Chapter 36 Soiling Grannie’s Afghan
As soon as the meeting ended, Matt raced to his dorm room. Locked the door. Dialed Adam’s house. All would be right with the world as soon as he heard Adam’s voice. Nor had he forgotten the mystery package. “You were in my dreams last night,” the note read.
“Sorry ‘me,’” Adam said playfully. “I can’t talk right now. I’m waiting for a call from my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend! Matt’s heart swelled with pride every time he heard that word. He was Adam Maxwell’s boyfriend!
Matt pictured Adam curled on the couch in his PJ’s, his feet tucked under him, his freckles shimmering, his hazel eyes twinkling. And his hair: that kaleidoscope of earth tones in that thick, rock star mane.
“I’m guessing your parents aren’t home?” Matt said hopefully. There was only one phone in the Maxwell home, a landline in the living room, subject to eavesdropping by Call-me-Janet or the homophobic dad. When they were around, Adam was more guarded.
“They’re at the counselor’s office,” Adam said. “Dad wants me to try conversion therapy. He says that if I give it a serious effort and it doesn’t work, then he’ll be more comfortable with the ‘gay thing.’”
Matt clutched the phone, felt his jaw clench.
He’d never met Adam’s dad but disliked him intensely.
The man was playing everyone, feigning progress but always—at the last minute—throwing up roadblocks, stalling, running out the clock.
Matt suspected that the man secretly would have preferred a dead son to a gay one.
He was the reason there had been no second date, that Matt hadn’t seen Adam in almost a month.
Dads. Was there a single gay man in the world who had a healthy relationship with his father? Who felt unconditionally loved and accepted? Matt didn’t think so. Certainly not among the fCOC.
And where would Adam’s dad send him for conversion therapy?
Mended Hearts Ministries? Matt’s mind flashed to Gay Chapel, where that queen from Mended Hearts—what was his name?
Michael something—had sashayed and pranced around the stage, bragging about how he’d been cured of his “same sex attraction,” as if he didn’t still fantasize about men while his wife pegged him with a strap-on.
“I already told the counselor I won’t do it—conversion therapy,” Adam said. “Anyway, mom and dad could be home any minute. Let’s talk about something else.”
Matt obliged. “I received your package in the mail today,” he said. “Can I open it now? Tell me about your dream.”
Adam groaned, and Matt knew he was blushing, knew he was embarrassed.
“Please let me open it,” Matt begged.
Adam hesitated. “I wish…” his voice trailed off.
Matt waited.
“I wish we’d just done it on New Year’s Eve.”
“Done ‘it?’” Matt asked.
“You know what I mean. We had a magical evening—until...”
“The way I remember it,” Matt said, “the whole night was magical. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes. Now, can I open the package?”
Another pause from Adam’s end of the line.
“Let me say this before I lose my nerve,” Adam said. “I’m ready for us to be together. That’s what I dreamed the other night, that you were in me, and it felt amazing. And then I awakened, and my Jockeys were soaked, and I had this dumb idea to mail them to you.”
Matt grinned stupidly. Now he knew what was in that package. His cock was achingly hard, straining against the confines of his boxer briefs and his jeans.
“What are you wearing?” Adam asked. His voice was one-part silky, two-parts shaky. He was outside his comfort zone.
“Jeans and a hoodie.”
“Take them off,” Adam said, “before I change my mind. Shoes and socks, too. Strip down to your underwear and then open the package.”
Matt jumped to his feet. Kicked off his shoes and socks. Shimmied out of his jeans. Shed the hoodie. If stripping were an Olympic sport, he’d have medaled.
“Done,” Matt said. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and chin. “I’m opening the package now.”
He ripped away the tape, pried open the box. Retrieved a pair of white Jockeys with a scaly, crusty smear coating the front. Adam must have had one hell of a wet dream!
Matt pressed the Jockeys to his nose, inhaled deeply. Flakes of dried cum fluttered to the floor like snow.
Matt rotated the Jockeys to find the part that would have been nearest Adam’s hole, sniffed it—doglike, lip curled. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. This was the closest he’d come to Adam’s Sanctum Sanctorum, his Holy of Holies. He had never yet seen Adam fully naked.
“It was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?” Adam asked. “Nothing says ‘Thinking of You’ like soiled undies.”
Matt shushed him. “I’m hard, baby. Standing here in my tented briefs. You have this effect on me. Is there more to your plan? Phone sex? Or did you want to give me blue balls and then hang up?”
Adam’s voice was soft and shy. “I wanted to hear you masturbate.”
“Join me,” Matt urged. “We could cum together.”
Adam was mortified. “You do remember that I’m on the couch in our living room, right?
Same couch that’s covered by the Afghan my grandma crocheted.
There’s no way I’m gonna squirm around on grandma’s Afghan, staining it with cum and having my parents walk in on me with my dick in my hands!
No thank you. You go ahead. I’ll enjoy listening. ”
There was no use arguing. Matt slipped out of his boxer briefs. His boner sprang up and slapped against his belly. He retrieved his hidden lube, then lay down on the bunk, pictured Adam lying there beside him.
Matt caressed his cockhead lightly. “I’m on my side. You’re next to me. We’re kissing and grinding our cocks together.”
“Don’t make me hard,” Adam pleaded.
“I reach down and curl my hand around both our cocks, stroking them.” Matt’s fingers slid down his shaft, then grazed their way back up. He moaned softly. “I’m kneading our cocks together. They are slick with pre-cum.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Adam half panted. “Getting me worked up so I have to join you.”
“You drape one leg around me,” Matt purred into the phone, still stroking himself. “I trace a finger up the back of your thigh, slide it between your ass cheeks, searching for your sphincter. There’s a lot of hair.”
“How would you know if it is hairy?” Adam asked.
“I’ve seen you in your Jockeys,” Matt said. “You have beautiful, downy fur all the way up your thighs. I saw a bit of briar patch poking out of the top of your Jockeys.”
“Is that a bad thing? A hairy hole?”
“I think they’re sexy as fuck,” Matt said.
“Go on.” Adam’s voice was husky.
“I ease you onto your back. I spread and bend your legs, cracking you open. I make you hold your ankles.”
Matt adjusted the phone in his ear. Closed his eyes to better imagine the seduction. Continued working his cock.
“I move to the end of the bed. Use my hands to pry your cheeks further apart, get my first glimpse of your little buttonhole. Lower my head. Your briar patch tickles my chin and nose. Your musk is intoxicating. I flick my tongue across your pink sphincter. You shudder.”
Adam was breathing hard now. Matt guessed he had a hand inside his pajamas.
Matt paused his monologue. “And now for a word from our sponsors!” he said in a TV announcer’s voice. “Brawny paper towels are super absorbent! They soak up twice as much cum as the other brands! Keep them handy so you don’t ruin Grandma’s Afghan.”
Adam laughed. “Busted! Okay, hold on a minute while I get some paper towels.”
A minute later he was back. “Now, where were we?”
“I was nuzzling your taint, teasing your hole.”
“Well hurry up,” Adam said. “It’s 8:40p.m. Mom and dad could be home anytime. And you and I both have to finish before then.”
Matt resumed. “I grab your ankles. I’m on my knees between your legs. My cock is dripping pre-cum. Your hole is slick with my spit. I push down on your ankles, forcing your ass up towards my cock…”
Matt heard Adam’s frenzied stroking and moaning.
“I tease your hole with my cock, bumping it, then pulling back.”
“Stop with the teasing,” Adam groaned. “Stick it in already!”
“I press my cockhead against your hole. I watch your eyes as it squeezes in, making sure you’re not in pain—”
“—You can skip that part, too,” Adam said. “This is phone sex. I’m not in pain.”
Matt smiled. “Fine then. I shove my cock in your tight, virgin hole. It’s a snug fit. I push in until I can feel your briar patch tickling my balls.”
Before I start pounding you, I bend over and kiss your lips. I whisper your name.”
That was all it took.
“I’m CUMMING!” Adam yelped in surprise, then whimpered.
Gasped.
“Oh shit! It’s everywhere! It’s running down my side, towards the Afghan! There’s a big puddle in my belly button! And these paper towels aren’t Brawny!”
“If I were there, I could help by lapping it up,” Matt offered.
“Stop talking,” Adam begged. “You’re not helping here. When you mentioned lapping up my cum, my cock just burped out more. It won’t stop! Every time I let go of it to try and mop up this mess, it spits out more!”
Matt laughed.
“SHIT! THEY’RE HOME!” Adam hissed. “I just heard the car pull up! What do I do?”
“Set the phone down. Clean up what you can. Stuff the paper towels under the couch, far enough back that they won’t see them. You can retrieve them later. Then curl up on the couch to hide your boner, and talk to me as if nothing has happened.”
Matt heard a clatter as the phone dropped. Heard frantic shuffling and rustling. His own boner shriveled into a lube-slicked worm.
“Hi mom! Hi dad,” Adam squeaked.
“You sound nervous,” Matt whispered.
“Hi honey!” said Call-me-Janet. “Who’s on the phone with you?”
“Just Matt.”
“Hi Matt!” said Call-me-Janet.
“Ask her what you should use to remove cum stains from Afghans,” Matt teased.
“Matt says ‘hi,’” Adam said to his mother.
Adam’s dad spoke gruffly. “It’s getting late, and I have to call a buddy. Tell your friend you’ll talk to him later.”
Call-me-Janet intervened. “Oh, Robert, give the boys a few minutes at least.”
“Fine,” grumbled the dad. “I’m gonna take a dump. Then I’ll need the phone.”
Call-me-Janet said she’d give the boys a little privacy, and retreated to the kitchen, where Matt knew from experience, she eavesdropped.
“You’ve got about five minutes to finish,” Adam whispered into the phone. “Dad reads his Sports Illustrated in his ‘Library’, as he calls it.”
“You’re kidding?” Matt said. “My cock flat-lined.”
“Pick up where you left off,” Adam sing-songed, obviously for Call-me-Janet’s benefit. “You were telling me about that game, where the clock was running out and you had to score that goal. What position did you say you were in?”
Matt was incredulous but felt his cock rising to the challenge. “I was on my knees, holding your ankles, my cock buried in your ass,” he whispered.
“Um-hmmmm,” Adam said in a too-loud, too-cheery voice. “And you were pounding down the field, right? In and out, focused only on scoring?”
Matt started stroking his cock.
“The clock was ticking,” Adam continued. “The pressure was on!”
“Please shut up,” Matt said. “Since this is phone sex and it’s my fantasy, I just flipped you over onto your stomach. Your face is buried in a pillow, and you can’t talk.”
Matt closed his eyes, pictured Adam on his stomach, legs spread, his buttonhole straining to accommodate Matt’s cock as it pistoned in and out of him.
Pictured Adam’s arms spread wide, his hands grasping for purchase as the force of Matt’s thrusts pushed him forward, then dragged him back.
Pictured himself spasming as he ejaculated inside his boyfriend.
Pictured his cum leaking out of Adam’s hole, dripping into his briar patch.
Matt didn’t realize he had orgasmed, spurting cum all over his hand, until he heard Adam’s fake cheering.
“Score!”