"Yeah, Joe! Fuck my pizza hole!"
Those words are coming from the mouth - the pizza hole, that is - of a guy who helped take my high school's football team to the state quarterfinals a few years ago. Kurt and I were not in the same social circle in high school, but now he is kneeling on the floor of my friend Matt's garage while I thrust my manhood in his mouth.
Meanwhile, Matt has hopped up onto a workbench, in turn feeding me his zesty meat. "Yeah, Joe! Fuck his face! Fuck him hard! And suck me at the same time!" The taste of his hot sausage is augmented not by the musky, masculine smells you might expect after a day's hard work, but those of actual, steaming sausage and pepperoni.
Allow me to explain.
I'm back from college for the summer, and for the past few weeks, I have been helping Matt resto-mod his newly acquired classic car. It's a 1969 Ford Mach 1 Mustang, which - sometimes annoyingly - he keeps referring to as "Cock 1." Much less annoyingly, I’ve enjoyed Matt’s actual Cock 1 a number of times recently. His cock will always be Number 1 to me in at least one sense, because it was the first one I ever tasted. Details are in the stories "The Massage" and "In Hot Water" that kicked off this series.
As for the car he calls Cock 1, it’s a work in progress. He got it surprisingly cheap, albeit for good reasons. The engine is blown, the seats are tattered, the dashboard is cracked, and the right side of the body is all banged up from a crash. After having it shipped up from Arizona, where rust was the only peril that it escaped, Matt has had local shops pull and smooth the dents, give it a new blue paintjob, and upgrade the crummy original brakes. He's doing almost everything else himself, though, keeping the total cost less than a new Mustang.
Matt has asked Kurt to help with today's big task: the engine swap. Using a rented engine hoist, we have taken all day to unbolt and remove the old powerplant, haul it out to the driveway for pickup, unbox the new crate motor, bolt it up to the transmission and start reconnecting things. Through it all, Matt has been classic Matt, constantly making his usual jokes to sexualize nearly everything we're working on: "Don't drop that driveshaft - except into my ass", "Screw those bolts in hard," anything with the number sixty-nine in it, and on and on and on. Sometimes he even moans provocatively when we apply lube to something or fit two parts together. Kurt and I have rolled our eyes at each other many times today, bonding a bit over Matt's immature banter.
The engine work finally done, Matt hands us some beers, places a pizza order to celebrate, and then waves a stiff envelope from the DMV containing his new vanity plates, which he's waited until now to share. “Care to guess?” he asks expectantly.
“Well,” I ponder, putting the obvious one right out there, “There’s no way they’ll let you put ‘COCK 1’ on a plate, so that one’s out.”
“And ‘SCRTLY GAY’ is too many letters,” taunts Kurt, who I will find out is secretly gay, unlike Matt, though I don't know that yet. “So it can’t be that either." Slinging some of Matt's shit back at him earns Kurt a high-five from me.
“Fuck you guys. C’mon, think about what this car is. I bet you can do this.”
“Well, it is a Mustang, which is a horse," I suggest, "so if they let you have ‘RIDE ME,’ that would sure be up your alley." Jokingly, I add, "Which is what you secretly want from Kurt and me." This may or may not actually be true, because for all his bluster, Matt has never broadened his Bisexual repertoire beyond wiener-gobbling. He's strictly a bro-job guy: no assfucking, no rimming, and definitely no kissing. I'm starting to suspect there's another level within him to unlock, if I can only figure out the combination, but that's a problem for another day.
"What, for us to ride Matt?" parries Kurt, matching Matt's crudeness by thrusting his hips, then sticking out his posterior. "Or go up his alley?"
"Both." This prompts a return high-five.
Matt shakes his head. “You guys suck. Besides being wrong.”
“Hmm," reasons Kurt, "since you've been droning on about sixty-nine all day, and the car is a ‘69, maybe it has '69' in it?”
“Very good! Matt beams. "Now let's see if you can guess the rest.”
We suggest a variety of ideas: "LUV 69", "HOT 69“, "SWEET69,” "MUST 69," “69 ME,” “69 4 U,” “GR8 69,” “69S BEST,” and so forth. Eventually, our frustration starts to show as our guesses deteriorate into “H8 69,” "69 SUX", "NEVR 69D," “DORK 69” and “ASS 69.”
“All right, fuck you guys again,” whines Matt. “Which is probably what you two really want.” Again with a gay joke. One that is more right than he knows.
Finally, he pulls the plates out of the envelope, revealing them to read “69 4EVR.” Kurt and I both acknowledge the awesomeness of this choice.
“I was surprised they let me have it, but it's perfect because I want to keep this car going forever, and I'd be happy to sixty-nine forever too.” He steps forward, leering at Kurt and me provocatively. "Speaking of which, that was a big job, and I want to return the favor with the kind of jobs you both really want.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” gulps Kurt nervously, putting up his hands and stepping back. As far as I know, the former football hero is as straight as they come. He looks at me nervously, blushing.
Wait, blushing?
“Oh come on, I’ve sucked both your dicks before,” declares Matt. “Just not at the same time.”
“Hang on, you …” stammers Kurt, his eyes darting back and forth between Matt and me. “For real?”
I respond only with a nervous smile, having learned to be careful around macho-presenting guys. But Matt steps towards me and rubs the crotch of my jeans. “Yeah, Kurt. For real.”
“Oh,” says Kurt, looking relieved. “Well, in that case …” He unbuttons his jeans, eyeing us both lustily.
Matt pulls my pants down, beckoning Kurt over, then licking up and down each of our schlongs in turn. He holds the twin shafts together, still licking, causing us both to groan with pleasure from the warm stimulation. We trade subtle knowing glances, both wanting to mash mouths but aware that it would piss Matt off. Unnoticed by him, we place reassuring hands on each other's shoulders as we take our turns spewing loads into Matt's hungry mouth.
Just as Matt stands up, grinning after having swallowed two men's spooge, the doorbell rings. The instant Matt disappears into the house to take the pizza delivery, Kurt capitalizes on our unspoken mutual understanding, pinning me against the wall and making out with me, hard. He rubs one hand over my ass and strokes my prick with the other, gestures which I return in kind. "Joe, do you fuck?" he breathes hopefully into my ear.
Not answering with words, I run a finger down his sweaty ass crack and press it against his asshole, gingerly wiggling it in against his sphinctral tightness.
He moans deeply at this. "Oooh, I never guessed you were such a dirty little fucker, Joe Barnes. We've got to bang sometime without Matt."
He hears Matt coming and falls to his knees to suck me just as the door from the house opens. Rather than blowing a gasket, as he might have done if he'd witnessed Kurt and me kissing and discussing ass play, Matt grins at the scene of the football hero blowing little old me. "Oh, fuck yeah! I knew you two would get along!" He sets the steaming pizza boxes on the workbench in front of me, drops his pants and the lace panties underneath (red today) that he is so fond of, and hops up on the bench in front of me next to the pizzas. "Hey Joe, I haven't cum yet. Help a brother out."
I'm only too happy to oblige, which is how I've come to have my nostrils filled with the smells of actual pepperoni and sausage while I lick and then swallow Matt's sausage. "Ohhh yeaaahh!" he exclaims, always a vocal sex partner, spewing out naughty utterances. "Keep sucking me and fucking his face. Eat my cum and make him eat yours. It's almost like my cum is flowing through you into Kurt's mouth. Flow, baby, flow!"
The feeling of sucking while being sucked by a man is something I've previously experienced only with sixty-nine, and soon my ecstasy gets the best of me, filling Kurt's mouth with my white cream. He makes little grunts of pleasure with each squirt that I deliver.
"Drink, motherfucker, drink!" Matt chants to Kurt as he just does that, breathing hard. "I think you like Joe's cum as much as you like mine." Kurt answers by joining me between Matt's legs and drooling some of that cum back onto his cock. The resulting gooey mess ultra-lubes Matt's member, sending him into paroxysms of pleasure as well as his usual naughty talk. "Yeah, suck me off, you dirty motherfuckers." Kurt and I take turns slurping, our mouths occasionally meeting, though we take care to avoid any outright kissing. Kurt has also drooled some of the cum-spit slurry onto his hand, which he uses to slicken and pump my pecker below the bench. Finally Matt yells, "Here it cums! Drink up!" as he orgasms, none of his jizz going to waste as Kurt and I work together to imbibe it all.
Then Matt excuses himself. "Sorry guys, that was awesome, but I just realized I gotta take a leak."
With only a moment before Matt returns, I take a turn to press Kurt up against the wall, but this time from behind. He turns his head back so we can sloppily share Matt's creamy output. As good as cocksucking is, I've gotten my first taste of anal sex - and second, and third, and fourth - in the past year, and wouldn't mind more. I glide my greasy erection between Kurt's ass cheeks, begging, "When can we go at it?"
"Matt works tomorrow, and my wife thinks I'm golfing," he groans through gritted teeth. "So I'm open all fucking day."
I could probably slip my cock in his hole right now, but I think of something filthier. "So's this, I hope," I challenge, dropping to my knees, spreading his cheeks and tonguing his hole.
He moans in pleasure and anticipation, spinning around just in time to shove his member in my face before Matt comes back through the door. Once again, Matt is thrilled at how well Kurt and I are getting along.
He has no fucking idea.
