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Catharsis

By: HiRez



"I'm not a deadbeat." Asad said.

Coach Henry Jacobs stood looking at the teenage boy, jaw clenched, his brawny arms folded across his chest. His green-hazel eyes were hard as slate giving him the forbidding appearance of a bald eagle. This had been arguing for some time now in his office, and Asad was going to be late for his AP Philosophy class. 

It was a lost cause, of course, because Coach Jacobs was never known to have lost an argument with his players.

A clock ticked on the wall. Somewhere in the room a fly buzzed. The overhead florescent lights glinted off the sides of Coach's gold Aggie ring. Asad knew he was not only angry (helplessly angry, an interior voice chimed in), but also scared, because time had seemed to slow down now; he couldn't help but fixate on these little details in his environment.

Jacobs considered his response for what seemed a long time.

"Well, Asad, you might not be a deadbeat, but you are in deep shit, son" Jacobs said, at last, in his soft, Southern drawl.

"I'll have the money-"

"You said that last week," 

"I thought I was going to-"

"And the week before that. Look, you don't give me a choice here, Asad. You're either going to pay off your debt, or you're going to work it off. One or the other." 

"Work it off? How?"

Jacobs chuckled. He took on the weary, half-smiling expression of a correctional officer.

"What are you going to do with your life, Asad?" Jacobs said, avoiding his question.

The boy groped for an adequate answer. It was something had wrestled with for some time, and knew that saying the right words now was crucial. For such a strong, handsome boy, so fast, so ruthless on the field, he had a curious habit of folding under questioning by his elders.

"I-I don't know. I'm going to U of H, to study engineering, but..."

"Don't stammer in my office, boy. I expect better than that from my quarterback, especially since we're going up against Westchester next week."

"Yes, sir," Asad said.

"Either pay up, already, or get ready to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty. I have a party Thursday night at my dad's place in the country, and I'm hurting for wait staff."

"Okay, Coach, okay."

Asad Udovicic looked away from his Coach's glare. The whole situation was surreal. He had snorted one thousand six hundred dollars' worth of cocaine over a semester. Cocaine the older man had supplied him, and now the bill was past due.

Jacobs had to fight hard to look away from the waistband of Asad's yellow jockey compression shorts peeking over his low slung gym shorts like a dazzling lemon wedge. The older man's eye traced the contours of the teen's impressive bulge, traveled upwards, and measured Asad's pecs. The words Jefferson High Mustangs rippled across the boy's chest.

"Go on to your next class," Jacobs said.

Asad left, closing the door gently behind him.

Jacobs had developed a minor obsession with Asad Udovicic. The Croatian teen was tall, well-built, with the broad, handsome face, high cheekbones, and full lips typical of Slavic males. Asad's black hair was neatly trimmed in a high and tight cut that Jacobs very much approved of. He also possessed a nine and half inch penis, as everyone at Jefferson Davis High School knew. His nickname on the team was "Anaconda."

The problem was that this young Adonis belonged to what Jacobs termed Generation Wuss. When it came right down to it, these kids expected something for nothing, and they wanted it right now. Not that it lessened his attraction to the boy. Despite his shortcomings, Asad had real potential-maybe even pro potential. Watching the teen go, Coach Jacobs couldn't help but feel a stab of hunger for the boy's perfect ass, for his youth, for his vitality.

***

Asad walked to the senior parking lot later, as the school day drew to a close, feeling low. This whole mess was exactly what his father had warned him about. He was falling prey to Western decadence. There' no way in hell he'd ask his family for the money.

He felt like talking to no one, but didn't get very far before he was surrounded by a group of hangers on, and their girlfriends. It wasn't easy to have a moment alone at Jefferson Davis High, not for the 2013 Gatorade Texas High School Football Player of the Year.

Still, the idea of having to wait tables for a private party as means to pay Coach back what he owed did not scare Asad in the least...

Not, at least, until the next day.

Asad Udovicic's jaw dropped when Coach Jacobs informed him of the details.

Once again, they were in Jacobs' office.

"I'm going to what?"

"Did I stutter? Go on and pick your jaw up off the floor, Asad. I told you you'd pay off what you owe, or you'd work it off. I didn't say you were going to like it."

"That's really funny, Coach, I mean it. Everything you just told me. A real knee-slapper," Asad said.

But there was nothing warm, or humorous about the way Henry was looking at him now.

"Not as funny as you're going to look, serving food and drinks to all those older men in your tighty-whiteys, Anaconda."

"No way, Coach, no way."

"Then, I have no choice. I'll have to let the boys know who talk to about collecting payment."

"The boys?"

"Yeah, believe me, you don't want the boys to have to pay you a visit," Coach Jacobs said, an ominous note creeping into his voice.

The man who spoke these words was a total stranger to Asad. For years, Udovicic had felt an overwhelming surge of trust, and respect, laced with a healthy amount of fear, for Coach Henry Jacobs. He was Jefferson Davis High's own General Patton. 

But the man, the legend that was Coach Jacobs was also a bit of a father figure to many of the boys, and indeed, spent more time with them on average than their real fathers did. He reminded them, in fact, of Kyle Chandler on Friday Night Lights. Jacobs even quoted from that particular show frequently, citing the coach's catchphrase, "Clear minds, full hearts, can't lose," before a big game.

So Asad was startled when Jacobs learned of his cocaine predilection, and said this to him:

"Don't buy from other guys, they're liable to rip you off," Jacobs said, "I can get you anything you want, Asad, and a better deal, too. I know you'll be good for it."

Asad had never had the slightest inkling that Jacobs might be gay, or that this bargain would have such mighty strings attached.

***

Thursday had finally come around. It was time to do what had to be done; Coach Jacobs had made it clear that this was Asad's last chance to make good on his debt before something unsavory occurred.

He climbed into his grey Silverado (the words "It's all about the class of '13!" scrawled across the back window in looping, childish handwriting by his girlfriend), and began his journey.

He chewed a little Copenhagen to help calm him down, a habit he'd picked up from his football buddies' dads.

The drive to the Jacobs family lake house was long, and a bit expensive (thanks in part to SIRI, that whore, who refused to provide any routes that didn't involve getting on a toll way), giving Asad plenty of time to steel himself for what lay ahead.

It was fifteen minutes of seven, before Asad finally arrived at the Jacobs estate. He drove his truck down a long drive lined by spruce trees to an elegant country house.

"You're late, as usual," Jacobs said, when he answered the door.

Coach Jacobs was smartly dressed in a black sports coat. In his hand, he held a plastic shopping bag. 

"What's that?" Asad asked.

"Your uniform. Come on," Jacobs said.

The teen followed the older man through the family room, where cream colored Italian silk couches lied still beside pear wood panels, and up the stairs into a lavishly appointed guest room. There was another boy already inside, also eighteen. He was about six-two, lean, blonde, with the face of a choir boy. He was still fully dressed, but Asad surmised this wouldn't be the case for long-for either of them.

"This is Jake. He'll fill you in on what to expect. The guests begin arriving at eight. It shouldn't take you very long to get into uniform." 

Jacobs left, closing the door behind him. There was an awkward silence.

"Hey," Jake said, at last.

"How's it going?" Asad replied, uncertainly.

"First timer, right? This must seem pretty crazy to you." Jake said.

You could say that, Asad thought.

"These sorts of things do get rather tiresome after the third or second time," the boy went on.

"So how many times have you done this?" 

Jake's casual, cheerfully exasperated tone gave Asad a sliver of hope. Maybe this won't be all that bad, the Croatian stud thought. But he was about to be disappointed. 

"Several times. It's a long story, but suffice it to say, I've never been the quickest study. A glutton for punishment, you might say. I just hope my date tonight won't be too ugly. Or old." Jake said, with a rueful chuckle. 

"What do you mean "date"?" Asad asked.

Jake sighed, turning away from Asad, as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

"Come on now, I know you're a jock, but you can't be that dumb, sweetie. How else do you think you're going to pay off your debt to Jacobs?"

"What did you just say to me?" Asad said.

The teen jock's voice was booming, authoritative, the voice of a natural leader. Jake jerked his head back, startled.

"I'm s-sorry. Cool your jets, man, it's not that bad, really. That's all I meant. A guy bids on the rights for an evening of your company, which sets off a chain reaction of counter-bids, until you reach your goal. Your goal is whatever amount you're in the hole for. At the end of the night, the money is collected, and bidders take home their prizes. A little wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, and shit, honey, you're a free man again."

Their prizes, Asad thought. The jock was used to thinking of himself as something of a catch, but never in the context of a gay sex auction. 

"You got to be kidding me," Asad said.

Asad wanted very badly to get out, and leave. He wondered if the boys were around. 

"What happens if someone doesn't reach their goal?" Asad asked, his tone a little milder.

Jake was standing stark naked in front of him now. His pudenda was shaved. His dick was six inches soft. Asad looked away quickly, embarrassed in a way he never was with his friends in the locker room.

"Oh honey," Jake said, "they're going to go wild for you. I'll be surprised if you don't rake in twice what you owe. These good old boys love big football jocks."

Yeah, no shit, Asad thought. He opened the plastic grocery bag Jacobs had handed him at the door, and took out a pristine white Under Armour jock, and a scuffed, plastic name tag with "Number 38" printed on it. He would be wearing this in front of a hundred horny men, all of whom would be very drunk before the evening was over, and one of whom would be taking him home with the express purpose of using his body to satisfy perverted appetites. In that moment Asad resolved never to do coke, or any hard drugs again.

He looked up, and saw that Jake was already in his jock. For the first time, he noticed track marks running up and down the length of Jake's arms.

Junkie, he thought.

"This is so fucked up," Asad said, taking off his orange polo.

"It is. But consider the alternative. Jacobs is in with the Mexican mafia-I mean, have you seen what those guys do to people? Animales, man." Jacobs said, shaking his head.

Udovicic felt a tremor of fear again. Jake observed this, and couldn't help but smile a little. 

He watched as the Croatian stud unzipped his jeans, and let them fall to his ankles. Asad's legs were bone white, covered in hair, the bulging quads tapering to thick lower legs.

Asad hooked his thumbs into the red waistband of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and slid them down. The teen's thick, circumcised porn star cock drew a sharp gasp from Jake.

"That thing is fucking beautiful," Jake said.

"Thanks. I guess," Asad said.

Jake wouldn't look away however. Asad was standing less than six feet away. He wondered what would happen if he reached over, and...

"Don't look at me, man." Asad said. 

Jake felt emboldened by Asad's increasing nervousness. 

"You're straight as an arrow, aren't you?" Jake said, "Coach Jacobs sure loves homophobic straight boys. If you ask me, the whole thing reeks of self-loathing. I guess that comes with having grown up in a different era, or whatever."

Jake's condescending attitude was beginning to grate, and Asad felt obliged to return it, a little.

"Here's the thing, Jake: I don't have a problem with gay dudes. I'm just into a little something called consent."

"Can I give you some advice then? Try not to think of it as rape. Think of it as...a cultural experience." Jake said.

Udovicic simply shook his head. He could not believe this was happening to him.

Technically, Asad had already been raped by one of his teachers...technically. That particular qualifier was always used when students and staff whispered about the affair, because even though he had capitulated to the desires of a woman who showed little interest in his consent, Asad had hardly been traumatized by the incident-at least, not by the sex itself.

The woman in question was Amy Bookman, Asad's twenty-six year old Biology II teacher, and the first woman he had ever had anything like real feelings for.

She was pretty, auburn haired, with skin like an English rose, and wide, dark eyes that held a listener whole. She was unlike most of the teachers at Jefferson Davis; Mrs. Bookman was a friend, a confidant, an older sister to the girls on the cheerleading squad, and the muse of many a wet dream among the male students and faculty. It wasn't unusual for one, or more of the girls in her class to speak openly to her about her boyfriend problems. 

One name in particular kept coming up again and again: Asad Udovicic. The problem was always the same; namely, that boy's dick was too big for them.

She discussed the teenager's genitalia and his preferences in bed with all of the girls Asad had dated, soliciting detail after detail, and offering up her own sexual history in exchange. The young girls fancied themselves Carries, and Mirandas in training, and were delighted to indulge this worldly, and sophisticated seeming older woman's every curiosity about the star quarterback's private life. 

They had no idea that beneath her desk, Mrs. Bookman's panties had been darkening as she listened...

Amy formed a plan of action in her head, but didn't act it out until the fall semester was nearly over.

"We need to discuss your grades," Amy said, stopping Asad as he moved to the exit. It was the last class of the day, on the last day before Winter Break.

She waited until the other students had left, before asking him to have a seat.

Asad had noted her wedding ring earlier in the year (all of the male students had, in fact), and didn't suspect anything was up...at least, not until Amy Bookman quickly locked the door. 

The older woman looked at him, head tilted to one side, a smile spreading on her face. Asad felt the beginning of an erection.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," she said, cupping his genitals through his jeans. She quickly unzipped him, and dropped to her knees.

Asad felt his face turn red.

"I'm not so sure about-"

But before he could finish, half of his engorged penis had vanished into her hungry mouth.

Asad groaned, and began thrusting faster and harder.

He had passed Mrs. Bookman's class with an A, of course, and they occasionally met afterwards in deserted parking lots, and Amy's house, when her hubby was off on business. 

The last time they had hooked up was the night before New Year's Eve. Amy's husband had just become a junior partner in his law firm, and she had no choice but to "break him off a piece", in her words. Hans Erickson Bookman, thirty-five, tall, bespectacled, balding, and forever projecting the austere air of Puritan magistrate, was Amy's cash cow, and he had just secured their financial future. It was difficult to work up much excitement over in him in bed, however, and twice they had to stop that night, because of how painful the friction became. The way Amy told the story, her vagina simply refused to moisten in anticipation or appreciation of Bookman's penetration. 

This surprised Asad, who knew her only as a "gusher" (or so he bragged to his friends on the team). 

Thoughts of her consumed his days before long. His mind turned constantly toward the memory of her fragrance, her perfectly trimmed bush, her tanned runner's legs with their graceful gazelle-like gait, her pendulous, creamy white breasts, firm brown nipples, and bleached asshole. 

It was a very cozy sort of set up, and might have blossomed into something truly special...until the shit hit the fan.

Rumors of their illicit relationship had made the rounds in every corridor at Jefferson Davis High, and sometime between the start of Winter Break and the beginning of the spring semester, they had finally reached the attention of the principal, a priggish, bespectacled man easily embarrassed in matters of sex.

Mrs. Bookman was put on unpaid administrative leave pending an internal investigation. She no longer replied to his text messages, and refused to answer his calls. Word around town was that Mr. Bookman had filed for divorce.

It was all over. Just like that. It might have all been a dream.

Ever since then Asad had started using coke.

***

Asad stepped out into a spacious garden enclosed by carefully trimmed hedges. There were fifty tables spread out, with glowing Japanese lanterns strung up in rows, providing illumination. The effect was somehow classy and cheap at the same time.

He tottered out with his pad, and pen, on unsteady legs, like a foal.

Here goes nothing, he thought.

The older men at the tables openly leered at him. There were other boys, scurrying about, their bodies lean and tight, their jockstraps loaded, but somehow Asad felt that the men saw only him; he drew their eyes like pins to a magnet. 

The teen had been perfectly honest with Jake, when he emphatically stated that he had no problem with the gays. Two of Asad's closest friends, boys he'd known since fifth grade, had come out to him only a few days ago, in confidence. He had not turned them away. He was even moved a little by their naked, gnawing need for him, which had too long been repressed.

Of course, he could not return their feelings, and he told them so, in the kindest possible way. He held them as they sobbed into his shoulder... he pledged his continued friendship to them, for which they were only too grateful.

But this was a very different situation. He went around, presenting the aged lechers with a bill of fare for the evening, and his sculpted teenage body.

The guests at Jacob's house were the crème de la crème of Houston society, and their friends. There was a brief shock of recognition as Asad realized that a few linemen for the Houston Texans would be partaking of tonight's festivities, however, for the most part, these people were strangers to him. He was unaware that he was serving drinks to, and enduring wolf whistles, and pinches from judges, lawyers, real estate barons, a couple of writers for the Chronicle, a State Representative, the Music Director for the Houston Symphony Orchestra-even the President of the Gilbert & Sullivan society.

Thankfully, there was no real trouble to be had for the first hour...until Asad reached table number 17.

He began taking down orders from a blond, middle aged man who insisted he be addressed as "Monsieur." He had clearly already had a few drinks, and was slurring through an explanation that he was a Francophile (despite having never set foot anywhere near Europe), when his fingers found themselves inside Asad's jock.


Catharsis At Her Hand



You wake up at attention. Your radar perceiving.... something, and working before thought to clarify and identify it. You hear a noise to your left and at the same time feel the cuffs closing over your wrists lying above your head. You know in a flash of insight who it is and that she has come to give you what you need. A gigantic crush of erotic excitement and fear wash over you.

........

You are completely naked and extremely vulnerable. You are rock hard. You feel another cock press against your virgin asshole. You can't possibly take it. You have been delivered to a place of shockingly extreme sexual excitement. 

On your knees now, your ass in the air and your head on the sheet with your hands locked together at arm's length strait out in front of you, you are completely out of control. 

Hands grip your hips from behind, her hand slaps your butt cheek and she tells you to push it out there! 

You desperately want to tell her to wait, but you can only make incoherent sounds as you have been rendered mute by a gag. You feel your legs viciously kicked wide. Her strength shocks and incites you even more. Your greatest vulnerability is about to be exploited. 

Your cock is absolutely throbbing with excitement, a steel rod. How can you want this! 

"Take this" You feel every muscle in your body go rigid as the cock stabs into you, forcing your sphincter to open. There is intense pain...You try to scream "Oh my God!" The hole is impossibly tight. It feels like being blown up by fire. The cock tears into your ass. 

Pain sears you, riding you mercilessly, relentlessly, exquisitely controlling every sense, every breath, your very sense of existing, consuming you like a bonfire raging through every corner of your being. You feel blood start as the cock tears your tender inner canal and does not stop, driving up your ass.

As you fail to gain control, you realize that you have an epiphany. You must accept it, take it in, not try to control it but instead let it flow like a wave over you. "Do not fight it" you say to yourself. 

The dry hard cock pulls back then slams up your ass even harder. You hear her shout "take it Bitch!" 

Do not try to hold the pain away, don't fight it, let it be, absorb its energy, let it move right through you. Yeah, feel that... Let it mingle with the racing adrenalin rush of sexual heat and lust. 

You don't want to but you arch your back, pushing backwards, so hot, needing your man-cunt to be fucked. 

Focus the pain in your very core, that burning, white hot fire in your ass where you are being violated and brutally opened, where you are unprotected, where you are being used without mercy, and with no power to stop it. Take it into that core, that center of violence. Shove it all, all of the pain, and add all of the fear, and helplessness, and misery, and loneliness, and sorrow, and guilt, and anger, and hate that you feel. Collect it; direct it, into a tight, hard growing ball. Feel it raging through your rigid, drooling cock, and your screaming, bleeding ass, tightening every single cell of the center of your body into a nucleus, a bomb being built. 

The thrusting is brutal; a riding crop suddenly lashes your ass cheek-hard "fuck that cock" 

Her hand is incredibly strong between your shoulder blades now. Her words are powerful "You are a fucking cock slut bitch." The crop bites into your flesh over and over "You fucking pussy!" 

The pain tries to make you lose focus, but you don't let it.

"Ride that cock you fucking whore." 

You take it and you shove it, all of that pain, every single thing that is inside of you that hurts, and let it be, let it burn, embrace the intensity, feed it with every terrible thing you have been thinking and feeling, and mix it with the swollen, heavy need in your balls, tightening up with a massive, hot load of cum. You let it grow huge with every shred of her energy running through you, every incredulous thought have ever had about wanting this deviance. Put it right there where your throbbing excitement can ignite it, react with it, make it swell with explosive force inside of your guts, your whole core, every cell electrified, aching for release, for an end. You feel that mass of fiery energy glowing and rising up. 

The cock is jack-hammering you, over and over for what seems like hours, splitting you in two, making a shivering, mind numbing intensity grow. You hear her voice telling you "You are fucking Mine, Bitch. Do it, FUCK IT, give it up to me right now you pussy fuck, cum!" 

And you do. You fall to it. You give yourself up completely to it; give every cell of your body over to it. You feel it rushing like a train, dismantling you like an earthquake, overwhelming your mind like a sonic boom right overhead. It explodes in your head and out your cock in thick, hot violent bursts of semen, demolishing your consciousness in a volcanic eruption of sexual and emotional release.

..............

And when you come back into your mind, you feel like you are floating. As your consciousness reforms, you become aware that she is there, sitting cross legged beside you, holding you underneath your body, one hand at the base of your spine and the other under your neck like the tethers of a docked boat, holding you just above the surface, not stopping the motion of the water, but not letting you move away from your place. You know that you are perfectly safe. There is a low throbbing in your ass that feels like a mark of passage. You know you are hers and it gives you a profound sense of peace. You feel utterly relaxed, secure and disarmed. You imagine floating in a river. There is a sense of a current, and you somehow know that all of the elements of pain, guilt, helplessness, fear, hate, rage, and sorrow are floating, like bubbles on top of the water around you. Un-tethered, and no longer a part of you, they float away downstream, away from you, moving off, removed from you...... You feel free. 

You open your eyes and turn your head to see her pale blue eyes, the most tender and caring eyes you have ever seen, calmly looking right into you. You look back, not holding anything back, showing that you understand that she really would do anything for you. You think "amazing" and you are aware that you feel more than embraced, you feel as if you are home.



Catharsis Ch. 02



CHAPTER 2: ABREACTION

The night Coach Henry Jacobs of Jefferson Davis High was living out his fantasies with Asad Udovicic, the school's star quarterback, Anthony Breslin had been the same thing he was doing now- furiously masturbating to his own. 

On the whole, Anthony's erotic longings were quite a few shades less disturbing than the Coach's.

Breslin had known Udovicic since well before he even knew he was gay, and they had grown up together in the same boring-ass suburb of Houston, a tiny speck on the map known as Canaan, Texas. They had shared many of the same teachers, and many of the same classes, including Amy Bookman's.

Tony smiled as he thought about Asad banging their Bio teacher. Mrs. Bookman was a cutie, he had to admit, even though a woman like her would have never looked at Tony twice on the street. The situation was typical of the trajectory of Asad and Anthony's friendship after puberty. The awkward little Croatian boy with the funny name shot up to 6'2 practically overnight, their sophomore year, he gained muscle mass, and began to display a heretofore unanticipated aptitude for sports. By the start of junior year, the legend about Udovicic's enormous trouser snake had spread to every corner of Jefferson Davis High, and something like a cult had formed around him amongst the girls.

Not that Tony was a slouch in the looks department per se.

A lot of girls thought Anthony was cute. He had a sensitive, pretty face, with well-defined cheekbones, and a decent jawline, but he knew he wasn't in Asad's league. At eighteen, he had already had a couple of girlfriends, just beards really, but no boyfriends. He had plenty of opportunities, but the time simply didn't feel right to declare his sexuality. He wasn't ready for that kind of scrutiny. Certainly, there were a small number of "out" kids at Jefferson Davis- band geeks, and drama club queens Tony felt he had little in common in with. 

"Flamers," his friends called them, and he couldn't help but share their casual homophobia, their implicit allegiance to the idea of rigid gender roles, and their doggedly heteronormative view of sexuality. There's nothing more conservative, Tony mused in private, than a typical teenager in a predominantly white, suburban high school; for Tony to attempt to buck the trend would have been social suicide.

"Flamers", he had repeated, echoing their patriarchal hatred for individuals with the stones to blur gender roles. Inside, Tony had to admit he was quite a bit jealous over how comfortable the out kids were with their sexuality, proudly swishing their hips as they walked down the hallways, ignoring the catcalls from the redneck kids. Someday, Tony would have that courage. As it stood, he had only come out to two people at school.

He was an underachiever in other ways too.

Despite his above average intelligence, Breslin was a solid C student. "Brilliant but lazy" was what his teachers labeled him, and more than once, he pointed out that such a description was clichéd, and thus indicated a lack of effort on their own part.

"Try to think of something a little less pat, Mrs. Crenshaw," Breslin had replied to his English teacher, on one such occasion.

"Don't be such a smartass, Tony. We might be in the home stretch, but you're not out of the woods yet. How would you like to graduate in August?" She replied, with a smirk.

Tony's face reddened, but he had laughed along with the rest of the class. He did not hold grudges, and he liked jokes, even ones at his expense (provided they were amusing, and not merely mean-spirited). At the end of the day, there was nothing that Mrs. Crenshaw could say that could really phase him.

The fact was that Tony disdained of a formal education, and academia in general. He saw college for the racket it was. 

As he told his buddy Carson Fujiyama:

"Fuck it, I wouldn't get anything out of it, anyway. I'm not a hard-core intellectual. And anyway, don't most companies prefer an uneducated labor pool they can easily exploit now?" 

What Breslin wanted, even more badly than Asad Udovicic, was to be a stand-up comedian. He enjoyed the stand-up of Daniel Tosh, Aziz Ansari, and Anthony Jeselnik. His dream was to take part in a Comedy Central roast, and sit next to Lisa Lampanelli at a celebrity roast.

But that was something that lay far in the future.

At the moment, Anthony lay in bed, cold, blue moonlight slanting though the venetian blinds, throwing a pattern across his sheets. He closed his eyes, and imagined himself walking in on Asad changing in the boy's lockerroom...

His iphone chimed indicating a new text message. Anthony was shocked when he saw that it was from Asad. Speak of the Devil.

Anthony had recently confessed to Asad that he had long harbored a schoolboy crush on him. It was the spur of the moment thing, and nobody was more surprised than Tony that it had happened at all.

Asad's response was to hug him, promise not to say a word to anyone, and then ignore him in the hallways subsequently.

"Hey, man, what are you up to?" Asad's text said.

"Nothin. U?" He replied.

"Nuthin. Bored. Can I come over? I need to talk to you about something."

Anthony paused to consider for a moment. What could Mr. Popularity possibly want to do with him so late in their high school career?

"Yeah," Anthony replied, at last, to Asad's query.

Asad arrived at Tony's ranch style house twenty minutes later.

"Come in," Tony said at the door.

Tony took in the sight of Udovicic crossing the threshold of his house for the first time in years, and had to hide his smile.

"Nothing's changed," Asad said, looking around at the sundry knick-knacks Tony's mother had arranged around the modest living room. 

The teen athlete stood a little over six feet, his black hair neatly shaved in a military style cut. He had a ruggedly handsome face, with strong Eastern European features, and a broad scimitar of a nose which led him to being mistaken for a Turk, oftentimes. 

His full, rose-colored lips were wrapped around a straw, and Tony couldn't help but flash on something he'd read online as Asad slurped the last of his Big Gulp: according to certain message boards, the color of a man's lips was the same color as the head of his dick.

"Let's go to my room," Tony said, as casually as he could, "bet I can still kick your ass at Dead or Alive."

"Shit, you couldn't beat my ass at Pac-Man."

Asad followed Tony upstairs. Breslin turned on his X-box, and before long the pair quickly fell back into their old familiar rhythms.

As they played for hours, Tony could not stop thinking about how he was sitting just a couple feet from the muse of so many of his most intense sexual fantasies. He struggled hard to keep the satisfaction from showing in his face, and reminded himself that it was never going to happen. Hell, in his khaki shorts, and Birkenstock sandals, Asad already looked the part of the handsome suburban dad he would someday be.

"That was fun," Tony said, when it was over.

"Yeah. What time is it?" Asad asked. He yawned.

"A little after midnight. You going home?"

"I guess I better."

Tony sensed an opportunity. Asad looked exhausted.

"You know...you can crash here, if you want," Tony said.

Asad raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Can I now?" The jock said, in a playful tone.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Tony said, eager to change the subject.

"I'm going to quit the team," Asad said.

"What? No way!" Anthony said.

"Yeah..."

Silence now. Asad averted his gaze from Tony's probing eyes.

"I guess this is probably the obvious question, but since you don't seem intent on elaborating, I hope you don't mind if I ask why?"

"Just because."

"Weren't you being courted by Tulane, and other schools to go play?"

"It wasn't an easy decision to make, but I...I made up my mind," Asad said.

"What's wrong?" Anthony asked.

Tony was witnessing the rare spectacle of Asad Udovicic in a vulnerable state. 

Anthony wanted to reach over to touch Asad, to hold him, and talk to him about whatever was bothering him. He didn't want to embarrass the big jock, however. After a half-second's worth of consideration, Breslin decided on the manliest way to initiate body contact, and punched him in the arm.

"If I tell you this..."Asad began, and trailed off.

"If you tell me what?

"No, I shouldn't," 

"Tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"You have to promise not to tell a soul."

"You kept my secret. I can keep yours," Anthony said.

Anthony's interest was really piqued now. He wondered what big, shameful secret Asad had to divulge. Everybody knew about the thing with Mrs. Bookman. There were rumors that Asad was heavy into coke. Whatever it was, it something he couldn't reveal to the members of his usual group, the crème de la crème of Jefferson Davis High.

"Coach Jacobs fucked me," Asad said, at last, with a drawn out exhalation.

Holy shit, Anthony thought.

"Fucked you, like in the ass?" He asked.

"No, fucked me like in the ear- yes, in my ass!" 

Tony's cheeks felt hot.

"Keep your voice low, man, my mom might still be awake," Tony said.

"Sorry."

"Tell me what happened."

As Asad told his story, Tony's face grew more and more concerned, even as his penis hardened. He crossed his legs several times, and strategically placed his hands so it wouldn't show.

Asad didn't skimp on the details. He told his friend about the habitual cocaine use that led to him nearly being prostituted to a strange man by Coach Henry Jacobs. Tony's jaw dropped, as Asad told him about the Francophile, who spoke terrible French, and had even worse manners, about the willowy Japanese queen who tittered like a bored socialite while he was degraded. 

Udovicic shuddered, recalling the way Coach Jacobs' hot breath had blown on his neck, when he said, "I want to fuck the shit out of you." Asad, the school's star quarterback, had been reduced to a sexual plaything, and the most horrible part, he confessed, was that it wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be.

In fact, he'd experienced a shattering climax.

"I guess going to the police is out of the question?" Tony said, at the end of his friend's story.

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm eighteen. My name and face would be on the news. I would become the poster boy for male-on-male rape. That's not how I want my whole life to be defined," 

"Besides," Asad continued, "I heard he has an in with the Mexican mafia."

"I wouldn't worry about them. They only protect their own- Jacobs is, I believe, Scots-Irish. Anyway, they mainly kill in matters of territorial dispute."

"All I know is I'm glad I won't have to deal with him again," Asad said.

"But you can't quit the team. Not just yet. It's your meal ticket," Tony said.

"I don't like the thought of him watching me in the showers, smiling, knowing what he did to me. He was really rough."

"Show me," Tony said.

Asad took off his shirt. His pecs were amazing, firm, and around, and lightly covered with hair. Finally, he could look at them up close. They were thick, and bounced, covered in a sweaty sheen when he ran track after school, shirtless, but Tony had only glimpsed this from afar.

The big jock's smooth white chest was mottled with pink suck marks. There was a trail of them leading down to his six pack, and further down, into his shorts.

"Wow," Tony said.

Udovicic slipped out of his khakis. Asad knew he was taking a chance, knew that Tony had feelings for him, but he needed to show someone what happened. 

Tony turned away as his friend pulled down his boxers, ashamed at himself for being so aroused by the thought of his friend's sexual humiliation. 

"Don't be a pussy, Tony. Look. It's what you want to do. We both know that, so look," Asad said.

Breslin's looked, and took in the breathtaking sight of Asad Udovicic naked.

Here, at last, was Asad's dick, the fabled Anaconda, in all its glory. It dangled between the teen's sinewy quads, like a fleshy hose, a long, thick dorsal vein running down its length. The tip of his glans caught the lamp's yellow light in a diffused spray of tiny pinpricks. 

Then Asad turned, and there were bruises on his ass. There were a good half dozen, overlapping bluish-purple handprints across the twin domes of his muscled glutes.

Seeing his gallant knight's body defiled in this way, angered him. He felt umbrage on behalf of his friend for being humiliated, for being exploited by a predator who traded on his position of authority to gain the confidence and trust of unsuspecting young men.

However a darker part of Tony, below all this righteous indignation felt only a sense of resentment, as though a treasure had been stolen from him.

"Asad, I have to be honest with you. I'm hard as a rock right now," Tony said.

"I know," Asad said.

"Would you let me kiss it?"

Tony looked into Asad's eyes for what seemed like a long time. Even as he spoke the words, Tony knew it was an impudent suggestion, quite baldly stated, and insensitive on the heels of everything Asad had just said.

So it was a mystery to him, and always would be, why the jock stud, the star quarterback, assented with a single nod of his head.

He had dreamt about this moment for a long time, had stroked his rod raw to what he assumed was an impossible scenario.

Breslin kneeled down, and kissed Asad's bulbous, blush colored cockhead. It was a wet, sloppy kiss, and Tony soon began to envelop more and more of the teen's enormous penis in his mouth.

"I thought you just wanted to give it a kiss," Asad said.

Tony slid the cock out of his mouth, with a noisy sucking sound.

"Yeah, a French kiss," Tony said.

Asad closed his eyes. He was beginning to get used to these spontaneous blowjobs from long time admirers. He imagined it was Mrs. Bookman's mouth swallowing his dick.

Asad's penis hardened, took on girth and length as it came alive in Tony's mouth. 

Tony worked the monster for a good half hour, sucking Asad's dick like he was mad at it. Clearly, Udovicic thought, he was copying something he'd seen in a porno.

"Hang on," Tony said.

Anthony grabbed fountain drink Asad had brought in with him. He took off the lid, and poured watery coke and melting ice cubes into his mouth.

He reached down to jerk his monster, as he resumed his post...

Asad moaned softly, eyes rolling into the back of his head, spinchter contracting, as he oozed his thick, creamy semen into Tony's eager mouth. 

In that second, Tony felt his nuts tighten, and then a delicious sense of release flooded him. His moaned, as he sprayed Asad's ankles with his seed.

Tony pulled away from Asad's glans, gluey strands of jock spunk stretching, and snapping as the expanse between his lips and the massive penis widened.

He swallowed the Asad-flavored slurry in his mouth.

Semen drooled down Breslin's chin. He licked his lips clean, and wiped the remaining goo off with the back of his hand.

"Good to the last drop," Tony said, smiling.

Asad looked away, his cheeks burning red.

"You liked it, don't pretend. I've never heard of anyone having buyer's remorse after getting head," Tony said.

Udovicic didn't reply. He had satisfied his urge to explore, in the wake of his rape, but he wouldn't admit to enjoying this little experiment. It was shameful, and unmanly.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't that great-my fault. I've never done it before," Tony admitted.

"It wasn't that bad," Asad said, at once overcome with a swell of pity for his friend. 

The teen knew Tony would remember this night forever as one of the highpoints of his high school career, and he didn't want to ruin that for him, despite his reservations.

Talking about damning someone with faint praise, Tony thought, and couldn't help chuckling a bit.

He tucked his subsiding erection back into his shorts, but a second later, he was taking off his shirt, and shoes.

"What are you doing?" Asad asked.

"Just making myself more comfortable," Tony said.

Breslin unzipped his jeans and let them drop to the ground. His legs were gangly, pale as the underside of a fish, and finely dusted with brown hair. Semen glistened across the front of his Ninja Turtles boxers.

"A blow job's far as it's going to go, man," Asad said.

Anthony stared at Udovicic. Did he mean that night's sexual activity, or romantically, for both of them? Probably both, a cold voice inside him said. But he was undeterred. Asad had the look of boy who wanted to try new things, but had to be cajoled into doing so. 

Breslin couldn't help but note with pleasure that Asad had not recoiled, or run to the bathroom to wash off his semen, which still oozed down the jock's hairy ankles.

Yes, something could happen here, Tony thought, if he didn't push Asad hard.

"Okay, but I sleep naked. And I'm going to insist that you share the bed with me," Tony said.

"I don't know about that, I'm not a..."

Asad groped for the right word, desperate not to offend his old friend.

"A faggot?" Tony offered.

"That's not what I meant," Asad countered.

"It's what you were thinking," 

"Come on, man, don't play the faggot card."

"The what?"

"You're trying to shame me into something by saying I'm a bigot if I don't do it. You're just embarrassing yourself, Tony. Why do you want to sleep naked, anyway?"

Tony smiled.

"The intimacy. Come on, we're close friends, right?" he said.

This gave Asad pause.

Asad loved the freedom of showering, and chewing the fat, while bare-assed naked, with his boys. There was nothing sexual in this, rather the pleasure derived from the sense of being totally comfortable with a group of fellow human beings. Indeed, many of the girls called the varsity football players faggots, not out of any real homophobia, but out of pure, feminine spite; they knew they could never hope to share a bond with any of the players as deep as the one they had already formed with each other.

Asad saw some of the same jealousy flickering in Tony's eyes now. They glittered like sharp, well-scrubbed emeralds.

"Okay," Asad said, with brief sigh.

Anthony couldn't help but smile. He climbed in to bed, slid under the covers, and motioned for his jock friend to the same.

Tony threw his arms around Asad, relishing the feel of his naked body pressing against his. He nibbled on the big jock's ear lobe.

The whole situation was simply unreal. Here was Asad, the Big Man on Campus, vulnerable, needing him for a change, and naked, in his bed.

"You're very touchy-feely all of a sudden," Asad said, dryly.

"Maybe it's because my dad didn't hug me until I was seventeen," Tony said.

"Is that a true story or part of your stand up?"

"It's true."

Breslin began grinding his genitals against Asad's ass, and didn't stop until the stud broke into giggles.

"That tickles, dude."

"I know," Tony said.

A part of Tony knew this had all not been staged just for his benefit, and he worried for his friend's state of being.

"Doesn't it make you feel...special? Being wanted like this, I mean," Tony said.

Asad said nothing for a few moments. Then he shrugged, and let out a barely audible, "Maybe."

Frustrated with the jock's coyness, Tony licked Asad's neck, running his tongue along the length of the Croatian's sternomastoid muscle. He reached down and grabbed Asad's flaccid cock.

"I'm not sure I'll behave myself, which is a really fucked up thing to say after what happened to you, I know. You might have to beat me up, because I won't be able to stop touching you tonight, and I'm not sure I'll respond to a simple 'stop'."

"I won't beat you up," Asad said, pressing his buttocks against Tony's dick.

"Okay. I'm not going to say anything to make you uncomfortable, but you know how I feel about you. It's just...I like this, Asad. A lot," Tony said.




Catharsis Ch. 02



"Let's go to sleep," Asad said.

Tony dug his nose into Asad's armpit, and sniffed the teen jock's clean, masculine odor. Breslin savored the scent of sweat, Gillette Arctic Ice, with a hint of Aeropostle cologne that had been on his shirt.

When he was satisfied, he laid his head back on his pillow, keeping his hand on Asad's cock, as if he were afraid it might simply fly away in the night.

Tony stared up at the ceiling for a long time, enough for Asad to begin snoring beside him. Something had to be done about that two-faced, drug dealing prick Coach Henry Jacobs, Tony thought, with the cold, deadly rage of a man whose fair lady's honor had been unforgivably assaulted.

After a while, the seeds of various ideas began to spring to mind, not all of which were legal.

***

Amy Bookman rolled a shopping cart out of the harsh, late afternoon sunlight and into the cool, air conditioned supermarket, feeling older than her twenty-six years. It had been a long, hectic week, and she longed for the feeling of normalcy after moving out of her old home.

As she walked middle-aged women in curlers, and porcine men in sweatpants hunting for bargains amongst wilting produce, she thought back to the start of her troubles.

She had just been put on administrative leave for her rumored affair with Asad Udovicic, and when she came home, she found her husband, Hans, sitting in his office, alone. On his mac book pro's glowing screen was Amy's Facebook page. He had hacked the password, and was reading her messages to Asad.

"You've been a very busy girl haven't you?" was all Hans said, his face smoothly impassive.

"Oh, Hans!"

He rose from his leather chair, and moved to the door.

"Excuse me, I'm going to get myself tested," Hans said, moving past her.

"For what?"

"For EVERYTHING!"

Amy had leapt back, startled by whip fast turn of Hans' head, and the unbridled malice in his voice.

She burst into tears then, and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket, thinking even then, how melodramatic this all was. 

"I'm so sorry. I never meant to-"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be. If I even come down with a mild case of the sniffles, I'm going to hire the meanest, nastiest personal injury lawyer in the Gulf Coast, and sue you for everything you're worth-which won't be all that much after the divorce."

He left her then, alone, to brood on her fate. She broke down, falling back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting. 

She let her head hang in her hands, and she had wept.

Mostly, she had cried for herself. She mourned not just the loss of her financial stability, but her inability to make solid choices in life. She cried for Asad, a boy she had grown rather fond of, and even a little for Hans, who deserved better.

Stop it, she thought, looking around the store for the grooming products. Stop thinking about it. You fucked up, okay. Life goes on. Right? 

A balding, middle aged man in a faded mechanic's uniform wolf whistled as she walked past a display of lawn furniture. She kept her head down, ignoring it.

When she turned the corner into Aisle 11, she found herself face to face with Asad Udovicic.

There was a jolt of instant recognition in the big jock's eyes. For a few seconds, they stood frozen, rooted to the spot, regarding each other.

Amy looked gorgeous, as usual in a blue cocktail dress; her dark hair tied in flowing bunches that framed her face like bookends. 

Looking closely, however, she looked a little tired. She had been out of the sun for too long.

"Well, if it isn't Count Vronsky," Amy said, in a jaunty tone that belied the emotions roiling within her.

"Count Vronsky". That was their own private joke. The semester before Amy and Asad began their affair in earnest, the jock had been struggling through Tolstoy's Anna Karenina in his AP English class. To Asad, the book had more value as a doorstop than as a worthwhile piece of literature.

He had recounted his difficulty writing his report on the book to Amy in bed, one night, and she laughed.

"Too bad we didn't start fucking around earlier. I could have broken it down for you. I'm Anna Karenina, the high society woman who dares to buck the mores of conventional society by engaging in an illicit affair, and you're Count Vronsky, the selfish cad she throws everything away for."

The joke was not so funny now that she had been caught.

Asad struggled to contain the rising wave of emotion inside of him.

"Long time no see," Asad said.

"Indeed."

"Why didn't you answer any of my texts, or phone calls?"

Here we go, Amy thought, yet another confrontation I wanted to avoid proving unavoidable.

"I couldn't, Asad. I was trying to save my sham of a marriage," Amy said.

"Not even a goodbye?" Asad asked.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. There it was. It was true.

Finally, after a few moments, Asad said:

"I'm sorry, too. I guess I'm what you would call a...a home wrecker."

"Don't be. In a way, I'm grateful."

"What?"

"It was bound to happen eventually. Hans is a decent guy, he never beat me, or demanded things from me, or made me feel like anything less than a princess. But our marriage was a commercial for the American dream, nothing more. I took certain vows believing it was a mark of maturity to marry for...financial stability. I thought it would be the perfect environment for kids. It just turned out that neither of us really wanted that, after all. We were like strangers sharing the same house, enacting a series of artificial poses in accordance with societal mores. Our connection never went deeper than that."

"Maybe you guys should have seen a marriage counselor, or tried to spice things up. You know, go on a second honeymoon, or something.

"I don't think so. His idea of fun is collecting early American legal documents," Amy said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"You were a really good teacher. Nobody could explain that shit better than you. I feel like...like I destroyed your life," Asad said.

"Bullshit. You're absolving me of the power of free will. I did what I did, because I wanted to. I knew the risks, just like you. I'm just glad I didn't end up on the news, and get Scarlet Lettered for something that occurred between consenting adults," Amy said.

Silence for a few moments. A few shoppers began to observe them from a distance, in a way they believed was surreptitious.

"We shouldn't talk here," Asad said.

"Maybe you'd like to come over for dinner?" Amy said.

"Okay," Asad said, smiling.

This was another one of their little jokes. Amy did not cook.

***

Amy's second story apartment in the southwest part of town was tiny, but fastidiously neat, and the décor showed a little taste. The chairs in the dining room were sleek, high backed Charles Rennie Mackintosh knock-offs. Monet's water lilies hung on the wall, above the table. A couple pieces of lalique that Mr. Bookman let her keep gleamed from above the mantle. The place smelled of scented candles, and lemon pledge.

They hadn't been inside for more than five seconds, when Amy had Asad's shirt over his head.

"Wait, aren't you going to give me the grand tour first?" Asad said, teasing her.

"I'll give you a grand tour," Amy said, grinning.

Amy threw her arms around Asad's neck. He leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth tasted of fresh raspberries.

"Come on, to bed," Amy said, pulling away.

Inside her bedroom, she slid easily out of her cocktail dress, and Asad had a chance to look over her body for the first time in weeks. 

It was tight, and toned, with a killer ass that looked like it tasted like double scoops of vanilla ice cream.

He unzipped his camo shorts, and let them fall to the ground. Amy grinned at the sight of the enormous bulge in Asad's navy blue Nike Pro boxers.

"Is this what you want, Princess?" Asad said, squeezing the front of his boxers.

She nodded.

Asad started to dig a Trojan out of his wallet, when Amy put a restraining hand on his wrist.

"You won't need that, I just put in my NuvaRing," Amy said.

Oh hell yeah, Asad thought. Like all men (especially boy-men) Asad absolutely detested stuffing his sausage in a latex casing. He wanted his boner mashing up against her spongy clam, wanted to feel flesh against flesh.

They were both naked now. 

She noted the profusion of hickeys across Asad's body, and the marks on his ass, but did not feel inclined to comment. She knew Asad liked to have fun.

The Croatian teen grabbed his obscenely huge penis in his hand, and wiggled it at Amy, ringing the dinner bell, as it were.

She dropped to her knees, at once, in front of the teen's erect monster, licking her lips in anticipation.

Udovicic pulled back his penis, until it was flat against his thigh, then let go like a rubber band. It swung in a fast arc, thumping against Amy's cheek.

The older woman jumped a little, startled, excited. 

I can't believe this shit, Asad thought. Fucking his teacher felt so wrong, and dirty, and it never lost its thrill. All thoughts of being Coach Jacobs' fuck toy, or messing around with his old buddy Tony were gone from his head now.

Amy licked the head of Asad's shaft, and he shivered with pleasure.

"Your balls are retracting," Amy observed, with interest, "do you remember what that's called?"

"Cremasteric reflex," Asad said.

"Good boy," Amy said.

Amy was a very thorough biology teacher.

Asad decided it was time to switch gears. Enough blowjobs, he thought. He reached down, sliding his hands under her arms to raise her up. She smiled at him...

He threw her on the mattress.

She shrieked with glee as the teen began pecking at her rock hard nipples. He was like an animal, pouncing on his prey.

The jock stud moved south, leaving a trail of kisses down her body, until, without warning, his breath was bearing down fast and hot against her pussy. He proceeded with the delicacy of a man about to unwrap an exquisite gift. 

Using his tongue, Asad languorously measured the diameter of her smooth labia, moving it up and down, and across, teasing Amy, slipping the tip between the fleshy outer lips, brushing against her engorged labia minora for the briefest of moments. The art of cunnilingus was an ancient one, like calligraphy, and required as much patience and precision.

He swirled his tongue around and around her clitoris, tapping on the hood, bringing it to life like a snake charmer playing the flute, and soaking up her juices like a sponge.

His head bobbed up and down, between her legs, the stubble on his chin scraping her perineum. She trembled a little.

He moaned, the low sounds vibrating against her pussy, and bringing her close. Asad gorged himself on the older woman's coppery juices, as if it was the most delicious things he'd ever tasted.

"Good boy," Amy repeated.

Asad came up for air, but Amy would have none of it, and shoved his face back down between her legs.

He polished her pearl.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," Amy said.

Asad's tongue began tapping out Morse code on her clit. This was one of their favorite games to play, and one they had worked out through trial and error, ultimately deciding on quick licks to represent dots, and long, slow licks to represent dashes. Amy had to decipher the message if she wanted him to go on. Usually what he tapped was the name of a sex act he wanted to try.

"Venus Butterfly?"

Asad shook his head.

"A Tijuana Triple Lutz?"

Again, no. It was hard to think with the teen tickling the nerve endings in her clit.

"A Bucakroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension?"

Strike three. She could feel his smile down there.

"Shit!"

She had lost. 

"Reverse cowgirl," Asad said, head rising from between her legs, mouth and chin smeared with her nectar.

She faced away from him as she straddled him.

Amy rode him hard, grinding on his cock, mashing her clit against the base of his shaft until she was almost close. A long, high-pitched wail escaped her lips. Only being with Asad, the teenage jock stud, could reduce her to a bitch in heat like this.

Asad slapped her ass when he saw Amy was ready to burst, signaling her to stop.

"Lay on the bed. I want to feel my dick between your tits," Asad said, his voice a harsh whisper. 

Great, Amy thought, I won't have anything do now. Well, it was still better than the best sex she'd ever had with Hans. Amy reached into her purse, and fished out a small bottle of Johnson's baby oil...

Always prepared, Asad thought, what a perfect girl scout.

The older woman lay back down on the bed, and squeezed her lubed up breasts together, inviting Udovicic to do his worst with a sexy half-grin.

Amy studied the coral colored glans as it lunged up, bumped against her chin, and then slid back down between her tits. It was glistening with pre-cum. She half-hoped Asad ejaculated on her face. It had been too long since she tasted him, and it drove the Croatian jock wild when she swallowed his semen, absolutely out of his mind.

"Oh yeah, just like that, baby!" Amy said, urging him on.

Her lips were shiny and sticky with his spilling pre-cum. She licked them clean.

Abruptly, he stopped. Amy looked up at him, puzzled.

Asad loved the way Amy was smiling, and breathing heavy but he knew it was only an act. Titty-fucking was a one-way street.

Ordinarily, Asad did not bother to consider his partner's pleasure. The teen jock, like all Southern high school boys, was for the most part, only interested in patriarchal sex, with clearly defined dominant and submissive roles, the fucking so rough it skirted right up to the edge of rape, and in which the female's pleasure was incidental. Ninety percent of time he titty-fucked girls, he simply drenched their face with his goo, and called it a night. Hell, he was the star quarterback, they were lucky to be in bed with him, and they knew it. It was part of his legend at Jefferson Davis, that most of the senior girls ("the hot bitches" as the envious JV players referred to them) had been used by him as his personal "cum dumpsters", in one form or another.

But with Amy, he was actually receptive to her desires. He wanted to play her like a piano.

To Asad, there was no point in fucking Amy if she didn't scream bloody murder with every thrust, if she wasn't reduced to a pile of quivering female hormones by the end.

"Let me get inside you," Asad whispered.

"Okay, but first, some music."

She plugged her iphone to her stereo, and pulled up their old playlist. Most of her music consisted of stuff like Jagged Little Pill, Live Through This, and Good Girl Gone Bad. For fucking, she liked to play something a little different.

The sounds of the chopped and screwed swishahouse remix of Lil Jon's "Lovers and Friends" filled the room. It was good, dirty high school love-making music.

The teen's lips curled into a sneer, as he entered her...

She squealed with delight.

"Give it to me, baby, fuck me good," Amy said.

The teen athlete's muscled ass clenched, and unclenched, hips rocking, as he pounded away like a jackhammer.

Oh fuck, he's really digging some tunnels, Amy thought. For a second, the absurd fear that the tip of his hard donkey dick would crack one of her ribs stole away with her mind.

Asad's pelvis ground into Amy's clit in time to the music, fast at first, then slow, then fast, then slow again. Got to make her scream bloody murder, Asad thought.

And at that, he was all too successful.

In seconds, Amy was screaming so loud, Asad's ears were ringing. She would make a terrific soprano, he thought, amused. There was a sudden thump-thump-thump, and the teen realized her downstairs neighbor was pounding on their ceiling with a broom handle.

Asad paid the thumping no mind. He was close now, and nothing could put the brakes on what was about to happen...

Amy smiled. She hadn't lived here long enough to know the lady in the unit below very well, but she knew enough. The woman was in her late sixties, and always carried an expression on her face like she'd just sucked on a lemon. She never said hello, making a point to avoid eye contact when they passed each other in the course of their comings and goings. Amy knew her only as The Mean Old Bitch Who Lives Downstairs, and it pleased her to think of the old bat provoked into a hissy fit by the sounds of their animal fucking.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck! Fuck!" Asad said.

Amy's pelvic muscles began to contract, and her vagina tightened around Asad's hard dick, squeezed, released, squeezed. For a moment, Asad had the wonderful sensation that his member wasn't so much penetrating his former teacher's snatch, as it was being consumed by it.

"HELL FUCKING YES!" Amy shouted, rattling the windows.

He flooded her with his seed and her great river swelled its banks like the Euphrates in the spring.

She was almost weeping with relief.

Asad's erection did not subside for nearly five minutes. Oh to be eighteen again, Amy thought, smiling, loving the feel of it in her hand. 

They lay together, not moving, for almost an hour, saying nothing. Nothing needed to be said. It was silent, except for the distant sounds of cars leaving, and entering the apartment complex. 

The air conditioning clicked on, and she snuggled with Asad for warmth.

***

Amy brushed her hair back into place, humming, as she moved about the tiny kitchen. She looked radiant; the color had come back into her cheeks.

It was nine o'clock now, and both of them were dressed again.

"Want a beer?" She asked.

"Sure."

She handed Asad a Corona from the fridge. 

"So...what have you been up to lately?" Asad asked.

"I'm an assistant manager at the Gap now," Amy said.

"How's that working out for you?"

"Pays better than being a teacher."

"Really?" 

"Yeah, that's our educational system for you. How about you, found a job yet?"

"No."

"You oughta do porn," Amy said.

Asad smiled a little. Most of his girlfriends had said that when they first caught sight of his Anaconda.

Eventually, their conversation circled back around to the subject of her abrupt dismal from her position at Jefferson Davis High.

"What did you tell them, anyway?" Asad asked.

"I told the District Superintendent that I would never, ever violate the community's trust that way. Not even if the boy in question dressed sexy, was of legal age, and totally had it coming," she said.

"Did you really, now?"

"Not that last part. What I really wanted to say was, "Haven't any of you guys read up on the lives of the world's greatest novelists? It was in the opinion of Tolstoy's aunt that the formal education of a young man was not complete until he'd skanked around with a few married women," Amy said, smirking.

"No brainy stuff right now, please," Asad said.

His phone rang.

"Who's that?"

It was Anthony Breslin. Asad debated whether or not answer.

"This kid from school. He thinks he's my boyfriend," Asad said, with a sheepish grin.

"Did he leave those marks on your ass?" Amy asked, innocently.

"No," Asad said, shooting her a look.

Amy had often enjoyed feminizing Asad in a hundred amusing little ways, like painting his toenails pink, and buying tight, pastel colored shirts for him that he never wore because they made him look like a gay hustler on the make.

Asad always seemed to be happy to play along, and it encouraged her to test certain waters. It was the last day of Winter Break, when she brought up the subject of Asad's gay admirers. They both enjoyed a good chuckle over the way Anthony Breslin liked to stare at Asad in class, even though Amy could tell Asad felt a little guilty about poking fun at his old friend. 

Finally, however, she had asked:

"You ever experimented with other guys, or thought about it?"

It was only fair to ask, she said, since she had driven him wild with the details of her college lesbian experiences.




Catharsis Ch. 02



Asad responded like a typical, insecure teenage boy; his face had turned red, eyes bulging with animal rage at this slight against his masculinity. It was the only time he had ever been angry with her. Shortly afterwards, rumors of their affair had reached Jefferson Davis High's Principal, and everything had squealed to a halt between them.

What Amy hadn't been able to tell Asad, was that it had always been her secret desire to see the younger man make out with another boy his age, and suck dick.

"What did your boyfriend have to say?" Amy asked, unable to resist teasing him a little.

"He says he has a solution for my coach problem," Asad said.

"What coach problem?"



Catharsis



The teen stud recoiled, a look of sharp anger in his face. He grabbed the blond man's wrist, and yanked his hand back out with such, sudden, violent force as to draw a collective gasp from the table.

"Come, come now, what's all this then?" said a darkly attired, patrician looking English gentleman sitting to the right of the Francophile. 

"Poor baby, doesn't know what he signed up for," said a thin, willowy Japanese man to the left of the Francophile. He spoke with the kind of catty relish that was the exclusive province of high school age mean girls and certain gay men.

"I know its cliché, but it really must be hard to find good help these days," the blond man said.

"Well, then, perhaps it might be good to find the help hard," the Englishman said.

"You heard him. Go on, get hard for us, faggot!" The blond man shouted, in his high, reedy voice.

The Japanese man tittered at this outburst, as if the blond man had uttered a fabulously witty bon mot.

Asad was struggling to contain his anger. Any ordinary human being would have already buckled under the strain of knowing he was to be used to gratify the sexual desires of a dirty old man, quite against his will. It was no mean feat to keep a calm expression as fat, balding forty and fifty something Vice Presidents tucked twenties into one's jock, merely to satisfy the urge to graze one's pubic region, to caress the base of one's cock, an urge they felt fully entitled to satisfy. And Asad was no ordinary individual; he was the definition of a Big Man on Campus, a boy used to other people trying to impress him.

And so the teen's reaction when the blond man ran his hand over Asad's washboard abs was inevitable.

"Fuck off!" Asad said.

The guests at the table broke into laughter. Other diners turned to look at the little comedy unfolding in their midst. 

"What a dirty mouth you have on you, baby. I know just what will put it to good use," the Asian said.

Asad ignored him, his cheeks burning hot. He turned, and began striding back toward the house, no longer fearing the consequences. He'd had enough. 

Coach Jacobs trailed after him. The teen had made it half-way up the stairs, when the older man stopped him.

"I don't know why you're throwing a hissy fit. Do you, or don't you want to be of debt?"

"Yeah, but fuck, man- I'm not going to let some old perv take my anal cherry."

"But you are."

Jacobs patted Asad on the shoulder. The teen lowered his gaze, his head hanging low.

"I'm going to be taking your anal cherry."

"You?"

"Why the hell not? I'm your coach. If anyone here is entitled to that particular prize, it's me. Believe me, you're getting a good deal. I have no idea where many of my guests have been, but a few of them like to travel abroad..."

Asad struggled to digest this. The teen had to admit he felt slightly better. If he had to engage in homosexual activity, at least it wouldn't be with a total stranger. A part of the teen couldn't help but be glad Coach was fit, and good-looking. 

"What about my debt?"

"I'll consider the matter settled, after tonight."

Jacobs led Asad to the living room, and instructed him to sit down, and try to relax.

"Let me get you a drink. A little liquid courage is obviously what this situation calls for," Jacobs said.

The older man went to his kitchen, and poured Asad a shot of apple brandy, a traditional French palate cleanser. 

Jacobs then crushed a couple of Viagra tablets with the hilt of a steak knife. He scooped up the powder, and dumped it into the glass. The teen wasn't going to know, but not knowing wouldn't hurt him.

He returned to the living room, and handed Asad the drugged drink.

"Thank you," Asad said.

The teen swallowed the shot. The liquid was hot and sweet going down his throat.

"Here, you need this tonight."

Jacobs cut three lines of coke on a small mirror. He handed Asad a crisp dollar bill. The teen rolled it up, and bent down over the mirror... 

One by one, the lines of coke disappeared.

Asad's nose burned, but he felt his brain light up like a roman candle. His eyes widened, his lips curling into a smile.

"Feeling better now?" Jacobs asked.

"Yeah. A lot better."

"Get out there, and flash your pearly whites. It's just one night, Asad."

The teen walked back out into the garden.

It was impossible to encapsulate the feeling of total superiority Asad felt to these horny old queens, even as he paraded himself around for them like a common gigolo.

Asad moved from table to table, with the glorious unashamed feeling of someone pin wheeling out into oblivion. He was amused by the stares, by the sheer, undignified animal hunger he aroused in the carefully composed and groomed partygoer's faces. He felt, in fact, like Superman. No, even better, like the Nietzsche ubermesnch he had written his paper on for his AP philosophy class. Faggots, he thought, with an undisguised smirk. 

The old cocaine was working its magic.

In his mind, there was deep distinction between ordinary gay men he could respect as real human beings, like his old friends who harbored tender schoolboy crushes on him, and the openly predatory, mincing, ravenous faggots who had gathered at Jacobs' house that night for a feeding frenzy of teenaged cock. Yes sir, he thought, there was real difference between the two, just as surely as a difference between ordinary black people, and...how did that Chris Rock routine go again?

Still, Asad managed to make his way to all the tables with a smile, after the shot of apple brandy, and the coke.

Eventually, he found his way back to Table No.17, the Francophile' table. This time, he was able to feign a flirty attitude for the high society johns.

"Glad to see your attitude's improved," the platinum blond fag said. 

Asad said nothing, as he set down a White Russian in front of him. The blond man rudely stuck his hand down Asad's jock. He smiled up at the Croatian boy, as if daring him to say anything.

The teen maintained a stoic expression as he was fondled. The Francophile's fingers were smooth, delicate, moisturized. They worked the length of Asad's shaft, squeezing, and pulling with the eagerness of a freshman on his first date.

To his utter shame, Asad sprung an erection at once. He managed to keep his composure.

"Your attention is truly flattering, sir" Asad said, reasonably, "but table number seven is still waiting for their drinks."

Blondie giggled.

"I like this one, he exudes a certain joie de vivre," He said.

The older man slipped a hundred dollar bill into his jock, his knuckles brushing Asad's sweaty scrotum. It was his first really big tip of the evening. 

The Francophile watched Asad walk over to another table, making careful note of the boy's firm ass in motion. Yes, it was exactly right. He eagerly placed his bid, jotting down two thousand dollars for No. 38 onto a slip of paper with his Mont Blanc Agatha Christie ballpoint pen. He was to be sorely disappointed, however.

The boy who collected the bid slips informed him that the Croatian stud was not to be bid on. Thoroughly flummoxed, the blond man sought out his host for clarification, and got it. 

But the answer was not quite to his satisfaction.

"Come on, Henry, let me bid on the Arab," the Francophile said.

"He's ain't Arabic. He's a Croatian." Henry explained.

"Oh, call it what you want, he's perfect. I've never seen an ass like that. And his dick looks glorious tenting out that jock. Hell, the boy is just an all-around magnificent specimen, a fortuitous confluence of excellent genetics and rigorous self-discipline." 

"Exactly. We might be able to work something out for another night, but tonight I'm that boy's master, Nikko," Henry said.

The Francophile, not used to having his whims and desires thwarted in such a decisive manner, sulked, and wandered off to mingle with the other guests.

Henry wasn't worried. Something would be worked out later, but tonight the boy was his. He had decided to forgive Asad's debt, because despite his outwardly rugged exterior, Henry nursed a variety of remembrances and regrets dating from his own high school years. Being human, these remembrances and regrets every so often took precedence over monetary matters. 

The world of literature had recorded many a story of men who had lost themselves for the love of an unattainable woman. The vast catalogue of this sort of affliction (this very particularly male sort of affliction) was by and large bereft of homosexual equivalents. And yet, there was hardly a gay man who in his time had not lived out his own pocket size variant of The Sorrows of Young Werther or Gatsby, and so it had been with Coach Henry Jacobs.

Even now, Jacobs was haunted by the beauty, the sheer masculine beauty of a boy he had once known, a boy very much like Asad Udovicic. Only his name had been Masood, and he had a much darker complexion, his speech rougher, less Americanized. Little details bubbled to the surface unexpectedly from time to time: taking Masood's cock in his mouth, the first he had fellated, ever; the salty taste of the boy's olive skin; the sun setting over South Padre island on the summer he lost his anal virginity to Masood, the dying rays of light burning a brilliant orange, as a cool breeze rose from the gulf.

These images and sensations played about in his head, colliding with other, less joyful recollections. He recalled Masood abruptly ending their relationship as graduation loomed near, the veins standing out his neck, as he intoned the word "abomination" in his thick, gun metal baritone... 

It was time to lay the ghost of that summer to rest, Jacobs thought. Tonight, it would be done.

By the time the party began winding down around the start of the witching hour, Asad's jock was ready to burst, as much as from the strain engendered by his mammoth penis as from the equally fat wad of cash all of the revelers had stuffed in there with it. The cumulative total of all these gratuities came to a princely nine hundred and seventy-six dollars. 

"Great party, man," the Asian queen said, in the foyer of Jacobs' country house. His arm was draped around Jake, who was fully dressed again. He glanced slyly in Asad's direction, and smiled.

Asad did not acknowledge the smile.

"Try not to rough up the Croatian's ass too bad. Or at least, save me a piece, if you do," the Japanese man said, laughing.

And then the door closed behind them, and there was silence. Asad and Jacobs were alone.

"You'll be sucking dick tonight, boy," Coach Jacobs said, hands on his hips. 

Asad was already feeling like shit. Coming down from a coke high always left him feeling in the gutter, and his present circumstances were no help. He wanted more than anything for this night to be over.

Jacobs led the boy up the stairs once more, this time into the master bedroom, into the smell of sandalwood, and mint. Next to the big queen size bed was a bottle of bubbly, slanting, its long neck catching the moonlight in a thin, diagonal white slash. It had been sitting in a bucket of melting ice for a while now.

There were no wine glasses to be seen anywhere in the room. Asad had seen enough rap videos to know what was going to happen.

Jacobs picked up the bottle of champagne. It was a Louis Roederer Cristal Brut from 2005. The bottle's gold foil wrapper gleamed elegantly in the dark.

Henry jabbed with his sommelier's knife, and uncorked the bottle, making a single loud pop. Hissing foam splattered Asad's face, the bubbles tickling his nose. He opened his eyes, just as another gout of cold, creamy Chardonnay splashed against his chest. Goose flesh rose up and down Asad's arms as the sweet, sticky fluid streamed down his rippling abs, dripping onto the carpet below...

Coach Jacobs did not seem to care about that last, minor detail.

The older man stepped out of his shoes, and unzipped his pants. He took off his clothes with trembling, eager fingers. Jacobs was a fit, and very young looking forty-one. He was not overly muscular, but he exuded an aura of manliness that earned him respect from his boys, and attention from their moms. A dark treasure trail led down from his navel to this thick pubic patch.

His penis was six inches, flaccid.

The older man dropped to his knees. He pulled Asad's soaked Under Armour jockstrap down, slowly, savoring the moment, giving the act an air of ceremony.

The teen's penis was truly a sight to behold. Seeing it, Jacobs felt something like respect and awe; a cock like Asad's lurked as an ideal, deep in the primitive lizard brains of men, and had done so, since time immemorial. Swords of war, scepters of royalty, and skyscrapers housing financial institutions could all trace their ancestry back to a collective unconscious need to venerate the power and majesty of thing that dangled between the teenager's legs.

"So fucking beautiful," Jacobs said, in the same, breathless tone as the blond junkie.

Asad felt the Coach's hot breath on his exposed cock, as the man considered his next move...

But Henry pulled away from the boy's dick at the last second. No, not just yet, he thought.

Jacobs brought the jock strap to his nose, and sniffed the delightful fruity notes from the champagne, blended with the natural, musky aroma from Udovicic's cock and balls.

The Coach stuffed the wet white pouch of the support garment into his mouth, and sucked it until the flavor was gone.

Now, it was the boy's turn.

He licked Asad clean from head to toe, while being careful to avoid the boy's genitalia. Udovicic couldn't help but be reminded of an old orange tabby cat he had once had, and how it had tended to, and groomed its babies, bathing them with her sandpapery tongue. 

The older man enjoyed the taste of the boy, loved his clean, masculine scent, compounded of sweat and Gillette Arctic Ice.

Time for the main course, the older man thought. He could no longer restrain himself.

Jacobs pulled his lips over his teeth, and clamped them to a rubbery flap of Asad's scrotal pouch. The Coach tugged and teased the teen's balls

A wave of unreality swept over Udovicic. Coach Henry Jacobs was gargling his sack! The teen's nerve endings were helpless against this attack...

The older man looked pleased with his effect on the teen. But it was not enough.

"I bet I suck better dick than that slut Amy," Coach said.

Jacobs tickled the teen's monstrous, coral colored glans with the tip of his tongue, until little moans of pleasure escaped from Asad's throat. He began swallowing the enormous rod, savoring the taste, his tongue swirling manically around its prodigious girth. The dick's thick dorsal vein throbbed against the roof of Jacobs' mouth.

Little by little, the teen's erection disappeared down the older man's throat, until Jacob's nose was buried in Asad's dark pubic hair. The older man's nostrils flared, greedily sucking up the teen's scent.

"Shit, you're really fucking good at this, Coach!" Asad blurted out, to his own surprise.

The teen threw his head back, eyes shut, mouth agape as a sound escaped his throat-a single vowel stretched out interminably, in the dark. Coach Jacobs brought him to the edge several times, all the while keeping a careful eye on the boy's sack. When the teen's nuts began to retract into his abdomen, he stopped what he was doing. 

Jacobs waited until the teen's erection nearly subsided, and then went to work, bringing it back to life.

This went on for a half hour, before Jacobs felt it was time for a little ass play.

The older man ran his finger along the intergluteal cleft, colloquially known as "the crack". Coach Jacobs was a pygophile, and was obsessed with male asses, the way some Jefferson Davis High dads obsessed over certain brands of cigars, and their wives lost their minds over the perfect pair of shoes.

He raised his hand, and struck the kid's ass with his flat palm, making a hard, angry sound. Asad jumped, startled. Henry did it again and again, in a paroxysm of animal rage --whack-whack-whack- until Asad's cheeks bloomed an angry red.

Not satisfied, Coach Jacobs stood up, and slid his hard dick up and down vertically, between Asad's ass cheeks, his balls bouncing against the boy's hole...a little preview of coming attractions.

The older man spun the teen around to face him.

"You ever suck dick before?" Jacobs asked.

"No," Asad said. The teen's face was hard, the eyebrows furrowed, eyes unblinking, fearless.

"A first time for everything, though, ain't that right?"

Asad looked away, unable to respond.

Coach Jacobs placed his hands on the teen's shoulders, and exerted gentle downward pressure. The teen did not was resist, and was soon on his knees in front of Jacobs' boner.

The older man held the boys' head in his hands, like a vise, and lightly slapped Asad's face with the business end of his dick.

Udovicic winced, closing his eyes shut.

"Now suck it," Jacobs said.

Asad took the older man into his mouth, keeping his eyes closed.

"No. Look at me," Coach said.

Asad looked up at the older man, with wide, innocent eyes. This must be what my girlfriends feel like, Udovicic thought. He was surprised, and relieved at how little the Coach's penis tasted like anything.

The teen tried to replicate Jacobs' moves, moving his tongue around the older man's shaft.

Jacobs smiled down at the boy. He inserted himself all the way inside Asad's handsome face, not stopping until he heard him gagging. 

Then he started thrusting his cock like a jackhammer...

Jacobs face-fucked the teen until he about to spill his seed, and the he stopped.

"Get in bed, I want to fuck the shit out of you," Jacobs whispered in Asad's ear.

Asad climbed onto the bed. The Egyptian cotton was cool beneath his hands and knees. Nothing to it, but to do it, Udovicic thought.

Henry squirted a glob of KY Jelly onto his shaft. This was it. It was finally happening.

The Coach's glistening dickhead tickled the teen's virgin hole...

"Are you wearing a rubber, Coach?" Asad asked, straining to look back over his shoulder.

"Rubber? L-O-L, as you kids might say. Not in my house, son. I ride bareback."

Jacobs thrust his cock inside Asad. The boy shouted in pain. It burned.

"Coach, go soft on me," Asad said.

"Relax your sphincter," Jacobs barked, ignoring his plea.

Asad was groaning, and grinding his teeth in agony as a column of fire shot up his anus with every thrust.

"Get into it, I want you to say, "Give it to me, motherfucker," Jacobs said.

Coach brought his hand down on Asad's ass like a carriage driver cracking the whip. The teen impaled himself on the older man's erection again and again, ignoring the pain, his firm ass cheeks slapping against Jacobs' thighs, the bed springs squeaking under him with every .

"Unghhhhhhhhhhh!"

The temperature rose by degrees in the room. It filled with their exhalations, and body heat, until the atmosphere was almost swampy. 

To his surprise, Udovicic was beginning to enjoy all this.

Asad's erection became a leaky faucet, and a damp patch of spilled pre-cum grew quickly beneath it. The teen had always been curious about what it would be like to be the woman, after mounting more than his fair share. He had never imagined it could be this good.

Abruptly, Coach nailed Asad's G-spot with a vicious thrust of his cock- the teen shuddered, unable to stifle a cry from deep within himself.

Music to my ears, Jacobs thought, grinning.

I must be gay, as well, Asad thought, dismally, before quickly correcting himself, no, bi, I must be bi. The latter option was infinitely more acceptable in his mind, galvanized as it was against bigotry by his American upbringing. His Eastern European roots were still strong enough to necessitate just such a sop to his masculinity.




Catharsis



Drops of sweat formed across Asad's forehead. Before long the perspiration was getting into his eyes. He snapped his eyelids shut against the sting.

Squeeeak-squeeeak-squeeeak.

Jacobs slapped hard again. The teen hissed air through his gritted teeth. It was time to show appreciation.

"Get it, big daddy, get it!" Asad said.

"I'm going make a big sticky mess right inside you, motherfucker!"

It was coming. Jacob's nuts tightened, his toes curled. He began to shudder uncontrollably, 

"YOU LIKE IT, DON'T YOU? YOU FUCKING LIKE IT, I KNEW IT ALL ALONG!" Jacobs shouted, hips bucking one last time.

And then Henry shuddered, moaning, as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He was overwhelmed by volley of sensations; he felt total perfect awareness of himself, could hear his heart hammering in his chest, and blood rushing in his ears. It was a look that was very familiar to Asad: Coach Jacobs was having multiple orgasms.

Jacobs counted his ejaculations, as images rushed into his head with unreal clarity.

One, two, three...

(Masood smiling down at him, as he sucked him off in the boy's restroom)

Three, four, five...

(Sneaking a glance at a Playgirl magazine, at a bookstore, and hearing the proprietor, a forty-six year old war vet named Mr. Cheatham, whisper the word "queer" to someone behind him)

Six, seven, eight...

(Being alone in his room, and rewinding the locker room scenes in his VHS copy of All The Right Moves over and over, as he furiously masturbated. The picture beginning to deteriorate from over-use)

Nine, ten, eleven...

Jacobs felt himself winding down, like the gears of an old clock. He slid his penis out of the teen's loosened rectum, and flipped Asad over onto his back just in time to ejaculate a twelfth, and final time on the boy's toned stomach.

For a blissful moment, Jacob's mind as free of any and all thought. There was only a feeling of the sublime.

Asad could no longer contain himself, either. He shuddered once, as if an electric current had swept through him, and his cock leapt in the air, jetting out a stream of pearly jock cream. It spattered warmly across his shoulder blade. 

The strong, clean scent of semen, so like the smell of chlorine, now filled the darkened room.

Henry bent down to lap up the congealing teen love juice. It had the consistency of grape jelly, but with a sharp, citrus tang. He swirled it around and around in his mouth. Delicious!

Coach lay down on his pillow, next to Asad. On the heels of this marvelous release of tension, Jacobs felt perfectly relaxed, perfectly content-the proverbial cat that ate the canary. 

Udovicic felt relief wash over him. The act was done. His hole was spent, his ass was raw, his jaw sore, and his perfect body was covered in spit and other fluids. 

But the act was done.

He wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"All debts have been paid in full," Jacobs said, his voice tender now. He leaned over, and kissed Asad on the forehead.

The teen trembled in the dark, and the Jacobs held him. After a while, Asad stopped.

The men slept a long, long time.