William’s tongue probed Matt’s mouth while his finger explored Matt’s ass.
Matt moaned and pushed down, wanting more.
“Fuck me,” Matt said. He wanted this—not as some baby step towards learning to top (well, that was a tiny factor), but mainly for the sheer joy of gay sex. For sealing his friendship with William.
William rolled onto his back. His rigid cock pointed due west like a needle on a compass. “Get on top facing me,” he said.
Matt complied.
“Now lean down and kiss me,” William said.
He pulled Matt to him with one arm. With his other hand, he positioned his cockhead against Matt’s hole.
“Feel that?” William asked. “I’m going to hold it in place. You’re in charge of letting it in. Take your time. Don’t rush.”
Matt eased himself onto that pole.
It seemed to fill him up, expanding outwards and upwards, flooding him with a warm glow.
He had feared this, thinking it would be the proverbial square-peg-in-round-hole: pain and sharp edges. Instead, it was more like one of those old-time skeleton keys (a rigid rod that snaked into a tiny keyhole, each ridge and notch on the key perfectly fitting a counter-matching notch and ridge).
And when, after a few minutes, William’s key found Matt’s prostate, Matt understood, for the first time, why Pentecostals spoke in tongues, why they rolled and thrashed on church floors, overcome by the Holy Spirit.
Matt also squirmed and thrashed, riding William’s cock, his back arched to take it deeper, moaning, gasping.
He was in Heaven. Jesus was knocking at his door. (Revelation 3:20: “Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come into him...”)
Matt looked down into William’s soulful eyes as the two of them rode out the hurricane of Matt’s true deflowering.
They were tethered by William’s cock. It was anchored deep inside Matt, a writhing, slithery eel clutching for purchase while Matt bucked and rolled with the storms of passion, sliding up and down on the wet mast, his ass lips furling and unfurling in rhythm.
Or was William’s cock the harpoon and Matt the mythical Leviathan, his tail furiously whipping the boiling sea into foam?
Regardless of the metaphor, it was William who conquered, Matt whosurrendered.
It was Matt who whimpered as William rescued his bobbing cock and palpated it, encouraging it to vomit up the fluids that were drowning it.
It was Matt’s ass that crashed and foundered against the twin boulders of William’s balls. It was Matt who howled out as he neared his crisis.
“I’m gonna cum,” Matt panted, worried about where he was supposed to shoot.
“Let me have it,” William said.
Matt’s entire body spasmed. He shot arcs of cum onto William’s chest. Some of the overspray landed on William’s face.
William smiled.
“Your turn,” Matt whispered—croaked. He was spent. “I want you to cum inside me.”
William grabbed Matt’s hips, holding them for leverage as he pistoned Matt’s ass.
Matt heard William’s soft gasp first, then felt a little tremor in William’s hips, and then he felt the warm seed filling him.
Chapter 6: The Not-So-Cowardly Lion
Monday, August 14, 1995
Matt was a new man—albeit one who walked with a “hitch in his giddyap” as they said in Oklahoma, on account of William’s rigid key in his small keyhole Saturday night.
