u/account04242

Previous: Chapter 16 • First: Chapter 1

The houses on Sinclair Boulevard were as pretentious as the street name. It was the only “Boulevard” in town. The houses didn’t have driveways, they had long, curving private roads leading from their individual mail boxes to their four-car garages. Half of them had fences and wrought iron gates, and Jason felt underdressed even in his black uniform and tie.

The rest of his shift at the theatre had gone exactly as promised. Walsh emerged from the green room and ordered people to work faster, he sweet talked the marketing executives out the door, and he even gave Darlene a compliment on such a well-planned event. It was a masterclass of Hollywood producing. Before he left he put an arm around Jason’s shoulder and whispered, “Nine o’clock in the park. Don’t waste my time.”

So Jason went looking for Wesley’s house. Three o’clock on a Thursday the streets were quiet. The rich professionals that lived on Sinclair would be attending to patients, legal clients, the city council, or would have just left to spend their summer in Europe. Through the trees shielding homes from the road, Jason spotted a gardener riding a massive lawn mower across a park-size area of perfectly green grass that was probably never stepped on and drank more water than Jason’s whole family.

Wesley’s house was white faux marble with columns and a black front door. The driveway didn’t curve, and the long unshaded incline left Jason sweating and out of breath by the time he reached the top. He straightened his tie and tried to look presentable in case anyone else was home and then he reached for the small gold doorbell. A Big Ben chime echoed inside.

He had his arguments ready for anything Wesley threw at him. He was even prepared to apologize for firing him and to offer him his job back if he agreed to Walsh’s terms. He’d have to promise to stay away from Griffin, of course, and Jason would make sure they were never on the same shift, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got the private meeting with Roth.

Footsteps approached inside and the door opened to reveal a potbellied man in a blue polo shirt and tan shorts. He smiled and greeted Jason with a friendly voice, “Hello, young man, are you here from the church?”

Jason wasn’t prepared for that. “Uh, no sir, I’m not. I’m looking for Wesley.”

The man’s smile dropped. His voice filled with suspicion, “Why?”

What could he say? He’s needed for a prostitution arrangement in the park? Jason went for the nearest thing to the truth that didn’t risk oversharing, “I need to talk to him about work.”

“Work? Work where?”

Had he been lying to his parents about having a job? Why?

“At the theatre?”

The man clicked his tongue, “Of course. And who are you? One of his little faggot friends?”

It would have shocked Jason less if he’d been punched in the stomach. His throat shut and he recoiled from the door.

Wesley’s father shook his head slowly, looking like he smelled sour milk. Before he closed the door he spat out, “The faggot doesn’t live here anymore. Now get off my property before I call the police.” The door slammed shut.

Jason stumbled back down the steps to the driveway pavement. The black asphalt radiated heat. Jason loosened his tie.

Had Wesley’s parents kicked him out? How long ago? When Wesley applied for the job after New Years he’d said something about paying for damages for his time in Europe. He’d always breezed into the theatre like he was riding a golden pony. Had he actually been homeless? Where was he?

Jason’s thoughts carried him back out to the tree-lined road. Then the sound of quick footsteps turned his head.

Wesley’s sister, Samantha, dressed more casually than she had been at the theatre, in shorts and a baggy sweatshirt, jogged up to him on the sidewalk.

“Why were you looking for Wesley?” She was small, but her voice had an edge that made it clear she was more than capable of standing up for her older brother.

“I need to talk to him about something.”

“About getting his job back?”

That was part of it, so Jason nodded.

“He’s been living on Commercial Street since dad kicked him out. It’s an apartment above Gravity Records, 413A.”

Jason thanked her and turned to leave when she asked, “Are you going to apologize to him?”

He turned back. “What?”

She spoke slower like he was an idiot. “Are you going to apologize for firing him?”

“How do you know I fired him?”

Her head dipped. She definitely thought he was an idiot.

“Sorry,” he said, “He told you?”

She crossed her arms and smirked, “Oh yeah. He’s told me all about you, Jason Falconer.” Her voice changed to a mocking falsetto, “Oh no, I’m a workaholic that doesn’t know how to relax! But every time a cute boy smiles at me I bend over backwards to do whatever he wants!”

“No I don’t!”

She rolled her eyes, “Sure. And you totally didn’t fire my brother over a boy.”

There was more to it than that, but Jason didn’t want to argue about it.

“Whatever, just give Wesley this for me.” She held out a wad of folded twenties. “It’s my allowance.”

Jason cautiously took the money.

“I’ll know if you don’t give it to him.”

“I won’t steal it. Why are you giving him your allowance?”

She shrugged, “You fired him. He has to eat.”

She flipped her hair and left him to process, alone.

-

Jason didn’t even know there were apartments above the record store. He’d been inside a few times and never noticed the alley leading behind the building. On the bus ride downtown he decided to open with an apology. After what Samantha said, Jason knew he had misunderstood at least part of what Wesley was doing at the theatre, so there was a chance he was wrong about other things. Maybe he’d been too hasty to fire him.

“What do you want, Jason?” Wesley’s voice made him jump.

The metal stairs leading up the back of the building were flaking blue paint and Wesley sat on the top step in a matching blue tank top. It was the one he wore to the amusement park. He had his blonde hair tied back and cradled a can of cheap beer between his hands.

Jason put a foot on the bottom stair.

“I’m not inviting you inside, we can talk out here. What do you want?”

Jason stepped back down to the concrete, “I came to apologize.”

Wesley scoffed and sipped his beer.

The alley was a quiet dead end with a few garbage bins beneath the stairs. Wesley was sitting in the last of the sunlight that made it over the roof of the pawn shop next door.

Jason stood in the shadow. “So how long have you been living here?”

“Since last summer.”

“What happened?”

“I thought you came to apologize.”

Jason reached out for the railing and rocked back on his heels. He was still hurt by Wesley’s stolen kiss with Griffin, but everything he had learned about Wesley’s home life had doused the flames of his anger. He took a deep breath and admitted, “It was unfair to fire you so suddenly. I didn’t give you a proper chance to explain.” Although, what could explain kissing Griffin like that? Jason swallowed the question before it escaped his lips. He looked up at Wesley, “I’m sorry.”

“Ok. Is your conscience clear?”

“I can get you your job back if you want it.”

“Not afraid I’m going to steal your psycho boyfriend?”

Jason tightened his grip on the railing and bit his tongue. “Can I trust you not to?”

Wesley scoffed and took a drink.

This was going nowhere. Jason took two steps up and growled, “Do you want your job back or not?”

“Is this just because you found out about me?”

“No, I just need–I mean–I just wanted to apologize and see if you were ok. And I have money to give you. It’s from your sister.”

Jason pulled the folded twenties out of his pocket and climbed a few steps closer to hold it out.

Wesley’s eyes cut through him with suspicion. “Why are you really here, Jason?”

Jason waited for him to take the money but Wesley left him in limbo. “I came to apologize and your sister gave me this for you.”

Clearly unconvinced, Wesley took the money and stuffed it in the breast pocket of his tank top. Then he sipped his beer and watched Jason as he didn’t leave. “Something else on your mind, bossman?”

This really hadn’t gone the way Jason had planned. Standing awkwardly, halfway between two stairs, looking up at calm, cool Wesley was not the position he wanted to be in. But the sun was getting lower–Jason was running out of time.

“I need your help for the premier. Something tonight.”

“I thought the premiere was tomorrow.”

“It is, yeah, but the producer. He has some… extra demands.”

There was no way to sugar coat it. Jason told him everything. Almost. How Walsh was the guy from the park, how he wanted to fuck Wesley, how he was willing to fuck Jason instead, and if nothing happened before sunset the premiere would be cancelled and everyone would be fucked. Jason left out the part about Griffin and the private meeting with Roth.

When he finished his confession he waited for Wesley to tell him to fuck off and go get fucked in the park, but Wesley didn’t react right away. His face was unreadable as he finished his beer and then he dropped the empty can over the side of the railing. It landed perfectly in the open recycling bin.

Wesley stood up and walked down the stairs past Jason. “Alright, let’s go.”

“What? Really?”

-

Wesley didn’t speak for the short bus ride to the park except to tell Jason to shut up when he wouldn’t stop asking questions.

All that remained of the Canada Day fair were some patches of dead grass where the rides had sat. Nearing sunset, the main field was mostly empty. A few college students played frisbee close to the pond, and a group of families occupied the gazebos with a barbeque.

Jason kept silent as they crossed the stretch of grass separating the fair ground from the far toilets, but when they stepped up to the building he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why are you doing this?”

Wesley gave him the same ‘you’re an idiot’ look his sister had given Jason earlier in the day, but he finally answered with a shrug, “I’m not a thief. He paid for it.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Walsh stepped out from behind the building. He held the white jacket of his suit over his shoulder with one hand and put a cigarette in his mouth with the other. Then he flipped an old Zippo lighter open and a burst of flame illuminated his face. It was like something out of a dozen old movies, and Jason realized he had probably been waiting just so he could pull that move.

Without slowing down, Wesley approached Walsh, plucked the cigarette from between his lips, and put it between his own, and then he slid past him into the shadow behind the building. Walsh’s eyes followed him with a look that made Jason’s stomach churn. He wanted to get away before he had to hear anything.

“So, deal done, right?”

Walsh turned back with a Cheshire grin, “Almost.”

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

Jason turned to leave but a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“No no no. I think you should stick around.”

He threw off Walsh’s hand and turned, defiant, “The deal was only for one of us. He’s here. I’m leaving.”

“Ah ah ah,” Walsh waggled his finger like Nedry in Jurassic Park, “One call and it’s all off, remember?”

“I’m not letting you fuck me!”

Walsh closed the distance between them and whispered, “I don’t want to fuck you. I want you to watch me fuck him.”

“You didn’t seem eager for him to watch last time.” Wesley was standing behind Walsh, cigarette smouldered between his fingers, with his bare cock on display between his naked legs. He’d abandoned his shorts somewhere behind the building and was standing like he hadn’t noticed they were gone.

Jason and Walsh were speechless, but Walsh recovered first. “I was caught off guard last time. But who doesn’t love an audience?”

Wesley shrugged and turned, flashing his smooth cheeks as he disappeared behind the building again. Walsh followed, and Jason, reluctantly, went with him.

Wesley took his position, elbows on the air conditioning unit. Walsh tossed his suit jacket over the metal box and gripped Wesley’s hips, pressing his crotch against his ass. Wesley didn’t seem bothered by any of it and continued nursing the cigarette.

At the edge of the building’s shadow, cast by the pink sunset and a distant park lamp, Jason crossed his arms and tried to look anywhere else. A deep nausea had settled in Jason’s gut, like he’d eaten something heavy and poisonous. He tried to focus on the distant chirps and buzzing of the park and not on the scene in front of him. Every glance at Wesley’s calm face, the curve of his shoulders, the smooth line of his naked legs, stabbed Jason’s insides as bad as when he had caught Wesley with Griffin.

Walsh took his time. He ran clawing fingers over Wesley’s hips and up the base of his spine with slow purpose, constantly thrusting the front of his pants forward. But his patience didn’t last forever. He fumbled his belt and fly open and fished out a skinny, half-hard cock.

It looked smaller than Jason’s.

Hacking spit, Walsh wet his shaft, giving himself a few extra strokes to get closer to hard.

“Don’t forget this,” said Wesley. He held a small square package out for Walsh over his shoulder.

The producer snatched the condom out of Wesley’s hand and begrudgingly ripped it open. He muttered as he rolled it over his cock, “Good memory.”

“Like the boy scouts say,” Wesley tapped out the butt of the cigarette on the wall–then Walsh’s cock penetrated him in a rough thrust and the next word caught in Wesley’s throat. He winced, “Always be prepared.”

“A little old for a boy scout, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for Wesley to adjust to the sudden intrusion. He fucked him, short and quick, like the jerking twitch of a muscle spasm.

Wesley gripped the edge of the air conditioning unit and spoke through gritted teeth, “It’s a figure of speech, douchebag.”

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

“Fuck you, faggot.”

Hot breath hissed through Walsh’s teeth and he thrust a little harder, leaned a little closer, and whispered in Wesley’s ear loud enough for Jason to hear, “I like a mouthy whore.”

“Fuck you, at least people want to fuck me.”

“Yeah, talk back, little bitch. Tell me what you really feel as I fuck you.”

Jason wanted to run. He wanted to plug his ears. He wanted to beat Walsh over the head with a stick so he’d stop touching Wesley.

“You skeezy fucks have to pay for it because you can’t get it up for your drunk wives.” Wesley brushed hair out of his face and tried to appear unbothered, but the strain in his voice betrayed his discomfort.

“Tight little bitch,” Walsh croaked.

“If I’m tight for your tiny cock, I must be the tightest ass in town.”

“Bitch… faggot,” Walsh wheezed. His torso hunched over. He fucked in desperate little thrusts, and then he gasped. It was high pitched, like something a pig would make falling into a trough.

Wesley covered his mouth. Was he in pain? Jason took half a step forward but Wesley held up his hand, revealing a smirk. He was trying not to laugh.

Walsh’s pig squeals slowed and his twitches stopped and he raised his head to look over at Jason with a proud grin. He was pathetically sweaty for how little they had done, but he withdrew from Wesley and stood with hands on hips like he was some kind of superhero. He slipped off the condom and tossed it into the grass, and then he fished another cigarette out of his pocket.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Wesley, turning around and leaning back on the air conditioner, his soft cock proudly on display.

Walsh quickly stowed his dick and zipped up, but they had all seen the comparison. He lit his cigarette and stepped back like he was expecting Wesley to try and snatch it again. “Look me up if you’re ever in LA. I’ve got some casting couches you can test the springs on.”

His joke didn’t get a laugh, and there was something about Wesley’s half-naked lean that absorbed all the attention. In that moment, Wesley had the power, and Walsh was just a desperate loser.

Standing around smoking wasn’t changing the vibe, so Walsh looked for his exit. He turned away from Wesley’s body to Jason and gave him a vague salute with the two fingers holding his cigarette. “See you at the Premiere,” he said, and then he strolled away around the far side of the toilets.

Leaning over, Wesley picked up his shorts and stepped back into them. Without underwear, Jason noticed.

“What time does my shift start tomorrow?” Wesley’s voice had flattened. His charm was done now that he was off the clock.

“Doors open at six, but staff are arriving at three.”

Before Jason finished speaking, Wesley turned away. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow, bossman.”

He left and Jason was alone.

[supprimé]

Previous: Chapter 15 • First: Chapter 1

Jason caught Walsh leering at him as they toured the theatre. He seemed to look at the younger construction workers the same way–like meat on display.

As far as Jason could tell, Walsh hadn’t recognized him from the park. If Wesley had been here, he probably would have propositioned him for more money in the middle of everyone and gotten the whole premiere cancelled. The way Walsh freaked out in the park meant there was no way he would want the problems that came with getting busted for soliciting a teenager for sex. Wesley was an adult, but it still looked bad. It was a juicy piece of celebrity scandal that would be best kept secret, and Jason started running scenarios through his mind of what he would be able to get out of Walsh for keeping quiet.

During the premiere, Griffin would be in the green room where Walsh and the cast would have makeup tables and their assistants. It was a chance for him to see Nicholas Roth in person. But maybe with the right push Walsh could arrange for a private meeting with them both? Meeting Nicholas Roth would be the highlight of the year for Griffin, and a surefire ticket into the good boyfriend club for Jason.

Of course, that meant blackmail. Walsh didn’t strike him as an upstanding member of society, but he hadn’t really done anything wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t even care? If Jason confronted him about it, would he just turn around and get Jason in trouble? Would this mess up Griffin’s chance to be in the green room at all?

“The green room.” Walsh halted and Jason nearly walked into him.

“The green room?” Jason asked. There was a long silence as Walsh stared at him, and then Jason got his meaning, “You want to see the green room?”

“You wasted eight seconds figuring that out. When you get to thirty, you’re fired.”

Jason laughed. Walsh didn’t.

Fuck this guy, he deserves it.

The front rows in theatre twelve had been unbolted and removed to extend the open space below the screen. As they entered, an electrician was unspooling power cables to a row of makeup tables. Along the wall beneath the screen were more tables and two refrigerators ready for snacks and drinks.

“What the fuck is this?” Walsh asked.

The electrician looked up but Jason waved at her to ignore them and continue working. He stepped up in front of Walsh feeling like a prisoner stepping in front of the firing squad, but he put on his best fake smile.

“This is–was–theatre twelve, but it’ll be the green room for the premiere.”

“This isn’t a green room. This is a fucking theatre with tables.”

Jason looked around at the extensive alterations and tried to channel his inner Darlene to diffuse the situation. “Well, let me know what you are looking for and I’ll find out what can be done.”

Walsh pointed at the makeup table mirrors with his metal briefcase. “This isn’t a high school production of Annie. We have real stars at this event that need privacy, and Barbie’s first makeup table isn’t that.”

The theatre wasn’t bursting with private rooms to hand out to movie stars. Jason could only imagine how much trouble and cost renovating this one room was for Darlene to fit into the whole event. Maybe this was the time to gamble on blackmail?

Jason caught the electrician’s eye and asked politely to have the room.

They watched her leave and then Jason and Walsh were alone.

“Are you going to suck my dick or something?” Asked Walsh, throwing Jason off balance.

“What?”

“You’ve been holding on to something since we met. What is it? You want to be a movie star? You want me to read your shitty screenplay? You’re a twink with a dream, and because a big Hollywood premier has come to your little theatre you think it’s your big break?”

“Uh… not exactly.”

“Listen to me,” Walsh took one step closer and angled his head so he was watching Jason over the rim of his sunglasses. “You’re cute, and I’m not saying no, but no one is gonna whisk you off to Hollywood for a blowjob.”

“What about a cheap fuck behind the park bathroom?” Jason tried to keep his face neutral. His heart was bouncing off his rib cage.

Walsh’s eyes narrowed and he took a half step back. Then he said slowly, “You’re the one who interrupted us.”

Jason nodded.

“Who is he? Your boyfriend?”

“No, he used to work here.”

“Used to?”

“I fired him.”

An eyebrow went up. Walsh almost looked impressed. “I’ll tell you what. You help me reconnect with him and I’ll let this shabby green room slide.”

“What do you want with him?”

“What I paid for, obviously. Or my money back.”

Something in the tone of Walsh’s voice told Jason he didn’t care which, or what Wesley would have to say.

Wesley may be a homewrecker, but Jason knew he couldn’t give his information to a man like Walsh, so he went for the jugular, “Do you think TMZ would like to know what you pay teenagers in parks to do?”

Walsh took another step back. He didn’t look shocked or scared–just surprised.

His eyes rolled over Jason’s body in a way that made Jason’s skin crawl, and then he took off his sunglasses and asked, “What do you actually want?”

Deep breath. “I want to get a meeting with Nicholas Roth for my boyfriend. And I want the premiere to go ahead as planned. Darlene has worked too hard for this to just get cancelled because you don’t like the tables.”

Walsh clicked his tongue and let out a thoughtful breath. “How about we make a deal?”

Jason held his ground. He knew he had to tread carefully. He crossed his arms, “What’s the deal?”

Wash smiled, “The good kind of deal: win-win-win.” Walsh walked a slow circle around Jason as he explained, “Hollywood is built on win-win-win. You get what you want, I get what I want, and your boyfriend gets to meet Nicholas Roth. How’s that sound?”

Walsh’s casual circle tightened around Jason, who tried not to let himself appear creeped out about having Walsh behind him. If there was ever someone you didn’t want to turn your back on, it was a Hollywood producer like Walsh.

“And what do you want from me?”

Walsh laid an arm across Jason’s shoulder’s and pulled him close, “You can pay your friend’s debt.”

Jason’s stomach lurched. He tried to pull away. Walsh resisted briefly, then let him go. They squared off alongside one the makeup tables.

Walsh held up an innocent hand and added, “Or you find your ex-employee and get him to give it to me. I’ll have fun either way.”

It was insane and stupid. Jason couldn’t go to Wesley and expect him to do this for him after Jason fired him. But what about Griffin? Meeting Roth would mean everything to him. Could Jason take Wesley’s place? Wesley had casual hookups for money he didn’t even need, and it didn’t mean anything to him. There was no reason Jason couldn’t do the same to get something that would actually be beneficial.

“Thought about it long enough?” Walsh’s voice dripped with superiority.

“How do I know you’ll keep to the deal?”

Walsh shrugged, “I’ll set the meeting right now. And let’s go tell your boss the premiere is looking great. I’ll even get those fucking marketing goons out of here.”

“You’ll do all that first?”

“Of course,” Walsh pulled out his phone to make his point. “I’ll call Roth’s assistant right now and tell him a Make-a-Wish kid wants a hug. But… if you don’t get your little friend to pay his debt.” Walsh ran a finger down the side of Jason’s jaw and added, “Or pay it for him…”

Jason choked back the urge to run.

Wash held up his phone again, “All it takes is one more phone call to cancel everything.”

---

The next chapter is available early on Patreon

“It’s like the lady in the song says, boys: One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small.”

William held out the two blue pills for us like he was Morpheus in the Matrix, but his sharp face and pale complexion made him look more like the ivy league drug dealer he actually was.

I looked over at Trip, kneeling beside me. It had been an evening of strip games, public humiliation, serving the frat brothers drinks as they played poker and beer pong, and whisky shots throughout. Now we were both on our knees, only wearing our damp boxer-briefs, still sticky from the last task where we had to wrestle in a kids pool full of jello. The hazing had worn down my desire to join the frat, but Trip looked back at me with his floppy brown hair and big puppy eyes and I knew I was going to have to come through for my friend.

The frat brothers of Delta Alpha Phi stood around us holding drinks and joints, some of them swaying a little more than others depending on what they had taken. I recognized a few of them. The skinny one leaning on the couch to hold himself up was the son of a senator; the one with a torn shirt from a failed attempt to “hulk out” was the son of a tech billionaire; and William, the drug pusher, was the son of the Dean. Trip had made the argument to me before rush week that making the right connections could pay off big time. We just had to put up with the most insane demands from these children of the wealthy and corrupt.

But now it was one AM, and they were levelling up to experimental drugs. Somehow I don’t think my parents were expecting when I got into a school with a good chemistry department that it would lead to this.

“What do they do?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” said William with a sleazy wink that made me want to poke his eye out. He continued, “Don’t worry–a bunch of us have already taken them. They’re safe. But they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave. Then, that’s it.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s the last task?”

“Finito,” said William, grinning, “And we name you official, certified Delta bros.”

I looked at Trip again and the puppy dog eyes were in full guilt mode. I sighed and said, “Can I get some water?”

A shirtless frat bro behind us held out two cans and said, “No water! Only beer!” and the crowd howled and pounded the backs of chairs like they were getting ready to chase Piggy down the beach.

We each took a different pill from William and cracked open the beers. Trip held his can up for a cheers and I knocked our drinks together before we both tossed the pills in the backs of our mouths and took quick chugs to wash them down.

William raised his arms above his head like an evangelist at a ritual sacrifice and said, “Trip and Rory, the sacred brotherhood of Delta Alpha Phi has tested you and deemed you–”

The whoop of a police siren cut him off and bright red and blue lights hit the windows.

It was chaos. Drunk frat boys fell over chairs and cushions looking for their exit. A few of them dashed out the front door and I saw a pair of cops walking up the driveway towards us.

“Let’s go, man!” Trip pulled me to my feet and started dragging me to the back. The frat house was a mess. We passed through the disaster area of a dining room, hopping over the jello pool and dodging a pyramid of beer cans in the kitchen. Out the back door, the late summer air was still warm, which made hopping the railing and running across the lawn wearing only underwear slightly less insane.

We ducked through hedges and trees without running into anyone until we were a few streets away and within sight of our apartment building. I paused to catch my breath under a thick willow tree and Trip stopped to wait with me. He’d run track through high school, so the fucker was barely sweating, but I had spent most of my teen years getting high scores online and had the lung capacity of 80-year-old smoker. At least a good diet kept me skinny.

“Well that was quite something,” said Trip calmly, like we’d just seen a particularly mediocre action movie.

I glared up at him between gasps, my hands on my knees.

“What?” He asked, innocent.

“Getting drugged and busted by the cops after hours of dumb hazing rituals was not the deal!”

Trip looked down and kicked the grass with his bare feet like a kid caught stealing. He mumbled an apology and I felt an annoying wave of sympathy for him.

“How do you always make me feel guilty when you’re the one who fucks up?” I asked him.

He looked up at me, grinning, and said, “I just have that effect on people!”

I shook my head and sat down on the grass. “Do you feel anything?”

Trip shook his head, no, and said, “Just the shots and the adrenaline. They were probably placebos.”

“Maybe,” I said, unsure. I sighed and looked around at the empty street. In the distance I could hear some shouts and rapid footsteps from the other party escapees scattering into the night. “Can we go home now?”

Trip threw out a hand and pulled me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my bare shoulder to hold me in a bro hug. He smelled like strawberry jello. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I always appreciate you coming through for me when I need it.”

“Does that mean I get the first shower?”

“Not a chance, slowpoke,” he said and he pushed me aside and ran off into the night.

I punched the key code into the door lock and entered. I could hear Trip in the shower.

In the tall closet door mirror I finally saw what a mess I was. Twigs and leaves stuck in my messy black hair and shiny pink globs of jello dotted my skin. I tugged at the uncomfortably moist fabric of my boxer-briefs and hoped Trip wouldn’t hog the shower.

The apartment we shared was long and thin. The front door opened into the living room. Beyond that was a basic dining room table covered in books and card games, and then the L-shaped kitchen. Beside the kitchen was the hallway that led back to the bathroom on the left and our two bedrooms at the end. It wasn’t spacious, but it had quickly become home.

I went to the fridge and took out the water jug, and I poured it directly into my mouth instead of getting a glass, which was very out of character, but after the night I’d had, I felt I had earned it. My balls felt crushed and I adjusted them again. As I put the jug back, I stuck a hand inside my waistband to adjust my shaft. Something about the running and adrenaline and standing in the kitchen nearly-naked must have got my blood pumping. My cock stiffened.

I felt flushed from the warm air, so I went to the climate control by the entrance and turned up the AC. The bulge in my underwear grew as my shaft thickened and arched under the tight fabric. I pulled the waistband away from my skin and reached inside to point my hard cock up to relieve the pressure and it poked out over the top of the elastic.

Just then, the shower water stopped and I looked from the exposed head of my cock to my bedroom door, and to the bathroom door in between. I scurried forward, one hand covering my cockhead, but before I could make it past the bathroom, the door swung open and Trip stepped in front of me in a towel and a cloud of steam.

Trip’s muscles were toned and not too bulky, an agile build for running track. His shaved chest was flushed, made pink by the hot water. He had a tight grip on the towel around his waist, but he looked a bit dazed. It took him a moment to focus his eyes and see me standing in front of him.

“Hey,” he said in a distant voice, “Shower’s free.” And he turned away.

“Are you feeling ok?” I asked after him.

He took small, cautious steps towards his room, and then he paused to turn and face me, “Yeah. I’m just tired. I think.”

It was a bit like he was talking to himself when he said it. He turned away slowly and baby-stepped into his room. It was a bit strange, but with everything that had happened, maybe not too strange, so I entered the muggy bathroom and shut the door behind me.

I wiped my hand through the mirror fog and gave my face another look. My pupils seemed normal. I was a bit red, but that could be the warm air. As my reflection steamed over I just shook my head and stripped off my sticky underwear.

The relief was instant. My cock had only gotten harder, and now, finally free, I felt like I had been holding it in a cage. The shaft was a little thicker in the middle and then flared at the circumcised head, and it was so hard it bobbed to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I kicked my jello underwear into the corner and opened the shower door. The corner shower had a double head that provided a nice full mist spray. I turned the tap and didn’t bother waiting for the temperature to change before jumping in.

Hot water danced on my skin. The flow felt intense, beating my naked body like a waterfall. I tried adjusting the temperature to colder than I usually liked. It was like my body was radiating heat.

I rubbed my chest and hips to wipe away the melting jello, sliding my fingers over my abs and further down.

It only took one touch.

Thunder struck in my mind.

The contact of my finger tips was electric. Immediately, I was possessed. I wrapped a hand around my throbbing cock to give it an experimental stroke. Pleasure radiated out of my cock like I’d never felt before. I wrapped my other hand around my balls, my thumb pressing the base of my shaft while my fingers played chords on my sack. I stroked with short, firm movements, and the pleasure grew with every pump, filling my chest with tingling ecstasy.

I’d never jerked off in the shower before. Even when I was starting out and it was hard all the time, I’d always needed to lay down to coax cum out of my dick. But with the water pounding in my ears, drowning out all distractions, I felt the pressure of an epic orgasm suddenly peak inside me. My forehead pressed the wall, water pounded the back of my neck, and my right hand tipped me over the edge.

Cum poured out of the head of my cock like milk from a carton. It was a full load in one thick squirt, but it was only the first. Another stream splashed the shower wall. My abs clenched. My toes curled. It was an out of body experience, watching my cock flex as it shot again and again, clear liquid sliding down the wall as my whole body shook, twitching with astonishing pleasure that washed over me in waves from the souls of my feet to the tips of my ears.

There was nothing normal about this orgasm, or the way my cock kept throbbing. This had to be the drug. I didn’t feel drained or sleepy–it was like an espresso shot or what I imagined cocaine could feel like. I’d cum and I just wanted to cum more.

I released my cock and wiped my eyes. I stretched my back and looked back down at my hard dick, still throbbing as if it hadn’t just painted the wall with the biggest load I’d ever shot.

I turned off the shower and opened the door. As water dripped down my naked body, I felt every drop tracing cool branches down my skin. I lifted a towel off the rack and felt every fibre of it as I dried my skin.

Nothing about the experience felt like it was wearing off. If anything, it was getting stronger.

Trip and I did shrooms together after prom, and we smoked pot sometimes with our stoner friends. Both offered different forms of the same warm, heightened feelings, but this was on another level. I was probably looking at an hour or more of serious effects.

And so was Trip. My mind went to the dazed look in his eyes as he had left the bathroom, and I remembered what William said when he gave us the pills: they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave.

If this is what my pill did, what was Trip going through?

I wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked my erection behind the fold.

When I gripped the door handle I thought I heard a noise, but I opened the door and stepped out into an empty hall.

Then, from the bedrooms, a desperate moan.

I approached the open bedroom door and saw Trip’s naked body, head down on the pillow, chest and shoulders low, knees pressing into the bedsheetsback arched, legs apart, and two fingers desperately fucking his wet hole.

“Holy shit.”

Trip’s head spun around at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t try to hide. His fingers kept bobbing in and out of his ass. His face was red and desperate, and his floppy brown hair matted to his sweaty forehead.

“What the fuck was in those pills?” Trip’s voice broke with strain and desperation, like a man in a desert begging for water.

I paused at the door and felt pressure building under my towel. I couldn’t take my eyes off Trip’s fingers as they dove into his asshole again and again. He moaned and dug his face into the pillow as he finger-fucked himself a little harder. Then he turned to me and howeled, “I can’t cum!”

“Why aren’t you jerking off?”

“I can’t!” Trip pulled his fingers out of his ass and flipped over on his back, spreading his legs to display the problem: his cock was soft. It looked like he’d just come out of a cold shower. The air in the room felt hot enough to melt butter, but Trip’s dick was acting like it was time for winter hibernation.

“I’m so horny,” Trip admitted, the desperation dripping off his words, “I’ve never felt so horny in my life, but it’s like my cock is numb!” His hand slipped back between his legs and two fingers entered his hole. His knees folded against his chest and his bare feet raised up into the air as he desperately searched inside himself for what was demanding such pleasure.

“Those fucking assholes!” Trip shouted at the ceiling. “They wanted us to suffer and humiliate ourselves, trying to jerk off when we can’t.”

The frat bros’ fucked up plan took shape in my mind. “I don’t think that’s what they wanted us to do,” I whispered. My grip on the towel tightened as I watched my friend desperately finger fucking himself.

Trip looked up at me, confused.

I hesitated. But only for a moment. I released my grip and the towel fell.

“Oh fuck,” said Trip. The pieces fell together for him and his fingers slipped out.

“Yeah,” I said.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I stood in Trip’s doorway, my throbbing erection trespassing in his room, the moist head pointed at his gaping hole.

“It feels like there’s something inside me I can’t reach,” said Trip. His eyes locked on my cock. A silent thought passed between us. “Just do it,” he whispered.

He hooked his hands behind his knees and I swallowed at the sight of his naked hole stretching open. It looked clean and tight. My feet led the way forward while my brain processed what I was about to do.

A bottle of lube lay on the bed, the cap open, some of its liquid pooling on the sheets, tossed aside as Trip had started to desperately finger himself. I ran my hand through the spill and touched my cock for the first time since exposing myself.

I paused at the edge of his bed, barely an inch between my cock and his hole, our naked bodies shining with sweat. He tightened his grip on his legs and nodded. I gripped the back of his thigh with one hand and guided myself inside him with the other.

It was like sliding into a warm sleeping bag on a cold night. His ring swallowed my cockhead and my legs went weak as the entire shaft disappeared inside my best friend’s hole. I caught myself from falling on top of him with a hand beside his head. I gripped the bedsheet and tried not to cum.

Beneath me, Trip’s bright face broke open in a grin. All the desperation and strain from trying to finger fuck his way to an orgasm was gone, replaced with joy and shock and ecstasy and hunger.

He laughed out loud, “You have no idea how fucking good that feels!”

I smiled, “I think I have some idea.” I thrust again.

Trip tossed his head back and gasped, “Holy fuck… Keep doing that.”

I gripped his shoulder and used the leverage to rock our bodies together, plunging my cock as deep as possible. Inside him, a hard bubble of flesh met my shaft, and every time I ran the head of my cock across it, Trip’s body flexed, his soft cock bounced, and his muscles gripped me tighter.

“Oh fuck, that’s it! Keep fucking me like that!”

I fucked my friend, my chest bubbling with an impending geyser.

Trip’s tight abs flexed. He pulled his legs tighter to his chest, and he moaned, unrestrained. His soft cock bounced and he gasped, “I’m cumming!”

Thick white cum splashed across his belly, cascading over his hips like spilled paint.

The muscles squeezing my cock flexed as he unloaded and set me off too. I exploded inside my friend–a cum shot as strong as the one in the shower–slicking my shaft and dripping down my balls as I bottomed out inside him. I shook with pleasure. Gasping, I doubled over, pressing my face into Trip’s sweaty chest. He wrapped his arms around my naked back and held tight. A tangle of limbs, wrecked, breathless and dripping.

Slowly I looked up to meet his eyes.

“You’re still hard,” Trip grinned.

I nodded, and then I fucked him again.

---

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“It’s like the lady in the song says, boys: One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small.”

William held out the two blue pills for us like he was Morpheus in the Matrix, but his sharp face and pale complexion made him look more like the ivy league drug dealer he actually was.

I looked over at Trip, kneeling beside me. It had been an evening of strip games, public humiliation, serving the frat brothers drinks as they played poker and beer pong, and whisky shots throughout. Now we were both on our knees, only wearing our damp boxer-briefs, still sticky from the last task where we had to wrestle in a kids pool full of jello. The hazing had worn down my desire to join the frat, but Trip looked back at me with his floppy brown hair and big puppy eyes and I knew I was going to have to come through for my friend.

The frat brothers of Delta Alpha Phi stood around us holding drinks and joints, some of them swaying a little more than others depending on what they had taken. I recognized a few of them. The skinny one leaning on the couch to hold himself up was the son of a senator; the one with a torn shirt from a failed attempt to “hulk out” was the son of a tech billionaire; and William, the drug pusher, was the son of the Dean. Trip had made the argument to me before rush week that making the right connections could pay off big time. We just had to put up with the most insane demands from these children of the wealthy and corrupt.

But now it was one AM, and they were levelling up to experimental drugs. Somehow I don’t think my parents were expecting when I got into a school with a good chemistry department that it would lead to this.

“What do they do?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” said William with a sleazy wink that made me want to poke his eye out. He continued, “Don’t worry–a bunch of us have already taken them. They’re safe. But they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave. Then, that’s it.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s the last task?”

“Finito,” said William, grinning, “And we name you official, certified Delta bros.”

I looked at Trip again and the puppy dog eyes were in full guilt mode. I sighed and said, “Can I get some water?”

A shirtless frat bro behind us held out two cans and said, “No water! Only beer!” and the crowd howled and pounded the backs of chairs like they were getting ready to chase Piggy down the beach.

We each took a different pill from William and cracked open the beers. Trip held his can up for a cheers and I knocked our drinks together before we both tossed the pills in the backs of our mouths and took quick chugs to wash them down.

William raised his arms above his head like an evangelist at a ritual sacrifice and said, “Trip and Rory, the sacred brotherhood of Delta Alpha Phi has tested you and deemed you–”

The whoop of a police siren cut him off and bright red and blue lights hit the windows.

It was chaos. Drunk frat boys fell over chairs and cushions looking for their exit. A few of them dashed out the front door and I saw a pair of cops walking up the driveway towards us.

“Let’s go, man!” Trip pulled me to my feet and started dragging me to the back. The frat house was a mess. We passed through the disaster area of a dining room, hopping over the jello pool and dodging a pyramid of beer cans in the kitchen. Out the back door, the late summer air was still warm, which made hopping the railing and running across the lawn wearing only underwear slightly less insane.

We ducked through hedges and trees without running into anyone until we were a few streets away and within sight of our apartment building. I paused to catch my breath under a thick willow tree and Trip stopped to wait with me. He’d run track through high school, so the fucker was barely sweating, but I had spent most of my teen years getting high scores online and had the lung capacity of 80-year-old smoker. At least a good diet kept me skinny.

“Well that was quite something,” said Trip calmly, like we’d just seen a particularly mediocre action movie.

I glared up at him between gasps, my hands on my knees.

“What?” He asked, innocent.

“Getting drugged and busted by the cops after hours of dumb hazing rituals was not the deal!”

Trip looked down and kicked the grass with his bare feet like a kid caught stealing. He mumbled an apology and I felt an annoying wave of sympathy for him.

“How do you always make me feel guilty when you’re the one who fucks up?” I asked him.

He looked up at me, grinning, and said, “I just have that effect on people!”

I shook my head and sat down on the grass. “Do you feel anything?”

Trip shook his head, no, and said, “Just the shots and the adrenaline. They were probably placebos.”

“Maybe,” I said, unsure. I sighed and looked around at the empty street. In the distance I could hear some shouts and rapid footsteps from the other party escapees scattering into the night. “Can we go home now?”

Trip threw out a hand and pulled me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my bare shoulder to hold me in a bro hug. He smelled like strawberry jello. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I always appreciate you coming through for me when I need it.”

“Does that mean I get the first shower?”

“Not a chance, slowpoke,” he said and he pushed me aside and ran off into the night.

I punched the key code into the door lock and entered. I could hear Trip in the shower.

In the tall closet door mirror I finally saw what a mess I was. Twigs and leaves stuck in my messy black hair and shiny pink globs of jello dotted my skin. I tugged at the uncomfortably moist fabric of my boxer-briefs and hoped Trip wouldn’t hog the shower.

The apartment we shared was long and thin. The front door opened into the living room. Beyond that was a basic dining room table covered in books and card games, and then the L-shaped kitchen. Beside the kitchen was the hallway that led back to the bathroom on the left and our two bedrooms at the end. It wasn’t spacious, but it had quickly become home.

I went to the fridge and took out the water jug, and I poured it directly into my mouth instead of getting a glass, which was very out of character, but after the night I’d had, I felt I had earned it. My balls felt crushed and I adjusted them again. As I put the jug back, I stuck a hand inside my waistband to adjust my shaft. Something about the running and adrenaline and standing in the kitchen nearly-naked must have got my blood pumping. My cock stiffened.

I felt flushed from the warm air, so I went to the climate control by the entrance and turned up the AC. The bulge in my underwear grew as my shaft thickened and arched under the tight fabric. I pulled the waistband away from my skin and reached inside to point my hard cock up to relieve the pressure and it poked out over the top of the elastic.

Just then, the shower water stopped and I looked from the exposed head of my cock to my bedroom door, and to the bathroom door in between. I scurried forward, one hand covering my cockhead, but before I could make it past the bathroom, the door swung open and Trip stepped in front of me in a towel and a cloud of steam.

Trip’s muscles were toned and not too bulky, an agile build for running track. His shaved chest was flushed, made pink by the hot water. He had a tight grip on the towel around his waist, but he looked a bit dazed. It took him a moment to focus his eyes and see me standing in front of him.

“Hey,” he said in a distant voice, “Shower’s free.” And he turned away.

“Are you feeling ok?” I asked after him.

He took small, cautious steps towards his room, and then he paused to turn and face me, “Yeah. I’m just tired. I think.”

It was a bit like he was talking to himself when he said it. He turned away slowly and baby-stepped into his room. It was a bit strange, but with everything that had happened, maybe not too strange, so I entered the muggy bathroom and shut the door behind me.

I wiped my hand through the mirror fog and gave my face another look. My pupils seemed normal. I was a bit red, but that could be the warm air. As my reflection steamed over I just shook my head and stripped off my sticky underwear.

The relief was instant. My cock had only gotten harder, and now, finally free, I felt like I had been holding it in a cage. The shaft was a little thicker in the middle and then flared at the circumcised head, and it was so hard it bobbed to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I kicked my jello underwear into the corner and opened the shower door. The corner shower had a double head that provided a nice full mist spray. I turned the tap and didn’t bother waiting for the temperature to change before jumping in.

Hot water danced on my skin. The flow felt intense, beating my naked body like a waterfall. I tried adjusting the temperature to colder than I usually liked. It was like my body was radiating heat.

I rubbed my chest and hips to wipe away the melting jello, sliding my fingers over my abs and further down.

It only took one touch.

Thunder struck in my mind.

The contact of my finger tips was electric. Immediately, I was possessed. I wrapped a hand around my throbbing cock to give it an experimental stroke. Pleasure radiated out of my cock like I’d never felt before. I wrapped my other hand around my balls, my thumb pressing the base of my shaft while my fingers played chords on my sack. I stroked with short, firm movements, and the pleasure grew with every pump, filling my chest with tingling ecstasy.

I’d never jerked off in the shower before. Even when I was starting out and it was hard all the time, I’d always needed to lay down to coax cum out of my dick. But with the water pounding in my ears, drowning out all distractions, I felt the pressure of an epic orgasm suddenly peak inside me. My forehead pressed the wall, water pounded the back of my neck, and my right hand tipped me over the edge.

Cum poured out of the head of my cock like milk from a carton. It was a full load in one thick squirt, but it was only the first. Another stream splashed the shower wall. My abs clenched. My toes curled. It was an out of body experience, watching my cock flex as it shot again and again, clear liquid sliding down the wall as my whole body shook, twitching with astonishing pleasure that washed over me in waves from the souls of my feet to the tips of my ears.

There was nothing normal about this orgasm, or the way my cock kept throbbing. This had to be the drug. I didn’t feel drained or sleepy–it was like an espresso shot or what I imagined cocaine could feel like. I’d cum and I just wanted to cum more.

I released my cock and wiped my eyes. I stretched my back and looked back down at my hard dick, still throbbing as if it hadn’t just painted the wall with the biggest load I’d ever shot.

I turned off the shower and opened the door. As water dripped down my naked body, I felt every drop tracing cool branches down my skin. I lifted a towel off the rack and felt every fibre of it as I dried my skin.

Nothing about the experience felt like it was wearing off. If anything, it was getting stronger.

Trip and I did shrooms together after prom, and we smoked pot sometimes with our stoner friends. Both offered different forms of the same warm, heightened feelings, but this was on another level. I was probably looking at an hour or more of serious effects.

And so was Trip. My mind went to the dazed look in his eyes as he had left the bathroom, and I remembered what William said when he gave us the pills: they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave.

If this is what my pill did, what was Trip going through?

I wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked my erection behind the fold.

When I gripped the door handle I thought I heard a noise, but I opened the door and stepped out into an empty hall.

Then, from the bedrooms, a desperate moan.

I approached the open bedroom door and saw Trip’s naked body, head down on the pillow, chest and shoulders low, knees pressing into the bedsheetsback arched, legs apart, and two fingers desperately fucking his wet hole.

“Holy shit.”

Trip’s head spun around at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t try to hide. His fingers kept bobbing in and out of his ass. His face was red and desperate, and his floppy brown hair matted to his sweaty forehead.

“What the fuck was in those pills?” Trip’s voice broke with strain and desperation, like a man in a desert begging for water.

I paused at the door and felt pressure building under my towel. I couldn’t take my eyes off Trip’s fingers as they dove into his asshole again and again. He moaned and dug his face into the pillow as he finger-fucked himself a little harder. Then he turned to me and howeled, “I can’t cum!”

“Why aren’t you jerking off?”

“I can’t!” Trip pulled his fingers out of his ass and flipped over on his back, spreading his legs to display the problem: his cock was soft. It looked like he’d just come out of a cold shower. The air in the room felt hot enough to melt butter, but Trip’s dick was acting like it was time for winter hibernation.

“I’m so horny,” Trip admitted, the desperation dripping off his words, “I’ve never felt so horny in my life, but it’s like my cock is numb!” His hand slipped back between his legs and two fingers entered his hole. His knees folded against his chest and his bare feet raised up into the air as he desperately searched inside himself for what was demanding such pleasure.

“Those fucking assholes!” Trip shouted at the ceiling. “They wanted us to suffer and humiliate ourselves, trying to jerk off when we can’t.”

The frat bros’ fucked up plan took shape in my mind. “I don’t think that’s what they wanted us to do,” I whispered. My grip on the towel tightened as I watched my friend desperately finger fucking himself.

Trip looked up at me, confused.

I hesitated. But only for a moment. I released my grip and the towel fell.

“Oh fuck,” said Trip. The pieces fell together for him and his fingers slipped out.

“Yeah,” I said.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I stood in Trip’s doorway, my throbbing erection trespassing in his room, the moist head pointed at his gaping hole.

“It feels like there’s something inside me I can’t reach,” said Trip. His eyes locked on my cock. A silent thought passed between us. “Just do it,” he whispered.

He hooked his hands behind his knees and I swallowed at the sight of his naked hole stretching open. It looked clean and tight. My feet led the way forward while my brain processed what I was about to do.

A bottle of lube lay on the bed, the cap open, some of its liquid pooling on the sheets, tossed aside as Trip had started to desperately finger himself. I ran my hand through the spill and touched my cock for the first time since exposing myself.

I paused at the edge of his bed, barely an inch between my cock and his hole, our naked bodies shining with sweat. He tightened his grip on his legs and nodded. I gripped the back of his thigh with one hand and guided myself inside him with the other.

It was like sliding into a warm sleeping bag on a cold night. His ring swallowed my cockhead and my legs went weak as the entire shaft disappeared inside my best friend’s hole. I caught myself from falling on top of him with a hand beside his head. I gripped the bedsheet and tried not to cum.

Beneath me, Trip’s bright face broke open in a grin. All the desperation and strain from trying to finger fuck his way to an orgasm was gone, replaced with joy and shock and ecstasy and hunger.

He laughed out loud, “You have no idea how fucking good that feels!”

I smiled, “I think I have some idea.” I thrust again.

Trip tossed his head back and gasped, “Holy fuck… Keep doing that.”

I gripped his shoulder and used the leverage to rock our bodies together, plunging my cock as deep as possible. Inside him, a hard bubble of flesh met my shaft, and every time I ran the head of my cock across it, Trip’s body flexed, his soft cock bounced, and his muscles gripped me tighter.

“Oh fuck, that’s it! Keep fucking me like that!”

I fucked my friend, my chest bubbling with an impending geyser.

Trip’s tight abs flexed. He pulled his legs tighter to his chest, and he moaned, unrestrained. His soft cock bounced and he gasped, “I’m cumming!”

Thick white cum splashed across his belly, cascading over his hips like spilled paint.

The muscles squeezing my cock flexed as he unloaded and set me off too. I exploded inside my friend–a cum shot as strong as the one in the shower–slicking my shaft and dripping down my balls as I bottomed out inside him. I shook with pleasure. Gasping, I doubled over, pressing my face into Trip’s sweaty chest. He wrapped his arms around my naked back and held tight. A tangle of limbs, wrecked, breathless and dripping.

Slowly I looked up to meet his eyes.

“You’re still hard,” Trip grinned.

I nodded, and then I fucked him again.

Note: All characters are over 18. The substances featured in this story cause physical sensations only and do not inhibit the characters’ ability to consent.

“It’s like the lady in the song says, boys: One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small.”

William held out the two blue pills for us like he was Morpheus in the Matrix, but his sharp face and pale complexion made him look more like the ivy league drug dealer he actually was.

I looked over at Trip, kneeling beside me. It had been an evening of strip games, public humiliation, serving the frat brothers drinks as they played poker and beer pong, and whisky shots throughout. Now we were both on our knees, only wearing our damp boxer-briefs, still sticky from the last task where we had to wrestle in a kids pool full of jello. The hazing had worn down my desire to join the frat, but Trip looked back at me with his floppy brown hair and big puppy eyes and I knew I was going to have to come through for my friend.

The frat brothers of Delta Alpha Phi stood around us holding drinks and joints, some of them swaying a little more than others depending on what they had taken. I recognized a few of them. The skinny one leaning on the couch to hold himself up was the son of a senator; the one with a torn shirt from a failed attempt to “hulk out” was the son of a tech billionaire; and William, the drug pusher, was the son of the Dean. Trip had made the argument to me before rush week that making the right connections could pay off big time. We just had to put up with the most insane demands from these children of the wealthy and corrupt.

But now it was one AM, and they were levelling up to experimental drugs. Somehow I don’t think my parents were expecting when I got into a school with a good chemistry department that it would lead to this.

“What do they do?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” said William with a sleazy wink that made me want to poke his eye out. He continued, “Don’t worry–a bunch of us have already taken them. They’re safe. But they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave. Then, that’s it.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s the last task?”

“Finito,” said William, grinning, “And we name you official, certified Delta bros.”

I looked at Trip again and the puppy dog eyes were in full guilt mode. I sighed and said, “Can I get some water?”

A shirtless frat bro behind us held out two cans and said, “No water! Only beer!” and the crowd howled and pounded the backs of chairs like they were getting ready to chase Piggy down the beach.

We each took a different pill from William and cracked open the beers. Trip held his can up for a cheers and I knocked our drinks together before we both tossed the pills in the backs of our mouths and took quick chugs to wash them down.

William raised his arms above his head like an evangelist at a ritual sacrifice and said, “Trip and Rory, the sacred brotherhood of Delta Alpha Phi has tested you and deemed you–”

The whoop of a police siren cut him off and bright red and blue lights hit the windows.

It was chaos. Drunk frat boys fell over chairs and cushions looking for their exit. A few of them dashed out the front door and I saw a pair of cops walking up the driveway towards us.

“Let’s go, man!” Trip pulled me to my feet and started dragging me to the back. The frat house was a mess. We passed through the disaster area of a dining room, hopping over the jello pool and dodging a pyramid of beer cans in the kitchen. Out the back door, the late summer air was still warm, which made hopping the railing and running across the lawn wearing only underwear slightly less insane.

We ducked through hedges and trees without running into anyone until we were a few streets away and within sight of our apartment building. I paused to catch my breath under a thick willow tree and Trip stopped to wait with me. He’d run track through high school, so the fucker was barely sweating, but I had spent most of my teen years getting high scores online and had the lung capacity of 80-year-old smoker. At least a good diet kept me skinny.

“Well that was quite something,” said Trip calmly, like we’d just seen a particularly mediocre action movie.

I glared up at him between gasps, my hands on my knees.

“What?” He asked, innocent.

“Getting drugged and busted by the cops after hours of dumb hazing rituals was not the deal!”

Trip looked down and kicked the grass with his bare feet like a kid caught stealing. He mumbled an apology and I felt an annoying wave of sympathy for him.

“How do you always make me feel guilty when you’re the one who fucks up?” I asked him.

He looked up at me, grinning, and said, “I just have that effect on people!”

I shook my head and sat down on the grass. “Do you feel anything?”

Trip shook his head, no, and said, “Just the shots and the adrenaline. They were probably placebos.”

“Maybe,” I said, unsure. I sighed and looked around at the empty street. In the distance I could hear some shouts and rapid footsteps from the other party escapees scattering into the night. “Can we go home now?”

Trip threw out a hand and pulled me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my bare shoulder to hold me in a bro hug. He smelled like strawberry jello. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I always appreciate you coming through for me when I need it.”

“Does that mean I get the first shower?”

“Not a chance, slowpoke,” he said and he pushed me aside and ran off into the night.

I punched the key code into the door lock and entered. I could hear Trip in the shower.

In the tall closet door mirror I finally saw what a mess I was. Twigs and leaves stuck in my messy black hair and shiny pink globs of jello dotted my skin. I tugged at the uncomfortably moist fabric of my boxer-briefs and hoped Trip wouldn’t hog the shower.

The apartment we shared was long and thin. The front door opened into the living room. Beyond that was a basic dining room table covered in books and card games, and then the L-shaped kitchen. Beside the kitchen was the hallway that led back to the bathroom on the left and our two bedrooms at the end. It wasn’t spacious, but it had quickly become home.

I went to the fridge and took out the water jug, and I poured it directly into my mouth instead of getting a glass, which was very out of character, but after the night I’d had, I felt I had earned it. My balls felt crushed and I adjusted them again. As I put the jug back, I stuck a hand inside my waistband to adjust my shaft. Something about the running and adrenaline and standing in the kitchen nearly-naked must have got my blood pumping. My cock stiffened.

I felt flushed from the warm air, so I went to the climate control by the entrance and turned up the AC. The bulge in my underwear grew as my shaft thickened and arched under the tight fabric. I pulled the waistband away from my skin and reached inside to point my hard cock up to relieve the pressure and it poked out over the top of the elastic.

Just then, the shower water stopped and I looked from the exposed head of my cock to my bedroom door, and to the bathroom door in between. I scurried forward, one hand covering my cockhead, but before I could make it past the bathroom, the door swung open and Trip stepped in front of me in a towel and a cloud of steam.

Trip’s muscles were toned and not too bulky, an agile build for running track. His shaved chest was flushed, made pink by the hot water. He had a tight grip on the towel around his waist, but he looked a bit dazed. It took him a moment to focus his eyes and see me standing in front of him.

“Hey,” he said in a distant voice, “Shower’s free.” And he turned away.

“Are you feeling ok?” I asked after him.

He took small, cautious steps towards his room, and then he paused to turn and face me, “Yeah. I’m just tired. I think.”

It was a bit like he was talking to himself when he said it. He turned away slowly and baby-stepped into his room. It was a bit strange, but with everything that had happened, maybe not too strange, so I entered the muggy bathroom and shut the door behind me.

I wiped my hand through the mirror fog and gave my face another look. My pupils seemed normal. I was a bit red, but that could be the warm air. As my reflection steamed over I just shook my head and stripped off my sticky underwear.

The relief was instant. My cock had only gotten harder, and now, finally free, I felt like I had been holding it in a cage. The shaft was a little thicker in the middle and then flared at the circumcised head, and it was so hard it bobbed to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I kicked my jello underwear into the corner and opened the shower door. The corner shower had a double head that provided a nice full mist spray. I turned the tap and didn’t bother waiting for the temperature to change before jumping in.

Hot water danced on my skin. The flow felt intense, beating my naked body like a waterfall. I tried adjusting the temperature to colder than I usually liked. It was like my body was radiating heat.

I rubbed my chest and hips to wipe away the melting jello, sliding my fingers over my abs and further down.

It only took one touch.

Thunder struck in my mind.

The contact of my finger tips was electric. Immediately, I was possessed. I wrapped a hand around my throbbing cock to give it an experimental stroke. Pleasure radiated out of my cock like I’d never felt before. I wrapped my other hand around my balls, my thumb pressing the base of my shaft while my fingers played chords on my sack. I stroked with short, firm movements, and the pleasure grew with every pump, filling my chest with tingling ecstasy.

I’d never jerked off in the shower before. Even when I was starting out and it was hard all the time, I’d always needed to lay down to coax cum out of my dick. But with the water pounding in my ears, drowning out all distractions, I felt the pressure of an epic orgasm suddenly peak inside me. My forehead pressed the wall, water pounded the back of my neck, and my right hand tipped me over the edge.

Cum poured out of the head of my cock like milk from a carton. It was a full load in one thick squirt, but it was only the first. Another stream splashed the shower wall. My abs clenched. My toes curled. It was an out of body experience, watching my cock flex as it shot again and again, clear liquid sliding down the wall as my whole body shook, twitching with astonishing pleasure that washed over me in waves from the souls of my feet to the tips of my ears.

There was nothing normal about this orgasm, or the way my cock kept throbbing. This had to be the drug. I didn’t feel drained or sleepy–it was like an espresso shot or what I imagined cocaine could feel like. I’d cum and I just wanted to cum more.

I released my cock and wiped my eyes. I stretched my back and looked back down at my hard dick, still throbbing as if it hadn’t just painted the wall with the biggest load I’d ever shot.

I turned off the shower and opened the door. As water dripped down my naked body, I felt every drop tracing cool branches down my skin. I lifted a towel off the rack and felt every fibre of it as I dried my skin.

Nothing about the experience felt like it was wearing off. If anything, it was getting stronger.

Trip and I did shrooms together after prom, and we smoked pot sometimes with our stoner friends. Both offered different forms of the same warm, heightened feelings, but this was on another level. I was probably looking at an hour or more of serious effects.

And so was Trip. My mind went to the dazed look in his eyes as he had left the bathroom, and I remembered what William said when he gave us the pills: they’re different kinds, so you each take one and ride your own wave.

If this is what my pill did, what was Trip going through?

I wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked my erection behind the fold.

When I gripped the door handle I thought I heard a noise, but I opened the door and stepped out into an empty hall.

Then, from the bedrooms, a desperate moan.

I approached the open bedroom door and saw Trip’s naked body, head down on the pillow, chest and shoulders low, knees pressing into the bedsheetsback arched, legs apart, and two fingers desperately fucking his wet hole.

“Holy shit.”

Trip’s head spun around at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t try to hide. His fingers kept bobbing in and out of his ass. His face was red and desperate, and his floppy brown hair matted to his sweaty forehead.

“What the fuck was in those pills?” Trip’s voice broke with strain and desperation, like a man in a desert begging for water.

I paused at the door and felt pressure building under my towel. I couldn’t take my eyes off Trip’s fingers as they dove into his asshole again and again. He moaned and dug his face into the pillow as he finger-fucked himself a little harder. Then he turned to me and howeled, “I can’t cum!”

“Why aren’t you jerking off?”

“I can’t!” Trip pulled his fingers out of his ass and flipped over on his back, spreading his legs to display the problem: his cock was soft. It looked like he’d just come out of a cold shower. The air in the room felt hot enough to melt butter, but Trip’s dick was acting like it was time for winter hibernation.

“I’m so horny,” Trip admitted, the desperation dripping off his words, “I’ve never felt so horny in my life, but it’s like my cock is numb!” His hand slipped back between his legs and two fingers entered his hole. His knees folded against his chest and his bare feet raised up into the air as he desperately searched inside himself for what was demanding such pleasure.

“Those fucking assholes!” Trip shouted at the ceiling. “They wanted us to suffer and humiliate ourselves, trying to jerk off when we can’t.”

The frat bros’ fucked up plan took shape in my mind. “I don’t think that’s what they wanted us to do,” I whispered. My grip on the towel tightened as I watched my friend desperately finger fucking himself.

Trip looked up at me, confused.

I hesitated. But only for a moment. I released my grip and the towel fell.

“Oh fuck,” said Trip. The pieces fell together for him and his fingers slipped out.

“Yeah,” I said.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I stood in Trip’s doorway, my throbbing erection trespassing in his room, the moist head pointed at his gaping hole.

“It feels like there’s something inside me I can’t reach,” said Trip. His eyes locked on my cock. A silent thought passed between us. “Just do it,” he whispered.

He hooked his hands behind his knees and I swallowed at the sight of his naked hole stretching open. It looked clean and tight. My feet led the way forward while my brain processed what I was about to do.

A bottle of lube lay on the bed, the cap open, some of its liquid pooling on the sheets, tossed aside as Trip had started to desperately finger himself. I ran my hand through the spill and touched my cock for the first time since exposing myself.

I paused at the edge of his bed, barely an inch between my cock and his hole, our naked bodies shining with sweat. He tightened his grip on his legs and nodded. I gripped the back of his thigh with one hand and guided myself inside him with the other.

It was like sliding into a warm sleeping bag on a cold night. His ring swallowed my cockhead and my legs went weak as the entire shaft disappeared inside my best friend’s hole. I caught myself from falling on top of him with a hand beside his head. I gripped the bedsheet and tried not to cum.

Beneath me, Trip’s bright face broke open in a grin. All the desperation and strain from trying to finger fuck his way to an orgasm was gone, replaced with joy and shock and ecstasy and hunger.

He laughed out loud, “You have no idea how fucking good that feels!”

I smiled, “I think I have some idea.” I thrust again.

Trip tossed his head back and gasped, “Holy fuck… Keep doing that.”

I gripped his shoulder and used the leverage to rock our bodies together, plunging my cock as deep as possible. Inside him, a hard bubble of flesh met my shaft, and every time I ran the head of my cock across it, Trip’s body flexed, his soft cock bounced, and his muscles gripped me tighter.

“Oh fuck, that’s it! Keep fucking me like that!”

I fucked my friend, my chest bubbling with an impending geyser.

Trip’s tight abs flexed. He pulled his legs tighter to his chest, and he moaned, unrestrained. His soft cock bounced and he gasped, “I’m cumming!”

Thick white cum splashed across his belly, cascading over his hips like spilled paint.

The muscles squeezing my cock flexed as he unloaded and set me off too. I exploded inside my friend–a cum shot as strong as the one in the shower–slicking my shaft and dripping down my balls as I bottomed out inside him. I shook with pleasure. Gasping, I doubled over, pressing my face into Trip’s sweaty chest. He wrapped his arms around my naked back and held tight. A tangle of limbs, wrecked, breathless and dripping.

Slowly I looked up to meet his eyes.

“You’re still hard,” Trip grinned.

I nodded, and then I fucked him again.

---

Next: Chapter 2

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When my Patreon was deleted, and some personal stuff threw me down, I thought I was done with this part of my life. But writing sexy and romantic stories has been the most fun I’ve had writing anything, so I'm going to give it another try.

Patreon has agreed to let me start a new page, so I've revised my process and done away with the AI-generated images that got my first page deleted.

My goal is to post a new chapter or short story every week on Monday. Previously I rushed out new chapters in bursts, but then I’d go silent for weeks while I worked on the next thing. Now I am aiming for consistency so you know what to expect with your subscription.

Finished books will be published on Amazon, and some stories will still end up here on Reddit eventually, and on sites like Wattpad, Literotica, and Nifty, but Patreon will be the exclusive home for new chapters and short stories.

So I hope you'll take a look and give me a chance. There's already a couple of new short stories up on the page and more on the way. Enjoy!

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- T