After we had moved into the apartment, however, Jack had gotten lonely, or horny, or perhaps he had just decided to mess with me because he had become the biggest tease of all time. He'd been working on his body for quite some time now, and even as far back as the senior year of high school, the results had started to show. Now, he was nothing short of a sex god.

On more occasions than I care to admit, I had fantasised about running my tongue down his perfectly sculpted abs, or sucking on those large, dark nipples at the end of that bulging chest, packed to bursting with taut muscle. He would come out of the shower, his long, dirty, golden hair dripping wet, a small towel tied haphazardly around his broad waist so that the upper part of his pubes was visible.

He would take off his towel when he knew I was looking, and then proceed to bend over on the pretext of picking something up. His white skin would have a pink glow to it after a hot shower, and he'd scrub himself dry so hard that the pink would turn to a bright red.

Recently, he had taken to dancing with me whenever I was drunk, grabbing onto me as though he loved me with all his heart and couldn't bear to part with me. I had woken up on many mornings with my head buried in his chest, his soft breath in my hair. There had even been times when he had left his door open and I had walked into his room while he was masturbating, and he had looked at me with such lust in his eyes that I had all but gotten down to my knees and taken him in my mouth. Come to think of it, I didn't know why I hadn't.

I got back to blowing Aaron, hoping that the act would distract the both of us and drive this thought from my mind. Aaron knew how I had felt about Jack, but he didn't know that the crush was still as intense, if not more than it had once been. To his credit, he didn't push me to confront my feelings, and for that I was grateful. These feelings made me realise what a special person Aaron was, and I intensified in my blowing.

I flicked his head with my tongue, lapping at the precum that had started to leak from his cock. I grabbed the bottom of his shaft with my hand and took it all in once again. I flexed my throat muscles so that they tightened around his cock, something he had taught me to do, and he quivered. I pulled out and ran my tongue up and down his shaft then took his head in once more and began sucking it while stroking the base of his shaft with my fist. I spat on the head and rubbed the spit all over his head with my tongue. I began sucking harder and faster, speeding up my hand action to match.

"Fuck. Slow down. I'm going to cum."

I didn't slow down.

I stroked him even faster, and my hand began to cramp, but I was too invested to slow down now anyway. My mouth somehow managed to match the beat of my hand, and for a few moments, I was beautifully synchronised. Then, he came into my mouth. It wasn't a huge load, as I'd hoped, but it was satisfying nonetheless. I swallowed every last drop and licked his cock clean, not letting it out of my mouth even when it started to lose his hardness. Aaron had once confessed to me that one of his fantasies was to get blown, and have his partner sleep with his flaccid cock in their mouth. I felt inclined to oblige.

Unfortunately, Aaron had other plans. He pulled me up and kissed me, the morning breath only slightly off-putting. We lay there for quite some time, kissing and laughing, discussing events from last night, when he suddenly asked me about Jack. In particular, he asked me about Jack's cock.

Aaron was, without the shadow of a doubt, a raging bottom. We had not been able to have satisfying sex for weeks after we'd first started dating because both of us found the most joy in bottoming. After a lot of struggling, I'd convinced him to fuck my ass as hard as he could, without holding back anything. Ever since then, he hadn't bottomed even once for me, an arrangement which worked for both of us. However, whenever we went to the bathhouses, he would grab the first big hunk he could see and get his ass pounded so many times that he would be sore and twitching for the next day at least. Aaron loved cock, perhaps even more than I did.

That being said, Aaron was wasted on the "bottom community". He almost had the best cock I had ever seen. Almost, because Jack's was another story altogether... Aaron was extremely well endowed; maybe eight or nine inches of nothing but meaty girth, with a cut head, making it seem that much larger. It was wide enough that my hand could only just wrap fully around it, and that taking it all in caused me to choke nine times out of ten. It was somehow a shade darker than his already dark body, making it look even more appetising than a cock that size would normally look. I didn't know exactly what it was, but his cock had a beauty about it which even Jack's didn't.

Aaron had never asked me to elaborate about Jack before, but I had seen him looking at Jack lustfully. I had often joked about the three of us having a threesome, insisting heavily on the fact that Jack was as top as they came. It would seem that Aaron had taken my words to heart. I was caught off guard but was happy enough to answer. Keeping my tone platonic, I answered monosyllabically to most of his questions.

"Give me something more. You talk about cockroaches with more detail than that. You're a writer, for fuck's sake. Paint us a picture!"

I didn't want to paint a picture, especially because I was worried how elaborate and glorified I would make it sound. Aaron wasn't the jealous type, but I didn't want him to think that I thought about Jack more than I thought about him because it wasn't true. I was developing feelings for Aaron which I'd never had for Jack, and I could almost see a great future with him. Deciding that evasive action was the best course of action, in this case, I played aloof.

"You can see it for yourself. Let's finally have that threesome we talked about."

"Is he free tonight?" Aaron joked.

"It's Saturday, love. He's probably planning to spend the entire day in his room, preparing himself for the unspeakable adventures he's about to have tonight."

Jack was a creature of habit. For as long as we'd been in this apartment, Jack had spent every single Saturday at home, puking out whatever food he had in his stomach and sleeping his fill. He then proceeded to leave the house at somewhere around eight at night. He would go to either a bar where the barmen knew him by cock or name or both, or to bars he had never been to before (to sniff out the other territories, as he put it).

He would spend the entire night getting very drunk with strangers and then have very questionable sex with them, often coming back home with bruises in places I didn't even know it was possible to get bruises. He once came home and complained that he felt like his foreskin had been sexed off and that just the hard on that he was getting after seeing me was painful. He would spend the following Sunday passed out in his room, nursing his wounds in the few moments of consciousness that he had.

"Excellent," chirped Aaron. He pushed himself off the bed, picked up the bed sheet off the floor and wrapped it around himself like a shawl which barely covered his groin. "Let's go see what this Jack has to offer. He can't just go around claiming my men without offering something in return."

I panicked. Was he serious? Aaron was obscenely fond of threesomes, but I didn't think that he would go so far as to actually involve Jack in one of them. Our fantasies had been just that, a fantasy. He seemed poised and ready to attack, however, and I didn't know what to make of it or how to stop him. Truth be told, I didn't know that I did want to stop him...

Luckily, my decision was made for me. By the time I could manage any sort of coherent comment, Aaron was out the door and crossing the hallway. I ran up to him, forgetting to cover myself: both these men had not only seen me naked but had fucked me raw, there was no use hiding anything.

Aaron flung open the door to Jack's room, threw his sheet away, and grabbed hold of my ass and pulled me close. He wrapped me in his arms so that my body was pressed against his, and he was squeezing me harder and harder. He kissed me so ferociously that I was worried he'd lose his tongue somewhere inside my mouth. I lost myself in the intensity of the kiss, forgetting for a moment that this was a show, being put on for Jack's benefit.

Aaron and Jack fit like snug puzzle pieces. Aaron was an exhibitionist to the core, making sure that people could see him as often as they could, in as many ways as they could. He had once made me suck him off in our balcony during the evening, making exaggerated moaning sounds so that the other residents would look into our balcony. Jack, on the other hand, was a voyeur.

There had been countless times when he had made me jerk off for him and had jerked himself off while watching me. The things I do for men...

I turned to look at Jack when I pulled away for a breath, and found him all but drooling at us, while stroking his cock. I turned to look at Aaron and smirked. I had rarely seen Aaron look the way he looked now: awed. He was staring at Jack (mainly at his cock) with such lust that I was worried that Jack might not leave the house tonight with this cock still attached to his body. Aaron's hand was still on my butt, but the grip had slackened, and his shoulders had sagged. Clearly, Aaron liked what he saw, and to be honest I couldn't blame him.