Matt guided William’s hand to his belt buckle, almost whimpering while William fumbled it loose.
William unbuttoned Matt’s jeans, then wrestled the zipper down.
Matt sloughed off his jeans, revealing the jock strap. He eased William onto his back and straddled him. As expected, Matt felt the Jeep’s ceiling pushing down on his shoulders. Tight quarters. He hunched forward, then rubbed the jock’s cotton pouch against William’s mouth.
William used the tips of his teeth to gently bite and suck on the pouch.
Matt’s crotch-rubbing turned into thrusts—gentle at first, more urgent with time. He was enjoying the feel of William’s lips and tongue, but he was thinking of William’s other hole, already planning to free him of his jeans and underwear.
Matt felt William’s hands grip his ass cheeks, thought William was just pulling him closer, but then felt fingers exploring his crack, nearing his hole.
“I want to fuck you,” William said.
Chapter 5: Performance Anxiety
Friday, August 11, 1995
Matt tensed at William’s whispered “I want to fuck you.” His body went rigid as William’s fingers neared his hole. His cock deflated.
Buried memories (of the youth pastor, of the threadbare carpeting in the church sanctuary, of pain—searing pain) clawed their way out of the grave to which he had consigned them.
Zombie memories, back to eat him alive.
He scrambled free from William’s embrace. Crawled to a corner of the Jeep’s storage space. Sat, hunched over, hugging his knees. In his stupid jockstrap.
His heart pounded in his chest.
William rolled onto his side, facing Matt, and propped his head on one hand. He was shirtless, but still in his jeans.
“It’s ok,” he whispered. “I must have misread the situation. I thought you wanted to fuck. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you alright with talking? Or do you just want to return to campus?”
Matt shrugged. “You weren’t wrong. I did want to fuck—just not be fucked. You know?”
He looked down at his feet. The air around him was stale and stank of sweat—his own.
“I guess now I don’t have to worry about that interview with the GM,” he said.
“Nice try, dahling,” William said. “You don’t have to fuck your way into the GM, although I think you’ll find that shaking hands—handshakes is our term for hooking up with each other—is a perk. It bonds us together, helps us improve our techniques, eases sexual tension.”
Matt relaxed his tight grip on his knees. “I want all of that, the bonding, the handshakes. It’s just…I’m not the girl getting her hand shaken.”
William seemed shocked. “And I’m the girl?”
Matt grinned. “I think that would be the general consensus, Tallulah dahling.”
“How very hetero of you to frame gay sex as having a man and a woman,” William sneered.
“Oh, c’mon, you know what I mean! Part A gets inserted into Part B. Male. Female. Inserter. Insertee.”
William frowned. “Ever heard of flip-fucking? Versatility?”
Matt shook his head.
“And what happens if both guys are effeminate?” William asked. “Flip a coin for who must be the girl? Double dildo?”
Matt laughed. Obviously, he hadn’t thought this through.
“I prefer bottoming,” William said, “but I am versatile. And in other circumstances, I’d gladly bottom for you.”
