Chapter 2 Kiss and Tell No One
Later that evening William guided Matt to a dirt side road on the northeast outskirts of Oklahoma City, having explained that one should never risk hookups within Bliss city limits, since, if Bliss police caught you, they would report it to MCU.
Hookup? Matt’s mind locked on that word and replayed it in a loop while they drove to the edge of civilization, or what counted for such in Oklahoma.
Matt turned onto a rutted drive that might once have led to a farmhouse. He parked his Jeep Cherokee, lowered the windows, and shut off the engine—all at William’s direction. William, beside him in the passenger seat, was clearly in charge of whatever was about to happen.
It was a sultry, late summer evening with the faintest whisper of a breeze. The setting sun shot ribbons of purple, orange, and red across the sky. Crickets and cicadas screeched, desperate to mate.
Matt understood how they felt.
“Tilt the steering wheel up to give us more room. Scoot your seat back as far as it will go,” William instructed. “Recline it about forty-five degrees.”
Matt eagerly obeyed.
“Now, raise your arms and put your hands on your headrest. And keep them there.”
Matt hesitated, but ultimately complied. He felt vulnerable, exposed, like a sacrificial virgin on some cultic altar. His heart pounded. He both dreaded—and desired—what might happen next. Okay, 1% dread, 99% desire.
William climbed over to Matt’s seat. He placed his knees on either side of Matt’s hips and folded his legs beneath him. In this position he was straddling Matt, his ass just out of reach of Matt’s crotch.
“Whatever happens, do not take your hands off the headrest,” William said. “Got it?”
Matt gazed up at William’s large, dark eyes and sensuous lashes. Gulped and nodded.
“Tonight’s lesson is Kissing 101.” William traced Matt’s lips with a forefinger.
Matt smiled agreeably, but truth be told, he thought kissing was highly overrated. Why did people waste all that time slobbering on each other when they could just get to the good stuff? The reality was that he knew nothing about either kissing or the good stuff.
William leaned down, closing the distance between them.
Matt puckered his lips, scrunched his eyes closed.
William nuzzled Matt’s nose instead.
Matt’s eyes flew open in shock.
William grinned, pulled back, and combed his fingers through Matt’s hair, his nails lightly grazing Matt’s scalp.
For the first time in his life, Matt understood why cats purred.
His eyes focused on William’s lips, which were full and luscious. His mind obsessed on William’s bony ass, which was anything but full or luscious, which somehow made it maddeningly enticing. It hovered just inches above Matt’s bulge.
Hookup. That was the word William had used.
Matt was no longer surprised by his desire for this effeminate, lanky guy.
As they’d sat, as straight guys would do, across from each other in a vinyl-covered booth at Johnnie’s, munching the occasional French fry, William had said a lot of things that made sense.
Things Matt was embarrassed he hadn’t thought of himself.
Things like gay guys didn’t have to play by the same rules as the heteros, weighing down every hookup with the heavy baggage of love and relationships.
Hooking up could be for a myriad of reasons: sexual release, friendship bonding, love, or helping newbies learn the ropes.
The longer they had talked, the more bewitched Matt had become, both by William’s ideas and by his unique combination of features—manly jaw and eyes; delicate, high cheek bones; and pouty lips.
Matt hadn’t considered that he needed mentoring. His assumption had been that all he needed to do was find other gays and the rest would happen organically.
Of course, he worried whether guys would be attracted to him. After all, the only male to show any interest thus far had been the youth pastor who had groomed and raped him.
Girls found him attractive—judging by all the giggles, batted eyes, and outright solicitations he’d received but declined.
More than one girl had gushed that he looked like Mark-Paul Gosselaar of Saved by the Bell fame.
He had good, smooth skin that tanned instead of burned.
He was gifted with an athlete’s fine musculature.
And, of course, he was blonde. Tall, tan, and blonde.
Wasn’t that the gold standard? Maybe gays had different standards.
Maybe big heads and popsicle stick bodies were all the rage.
But he wasn’t here, in his Jeep with William straddling him, because of his looks or because anything between them had evolved organically.
He was here to be mentored—starting with basic kissing—by this self-assured skinny kid who seemed to know not only all the ins and outs of gay sex (saying “hookups” plural) but also knowing about this farm drive and avoiding Bliss’s cops.
He was also here to be tested.
The most intriguing thing William had told him at Johnnie’s was that there was a secret gay fraternity at MCU! William wouldn’t say any more other than that he would have to see if Matt checked out. Some guys didn’t make the cut.
Matt was determined to pass that test, whatever it entailed. If that meant swapping spit with William and pretending to like it, so be it.
William lightly bussed Matt’s lips. He licked Matt’s teeth with his tongue, nudging his jaw open.
Matt became acutely aware of his own body. In his peripheral vision, he saw tufts of his pit hair poking out of his sweat-stained t-shirt. He felt his nipples hardening, which was a weirdly new experience.
Matt felt William’s tongue snake past his teeth, slithering against his own tongue in some sort of saliva-slicked, reptilian mating ritual that was intimate and wet.
Too wet.
Matt fought back a grimace, but then felt his nipples tingling jealously, begging to be bathed in spittle, flicked and licked by that forked tongue.
His cock betrayed him, too, aching for action—despite—or maybe because of the oral stimulation.
Matt wore his cock tucked down in his boxer briefs, which was fine except in situations like this where it strained against the fabric, bent at an uncomfortable angle. He wanted to adjust it but didn’t dare break the damn rules and take his hands off the headrest.
Locks of William’s shiny black hair fell forward, brushing across Matt’s face.
Matt panted and moaned. He inhaled the spicey scent of William’s shampoo, probed the slick mysteries of William’s mouth with his tongue.
Until now he had been the passive partner, accepting William’s kisses but not really returning them. Not any longer. Maybe kissing wasn’t so bad, after all.
Something primal kicked in.
He licked William’s face hungrily, began sucking on his upper lip.
William grinned again. His lips seemed vibrantly pink against his fair complexion.
Matt felt pre-cum leaking from his bent cock.
He lost track of time as his consciousness gave way to his reptilian brain.
And then, suddenly, William pulled away.
Matt was confused, even dazed. Then he realized that his hands were on William’s hips.
He had broken the rules.
He vaguely remembered pawing at William’s ass, desperate to pull it closer to his grinding crotch.
William leaned down and whispered in Matt’s ear.
His breath was warm and moist, and made Matt even harder. “This is an art form, dahling,” William said. “If you want to rut, find a barnyard.”
Matt sighed and returned his hands to the headrest. He was ready to resume kissing.
Apparently, William had different ideas. He crawled over to the passenger seat.
“That’s enough for tonight’s lesson,” he said.
“Please.” Matt, arms still on the headrest, arched his back, straining. Begging.
William reached out and caressed Matt’s bulge.
The touch was electric. Matt shivered.
“You need to understand something,” William said.
“The only way our little fraternity survives at MCU is because everyone of us obeys the rules that protect us. So, you see, when I told you to keep your hands on the headrest, I was gauging whether you can follow directions or just let your cock do the thinking.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt blurted. Had he blown his chances already?
William worked to unbutton Matt’s jeans, then lowered the zipper. “Everyone fails that first test. Let it be a warning, though.”
Matt nodded, holding his breath lest anything disturb William’s probing.
William’s fingers found the elastic waistband of Matt’s boxer briefs, reached in, and gently freed Matt’s bent cock. It slapped up against his stomach, trailing a string of pre-cum.
Matt exhaled in glorious relief.
William tugged Matt’s jeans and briefs down to his mid-thighs.
“You are okay with this, right?” William asked. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”
Matt hesitated. “Is this another test? I mean, I’m really hoping you don’t stop, but…”
William smiled. “Good answer. Okay. Listen up and pay attention. Before I finish you off, let’s cover a few points. I don’t think you’ll be in much condition for conversation afterward.”
As William spoke, his fingers explored the length and girth of Matt’s cock.
Matt twitched and jerked, spasming as though he were being tickled, giggling at the excess of pleasure.
This—the first time another guy had touched his dick—was an almost religious experience for him.
It was what he had expected when he had surrendered himself to the youth pastor, but that guy had had no use for another erection, had treated it like an unwelcome interloper.
William, by contrast, seemed respectful, slightly reverent, of the stick in his hands.
Matt became self-conscious, wondering how his dick compared to the many others William must have seen. Was it rod? Or twig?