Horny Straight Scott VI
By Natty Soltesz
When I think back to those young days when I was messing around with Scott (and I think back on it a lot, lately), I’m reminded of how carefree everything seemed. This was mid ‘90’s. Clinton was in office, the economy was booming. I was young, I was in college, and things seemed within reach…hopeful. At least that’s how I remember it.
I remember sunny summer days, playing softball with Scott and a bunch of our friends out in the park. I resisted playing at first—I was never much into sports—but Scott made me do it, and we all wound up having a great time—it was an amazing day.
After everyone had left, Scott and I started home together. And soon we found ourselves in a quiet section of the park, where we ended up fucking in the dying afternoon sunlight.
“I’m horny,” Scott had said. “Let’s make out.” He liked making out before we fucked, he said it got him in the mood. I think that he liked to pretend he was the girl when we fucked. He liked being dominated in that way—just overtaken. I would kiss him intensely, feeling him up, knowing that his body was mine to do whatever I wanted with. It was a powerful connection.
I sometimes wondered if any of our friends or family knew the full extent of our relationship. Everyone definitely knew that we were best friends, tighter than tight. We did have one buddy, named Barry, who was actually one of Scott’s friends. One evening, Scott and I had been hanging out at his place, and Barry came by to buy a sack of weed. He smoked up with us, and was just kind of hanging out for a while. It was unusual. He made a couple of comments—how weed always made him horny, how he loved getting head when he was high. Looking back, I think he knew about Scott and me, or at least suspected something was going on. But at the time, we were so oblivious to what was going on around us. We just wanted Barry to leave so we could sixty-nine.
Sixty-nineing was something Scott and I found we really enjoyed. It’s strange—I haven’t enjoyed it as much with any other guys I’ve messed around with since then—it gets uncomfortable, or you just want to relax and give or receive and not have to think about both at the same time.
But with Scott, you wouldn’t have to think. I would get on top of him, and we would suck each other’s dicks, sometimes literally for hours. There was a point where sixty-nineing became more fun than fucking—it was a treat to suck his dick and have him suck on mine at the same time. We got to the point where we could make each other cum at the simultaneously, just by using our mouths, and to blow your load into someone’s mouth while sucking out their cream at the same time…it was a pretty amazing thing.
Usually before then my tongue would have snaked underneath his balls and squirmed a bit inside his asshole, and by the time we were on the verge of cumming I’d have a couple digits shoved inside. Always the rimming…it was bar none Scott’s favorite thing.
One day in particular, I’d been wallowing in my room, avoiding a huge paper that was due the next day, one I was supposed to have been working on for two weeks. My roommates were playing video games in the living room, fucking around and having a good time, and I was miserable. The phone rang, and it was Scott.
“What’s up, buddy?” I said.
“I’m coming over,” Scott said, “I want to sit on your face.” Just like that, blunt and to the point. What a fucking turn-on. Within thirty minutes he was knocking on our door. I showed him in, and he greeted my roommates while I did my best to hide my hard-on. He casually said that we had to retire to my room and attend to some business, and no sooner did I have the door to my room shut than Scott had stripped down to his Jockey shorts. I laid on the bed and Scott kneeled over me, sitting his big plump ass down on my face and grinding his hole onto my tongue.
How could I resist an ass like that? It was so substantial—and he wasn’t fat at all, just big. His ass was fleshy; it stuck out from his waist like a shelf. He had a great ass. And naked, it was even nicer. It had a light dusting of hair, but his butt hole was hairless, pink and tight. When he sat on my face, his butt just smothered me.
One day, when we had a whole evening alone together at his place, I made a feast of his ass. I actually put him up on the kitchen table, face down, and got between his legs. I sat down at the table and ate his butt like it was a fifty dollar steak. I’d spotted a jar of honey on his counter earlier, and I asked Scott if I could drizzle it down his crack. He was cool with it. So I did, and the taste of that sweet honey on his manly, hot hole was so exquisite that I was soon raiding his entire kitchen to see what else I could eat off his ass. Forget it—liquor, chocolate sauce, ice cream—I couldn’t get enough.
Once he had a can of whipped cream, so I sprayed it on his cock and made a dick sundae. It was fun to eat, but when I really got down to sucking him it got kind of nasty, and he had to wash himself off before we could continue.
After all was said and done, Scott loved to get fucked. It was like he had discovered something other straight guys hadn’t—how much enjoyment he could get out of his ass. He’d want my dick up his ass at every available opportunity, and we did so many times and in so many places—his place, my place, our friends places, even—that I lost count.
One time we fucked at a party—a party at the same house where we’d met for the first time. We went upstairs in a group to get high, but eventually everyone drifted downstairs and Scott and I were alone. He started making out with me. We ended up hiding in the closet—a big walk-in closet, to be sure—and I held onto his hips and fucked him for all I was worth (we used a bottle of hand cream that had been sitting on the nightstand for lube). When we heard some people come in I totally froze, but Scott kept his cool. We just stayed quiet, and listened as they lit up and talked. I continued to fuck Scott, slow and deep. The fear and thrill of doing it while there were other people so close by was intense. Eventually I shot my load deep into Scott’s butt, while he shot into his hand. We made out as we waited for them to leave, and then we made our way back down to the party, trying our best to look innocent.
Probably the craziest time we messed around was when we’d gone out for his cousin’s birthday to a local strip club. It was a classier joint, and the girls were really hot. Even if they didn’t do that much for me, they were obviously having their effect on Scott and the other guys. I think it was an accident that Scott ended up in the bathroom with me about five beers later. He sidled up to me at the urinals and pulled out his dick, which of course I looked at, and after he pissed he continued to hold it, and it got full and thick in no time at all.
My fucking mouth was watering. But we didn’t say anything. He just took my hand and wrapped it around his cock, and I stroked him right there. Then he led me into a stall at the far end of the bathroom, and I crouched on top of the toilet and wrapped my lips around his pole, sucking his dick deep into my throat. People came in and out of the bathroom—we even heard some of his cousin’s friends at one point, wondering aloud where the hell we’d gone off to. But Scott needed some head, and badly, and I was there to supply it, right down to the finish. Good to the last drop.
Scott was pretty fearless. What’s more, it seemed to give him pleasure to turn me on. He wasn’t a tease or anything, but he knew how much I lusted after him, and he’d give me little gifts from time to time.
Like the time he picked me up in his car one afternoon on our way to play Frisbee with some friends. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else, and with a sly smile he informed me that he had a jockstrap on underneath them (I have a thing for jockstraps). The whole time we were at the park, my eyes were glued to the faint outline of the straps that framed his ass underneath his shorts. When we finally got back to his place, I ripped his shorts off and bent him over kitchen table, licking the sweat out of his crack. I fucked him without lube that time—I’d worked him over good with my tongue, and he was just so sweaty and loose that when I pressed my dick against his hole to tease him, it just ended up sliding right in.
Sometimes I’d come over to Scott’s apartment and the door would be unlocked. Scott, who’d be expecting me, would be naked, on his hands and knees, his ass up in the air, presented for me.
He was a horny fucker, that’s for sure. I fucked him every way I knew possible, and a few we’d come up with ourselves. My favorite was doggy style. I loved to look at my cock piercing his plump butt cheeks—I’d slap his ass, grab onto it, and fuck him like a bitch in heat. Scott liked to get on top and ride my pole—I’d crane my neck to get my mouth around the end of his boner, my fingers tweaking his fat nipples as he sat down on it, getting maximum pleasure of having my boner buried in his butt.
If Scott was fucking any girls around this time, he was keeping it pretty well hidden from me. It’s possible that he had a few random encounters with girls, but I honestly didn’t care, and I told him that, repeatedly. I had resolved not to fall in love with Scott, even though I cared for him deeply, and the sex…well, the sex was the most confusing part.
But overall, Scott just didn’t seem to be interested in girls. At least not in having a relationship with any girls. That didn’t mean that girls didn’t stop hitting on him—Scott was (and still is, I’m sure) a highly desirable, hot hot guy, and every time we went out he got hit on. He flirted, but he seemed to be saving all his sexual desire for his experiments with me.
I don’t know…it’s possible that we were in love, of a certain kind. If anything, my relationship with Scott taught me that love…well, it knows no bounds. We just felt right around each other. I think Scott had gotten out of a bad relationship with a girl, and the comfort and ease of being around another guy was attractive to him. And on a more personal level, we just got along well. We enjoyed each other’s company. There was nobody I’d rather have been around.
So how did it end? Well, it ended like most things ended—with a whimper, not a bang. Scott’s mom was an older lady, and she fell down the stairs and ended up needing a hip replacement. He went back home to help out his dad, and ended up staying there.
I kept in touch with him for a little while, and then our communication gradually tapered off, like it always does. I missed him deeply, and it hurt a great deal, but I think a part of me knew it wasn’t meant to last forever. Nothing is.