Chapter 18 – Braxton
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
brAXTON
Winters in NYC are terrible, but I've heard they're much worse in other parts of the state.
For example, I've been told Buffalo is an absolute hellscape of blizzards.
Now, my ass was born and raised in California, so I'm not used to this shit, even after being here for a few years.
And every time I check the weather app on my phone to find it's below freezing, I ask myself why I ever moved here.
The reason? Because it seemed like something fun to do. That's it. I didn't have a job lined up. I didn't have ambitions. Didn't want to be an actor or work in finance. Didn't come here to be a sex worker or join the mob. I simply came here because I was bored.
And now I'm stuck living the dream for half the year and living in a winter hell the other half. This is all a long-winded way of saying I'm happy to be hiding underneath the comfort of a cozy blanket with my best friend, Pookie.
It's premiere night for the show, which they've decided to call Pink Stallions. The trailers leading up to the first episode promised a scandalous, explosive, and, quite frankly, horny show. I didn't realize how little clothes any of us ever wore until I saw the first footage.
The lights are dimmed, and our drinks are full. I've convinced Pookie to start drinking the good shit—half White Claw, half vodka.
The opening credits roll, and it's a pink bonanza of the cast in our work uniforms—pink cowboy hats, blue jeans, and pink cowboy boots.
Dramatic clips are intertwined between each of our introductions, where our names are splattered over the screen in a neon pink font.
The final shot of the credits is the entire cast modeling in our swimwear in front of Mr. Pink's pool house in the Hamptons.
I have to be honest. The first thirty minutes or so is a sloppy train wreck. It's clear production had no idea what to do with the footage we shot before Pookie was brought on board. None of it really makes any sense. Boring.
And you know what happens when I get bored? I get horny.
I jerk Pookie off underneath the covers, and he does the same for me, until it's too hot and the blanket gets thrown onto the floor.
I've always been fascinated by my own cock.
I've always played with it a little too much.
Now, I'm fascinated by Pookie's cock and play with it a little too much.
Lately though, I've found myself wanting more.
And by wanting more, I mean... well, you know.
I swallow dryly, and I must stop pumping Pookie's cock because he glances at me with longing eyes.
"What?" he asks breathlessly, as he continues to stroke me with learned perfection.
He's gleaned everything there is to know about my cock.
Knows exactly what to do and when to do it.
Knows how to make me fucking lose my fucking mind.
He palms his slick hand over the slit and my chest spasms, to which he responds with a devilish grin. "Were you going to say something?"
"I..." I stammer, unable to fully speak because I'm on the verge of painting my stomach in cum.
"Fuckkkk." I groan, shooting hot ropes of cum all over his fist and my chest. He pumps me through my release, chewing into his bottom lip as he watches me intently.
He fucking knows how sensitive I get after coming and revels in the way he turns me inside out as he continues to torture me.
I spasm beneath his touch as random sounds are thrown from the back of my throat like loose rocks.
When he's done toying with me, he pulls his hand to his mouth and licks it clean. "You were saying something?"
It's so much easier to not say it. Instead, I'm just going to do it.
I shuffle backward on the couch and lay my head in his lap.
I think I'm being coy, but when he grabs his cock and holds it still, I realize he's sniffed me out.
He knows I'm about to suck his cock for the first time, and by the way the crown throbs, he's going to enjoy it.
What if I bite it?Oh my god, could you imagine the pain?
Tamra used to scrape her teeth on the head, and that was bad enough.
Fuck, what if I scrape my teeth on his cock and he thinks I'm a beaver?
Does he know I've been practicing on bananas for the last few weeks in a desperate attempt to gear myself up for this?
Does he know all those bananas were thrown into the trash after our encounters with teeth marks in the peel?
Just fucking do it.
I grab the base of his cock and squeeze it, which elicits an elongated gasp from Pookie.
I give his shaft a few strokes and lower my head to his cock, but don't quite take it in my mouth yet.
Instead, I watch it carefully, watching as the slit throbs, precum pooling in the void.
He brushes a hand through my curls, as patient as always.
I wouldn't begrudge him one bit for shoving my mouth down on his cock like I've done so many times before, but he doesn't.
He caresses his hand through my hair, gently working up my confidence to do this very gay thing. This very gay thing I want to do. This very gay thing I needto do.
I lap my tongue over the head, and I'm met with a salty taste that doesn't quite wreak havoc on the senses. And when I take him into my mouth, I'm more aware of the way his body reacts to me than I am the taste.
And the taste? Neutral. Tastes like skin and salt, and my Old Spice body soap he swears he hasn't been using. Busted.
I'm not a professional, and so I take a quick break, removing my mouth from his cock.
I continue to stroke him, though. His cock is slick from my spit, and his entire body rumbles every time I stroke over his crown.
The television steals my attention as the spin the bottle scene begins to play out. I remember it vividly.
First, Pookie kisses Maverick, and I have to say, no bueno.I won't let Pookie know the sight of this fills me with jealousy because I'm acutely aware of the way jealousy has affected him in the past. And then, as he crawls across the circle of friends and kisses me, I can't help but think about how far we've come.
Also, there's this look on my face that I hadn't realized was there.
It's almost like a reckoning in my eyes as Pookie retreats, leaving me wanting more.
Watching myself on television is going to be an experience like no other.
I think I'm going to learn a lot about myself.
For example, I didn't know it then, or maybe I simply couldn't understand it, but there's no way in hell that version of myself I'm looking at on the screen didn't want Pookie that night.
Now that the good shit is over, I take Pookie's cock back in my mouth. Sucking dick is easier than I expected it to be. Knock on wood, I haven't scraped Pookie's wood with my teeth yet, and honestly? It's really fucking fun to know I have this much power over him.
He cries out with the sexiest moans, his fingers continuing to dance in my hair. As he nears release, he begins to thrust upward, which is a little bit of a challenge. I gag the first few times, but quickly get the hang of it.
Then, I hear my voice on the screen—a confessional. "So, apparently this loser could use a friend in this group. Here comes Braxton to the rescue, like always."
"I do not recall saying that," I mouth around Pookie's dick, but it comes out all mumbled.
Apparently, those words on the screen do something to Pookie because he's no longer gentle. He grabs the back of my head and forces me down to the hilt, my lips melting against his groomed groin.
Totally fair.
I deserve this.
He twists his fingers into my curls.
"Fuckkk," he screams, bucking his hips upwards and shooting his release against the back of my throat and tongue. It's easy enough to swallow, but it's also a lot. The taste is kind of pleasant, kind of not, but is also irrelevant because nothing comes close to how this feels.
I continue sucking him like a lollipop until he's spent and I'm left gasping for air.
I'm starting to think I might be gay.
Our lives changed after the first episode aired. Suddenly, we were all recognized on the street. Despite this, I still convinced Pookie to head out to the tracks after the airing of the third episode. We snorted a few lines of our favorite party drug and hopped on the train over to Brooklyn.
While standing in line, we heard it all:
You're the guys from that show!
My condolences for having to deal with that crazy ex-girlfriend of yours.
Is Gunnar really that much of a prick?
Where's Boone's brother?
You guys should date.
Pookie handled the last inquiry by pointing out to the horny fan that I'm straight. A lie I know he's getting tired of repeating, but a lie I'm not ready to stop telling.
Once inside, we danced with complete strangers and opted to keep a distance from anyone who even hinted they could know who we are.
As the night went on, though, I was bit by the cold fangs of nostalgia.
I wanted to touch Pookie and have him touch me.
I wanted to dance like we used to dance, back when we had the luxury of anonymity.
This was made all the more frustrating.
Pookie and I tried to sneak into the bathroom for some lines and a quickie, but the line was too long. So, we made our way over to the hallway leading to the darkroom. It's rather crowded, so we're waiting for it to thin out a little before slipping inside.
Pookie's fingers graze mine, impatiently. The drugs in our system make everything feel heightened, so naturally it's become increasingly hard to hide the erection in my shorts.
A girl approaches with a slack-jawed expression. Ugh, she's clearly a fan. She's dressed in neon lingerie with her black hair tied up in pigtails. "I love you guys," she squeals, coming to a stop in front of us. "Can I ask a question?"