A gay story: Splash Zone
Author’s Note(s): If you are not into over-the-top kinky content, this story will most likely not be what you are looking for. It heavily focuses on cum fetishization via a highly stylized portrayal of hyperspermia and premature ejaculation. Furthermore, the protagonist undergoes a series of humiliating events that fundamentally alter who he is by the end of his journey. Please look at the story tags if you aren’t sure about whether or not to continue reading.
A ll characters in this story are eighteen years of age or older.
I stuck my face into the open mini-fridge, surveying the options – Heineken and styrofoam boxes of leftover takeout. I didn’t know why I had expected to find anything different. Liam could just walk over to the main house if he wanted to raid the real fridge; his mom had bought the mini one for the converted pool house long before he’d claimed it as his personal playhouse.
I grabbed a cold beer; I figured another one couldn’t hurt. I was celebrating, after all. It was just a little over two more weeks until we’d all be graduating high school. I knew I was going to miss it, but I was still looking forward to getting the hell out of dodge when I started college in the fall.
Travis and Colt were screeching in the background. They were watching some videos on one of their phones and laughing uproariously every time a prankster would own some unsuspecting victim. They had even tried to make a few similar videos of their own at one point, but it had fizzled out when they had failed to get the astronomical view count they’d anticipated.
I lingered a second longer before shutting the door; the cool air blasting on my cheeks felt great. It was unseasonably warm outside and the pool house didn’t have any air conditioning. I would have tried to talk the guys into going for a swim, but I knew Liam’s parents were strict about him not using it after 10 p.m. They didn’t like the noise echoing into their bedroom window.
I walked barefoot across the terracotta-style tile floor towards the sofa. Travis was holding out his phone to show Colt a video while he rested against the arm on the other side of the couch; it wasn’t exactly massive, but it still sat three people. I looked at the beanbag chair as a potential option, but the shiny vinyl always stuck to my skin.
“Make room, d-bags,” I chided as I forced myself into the space between them.
They both pushed themselves closer to the sides, ceding ownership of the center cushion to me. Travis re-positioned the video so that I could see it, too. I let out a small chuckle as a skinny dude beaned a fat guy in the face with a dodgeball.
“Where’s my beer, bruh?” Colt asked.
“Over in the fridge,” I said. “What do I look like, your mom?”
“Nah,” Travis chimed in, “if you looked like his mom, I’d jerk off thinking about you when I go home.”
“Fuck you,” Colt grunted.
Colt leaned across me and gave Travis a playful punch in the shoulder. His chest brushed against mine; his light swatch of fur rubbed against my smooth skin. We’d played a game of two-on-two earlier and never bothered to put our shirts back on; it was too fucking hot.
“What’s going on here?” Liam asked, taking stock of the roughhousing.
“Just putting this pansy in his place,” Colt said as he pulled himself back towards his end of the sofa.
Liam, Travis, Colt, and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. We’d all linked up in elementary school, and hours of playing Pokémon and pretending to be Power Rangers had quickly turned us into a tight-knit quartet of best buds. We had all been energetic kids who’d gone on to become athletic teens; I knew that was a big factor in why we hadn’t drifted apart.
We were all multi-hyphenate athletes. My main love was football, but I wrestled in the offseason. The rest of the guys were my brothers on the gridiron. Liam and Colt played baseball as well, and Travis was the perennial top scorer on the basketball team.
I still couldn’t believe we were all officially “adults.” Liam, the baby of the group, had turned eighteen a week earlier. His parents had gone away to give him space to throw a blowout, and all four of us had taken full advantage. They seemed a hell of a lot cooler than my folks.
Liam moved in front of us so that he was positioned between the sofa and the large TV near the wall. He was wearing navy blue sweatpants that had been trimmed at the knees to make a pair of ersatz shorts. The sheen on his large pecs reflected under the track lighting, as did his defined abs. He was on a cut, so he looked extra ripped.
He took a swig from the beer in his hand, then looked over at the beanbag with the same disdainful look I’d given it earlier. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Trav,” Liam said, “you’re in my spot.”
“No way, bruh. I was here first. Just because we always hang out at your place doesn’t mean you get priority seating. First come, first serve.”
Liam rolled his eyes; he’d always been a bit entitled. I’d assumed it was part of growing up knowing his parents made more money than ours.
“Besides,” Travis added, “Augie was the last one on the couch. “If anyone should have to get up, it should be him.”
“Yeah, make him get up,” Colt chuckled, still revved up from his pseudo-brawl.
“Looks like you’re the chosen one,” Liam said with a shit-eating grin.
“Fuck no,” I replied, holding my ground.
Liam wasn’t really a fighter; he had other ways to get what he wanted. He knew how to push people’s buttons. I was sure he knew the ones that triggered me the most.
“Fine,” he said, walking towards me. “Don’t move.”
Liam swaggered over and looked down at me from his standing position. His green eyes lit up like twin flames; his mouth contorted into a cocky grin. He turned around so his back was facing me and started to lower himself into a sitting position.
“What… what are you doing?” I cried out.
“I’m taking my seat on the sofa.”
Travis and Colt howled; they loved watching that type of shit play out. I quickly set my beer on the floor by my feet and raised my hand; I placed it firmly on Liam’s spine to keep him from moving.
“Nah, bruh,” I said in a soft tone, trying to defuse the situation. “Just take the L and go sit on the beanbag.”
I felt more force against my hand; Liam was pushing back against my resistance. I was not at all surprised. He knew that I didn’t like the type of “playfulness” that involved physical contact. I had always found a way to dodge a headlock or lashed out when of the guys had tried to give me a titty twister. Just a few days earlier, Colt had tried to give me a wet willy and I’d given him a death glare.
“Dude, just stop,” I said, losing my cool.
Liam kept pressing, though; the muscles in his back were rippling as he pushed himself into me. My arm started to get closer to my chest. Suddenly, my wrist bent at a funny angle; I yanked it away.
THWACK!
Liam collided with my lap. The slapping sound reverberated through the room as his back smacked into my sticky chest. I knew he had the smile of a winner on his face, even if I couldn’t see it.