Chapter 5 Performance Anxiety
Matt tensed at William’s whispered “I want to fuck you.” His body went rigid as William’s fingers neared his hole. His cock deflated.
Buried memories (of the youth pastor, of the threadbare carpeting in the church sanctuary, of pain—searing pain) clawed their way out of the grave to which he had consigned them.
Zombie memories, back to eat him alive.
He scrambled free from William’s embrace. Crawled to a corner of the Jeep’s storage space. Sat, hunched over, hugging his knees. In his stupid jockstrap.
His heart pounded in his chest.
William rolled onto his side, facing Matt, and propped his head on one hand. He was shirtless, but still in his jeans.
“It’s ok,” he whispered. “I must have misread the situation. I thought you wanted to fuck. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you alright with talking? Or do you just want to return to campus?”
Matt shrugged. “You weren’t wrong. I did want to fuck—just not be fucked. You know?”
He looked down at his feet. The air around him was stale and stank of sweat—his own.
“I guess now I don’t have to worry about that interview with the GM,” he said.
“Nice try, dahling,” William said. “You don’t have to fuck your way into the GM, although I think you’ll find that shaking hands—handshakes is our term for hooking up with each other—is a perk. It bonds us together, helps us improve our techniques, eases sexual tension.”
Matt relaxed his tight grip on his knees. “I want all of that, the bonding, the handshakes. It’s just…I’m not the girl getting her hand shaken.”
William seemed shocked. “And I’m the girl?”
Matt grinned. “I think that would be the general consensus, Tallulah dahling.”
“How very hetero of you to frame gay sex as having a man and a woman,” William sneered.
“Oh, c’mon, you know what I mean! Part A gets inserted into Part B. Male. Female. Inserter. Insertee.”
William frowned. “Ever heard of flip-fucking? Versatility?”
Matt shook his head.
“And what happens if both guys are effeminate?” William asked. “Flip a coin for who must be the girl? Double dildo?”
Matt laughed. Obviously, he hadn’t thought this through.
“I prefer bottoming,” William said, “but I am versatile. And in other circumstances, I’d gladly bottom for you.”
“Other circumstances?”
“I don’t bottom for anyone who hasn’t himself bottomed at least once, dahling. Topping involves more than just mechanical, artless plunging in-and-out or up-and-down. Topping is an intimate performance where the bottom is the critic.”
“You don’t want to get a bad review, do you?” William asked. “No one’s going to buy a ticket for that show.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Matt asked. “Bottoming?”
“Not unless it’s amateur hour. Do I look like I have a high threshold for pain?”
Matt didn’t answer. The zombie memories were still there, still clamoring in his head. But another thought was beating them back: maybe bottoming for William was the baby step he needed to take.
“Can I see your cock?” Matt asked.
William hesitated. After a minute he shimmied out of his jeans and briefs.
“Ta da!” he joked. “This isn’t the stage entrance I planned.”
Matt appraised William’s body, its skinny, pale legs with their carpet of black hair. Neatly trimmed bush (as expected). Cock and balls limp and saggy, disinterested in what was happening.
Matt had seen plenty of other cocks in locker rooms over the years. He had never touched one—besides his own.
He fondled William’s lumpy cockhead. Began massaging the frenulum (as William had done to him a week earlier).
Soon enough William Jr. stirred and stretched its way to a standing position, very much interested in the goings-on around it.
“That’s bigger than I expected!” Matt exclaimed. He was rethinking this whole bottoming idea.
William smiled. “Optical illusion. I’d say we’re about the same size. Mine just looks big against my smaller body. Plus, a well-trimmed shrub makes the tree look larger.”
Matt gave William’s cock a few test strokes and was pleased to see it dribble out some pre-cum. He still wasn’t keen on bottoming but planned to soldier through it. “What do I do now? Get on my knees?”
William coaxed Matt into lying down beside him, facing him.
“Throw the script away,” William whispered. “This is Improv. Do only what you want to do. Stop whenever you want to stop.”
“I want to get out of this jock,” Matt said, pushing it down and kicking it away. His cock, finally freed, sprang up like one of those inflatable tube men businesses use to attract customers.
They kissed.
Their tongues darted into each other’s damp oral cavities.
Their cocks, snotting pre-cum, bounced and bobbed, trying to find their own accommodating orifices.
Their bodies fused. Tanned, toned, smooth athlete pressed against pale, soft, furred Godmother.
Their hands explored, caressing, teasing nipples erect.
Matt felt William’s hand on the back of his right thigh, gently pulling the leg up into a bent position where, with that leg straddling William’s body, Matt’s ass cheeks separated.
A part of Matt’s brain worried, given their positions, how close William’s cock was to his hole.
Another part, the part that was enjoying the sensory overload, surrendered conscious control of his body to a deeper, subconscious desire to mate. It was that part, that pulsing hunger, that impelled Matt to arch his ass. It was a primal signal hard-wired in the DNA.
William understood the message.
William explored the contours of Matt’s crack with his forefinger, softly tracing a line from tailbone, through muscled gluteal canyon, then down to the base of the ball sack.
Matt’s sphincter tingled each time William’s finger grazed it.
William fumbled around on the floor until he found the lube he had placed there earlier. He smeared some on his finger, then whispered into Matt’s ear: “Just relax.”
Matt found it impossible to relax—not because he dreaded the moment when William’s finger would be the trailblazer for the soon-to-follow dick—but because he was impatient for that to happen.
And then it happened.
William’s tongue probed Matt’s mouth while his finger explored Matt’s ass.
Matt moaned and pushed down, wanting more.
“Fuck me,” Matt said. He wanted this—not as some baby step towards learning to top (well, that was a tiny factor), but mainly for the sheer joy of gay sex. For sealing his friendship with William.
William rolled onto his back. His rigid cock pointed due west like a needle on a compass. “Get on top facing me,” he said.
Matt complied.
“Now lean down and kiss me,” William said.
He pulled Matt to him with one arm. With his other hand, he positioned his cockhead against Matt’s hole.
“Feel that?” William asked. “I’m going to hold it in place. You’re in charge of letting it in. Take your time. Don’t rush.”
Matt eased himself onto that pole.
It seemed to fill him up, expanding outwards and upwards, flooding him with a warm glow.
He had feared this, thinking it would be the proverbial square-peg-in-round-hole: pain and sharp edges. Instead, it was more like one of those old-time skeleton keys (a rigid rod that snaked into a tiny keyhole, each ridge and notch on the key perfectly fitting a counter-matching notch and ridge).
And when, after a few minutes, William’s key found Matt’s prostate, Matt understood, for the first time, why Pentecostals spoke in tongues, why they rolled and thrashed on church floors, overcome by the Holy Spirit.
Matt also squirmed and thrashed, riding William’s cock, his back arched to take it deeper, moaning, gasping.
He was in Heaven. Jesus was knocking at his door. (Revelation 3:20: “Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come into him...”)
Matt looked down into William’s soulful eyes as the two of them rode out the hurricane of Matt’s true deflowering.
They were tethered by William’s cock. It was anchored deep inside Matt, a writhing, slithery eel clutching for purchase while Matt bucked and rolled with the storms of passion, sliding up and down on the wet mast, his ass lips furling and unfurling in rhythm.
Or was William’s cock the harpoon and Matt the mythical Leviathan, his tail furiously whipping the boiling sea into foam?
Regardless of the metaphor, it was William who conquered, Matt who surrendered.
It was Matt who whimpered as William rescued his bobbing cock and palpated it, encouraging it to vomit up the fluids that were drowning it.
It was Matt’s ass that crashed and foundered against the twin boulders of William’s balls. It was Matt who howled out as he neared his crisis.
“I’m gonna cum,” Matt panted, worried about where he was supposed to shoot.
“Let me have it,” William said.
Matt’s entire body spasmed. He shot arcs of cum onto William’s chest. Some of the overspray landed on William’s face.
William smiled.
“Your turn,” Matt whispered—croaked. He was spent. “I want you to cum inside me.”
William grabbed Matt’s hips, holding them for leverage as he pistoned Matt’s ass.
Matt heard William’s soft gasp first, then felt a little tremor in William’s hips, and then he felt the warm seed filling him.