A gay story: Goodnight Brian
A story about an unusual young man in a strange situation.
…
Waiting…
I’m waiting in my bed, which is the same bed I’ve slept in for the majority of my 19 years. The only light in the room comes from the tiny air freshener/night light over by the door, and from whatever the moon provides through the slightly open curtains.
It’s almost 11, and I have a class tomorrow morning at nine, not that it really matters, because when he wants it, he gets it. I have a hunch that he wants it tonight, which is why I’m ready for him.
The “he” I refer to is Chopper, and he’s an enormous man who got his nickname because of his mechanical talents with motorcycles, as well as with muscle cars. He’s a guy pushing 50 who’s about 6’3″ and over 200 pounds, with a bushy beard and a reputation as being a man’s man.
I guess he got that reputation because of his way with the ladies in the Capital District area of New York State, but the people that think of him that way don’t know him like I do. Very few people do, and those of us that do know keep our mouths shut.
From the other side of the door I can hear a door close, and after a minute I can hear the sound of the toilet being flushed. At this point the footsteps can go either way, and to be honest I’m hoping they come this way tonight.
They do, and then I hear the doorknob turn and the wall over my headboard shows Chopper’s shadow from the hall right over his shoulder, but that disappears when the door closes behind him.
He’s in the room. I can hear his raspy breathing, and I can smell his scent, which is an aromatic cocktail of sweat, soap and testosterone. As soon as I hear the click of the door latch my body moves quickly, because it’s better that way.
The sheet that was covering me is kicked to the foot of the bed and I’m getting up on my knees, with my face buried in my pillow. I’m naked, because wearing pajamas would only slow things up, and I’ve got my ass as far up in the air as my slight body will allow.
Having spent a good ten minutes lubricating my anus while waiting for my lover, it’s as ready as it will ever be, having been prepped by my fingers and my toy. Good thing too, because Chopper is not a man who likes to fiddle with foreplay.
The mattress bounces as Chopper climbs on from down at the foot of the bed, and then I feel the coarseness of his hairy legs scraping against the insides of my own. His hands are now on my buttocks, squeezing them like they were fruit, and then a finger slips in between them.
He grunts approval when his digit finds my anus lubricated and ready, and then a second finger moves in. Both fingers corkscrew into my ass, and they move roughly as they probe deeply before sliding back out as quickly as they went in.
I feel something slapping my ass, something big and hard. It’s his cock, and Chopper is spanking me with it. I want to tell him that I’ll gladly do other things to him – anything that he want me to do – but he doesn’t want anything but this.
What a strange relationship this is, I wonder to myself as I feel the tip of his member rubbing against my oiled balloon knot. How can it be that I’ve never seen my lover naked? Chopper has taken me anally dozens and dozens of times, yet I’ve never even seen or touched his cock.
It’s big, that much I know. So big that if I found out that he had been fisting me all of this time I wouldn’t be all that surprised. That’s how big he is. I’ve only had one other man take my ass – my jack-off buddy Dave – and he’s a pretty average guy size wise. When he put his cock in me that time, in contrast I could hardly feel him.
We only make love three ways; with me on my belly, with me on my knees or with me on my back facing him. I love when I’m facing him, but he blindfolds me when we do it like that, wrapping one of his bandannas around my eyes before rolling me over onto my back. Chopper doesn’t want eye contact when he fucks me.
…
I remember the first time…
The first time Chopper came into my room is still so fresh in my mind that it seems like yesterday. It’s not the way most guys celebrate on the night of their 18th birthday, I suspect, but in retrospect I have no complaints about my deflowering.
I was so naive and innocent that I didn’t even know what was going on, and definitely had no clue regarding what Chopper was trying to do when he climbed onto my bed that night. That time I struggled, trying to keep him off of me as he took my pajamas down and pinned me to the mattress.
To give an idea of how strong and powerful a man Chopper is, he managed to pin me down, strip my clothes off and jam an oiled finger into my then-virgin anus without even breaking a sweat, while I squirmed and squealed beneath him, kicking and flailing away.
“Take it like a man,” were Chopper’s words that night, the only words he spoke.
Taking it was the only option, because he had my face jammed into the pillow, almost cutting my breathing off. He was rough and he was brutal, and when he forced his cock into me, I felt such excruciating pain that I thought I was going to die.
Chopper came fast that night, only lasting about a minute, and as he came I felt my bowels filled with his hot seed. He lifted his hirsute body off of mine and left the room, while I stayed where I was, flat on my stomach in the middle of my bed, legs spread wide open.
I was upset and in considerable discomfort, the burning in my rectum a vivid reminder of what had just happened. I was also confused, because my stomach and pubic hair were sitting in a pool of semen. Semen that was not Chopper’s, but mine.
I had cum just as Chopper had, with the discomfort I had felt not standing in the way of me getting hard, and perhaps in part the pain was part of my pleasure. In shame I stayed in that position, Chopper’s cum oozing out of my anus and my face staring at the digital alarm clock, as the minutes silently passed by.
Chopper had left the room at 11:21 and I was still laying there when the door opened again at 12:44. I assumed it was my step-mother, and figured she had waited until Chopper had fallen asleep to come in and see if I was alright.
Carol had to have heard what was going on in my bedroom, with me carrying on and all, and while I knew she would never come in and stand in her husband’s way, I knew she loved me and we shared a bond that no one could ever understand.
The hand that tended to my violated orifice was not Carol’s though, and neither were the fingers that went back inside of me. They belonged to the man that had just taken me an hour and a half earlier, and apparently it had been so good for him that he wanted more.
To my shame, I wanted more as well. I couldn’t help making sounds from the pain when his fingers reopened me, but I didn’t stop him. This time, he lifted me onto my hands and knees instead of impaling me as I lay on my stomach.
Chopper’s hands held my hips after he had inserted his manhood into me, and he felt even bigger than before as he thrust that enormous organ in and out of me.
“Hurts,” I whimpered each time he probed too deeply, but that only seemed to inflame him.