I have never thought that my relationship with Patrick was going to become so miserable in spite of the infatuation I had developed for him.
Patrick, who has turned out to be my nemesis, is physically the opposite of me. Where I have a skinny and smooth body, except for my pubes and legs, Patrick is muscled and hairy. Apart from a few hairs around my nipples and carefully trimmed pubes and shaved ass, I am smooth as a baby’s butt. Patrick, however, has a thick patch of chest hair, running down his flat and ripped abdomen in a trail, to thick and curly pubes around the base of his cock and down to his fuzzy balls and ass crack. My facial hair is more downy than hairy. Patrick, however, has grown a beautifully trimmed, dark and so masculine-looking beard.
Also, where my character is pleasant and submissive—I always bottom—, Patrick is aggressive and sometimes even arrogant. During our relationship, Patrick has never sucked my dick. He sometimes would fist my cock when he is fucking me and thus brings me to orgasm, but he has never touched my cock with his lips, even though he would invariably rim my ass, but only in preparation to his fucking. And I always wondered whether Patrick was really gay or just passing the time with me as a convenient and available fuck.
My dick is uncut and erects at just over 13 cm, whereas Patrick’s cock is a cut 22-centimeter thick monster. My milky white skin is contrasted with Patrick’s tanned and rippled body. When we fuck and I climax, I barely whimper, trying my best to stifle the noise, a habit I had developed when I used to masturbate as a boy in our bedroom which I shared with my older brother, Francis.
On the other hand, Patrick explodes inside me with loud grunts and sometimes even screams of “ahhh’s” and “oh-fuckkkks”. He always announces his ejaculation with a loud “I’m fucking cumming” or “Take my fuck jizz” or even “My fucking dick is filling your bitch PUSSYYY!” his beautiful body sweating and his manly muscles rippling with the intensity of his blasts.
I am always careful to hide my homosexuality. Patrick, strangely enough, advertises it, never in a campy way but more macho-like, which invariably puts me in embarrassing situations. It is as if he is the man-husband and I’m the little “wifey”. When we go out for coffee or pizza, he reaches out and holds my hand. Whenever I try to pull my hand free as a waiter approaches or the people next to us glance over, he squeezes hard and wouldn’t let go, with a smirk on his handsome and bearded face, as if wanting to tell everyone that I am his uncontested property, that my ass is his to plough and plunder. I would blush beet red while he smirks.
In a party, he makes it a point to wrap his arm around my waist and to pull me close to him, like he owns me, which he does, of course. Such actions in a gay milieu would be adorable, but when you are with friends who don’t know about your sexuality, it’s embarrassing as hell. But does Patrick care? Not a bit. He even flirts with the females, which drives me nuts.
All this said, one might wonder, how have we ended up with each other, the most improbable couple in the world? Opposites attract, right? At least, this is what common wisdom dictates. In our case, common wisdom has definitely dictated. I was attracted to Patrick the minute I saw him, like a butterfly to a hot lamp. I hadn’t realized that I was going to burn then. I had thought at first that Patrick was a god and that he would never give me a second glance. But he did. And I was elated. And we fucked. And we became a “couple”.
Still, just the physical and character differences would not define Patrick as my nemesis.
Nemesis was the Greek goddess of vengeance. Why would Patrick be vengeful towards me, to punish me? I love him. I have given him body and soul. Not once that I can recall has Patrick said the word “love” to me.
Sometimes, I would whisper, “I love you, Patrick,” as I licked the side of his neck.
“Don’t be such a mushy wimp, JC,” would be his retort, or something to that effect.
The subsequent fucking would be rough and punishing. With a 22-centimeter thick cock, Patrick knows how to punish. And he does it powerfully, making me walk around with a sore ass and a semi-erection for days.
JC: Jean-Claude! Even my name is wimpy. Patrick is such a macho masculine name. When I was born, my parents were taking French lessons, and then, eh voila, Jean-Claude!
Patrick and I first met in the weirdest of places, queuing in a line waiting to buy tickets to a movie, “Lord of the Rings” if I remember correctly. He happened to stand behind me. I had noticed him earlier when I walked into the theater lobby and I thought to myself “oh what a stud!” but I put him as just eye candy and out of my mind because it never occurred to me that such a hot guy would be interested in gimpy, nerdy me, if he were gay, that was.
We were so unlike and Patrick looked so unattainable. I am not outwardly gay, so I was extremely surprised when I felt his front brush on my backside. Of course, my heart raced and I was seriously nervous about pushing back onto his crotch. I did, for a fraction of a second; I just couldn’t resist, but I quickly moved a step forward. He moved forward also, and then again the light brush at my butt. And to my surprise, I later discovered that he had bought the ticket for the seat next to mine.
In the darkness of the movie theater, around 15 minutes into the movie, Patrick started rubbing his leg up and down mine. I made furtive glances around, fearful of being seen. I jumped when I felt his hand on my thigh. I was tempted to change my seat, but I just couldn’t. My eyes were glued to the screen but I wasn’t able to concentrate on the movie. My instant erection to his hand-rubbing up and down the inside of my thigh made me blush and squirm and sweat. It was so incomprehensible to me that such a hunk of a guy would come onto me like this, in public.
And then came the arm. Patrick unabashedly wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He leaned and whispered in my ear: “You’re so fucking hot, dude.”
I almost shit in my pants! My heart raced painfully; his whisper was so unexpected, so erotic, that I felt brutal tremors flow throughout my body. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on controlling my shaking body. My stomach fluttered and I almost fainted.
I died when he bent and nibbled on my ear lobe, adding: “How about we go and fuck, baby.”
This time, it wasn’t just a whisper. It was loud enough for the lady sitting next to me to turn and look. She must have seen Patrick’s hand on my thigh and his arm around my shoulder. I didn’t dare look at her to see her expression. I never realized then that Patrick would become my lover and my nemesis. I was excited and I was tormented.
Out in the theater lobby, Patrick offered to buy us ice-cream. I accepted, of course, with a fluttering heart. You might wonder why I would have such a death-wish realizing how forward and unabashed Patrick was and how he had put me in such embarrassing situations inside the movie theater. But I was intrigued and hungry for man cock, to say the least, and he was so beautiful, so inaccessible then, that I felt flattered that such a stud was making a move on me. Of course, he paid for the ice cream, and he made a show out of it, eliciting strange glances from the cashier, and a smirk! The boyfriend treating his date to an ice-cream in preparation for a fuck, the cashier’s face seemed to scream.
Patrick sat opposite me at a small round table, never taking his eyes off my face, his long leg reaching between my legs under the table. A couple of times he mouthed: “so sexy” and “let’s fuck”. I reeled and melted and knew that I was owned.
“JC?” he asked in his throaty, manly voice.
I was dreading this question.
“Jean-Claude,” I barely uttered, hating my high-pitched voice, hating my name, hating French and the Eiffel Tower.
“I love it,” he laughed. “Jean-Claude. Oh, so Frenchie. You French, Jean-Claudie?” he teased, pressing his knee inside my thigh, streaming electrical current into my whole body.
“No,” I squeaked and squirmed.
“Well, it suits you.”
“Patrick suits you, too,” I managed to say. Oh, yes! Patrick, the stud! Patrick who had just bought me an ice-cream. Patrick who was sexing me, unabashedly, in public. Patrick who wants to fuckme!
“Yea?” he gave me the most lewd smile. “What else do you see that suits me, my JC?”
“Your skin, your facial hair, your physique,” I mumbled, making sure that no one is nearby to hear me.
“Well, well, all of this is on the outside, with me fully clothed. Anything on the inside that you might like to see? Under the clothes?” He bit the corner of his lower lip and smirked at me, his knee almost at my crotch.
I must have blushed, but I couldn’t reply, concentrating on the ice-cream bowl in front of me and squirming at the incessantly pressing knee.
“Looks like you’re quite fond of cream, JC,” Patrick taunted me, his sneakered foot now starting to nudge up and down my leg. I was certain that his leg play was seen by others. I glanced at the cashier: the smirk was stronger! Oh, the fucking cashier seemed to say, the guy is scooooring!
I nodded, fully aware of what Patrick was alluding to.
“You can have my cream, JC,” Patrick said without even lowering his voice. “You do want my cream, JC, don’t you? I want to feed you my cream, JC. You gonna lick my cream with your pink tongue, JC, aren’t you?” His smile was beautifully erotic and I almost creamed myself! The fucking cashier looked as if he was going to laugh out loud.
I was tormented as well as dizzy with excitement. It was almost 11 o’clock in the evening when we left the movie theater. Patrick led me to the parking lot to his Honda Civic—I don’t own a car—taking it for granted that I would accept his invitation. In the car, Patrick’s hand went immediately into the inside of my thigh, rubbing up and down, almost reaching my crotch, but never actually getting there. I squirmed with my fast-developing erection, my heart almost stopping.
“JC,” Patrick said, squeezing my thigh. “Hold my dick!”
Just like that! An order! In fact, I didn’t need an invitation, but I wasn’t much of an outdoor person. With a trembling hand, glancing around checking the windows, I reached across and placed my hand on his crotch. The very act of touching another man’s crotch out in public was an erotic experience for me, heady, risky but fucking erotic.
“You like?” Patrick said lifting his crotch up. “Take my cock out, JC.”
Fucking order!
Slowly, I unzipped him and reached inside. I tried to pull down on his briefs but couldn’t get his rod out. I could feel it hard inside his undies. My God, I was thinking, this is a man meat in my grip, a fucking man cock!
“Wait a sec,” Patrick said as he lifted his butt and pulled down his jeans and briefs, so matter-of-fact, as if he were in a toilet instead of a moving car on the road. His cock sprang up, hard and huge, much bigger than what I had estimated. I inhaled.
“You like, JC? You like my cock, don’t you? Grab it, JC.”
I did, trembling all over. Patrick’s cock was throbbing inside my palm. I tried stroking it, but without spit or lube his circumcised shaft wouldn’t slide easily. So I fisted it. It was unreal, me fisting a stranger’s hard cock in his car in the open! The erected penis was hot, wrapped in my hand, burning hot, I thought. It was hard. It was thick. It was throbbing. It was pure heaven.
Patrick turned his head sideways at me, smirking.
“What’s the matter, JC? Don’t you want to eat my dick? Are you going to just sit there and hold it? Don’t you want to taste my cock, JC? I bet you’ll find it more tasty and creamy than the ice-cream,” he taunted. “And you do want my cream, baby, huh?” he smirked some more.
Patrick was being very crass, but with me holding onto his hard cock, he sounded extremely erotic. Yet, sucking cock in a car on the road? Just like that? Bending over and taking him in my mouth? It was dark, true, but still it was public. Seeing my hesitation, Patrick reached out his hand, grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head down onto his crotch, forcefully, manfully.
“Come on, Jean-Claudie, eat my fucking dick! Yeah, you want to put it into your sucking mouth. You need it. Suck!”
I sucked his cock! I swallowed his shaft! I gobbled and slobbered and gagged and moaned until he climaxed in my mouth. And it was out of this world, as I swallowed his cream! As I was gobbling on Patrick’s cock, I was aware of the wind swishing through the car windows, of the night sounds, of the passing vehicles, of the outside, but I didn’t care. It was as if this guy’s cock has taken over my existence.
“Fuck, JC!” Patrick said after tucking his beautiful dick inside his pants, his voice even throatier. “First time I explode so hard inside a guy’s mouth. You’re a hot cocksucker. I knew it. When I saw you, I thought that I’m going to have you eat my meat for sure. Is your ass hot, too, JC?”
I instinctively squeezed my rim muscle.
The taste of Patrick’s cum was salty, but with a trace of some kind of spice that I couldn’t place, maybe cinnamon or pepper? It was a different kind of cum, thick, creamy, and spicy. This was a first for me, getting a distinctive taste of man cum. But it was Patrick’s cum, not any man’s, Patrick’s.
“Where are we going?” I said with a shrill voice that I hated, my mouth still savoring Patrick’s juice, ignoring his question about my hot ass.
“My place,” Patrick said, keeping his eyes on the road, smirking. “I want to fuck you. You want my cock up your ass, JC. I am sure of it. I want my cock up your ass, you hot cocksucker. You know what, JC?” he continued his taunting. “I’m still hard for you, thinking about your ass. I so want to fuck you. Gonna make you my bitch. Impale your pussy.”
Oh, my God! Talk about romance. Talk about discretion. “I want to fuck you,” he kept on saying, no, rather declaring, as in a fact, not a request, not a favor, not please, just “I want to fuck you.”
I panicked but was excited like at no time before. Not that I was virgin, but the way Patrick said it made me die for his incredible cock up my ass. Usually, it would take three or four dates and blowjobs after I met a guy before I would get into anal sex. With Patrick it was going to be a matter of minutes!
For a short while, I considered the situation as I rode with Patrick to his place, trying to be objective, instead of being so hypnotized by Patrick’s beauty and his incredible dick. The situation was simple: so there was this guy, a hunk, yes, who had picked me up and was taking me to his home to fuck me. I had just sucked him off. Should I in all honesty just go along with it? I was filled with conflicted feelings, pulling me in all directions. I did want this gorgeous guy to fuck me, but I felt like a prostitute, like I had been picked up for a quickie. There was the taste of his spicy cum still tickling my taste buds, making me crazy for him. There was his seed already pumped down my throat, filling me with cream. There was the heat emanating from his masculine body inches away from me. What the hell!
Patrick fucked me that night like no other guy had fucked me before. It was rough. It was delicious. It was hard and painful. It was divine. I adored his manliness, his toned body, the way he rode my ass, doggy, his slapping my butt along with his thrusts. Throughout the fucking, from the second of my bending over and feeling the first pang of pain at his penetration until the moment Patrick screamed “I’m fucking cumming”, I was in a dizzy, surreal state. There was no kissing, no caressing, no sweet words. Patrick’s repertoire was limited to “I want to fuck you,” “take my hard dick,” and “I’m fucking cumming.”
“JC,” Patrick said as he lay back next to me, naked and spent, “call a cab. I’m too tired to drive. Your fucking ass sucked me dry.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Really feeling like a prostitute, like a cheap fuck, I tearfully called a taxi and went home.
However, just before I left, Patrick ordered assertively: “I will pick you up tomorrow at 6:00 in the evening from the parking lot of the movie theater.”
As if I didn’t have any plans, any life outside of Patrick. As if I wanted more sex with him. As if I hadn’t been treated so cheaply. But I knew that he already owned me. Although my ass was sore as hell, I knew that it belonged to him. However, perhaps to save a fraction of a face, I told him that I’d be too sore from his fucking.
“Fuck, JC, don’t be a wimp. I am going to fuck you whether your ass is sore or not,” he said, not angrily, not petulantly, not aggressively, but just as a matter of fact, as if it went without saying. “Tomorrow at 6:00 and you will spend the whole night here. One fuck will not be enough for me. Be there waiting for me at 6. I know you want my cock, JC. So be fucking there!”
And then out of nowhere as I held the door handle to leave, Patrick added with the cutest grin: “And JC, your ass is the best and it’s mine.”
Of course I melted then, because that was the sweetest thing he said to me since he started whispering in my ear in the movie theater that he wanted to fuck me. I had to wait to get home and under the shower to masturbate and shoot my load. Even then, I didn’t realize what my relationship with Patrick was going to bring me: saturated sex or tormenting love?
It became a habit, sort of: a habit that I wouldn’t grow tired of at all. No matter how forceful and aggressive Patrick treated me, I accepted, my meek nature acquiescing to his assertive mastery. Not that I felt like a slave, but rather I felt that Patrick filled my need for an anchor, my need for a hard-assed person to lean onto. He fucked me rough and hard regardless of my sore ass, true. He never romanced me, also true. But he was my rock, my man.
Even so, it seemed to me that Patrick was out to make my life miserable also.
“How did you know?” I asked Patrick a couple of days later, as we settled back after an immense fuck, my ass lips stretched and burning and my guts full of his semen.
“How did I know what?” Patrick said, still out of breath, his cock deliciously dripping onto his hairy balls, still hard and glistening.
“How did you know that I was gay?”
“I didn’t,” he laughed.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? With other guys.”
Patrick slapped my inner thigh playfully. “Yea, Jean-Claudie,” he said. “I check guys out and when I see someone that I like, I stand in line behind them and brush against their butt, as if accidentally. When, like you, they reciprocate, no matter how fleetingly, I take it further.”
He said all of this so matter-of-factly that you’d think he was relating an incident at work. His eyes twinkled when he said that I reciprocated to his humping my ass and I really melted although he was saying that he had done this with other guys. It made me ache inside but with him lying naked next to me after he had filled me with his man juice, I just couldn’t help but love him.
“So,” there was some anger and regret in my voice, nevertheless. This was his modus operandi! And I fell for it like a dumb lamb. I had thought that I was special, but no. Patrick had actually done this very often. “You take them to the parking lot and have them suck your dick,” I said, unable to control my trembling voice.
“Up till now, Jace, it has been one-night stands. A quick blowjob in the car, yea sure, and maybe a couple of fucks in the back seat and then adieus. Not you, though.” His finger was kneading my rim muscle and I shivered.
By now, I was able to detect Patrick’s attitudes towards me by the way he called me. Jean-Claudie was for taunting me. JC was for regular things, especially sexual, that he wanted me to do, like get on my knees and suck his dick, or bend over and offer him my ass. Jace, however, was what he called me whenever he was serious about something, whenever he wanted to indicate to me that he was talking to me like a person he cared for, not just an easy fuck.
“Not me? How so? You did exactly as you have done with others. And I fell for it. Did you do that in the movie theater only or in other places?” I knew I was whining but I was fascinated by his aggressiveness, by his balls! I reached and gripped his slimy cock, feeling it pulsating in my palm.
Again he laughed, massaging my thigh, letting me hold onto his dick. “Sometimes in the subway. I’d wait for a crowded car and get behind a guy that I had spotted and liked. I’d wait for the train to sway and I’d press on his butt. Amazing how many guys respond by pressing back.”
“And you never had any trouble when the guy turned out to be straight and could get violent?”
“With an apology and a sweet bro smile, things go smoothly. No, I’ve never had any problems so far.”
“So,” my voice trembled, “I’m just another guy that you have picked up, huh?”
“Has it occurred to your little faggot mind that I stayed with you, Jace? That I kept you, you little fuck? That I have brought you to my home? That I have fucked you and that I had you spend the night with me? That I have woken in the morning spooning your ass and then fucking you for breakfast? That I have been with you all this time? Fucking your ass?” His finger was all the way up my butt, and I inevitably, unavoidably erected, still stroking the beautiful penis.
“But you never said you loved me. You never kissed me. You never stroked my dick,” I whimpered pathetically, my ass on fire.
“Get off this shit, JC,” he said moving his finger in and out my ass, roughly, and at the same time humping my hand. “We’re both grownups and we like what we do for each other. You like my dick and I like your ass. Love? That’s for pansies. And you want me to suck you off? That’s not what I would like to do, but I will do it for you.”
To my utter surprise, Patrick immediately bent onto my crotch to take my cock in his mouth, but I instantly moved away.
“No, Patrick. I want us to do what we each desire, not favors. You don’t feel like sucking me off, that’s fine.”
“How sweet of you, Jean-Claudie,” Patrick leered at me, poking my ass further with his finger. “You really are a fucking bottom faggot, JC, aren’t you?”
“For you, Patrick. Just for you.”
With that, it was set. I would bottom for my Patrick all the way. That settled, and with a quick motion, he turned me on my side and replaced his finger with his hard cock, plunging into me with one forceful thrust, sending me into the highest of heights, fucking me senseless. I couldn’t believe the forcefulness of his pounding, the strength behind his hip thrusts, his throaty man-moans, as he delved deeper and deeper inside my body. As soon as I touched myself, I exploded with Patrick still hammering my ass.
One evening, as I was impaled under Patrick, flat on my stomach, and as he was pummeling into my ass, my cell rang. Still deep inside me, his manly body weighing me down, both of us slick with sweat, Patrick was able to reach the phone before I did.
“It’s your mom,” he said after looking at the screen, and I could feel the smirk in his voice without being able to see his face.
I heard the answer tone.
“Hello,” came Patrick’s gruff voice.
My mom must have sensed that this wasn’t her son’s wimpy voice on the phone.
“JC, is that you? Hello?” I heard her voice.
“You must be JC’s mom,” Patrick said.
“Who is this?” There was concern in my mother’s voice.
“I’m JC’s friend.”
“Can I speak to Jean-Claude, please?” Mom’s tone turned formal as her voice came through the phone speaker. Patrick had put us on speaker.
“Jean-Claaauuuude!” Patrick sang out. “It’s your moooooom!”
I was finally able to snatch the phone away, in spite of being impaled by Patrick’s thick and throbbing cock.
“Hi, Mom. Can I call you later?” I panted, with Patrick’s cock still deep up my ass, him trying to stifle a snicker even as he buried inside me, grinding his thick bush against my exposed butt cheeks.
“JC? Is that you? Is anything wrong over there? Are you ok? You sound funny. Who was that on the phone?”
To my utmost dismay, I heard Patrick chant out loud: “His lover,” starting to pound into me relentlessly.
I could have died. The sound of his slamming into me and his grunts must have carried through the phone to my mom.
“JC? Who was that? What are you doing?” I could hear the shiver and iciness in my mom’s voice.
“I’ll call you back, Mom,” I said and killed the call.
“Patrick,” I was livid. “Why did you do that?”
Patrick’s cock was deep inside me, hard and throbbing, and his weight was pressing on top of me. How could I be assertive or mad in such a position?
“Do what? Aren’t I your lover?” he said as he prodded deeper. “I’m more than a lover, JC. I’m you fucker. My cock is way inside your butt. Should I have told mommy that I was fucking you? Huh, Jean-Claudie? I should have, you hot fuck!” He slammed into me harder than ever.
And he started thrusting viciously. I could barely breathe, unable to protest. He held me down and plunged into me with an incredible driving force that he had never used before. I could feel his elbow pressing on the small of my back and his other hand holding my head down. I felt my insides being torn at his powerful fucking. He must have pushed on each and every sensitive nerve in my fuck tunnel with his invading cock, which made me explode under him, my breathing totally stopped, my body going limp, my head in a dizzying whirl.
When Patrick finished pounding me and dumping another huge load inside my bowels, he pulled out hard, making my ass plop as it closed after being stretched by his cock.
“I am your fucker,” he said gruffly, slapping my exposed butt hard. “You gotta admit that. Say it, JC. Who am I?”
“My fucker,” I whimpered. And then I added pleadingly: “Please, Patrick, my parents don’t know that I am gay, ok?”
“Oh. Don’t you think that it’s about time they knew that their son is getting fucked in the ass? Let me call your mom and tell her, then,” Patrick said with a mischievous look on his face. “She sounded concerned. She had no idea that her son was lying on his belly with his butt full of man cock. My cum is already seeping out of your fuck hole, Jean-Claudie. Looks so fucking cute, Jean-Claudie! I wonder what mom would say!”
He swiped my hole with his hand and pushed his slimy finger in my mouth, making me suck it off.
“Please, Patrick,” I begged, mortified, trying to get the phone away from him and tasting his spicy cum mixed with my ass juice.
He dialed. Mom’s voice came on through the speaker.
“Hello? JC? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mom,” I shouted before Patrick could say anything.
“Where are you?” she asked, still with a lot of concern in her voice. “Who are you with? What in heaven’s name is going on?”
“It’s ok, mom,” I tried my best to sound as comforting as possible. “Really. I’m fine. Mom, it’s just a friend, Patrick.”
“Tell your mom what kind of friend I am, Jean-Claudie,” Patrick said loud enough to carry through the phone to her, as he grabbed his dick and waved it at me.
I could have strangled him.
“Patrick is a special friend, Mom,” I said lamely, my eyes staring at Patrick, pleading.
“How special? Tell her, Jean-Claudie,” Patrick said, smiling, running a hand inside my crack, still slimy with his cum, pushing his finger into my hole, which made me stifle a moan.
“Mom, I hate to tell you this over the phone, but Patrick and I are…” I might as well tell her because I felt that Patrick was about to do it anyway. He shoved his finger hard inside my ass staring at me threateningly, challenging me. “Patrick and I are lovers, mom,” I continued, my voice shaky and high. “I’m… Mom, I’m gay, Mom.”
There was silence.
Then the line went dead. Patrick laughed, plunging two fingers up my ass.
“Bend over, Jean-Claudie. Prove to me how gay you are, what a hot little fuck you are,” Patrick said, pushing me onto my knees and riding my ass, dumping a second load inside me with a lot of “take my dick, gay-boy” and “I’m cumming, gay-boy” and “I’m filling your gay-ass, Jean-Claudie.”
I must admit that I took my punishment stoically and, strangely enough, with a lot of ecstatic and passionate pleasure.
Now that my mother knew that I was gay, I was certain that she was going to tell Dad. Fuck it to hell! Eventually, they were bound to find out anyway. I was, in a sick way, grateful to Patrick for forcing me to tell her. It wasn’t masochistic on my part. On the contrary, I felt relief and Patrick’s cock felt more comfortable in my fuck tunnel as he pounded me mercilessly. But was it sadistic on Patrick’s part? Did he do this to taunt me, to inflict pain? Why would he want to do that? Oh, fuck, why?
We finished fucking and lay exhausted on the bed sheets, covered with semen and sweat. Patrick’s hand was on my stomach, his other hand stretched under my neck. I nuzzled into his hairy arm pit, glowing in his musky manliness. We both jumped as my phone rang again. Mom!
I raised myself on one elbow and answered, wagging my finger at Patrick, who, naturally smirked and gripped his cock.
“JC?” her voice quivered. “Your dad and I are coming over. I called a cab and we’ll be there in an hour.”
She cut off before I could say anything. Shit, oh double-shit and fuck and damn! Now I was truly fucked, not by Patrick this time, but my own parents.
I hurriedly got up and started to pick up clothes and stuff, naked, sweating, almost swooning.
“They’re coming over,” I breathlessly told Patrick, who was still lying deliciously naked on his back, his arm behind his head, his thick armpit hair wet with sweat and sexy as fuck. We had started alternating our fuck sessions between his place and mine. This time he was over at my place.
“Come here,” He ordered.
I looked at him quizzically. We had just finished two fucking bouts, vicious and hard.
“Come and sit on my cock, gay-boy,” he said, his hand fisting his now erecting dick.
“But…” I stammered. My parents were coming over and he wanted me to ride his cock! They could be here any minute. Oh my god!
“I want your butt here!” He sounded so regal and assertive that I just couldn’t resist. Besides, who could resist such a beautiful cock of such a beautiful man regardless of the attitude? Patrick needed my parents to see me getting fucked… so be it!
As if in a dream, I climbed on top of Patrick, straddling his crotch, and I lowered myself onto his rod, my sore ass screaming. He thrust up into me holding up my butt with both hands and he fucked me, not letting me ride his cock at my leisure. He just pumped up and down like a brutal fuck machine, his stomach abs rippling, his muscles taut, his chest hair gleaming with sweat, his hands grabbing my butt cheeks, keeping me raised so he can thrust up into me, until he emptied his balls with the usual loud grunts, adding “gay-boy” to his ejaculation expressions.
Slapping my numb butt, Patrick got off the bed, all sweaty and covered with my semen which I shot on his hairy chest as he was pounding into me, looking sexy as fuck.
“I’ll take a shower as you tidy up for mommy and daddy, Jean-Claudie,” he smirked, spreading my cum around his chest hair and nipples.
God! They were going to be here soon and to find Patrick. But wasn’t that what I wanted? For them to ultimately find out? Fuck!
I hurriedly wiped the juices off my naked body and put on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I tidied the place as best I could, making sure that the bed was done neatly. I wouldn’t know what to do with the smell. The place must be reeking with sex: sweat and semen, and spice, for Christ’s sakes! I lit a couple of candles that would hopefully absorb some of the muskiness.
What was I trying to hide from my parents? Trying to impress them with a clean apartment when they were coming over to check on my “gayness”? Their son turned queer? Would they understand? My mom’s reaction and tone over the phone were not very encouraging. I just didn’t know what to do, so I fidgeted, anxious for Patrick to finish his shower and hopefully leave before my parents arrived.
Patrick came out of the shower half an hour later. I was sure he delayed on purpose to torment me. He had only a towel wrapped around his waist. I had to admit: he looked gorgeous. It took a huge willpower on my part no to drop on my knees and worship my god by licking up his sexy, wet, hairy legs and thighs to his amazing balls and cock! I just couldn’t get enough of him.
“You’d better hurry and put some clothes on, Patrick,” I said instead, regretting having to see him clothed. “Mom and Dad should be here any minute. That is, if you want to be here when they arrive? Dressed like this?”
I was hoping he would leave, but at the same I wanted him to stay: my rock and anchor.
“Naaaa,” Patrick said dismissively, scratching his crotch. “Mommy and daddy already know that we fuck. Why the pretense, gay-boy? Or are you going to tell them that we just love each other and hold hands under the moonlight, with me serenading you with a rose behind your ear? Or maybe I should tell them how well you suck cock and how deep you can take it up your ass? Huh, gay-boy?” he quipped.
“Still, Patrick, come on, please,” I begged. “And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me gay-boy. As if you’re not as gay as I am.”
Patrick laughed deeply at this. “I’m your gay fucker! And you’re my gay fuckee,” he said, grabbing his penis.
“That’s not even a word, Patrick,” I laughed, in spite of my anxiety.
“Oh? Then what should I call you when my gay cock is stuffed deep up your gay ass, you little shit?” he countered, his green eyes fixed on me.
“My lover,” I whispered softly, on the verge of tears.
But still, Patrick wouldn’t budge. His towel bulged, for me deliciously, but for my parents? Oh, God! I squirmed with apprehension and embarrassment.
“This is Patrick,” I croaked as my parents walked in some ten minutes later, out of breath.
Patrick bowed! It was so sweet, I just melted. He bowed, respectfully, not sarcastically.
“Pleased to meet you ma’am, sir,” he said in his sexiest voice.
My mom gazed speechless at the beautiful specimen of an almost naked male in her son’s apartment, standing in front of her with nothing on except for a towel around his sexy body and a bulge under his towel. My dad scowled, not knowing what to do or say, not believing what he is seeing. For him, it must have been an unbelievable nightmarish experience. I squirmed.
“Mom, Dad,” I heard myself saying in a voice two octaves higher than normal, “have a seat. Let me make you some tea.” I could feel myself turning beet red, my armpits already sweating, my heart racing like crazy. I knew that Patrick would later kill me with the “tea” thing. It sounded so gayish!
Like zombies, my parents moved to the couch. My dad held mom’s hand, as if for support, and scowled some more. I was sure that had Patrick not been so manly and buff, my dad would have punched him right there and then. My mother just gawked at Patrick, almost drooling. I was mortified.
“JC and I are lovers,” Patrick declared this as if it were the most natural statement one would say to parents. “Excuse me for not having the time to dress properly,” he added with the most winning smile. “We have just finished ah… you know… when you called and I had to shower the sweat and the… you know… away.” He could have been talking about washing the dishes!
I could have fainted. What would my parents be thinking then, I wondered? It was so clear that Patrick was the “man” in our relationship. Mom and Dad weren’t born yesterday and they surely knew that just a few minutes earlier I had been under this hunk, fucked senseless. I regarded Patrick as he stood in the middle of the room. He looked so masculine, so full with testosterone, in contrast to my wimpy self, who was wishing to disappear down the kitchen sink, with an assful of semen, offering to make them tea!
Patrick perched himself in one of the chairs facing my parents, the towel opened on one side, exposing his hairy thigh, sexy as hell. I was hoping that he wouldn’t sit with open legs, giving my dad a peek of his dick or balls! Strangely, I erected. Luckily, I had put on my tight briefs and baggy shorts.
The conversation started strained, but Patrick’s assertive attractiveness soon put my parents at ease. I wouldn’t know how well they had accepted my homosexuality, but when they left, they were all over Patrick with nice comments and remarks.
“So, what do you do, Patrick?” my dad asked.
“I just finished school with an MBA and have landed a nice job in finance,” Patrick said with his usual beautiful smile.
I never knew that! Patrick had never mentioned to me what he had studied and what he was doing for a living. I took him to be a gigolo living off his good looks and humongous cock! But, no, Patrick was a university graduate with a real, prestigious job. The look of satisfaction on my dad’s face told me that he approved. But what was that all about, I wondered? As if Patrick were here to ask for my hand in marriage?
“And I take it that you are living in the city?” my mom put in.
“Actually,” Patrick said, “I am planning to move in with JC, now that we are lovers.”
I died!
Patrick was calling us “lovers.” He wanted to move in with me! I was his fucking bride! When was that decided? I had frequently wished that Patrick and I could live together and be steady, but I had assumed that this was not his cup of tea. Ah, there’s that faggoty “tea” thing again!
By this time, my mom was probably already thinking of Patrick as her son-in-law. My dad? I was amazed as I watched him josh with Patrick back and forth about football and other “man stuff” as if they were mates that had known each other since school days. All the while, both my parents were taken by Patrick’s beautiful exposed body, my mom unabashedly, my dad surreptitiously. They kept throwing me furtive glances that began as accusatory when they arrived but slowly changed to approving.
“You are an asshole, Patrick, you know that?” I said as we closed the door behind my parents, although I was relieved at how the encounter had ended and about how civil and respectful Patrick had behaved in spite of his half-nakedness.
“I fuck your ass hole, JC,” he countered, knitting his eyebrows and squeezing my face cheek hard. “On your knees, gay-boy. Suck my cock!” He was already rock hard, tenting the towel.
Down on my knees I instantly dropped and I gobbled on his cock with passion, drawing out every single drop of his nut juice, spicy and all.
It’s true that had it not been for Patrick, my coming out to my parents would have been delayed and difficult. But I suspected that he did what he did as a punishment for me, not as a favor. I can’t fathom the reason why Patrick should want to punish me. I have always submitted to him. I have always followed his orders and put up with his nastiness to me, not really nastiness; I take that back. But that’s how I felt, being punished.
Around one week after coming out to my parents, I was invited to an office party. My work colleagues were celebrating the twentieth anniversary of establishing the company I work for. I made the mistake of telling Patrick about the event. He immediately insisted, with his usual smirk, that he was going as my “spouse.” I said: absolutely not since I hadn’t come out to my colleagues at work. He responded by making me suck his gorgeous dick and then having me accept that he came with me to the party as I swallowed his spicy semen and received his cock-slapping on my face cheeks.
I begged him not to repeat the scene with my parents at the party. I told him that none of my colleagues knew that I was gay and I wanted it to stay that way.
Patrick laughed. “What you want and what you are are two different things, my sweet JC. Besides, the poor women pining for you in the office should know that they don’t have a chance, you being a gay-boy and all, with a small dick and all. And the guys lusting for your ass, if any, would lose all hope once they see such an irresistible me with you.”
“You’re so full of it, Patrick,” I said resentfully.
“Jean-Claudie, baby, you keep saying this stuff when you know that you’re the one who’s full of my jizz. Now shut the fuck up and give me your ass. My dick is horny and I want to fuck. You, Jean-Claudie, need to be fucked too. So shut your fucking mouth and bend over.”
As usual, our conversation ended with Patrick owning my ass, forcefully and fully.
Patrick had claimed to my parents that we were lovers. But I never felt loved. I’d been fucked hard and sweet, but not really loved. And he did move in with me. And I loved that because I could never get enough of him and he was always insatiable for sex. We’d fuck for hours. It seemed to me that his dick never got soft, that it was in a constant state of erection ready for my throat and my ass.
In the office party, Patrick made it a point to stay by my side, a couple of times wrapping his arm around my waist, and once bending and planting a light kiss on the side of my neck. I could fairly claim that that kiss had been the only romantic kiss that Patrick had given me throughout our relationship, and he probably did it only to torment me. He had allowed me to kiss him on his body, but rarely on the lips and never with an open mouth.
Patrick would make sure that when people were looking he’d hold me from the back and grind on my butt, his arms around my waist, not overly so, but enough to make me turn beet red. I would wriggle to free myself, almost dying from embarrassment, but instead I would grind back on him.
“See that guy in the red shirt?” Patrick nudged me with a smile on his face, as we stood next to each other holding our drinks.
“James?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
James was the chief accountant in the company. Married. 40-something.
“Uhuh,” Patrick grunted enigmatically.
“What about James?” I asked, dreading what Patrick was going to say.
“He eats cock,” Patrick declared in his most masculine, macho attitude.
“You have to be kidding,” I whispered. “James is married, for Christ’s sake, Patrick.”
“Your James eats cock, married or not, Jace. Maybe his wifey doesn’t, but he certainly does,” Patrick repeated with a knowing smile. “Wanna see?”
“Fuck, Patrick. Please, man. Please, don’t,” I whispered, pleadingly. “Besides, how would you know?”
“First,” Patrick smiled wider, “your James gave me ‘The Look’.”
“The look?”
“Yes. The Look. He gazed at my face and then furtively moved his eyes down my body lingering for a second on my crotch.”
“Hmmm. This is the Look?” I asked teasingly. “This doesn’t mean that he is lusting for you. Patrick, my man, one day your ego is going to kill you.”
“Fuck you, too, JC,” Patrick retorted pleasantly, so sure of himself. “Second, three or four times, I have noticed your married James has fleetingly glanced towards us.”
“Come on, Patrick,” I said. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
“Watch!” Patrick smiled and moved.
“Patrick, please,” I begged.
But to no avail. Patrick sauntered over to where James was standing near the window and started a conversation with him. I was too embarrassed to join them but watched from the other end of the room, my stomach in flutters.
Five minutes later, the two of them walked over to the kitchenette. I placed myself in a position where I could see into the small space where we usually prepared our coffees at work. I almost fainted when I saw Patrick press his crotch onto James’s butt as James was pouring drinks.
Instead of moving away, James pressed back on my Patrick. Patrick held him for a few seconds, hands on James’s hips, turned his head towards where I was standing, winked at me, grinded his crotch on James’s butt and then backed away. I almost spilled my drink, my hand was shaking so violently. James had grinded on Patrick’s crotch! If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I would never have believed it.
“Told ya,” Patrick said to me triumphantly as he sauntered back. “If I wanted, I could take him to bed and fuck his married ass till kingdom come. Fucking married, my ass!”
I was speechless. Thank God, Patrick didn’t pick up on James and take him home with us to fuck him. I have no idea what I would have done if he had. And he would have, I knew it. He did it expressly to taunt me, to make it clear to me that he owned me, that he could fuck anyone, even those who were evidently married. He would bring them over and fuck them as I watched, just to prove to me how he owned me.
“So you guys are a couple,” Ronda came over when she saw Patrick hugging me from behind. It was a statement rather than a question.
“JC loves me,” Patrick said, as normal as you could get, as if saying that the weather was nice and balmy and all things were donky-dory!
Why was he punishing me so? I turned around and saw the typical smirk on his face that I was quickly getting used to.
“You love me, don’t you, JC?” Patrick continued, his lips brushing my neck, his beard making me shudder with love mixed with mortification.
Ronda had this expression of incredulity on her face, knitted eyebrows, gaping mouth.
“I didn’t know you were gay, JC,” she said, tormenting me further, also a statement of the obvious.
“Well… I…,” I stammered.
“Gay?” Patrick laughed out loud. “JC, are you gay?”
So taunting, so fucking taunting. I wished the floor would open and swallow me.
“Oh, fuck you all,” I said at the top of my voice and stormed out of the place.
Needless to say, I reported sick the next day. How could I face Ronda and the others? Or James, the image of him grinding back on Patrick’s crotch never leaving my mind?
Also, as sure as rain, Patrick fucked me senseless around the hour, time after time after time, stretching my sore ass and my sore jaws, filling me with his semen, with his… tormenting love?
My Patrick still had to kiss me, yet. He, however, kept making it a point to embarrass me in public: he groped my crotch in the local supermarket parking lot once in front of an old couple, who almost fainted. That was one of the rare times when Patrick would touch my dick. Another time he kissed me on the lips as we were having a beer at a bar close to my place, where many of the people there knew me.
I took all of this as my punishment. Patrick was my nemesis. Isn’t punishment what nemesis is all about?
It was only yesterday that I finally decided to change track with Patrick. I knew that he loved me but would never admit it. Never? Well, I had other thoughts. It’s been a month since we first met and later fucked. I may be submissive and fucked in the ass, but I’m also to be contended with once my mind is made up. Besides, now I am quite familiar with Patrick’s quirks: they don’t intimidate me anymore.
I waited for Patrick to come to dinner. I knew that he would order me around and fuck me. But I made up my mind that I would try my best to make him romance me first. I prepared a nice pesto pasta and Greek salad. I opened a bottle of red wine and let it breathe. I put on my sexiest clothes. I even set a couple of candles on the small kitchen table, set with plates and cutlery. I felt like one of those middle-aged heroines in a movie or a novel, preparing a sexy evening with her man lover.
And I waited.
“What the fuck is all of this?” Patrick greeted me as he saw the set table and candles and all.
“This is home, Patrick,” I said moving towards him. “It’s our month’s anniversary. One month today, you pressed your crotch on my butt in the queue at the movies and I became your lover.”
“The fuck you did. And you want to celebrate?”
“Yes, Patrick.” And I reached up, pulled his face down and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Shit!” he reacted, stepping back.
“Come here, Patrick. Come and kiss me, you hot shit.”
“The hell I will,” he said, with an incredulous look on his handsome face. But I noted a hint of compliance. “Is that wine?” he asked, avoiding my stare, but not removing my hand now pressed on his broad manly chest.
I poured him a glass, my heart pounding, barely able to keep my hands from shaking. We toasted. I expected Patrick to pour the wine on his cock and make me suck it, or to pour it into my crack and fuck me, with the wine slurping in and out of my hole.
Instead, slowly, very slowly, Patrick put the glass down on the table after taking a sip, grabbed me by the waist, pulled me towards him, and kissed me. Deep. Open mouth. Probing tongue. Slurping lips. Caressing hands. I just died.
“That was… Patrick… that was…” I stammered, trying to regain my breathing.
“That was a kiss, JC,” he smiled, gazing into my eyes, fixing me with his beautiful stare. “And JC? I love you, gay-boy. I love your gay cock-sucking mouth. I love your hot tight ass. I love all of you. You are mine, baby. Now, Jace, are you fucking happy?”
I felt my knees weaken and I had to support myself against the kitchen table. I was shaking all over. Was I hearing bells? Was I smelling lavender? Was I tasting strawberries? Was I seeing stars and fireworks? I cried! With fucking tears! Streaming down my face cheeks! Unashamedly, I cried and sobbed!
“You wimp!” Patrick laughed as he pulled me back into another embrace, and the deepest, sweetest, fullest kiss of my life. His strong arms wrapped around me, his erection prodded my crotch, his moans sounded deep, coming from the base of his throat straight into my soul.
In a daze, I felt Patrick lead me by the hand towards the sofa.
“I prepared dinner for us,” I croaked.
“You’re my dinner, lover boy,” he said as he pushed me onto the sofa on my back, knelt between my legs, spreading them, undid my pants and pulled them down, fisted my cock and went down on me.
Patrick sucked my cock in exactly the same way he had been fucking me: hard, rough, full of masculinity, his beard brushing my balls, sending shivers up my spine. Ten seconds later, I exploded, but instead of whimpering I shouted at the top of my voice: “CUMMINGGGG,” oblivious of the racket I made. Patrick kept sucking me until I finished squirting, and then he slid up on top of me and fed me my cum in a deep kiss.
“Happy, gay-boy?” Patrick kept his taunting voice, which I was starting to love.
“More, Patrick. Love me more,” I moaned under his weight.
Later that night, Patrick offered me his hairy ass. As I fucked him with my small dick which I was certain he wouldn’t even feel, lying on his back, his legs on my shoulders, I cried and cried, again unashamedly, tears streaming down my face. I gazed at his beautiful hairy torso and erected cock with my own hardness buried deep inside him and I wept some more, heaving with my thrusts. When I dumped my load into Patrick, I screamed and cried and screamed, holding tightly onto his muscled thighs. Throughout my fucking, Patrick gazed at me with his intense green eyes and I could see lust mixed with another emotion that I could only call love. This was my lover. My real lover. And I was making love to him, not fucking him.
Patrick and I are still together. I don’t see any reason why we should separate. I am still the submissive wimp to his assertive macho character and I love it. Apart from the one time I fucked him, it was Patrick who did the fucking. I want it this way. I love him. I am sure now that he loves me also. He doesn’t show it much, and his fucking is still hard, and he does order me around once in a while, but he has certainly changed.
Now, we take walks together, we shop for food, I choose his clothes, he chooses my underwear— skimpy, stringy ones, unlike my wimpish boxers—, we cook, we hold hands in public, we kiss in the park, and of course we fuck like two horny rabbits. Now, we are two guys in love.
Patrick, my nemesis, is now my lover.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.