Date: Sun, 30 Mar 2008 20:03:21 -0700 From: "titboiSanDiego @msn.com" Subject: Not Supposed to be Doing That Here (Part 2) NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THAT HERE (Part Deux) By: TitBoiSanDiego This story features general raunch, piss, man stink and other nasty things that hot guys enjoy doing to each other. (For those of you following along from Part 1, don't worry: we will get to the piss party where they're not supposed to be doing scat. But that's a later installment.) This is the part where I warn you about how everything is fictional and that you shouldn't try this at home without adult supervision. In fact, if you're underage, well, my goodness, you shouldn't be here at all. (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 telling us how he and Matt met in a bathhouse (Oh, how romantic!). Later, in the steam room, Matt tricked him into swallowing piss (Eeeuw! How disgusting!).] Instead of spending the night in one of those cramped beds in a cramped room at the baths, Matt turned out to be a class act: he took me back to his place to share a couple of Becks beers and his double bed. It was a memorable night: I got to take a whiz down someone's throat for the first time and Matt rimmed me out. Afterwards, while I was lying there thinking I could never be more contented, Matt cleared his throat. "Want to go again?" I wheezed a little and looked at him sideways. Didn't this guy ever get tired? "Just came," I said on an exhale. Then, on the inhale, I added, "Need time for the third." "Just piss down my throat, I mean. We've been drinking beer." "Okay. We've been drinking beer. And your point is - ?" "Beer dilutes piss. Makes it taste better." He snuggled up closely. "C'mon, 'Rique. Please use me as your urinal one more time," he pleaded. "Then we can go to sleep. Promise." I was so tired. But I also knew most guys would give their eye teeth for the chance to piss down this hot stud's throat. I turned to look at him. "Okay. Where?" He spread his hands, as though the answer were obvious. "Here? We're not supposed to be doing that in bed." "But mon ami - " " - Novio - " "Mi caliente novio. If you train me to do it here, you won't ever have to get up in the middle of the night to take a piss." This was beginning to sound better and better. "Okay, sewer mouth," I said. "How do you want it?" Matt sunk to his knees. "Is this convenient for you, Sir?" "Oh, boy," I thought. "`Sir.' That makes me so hard and I need my cock to go soft right now." "Won't it be hard to piss through that boner?" Matt asked. "Don't worry. You'll get yours, pal." Matt took my cock and skinned it back. "I will swallow whatever comes out of this," he murmured. "Even if I won't do it for you?" I asked. He looked up. "Even if you won't. I will take your cum and your piss and whatever else comes out of your body. Because there is honor in being someone's toilet." "Oh, jeez," I thought, as I tried to make my cock go soft again. "Wish he hadn't said it that way." __________________ Matt and I were a great match. I loved fucking him and he had the hole to take it. He loved cleaning out my foreskin and even requested that I not skin it back for a few days before we saw each other. We both loved kissing and spent hours necking while we stared into each other's eyes. Out of bed, it was just as good. We liked movies and enjoyed testing each other on the picayune details of film noir. I sat through a Mets game trying to remember to root for the home team. Matt was not the biggest patron of the performing arts, but he did allow me to drag him to SWAN LAKE. Afterwards, we watched the DVD where the swans are danced by men (all of whom, he assured me, just had to be gay). And so the weeks passed. Until one day I realized, much to my surprise, that I was pretty comfortable with things that, until a few months earlier, I had never thought I would even be able to watch, much less do. (However, I was uncertain whether this realization should make me happy or cause me concern.) One night after I fucked him, we were having pillow talk. "Hey, Matt." "Hey, 'Rique." Matt was lazily tracing hairs along my chest and stomach. "Uhm. Have you noticed that our conversations are almost always about. well, you know... About non-traditional sex acts." His eyes lit up. "I know! Isn't it great?" He propped his head up on one hand and smiled that 14 karat smile that Midwest farm boys are apparently born with. He then proceeded to enumerate them. "We've peed down each other's throats, I've rimmed you, you've fucked me. Man, we're really moving along, aren't we?" This wasn't going quite like I planned. "But it's all raunch. When do we do the normal stuff?" "What's `normal'?" he asked, pursing his lips. That caught me short. I paused for a second, and Matt plunged right in. "We kiss each other," he said. "That's pretty normal, isn't it?" "Yeah, I guess," I said uncertainly. "We hold each other in our arms when we sleep, right? Normal folks do that, don't they?" "Okay." "We have intercourse in the only orifices that God gave us. Right?" Why did his arguments always have to be so logical? Suddenly, Matt sat up. "You know, muchacho, you should never use soap again." "That's what I mean!" I said, slapping his raw butt. "Always talking about how my ass smells. Sniffing under my arms when I'm not looking. And don't say you're not doing it because I can tell." "Who says I'm not doing it? A whiff of your pits is better than poppers. Couldn't you stop with the Right Guard for just one week? I promise: you'll love the stink." "Don't think my office would, though." "Hmmm." He sounded very concerned. "We may have to find you a new job." "Yeah, right. In the meantime, there's tomorrow night. And instead of a DVD, let's go out to the movies." "But you said it's too hot." "No. You're what's hot." I poked him in the stomach. And we fell asleep in each other's arms. When I stopped by to pick him up the following evening, there was a suspicious but familiar odor. When Matt leaned over to kiss me, I recognized the source right away. "Did you, uhm, just come from the gym?" I asked diplomatically. "Why, yes," he said, kissing me again. "How did you guess?" "Showers weren't working, were they?" "No, the showers were working fine." He tried to look innocent. "But you didn't use them, did you?" "Why, no. How did you guess?" He kissed me again. "Uh, Matt. Don't know how to tell you this, but you smell." "I don't smell" he said, his eyes beaming. "I stink! Isn't it great?" With that, he took me into his arms. Now, if I were a gambling man, that is not the response I would have bet the ranch on. I stared at him. "Great," I said. "You stink. So why don't I just date a homeless guy?" "Do you Latin boys always have to be so clean for the nuns? Get over it." He pinched my tit and drew me closer to explain an important distinction. "Homeless guys smell because they don't take a shower," he said. "But I stink from perspiration. The odor of a guy who chooses not to use deodorant." "In other words," I said, "you're making a political statement. Because you choose to stink, you don't smell?" Matt looked positively delighted. "Never thought about it that way, Enrique! Very well put." He nodded and mumbled to himself, "`I stink, therefore I am.' Oh, I like that a lot." He smiled again. "Ready for the movie?" "You're going like that?" "I'm going like this." I didn't bother sighing because I knew it wouldn't make any difference. It was a humid night. By the time we walked to the theater and got into the ticket holder's line, Matt smelled like an entire high school basketball team in the final minutes of the fourth quarter. I couldn't pretend I wasn't with him. Besides, he was so cute that I wanted guys to know I was with him. But he sure DID smell. (Or stink. Or something.) When we found our seats, I offered to get popcorn - as much for the fresh air as for the popcorn. When I came back, there wasn't a female sitting within ten seats of us. But there were an awful lot of guys. One was engaged in deep conversation with my hero. "Ahem," I said, a tad louder than necessary. Matt looked up. "'Rique, this is Saul. Saul, this is my boyfriend, Enrique." A word to the wise: calling someone your boyfriend can wipe out a lot of doubt. And that's just what happened. In that moment, I would have done anything for this hunk of manflesh. Saul sat back and eyed me enviously. I felt proud to be Matt's boyfriend - even though he had chosen this evening to make a political statement. As we watched the movie, I snuggled up. Once you got used to it, stink isn't THAT bad, is it? Besides, if other guys were envious, who was I to argue? Matt leaned over and kissed me, and then put his arm around the back of the seat. The aroma of unwashed pits filled the theater. I saw some girls look at us and then at each other, giggling. I also saw a couple of guys sigh and breathe in deeply. I snuggled up closer. Interestingly, by the time the movie let out, the stink didn't bother me at all. Good thing, too, because it was one of those summer nights where bodies were sweating simply from being inside the city limits. We walked carelessly through the teeming streets, occasionally pulling the other closer to point out something or whisper in each other's ear. There was a timelessness in the air that made me wish there were more evenings like this in everyone's life. I began to notice the smell of passers-by. On Columbus Avenue, prissy boys in white pants with sweaters wrapped around their shoulders like a shawl ("Sweaters on a night like this?") smelled like the most recent issue of VANITY FAIR Magazine. Homeless guys asking for money were far sexier, by comparison. A pair of Upper East Side matrons walking towards us exuded Channel No. 5. As soon as they saw our intertwined hands, they edged away uncertainly. ("What are you doing on the West Side anyway?" I thought.) When guys in tight t-shirts rubbed up against us accidentally-on-purpose while we stood at traffic lights, I wanted to check for my wallet. But I began to take it in stride. Matt was the kind of guy other guys wanted to be near. "Ready to go back?" he said. "Sure." And then, ever so casually, he added, "You know what I think, hot guy? I think tonight would be a good night to expand your limits a little." Perhaps there was a flash of alarm in my face. (Or was that anticipation?) Either way, he laughed and bit at my ear. "C'mon, 'Rique." "I am not interested in being your urinal again. Yet." "Oh, I like that `yet'," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. As we entered his building, I was dragging my feet. All the way up the stairs, he kept swatting at my ass and giggling in my ear. "Yet," he teased. Finally, I turned on him. "I am not going to be your urinal at all!" A door opened just a crack. "It's okay, Mrs. Horowitz," he called out helpfully. "The super was up earlier. Our toilet's been fixed. Say, have you met my boyfriend, Enrique?" The door slammed shut without comment. "No problem, Mrs. H. Maybe next time." By the time we got to the top floor, we were snapping at each other's t-shirts and swatting each other's butts. Matt unlocked the door and in moments, we were naked, staring happily at the packages of fun that awaited us. "I need to take a piss," Matt said. "And just to show you what a good sport I am, I'm not going to put you to work." He raised his eyebrows. "Yet." "Asshole!" I shouted as he went into the bathroom. I put my clothes on a chair. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "That was fast," I said. "Mr. Porcelain awaits your gift." "Perv!" I said, as he walked towards the bedroom. In front of the toilet, I stretched my cock, trying to keep the foreskin over the head. I sighed contentedly as a stream of piss began to flow. My eyes wandered idly around the bathroom. (I always meant to ask what he was on the night he painted the walls red.) Eventually my eyes came to rest on a magazine on top of the tank. What I saw made me swallow hard. It wasn't the first time I had seen scat photos. But it was the first time I had seen them in nice folks' homes. The layout showed two guys. One was standing, with only his rounded buttocks facing the camera. He had grasped his buns and pulled them apart so you could see a nice hole. His boyfriend was kneeling behind him, his mouth at the source, open and ready. In the first photo, the standing guy was bent a little a the waist. You could almost hear him grunting as he tried to push out a log. His boyfriend flicked his tongue at the hole. In the second photo, the beginnings of the turd peeked out. The boyfriend had pulled back and was looking on in anticipation. In the next photo, the turd now projected out farther and the boyfriend was licking at it. In the fourth photo, the turd was about to be pinched off. The boyfriend had his mouth at the ready, waiting to receive the dangling brown stuff. I looked at each photo a couple of times. At last, I breathed in. I was surprised to realize I wasn't more unnerved. Where was the next photo? Wasn't there always a shot of the log sticking out of someone's mouth? I turned the page, but it wasn't there. I flipped a few pages ahead, but the spread didn't continue. There was a noise at the door. In the mirror, I saw Matt enter. For the first time since I had known him, his face showed real fear. This time, he knew he might have gone too far. In the mirror, his eyes drilled into mine, trying to gauge whether he had crossed the line. We stood there silently, both of us afraid to speak. Finally, Matt cleared his throat. "Do you want to see the other photos?" I nodded. Matt laid the missing pages on the toilet lid so we could look at them together. Sure enough, there was the obligatory photo of a turd sticking out of someone's mouth. There was also a sixth photo: the first guy had turned around and was kissing his boyfriend. The log was now in both their mouths. Matt moved closer. I could feel his breath on my neck. I stiffened as his hand touched my ass and began tracing figures on my naked skin. He whispered in my ear. "What do you think about these photos?" I couldn't say anything. "Hot, aren't they?" I shrugged. "I'm not asking you to do this, Enrique. Okay?" He looked at me in the mirror. "Do you understand? I am not asking you to do this." I nodded my head dumbly. He reached his arms around my chest and clenched me tighter than ever. The warmth of his breath was comforting, and also confusing. "I am not asking you to do this, Enrique. "But," and he held that word for long moments, "but I would like you to do it to me." End of Chapter 2.