Date: Fri, 6 Jun 2008 21:11:42 -0700 From: "titboiSanDiego @msn.com" Subject: Not Supposed to be Doing That Here (Part 4) NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THAT HERE (Part 4) By: titboiSanDiego@msn.com This story features general raunch, man stink, scat and other hot things that nasty guys do to each other. If you've been following along from Part 1, this is the next-to-the-last chapter, wherein our boys receive their invitation to the piss party. (Part 5 is the party itself.) This is the part where I warn you about not going any further. So if you're under 18 and it's after 10 p.m., do your parents know you're here? (Author's Note. Okay, guys, this is a different kind of porn story: a combination of raunch and comedy. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't. But I'm sure you'll let me know either way.) ___________________________________________ [When we left our heroes, Enrique was explaining how Matt had eaten his dump - the first time Enrique had ever fed anyone. The chapter ended with them falling asleep in each other's arms.] A few days later, Matt came racing into the bathroom. He caught me with my pants down - literally. I scrambled to cover myself as he waved something in his hand. "'Rique. Look at this!" "Goddamit!" I shouted. "Doesn't a closed door mean anything around here?" Matt had so little experience looking embarrassed that he didn't even bother trying. He fairly danced about, waving something in his hand. "Guess what's in this envelope?" "A key to the bathroom door?" This clever sally sailed right over his head. "An invitation to a piss party!" he shouted gleefully. "Ah," I said. Clearly, that was not the expression of appreciation that Matt was expecting. He looked me up and down and began to explain. "Where guys urinate all over each other? You know?" "I know what a piss party is," I said politely. Matt shook his head, conveying the exasperation of a professional who is constantly having to break in newbies. He began muttering. "He keeps saying he wants pigs to piss all over him. So here I bring this piss party invitation - this golden opportunity, and he doesn't even - ." He paused for a second. "Get it? `Golden'?" "Ha, ha," I said without enthusiasm and looked between my legs. Matt looked down there as well and tried not to be obvious about breathing in deeply. "You just dropped some logs, didn't you?" "Great guess, Shit-for-Sherlock. Boys don't usually sit down to take a whiz." "Have you wiped?" I tilted my head and stared at him in a futile attempt to maintain what little dignity could still be left to the moment. But it was unlikely that Matt could ever be embarrassed or shamed. Instead, he sank to his knees and put his arms around my waist. "Let's pretend we're out of toilet paper," he said, his eyebrows shooting for the ceiling. He pried my hands apart, smiled as he found my hard-on and went down on it. He spread my legs wider and took note of the huge bowel movement floating in the water. Even for a guy like me who only dumps every two or three days, this was a stunner: not only long, but also wide and knotted. I had grunted quite a while to squeeze this baby out. "Think it's last night's pizza?" Matt asked, conversationally. One of his endearing charms was that he could discuss the most taboo subjects as though they were part of an ordinary conversation at the photocopy machine. "Well, there might be a little pizza," I replied, trying to be equally breezy. "But I think it's more likely the meatloaf from the night before." His eyebrows shot up again. "I like meatloaf too." I rolled my eyes and tried to cover my crotch. Matt was exasperated. "C'mon Enrique!" he said. "Where's your sense of fun? You never want to do anything spontaneous." "That's just not true!" I shouted, now truly outraged. "What about the time we were walking through the Rambles and you said it had always been your fantasy to be fed at sunset? Did I buy you an Italian Ice, or did I feed you something else - right on the spot?" "Yeah, but - " "And the platform at Lincoln Center while we waited for the Number 1? Did I drink from the tap while pretending to tie my shoes?" "I did number 1 while we waited for the Number 1," he said, smiling slyly. "Let's go to the survey. Out of a hundred kinky boys our audience, 98 said each of those occasions qualified as spontaneous. I rest my case." But Matt was already working on a new tack. He hugged me around the waist and began nibbling at one of my tits. After a moment, he began to hum because he knew how much I liked that. I put my arms around his shoulders. He leaned up and kissed me on the mouth. And raised those eyebrows to the skies. "Oh, what the fuck," I thought. I cleared my throat. "Say, uh, Matt? Wanna pretend we have no toilet paper?" "Yeah!" In a moment, he had my pants off and my legs were over his shoulders. He tugged my torso closer and dived down under my balls. I felt the tongue of wonders go to work. Matt was born to rim. He had developed an entire repertoire of ways to make a guy's hole feel treasured and to coax the brown stuff out of it. He started by swirling his tongue around the pucker, licking whatever crud might be left over from the last dump. Even the sweatiness of a guy's butt being enclosed in underwear all day was enough to get him going. Then he might stick his tongue up the hole, blow air up it, suck hard on it or pry it apart with his fingers. If there was any possibility there was a log - or even a nugget - waiting, he would find it. When he licked your trench, you could feel his nose rooting around, like a pig trying to find truffles. All the time, he was humming and producing so much saliva that you felt like your ass was slipping and sliding through space. Given that there are no classes in rimming at The Learning Annex, it really was quite an achievement. His latest game was to pretend we were out of toilet paper. The first time I agreed to play, he took the roll out of the holder and threw it into the hall. Afterwards, I explained that wasn't necessary if you were pretending. Since I don't dump everyday, I'm usually not a clean shitter. You don't stick your tongue up my keister expecting only to find a hint of flavor. There is almost always something left. And even though Matt didn't like the peanut butter stuff, he made the most of any remnants that could be found around my hole. He would begin by scraping it off with his tongue. He squealed over little delights, trying to guess at what I had eaten - and when. (Given his experience, he was usually pretty close.) When his tongue was no longer clean enough to use as a butt wipe, he would take my cock in his mouth. This was my hint to piss a moderate amount of urine into his mouth. He would tap my leg when it was enough, swish it around to clean his mouth (which in turn loosened bits of excrement) and then swallow the mixture right down. He would go back to rimming until his tongue was once again too filthy to continue. We had to repeat this eat-`n-rinse cycle several times, so it was important not to give him too much piss up front. By the time he finished cleaning my hole, my front was pretty gummy. I rinsed his mouth out again and he would start cleaning my cock and the hairs on my balls. He was always thorough and it was quite a sensual experience. Occasionally, I would be so relaxed that some shit I didn't know was still in my hole would ooze out. The first time it happened, there was a little splash. Matt raised his head up and sniffed suspiciously. "Did you just dump?" I was so embarrassed that all I could was nod. "Dammit, Enrique!" he exploded. "What do you think I'm down there for?" "It's not my fault! I couldn't hold it in any longer." "I'm not asking you to hold it. But the least you can do is let me eat it!" "I was afraid you'd be upset because you just cleaned my hole." "It's not like I'm you're momma and you walked on the kitchen floor when it was wet. I'm not going to send you to bed without dessert. That's why I'm down there: to eat your shit and clean your hole. So if you're gonna dump, at least tell me in advance. I'd like a chance at eating it - even if it means I have to clean you up again." I began to get the bigger picture. After that, there were no misunderstandings. I would sit back and relax, knowing my hole and the rest of me were in the hands of a master rimmer. When he was done and everything was clean, and when there were no more farts or dribbles, Matt would look up at me and raise his eyebrows. The first time this happened, I didn't know what was up. He reached up to kiss me on the lips and I tasted my own shit. He pulled back to see how I would react. I was caught off guard, no question, but it wasn't THAT bad. I would never eat shit myself, but tasting a little now and then didn't bother me. By the afternoon I was sitting there, waiting to receive my piss party invitation, we had fallen into a routine: eat `n rinse, followed by a little kiss. But for Matt. "routine" was just another word for "limits". And for him, limits were made to be expanded. So when he raised his eyebrows this time, indicating he was ready to exchange our kiss, I knew he was up to something. I quickly kissed him on the cheek and wiped my ass with tp to make sure there were no streaks. (After a rim job from this guy, there never were anyway, but still...) I wadded up the tp in my hand, ready to toss it into my favorite toilet. "Open up, pig," I said. "Let me kiss you first." "Just did." "But that wasn't a real kiss, 'Rique." "Uh uh," I said, smiling. I tossed the tp into the porcelain toilet, now brimming with logs and a few after-pebbles, and flushed. I looked at him with a knowing smile. "Want to open your mouth and show me what's in there?" I said. He smiled and shook his head. "I know you have something in your mouth." I said. And I reached for his one weak spot. Matt had a magnificent pair of low hangers. He didn't mind a little roughhousing, but his balls were pretty sensitive and he couldn't take too much abuse. When I grabbed for that swinging sack and began to twist them, he was shouting and laughing. "Ow! Stop it, 'Rique." "`'Rique'? I think we're getting a little too familiar here, fella." "Please, Sir. Let my balls go." "Gonna show us what's inside your mouth?" He shook his head. I twisted his nuts even harder. He winced and finally opened wide. There it was, sitting on his tongue: he had managed to secrete a nice-sized nugget of my excrement without it melting and was planning to slip it to me during one of our kisses. I let go of his balls and watched them swing back and forth, like that set of five silver balls that swung back and forth demonstrating the principle of kinetic energy. "After all, you're the toilet, not me," I reminded him. Matt sat back on his haunches, laughing and wiping his mouth. "Oh really?" he said. "Perhaps you don't remember the subway platform. Drinking from the spigot makes you a toilet." "I don't eat." "Okay, so you're not full service toilet. Don't worry, li'l piggy. We'll get you there." ______________ A few mornings later, I still hadn't finished packing when Matt returned from renting the car. He made it clear that I was putting too much effort into the least important part of the weekend. But I didn't agree. "It's my first piss party," I said, holding my hands up to my face in mock dismay. "Will there be a cocktail hour? Should I wear my preppy button-down Oxfords?" "If you dare behave like a preppy, 'Rique, I'll never take you to another piss party again." I was still curious about a lot of details. "Who's going to be there? Are we talking about five guys or fifty? Our age or old farts?" "Never know until they show up. Probably around 20, maybe 25 guys. Some our age, but mostly in their forties. Don't wrinkle your nose." "My first piss party and it's going to be mostly old guys?" "For something like this, you want guys who've been around the block. Twinks just slow things down." He returned to a topic he had mentioned several times during the previous few days. "Remember: this is a piss party," he said. "They don't allow scat. Only piss." "You've said this several times already." "Have I?" he said casually. Well, I just want to be careful." "I've promised not to shit, and since I'm never going to eat, as long as you promise not to shit, we'll be okay. Okay?" "How do you know you're never going to eat? You might like it." He raised his eyebrows. "You just told me it's piss party, and we're not supposed to do scat. Now you say you think I might enjoy eating someone's dump? What exactly is your point?" He seemed disappointed that I wouldn't at least talk about possibly expanding my limits on eating. "That's everything," I said, packing some socks. "You want to bring the car around." Outside, with the car packed and us ready to take off, Matt asked if I had brought enough condoms. "All the drugstore had," I said. "Well, that's should do it. Ready?" I grabbed for my seatbelt. "Oh, by the way," Matt began. "Please don't tell me he's going to bring this up again," I thought. "This is a piss party." Matt continued. "They don't allow - " I helped him finish. "They don't allow scat. Won't tolerate the stuff. Only piss." I paused and then continued. "Yes, you may have mentioned that." "Just wanted to be sure, because that's the one thing you're supposed to be doing there." "I won't forget," I promised, as he started the car. Moments later, we were heading down FDR Drive towards the Long Island Expressway. My first piss party was about to become a reality. (End of Part 4.)