It was quite unfortunate that his friends operated under the false assumption
that they were comedians. If they had bothered to learn anything in the ten
years they’d been together, it should have been that only Chris was allowed to
be funny and the others, only as his discretion.
For example: the communal gift Chris received on his 34th
birthday.
"Wow, thanks, guys," Chris said, the box open on his lap,
its pink ribbon looped around his neck. He was doing everything possible to
avoid actually touching it, so he sat there, staring straight ahead. It
was grotesque, watching them all giggle insanely, like it was actually funny.
It wasn’t.
A penis pump, in Chris’s so very humble opinion, was just incredibly lame.
There was much girlish elbowing and jovial chortling before Joey, the dumb
motherfucker, spoke for the other three supreme morons and said, "dude, it’s,
like, you know what they say about little bitty feet, right, and you haven’t
gotten laid in like ..."
"A year," Lance supplied helpfully, "maybe even longer
..."
"And dude," JC cut in, "when a lady or dude says size doesn’t
matter ..."
"They’re lying," Justin finished, grinning, "so we decided
to help you out some."
"Gee whiz," Chris said sweetly, "where would I be without you
guys?"
There was a long moment of glaring, where the four of them hee-hawed and
congratulated themselves on a joke well-done and Chris just sat there, thinking
for a long time about what to say and what to do and how to make them all pay
for their rampant stupidity.
Chris tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. So many options, so
little time to decide. In the meantime, Joey snatched the pump from Chris’s
lap and started narrating a mock-instructional video, occasionally taking
questions whenever Lance’s arm shot into the air.
"No, no, dude, you need a practical demonstration," JC said
suddenly, and for a second Chris was distracted from mentally planning his
revenge. JC was just the type of guy to whip it out and show everyone just how
exactly it was done, but he merely plopped the plastic cylinder against Justin’s
forehead and started pumping wildly before Justin could buck him off.
"You fucks!" Justin hollered as Joey and Lance got in on the
action, holding Justin down while he wriggled violently. It looked like so much
fun that Chris was tempted to drop the whole thing right there and insert
himself into the melee. "Live in fear, assholes, live in fucking fear!"
And Chris knew then just what he had to do.
~~~
True humour, Chris thought later, was pretending you were so pissed and
offended that your four best friends had spent the last two days stumbling over
themselves with apologies, none of which Chris had accepted and all of which had
pushed the joke that much further.
Really, Chris had gotten over it in, like, five minutes. They were dorks; he knew
this already. And his cock, thank you very much, wasn’t on the small side at
all but, like millions of other men, just average. Sure, he didn’t show as
much as say, Justin or Joey did, and he wasn’t freakishly large like Lance and
JC, but he didn’t have one of those two-inch cocks, no way.
And for the record? Chris had gotten laid in the last year.
Frequently, even, and Justin very well knew it.
~~~
"Chris," Justin said, approaching him cautiously during a promo
interview before their second Los Angeles show. Justin had a pink bruise in the
centre of his forehead, a perfect circle that the makeup girls hadn’t quite
figured out how to cover yet because Justin kept rubbing at it.
If Chris had been talking to him, there would have been a lot of ruthless
mocking, but there was a plan, and Chris intended to stick to it. He squared his
shoulders then cast a sidelong looked in Justin’s direction before glancing
away as he battled with his traitorous lips. They wanted to smile and give the
game away, but Chris absolutely refused to give in so easily.
Justin stamped his foot impatiently. "Oh, c’mon, you stubborn fucker,
we were just kidding."
"Hmph," Chris said, lifting his chin, and for the full effect, he
crossed his arms and pouted viciously, lower lip curled out. If Justin didn’t
fuck off in, like, two seconds, Chris was going to spoil the whole ruse. His
stomach cramped with the effort it took to contain himself.
Thankfully, it worked like a charm, and Justin stomped off, pissed and
swearing.
~~~
The problem, Chris learned by the time half a week rolled around, was that
pretending to be mad at your friends killed your social life. They were on tour
for the first time in years, which should have been, like, super fun, but
was actually turning out to suck. He supposed he was lonely, which was so very
lame, but Chris couldn’t help it. Still, he had his pride to think about.
So it was boredom, really, that led him to actually use the damned
thing.
No, really.
~~~
They all went out and left him behind. It was his own fucking fault, and
Chris knew it. When they’d asked, he’d just turned up his nose and shook his
head, which left him alone in his hotel room with pay-per-view porn as his only
companion. And it really wasn’t that great, either.
In fact, it was probably giving him a complex.
Logically, Chris knew guys tended to be in porn because their dicks were
huge. It was kind of in the job description, but it still depressed him to see
all these guys sporting hard-ons the length of his left leg, and Chris’s left
leg wasn’t even that long. Chris was just short all over.
"There is no reason left to live," Chris told the ceiling, sprawled
out on the bed as the television panted and groaned mockingly at him. Chris
sighed then rolled onto his belly, groping blindly for his suitcase. When he
felt the rough fabric at his fingertips, he pulled it towards him.
There was no going back the minute he unfolded the instructions and started
reading. Five minutes later, he was in the bathroom, pants around his ankles, as
he used his razor to shave the hair around his dick back an inch. Briefly, he
thought about just shaving the whole jungle, but the idea of having to be all
sweaty and bouncy on stage with itchy balls frightened him a lot.
"Please god," Chris said to the ceiling, "don’t let my penis
fall off. I’ll be very sad."
The porn was still on, so Chris settled back and let himself get hard,
holding his dick in the loose circle of his hand and savouring the delicious
feeling of growth. His first instinct was to whip out a ruler and measure
himself, but his second one was to slid the pump over his cock.
"Seriously," Chris said to the ceiling, "I really like my
penis. Peer pressure, you know?"
Chris held his breath and willed himself to just fucking do it already. If
his cock fell off, it fell off, and it would serve him right, anyway. The tube
that connecting the pumper to the acrylic cylinder swung gently to and fro,
lightly bumping against his wrist as if goading him on.
Chris squeezed his fingers around the rubber bulb once, twice, three times,
and he could feel the pressure almost immediately as the air was sucked out of
the chamber. It didn’t feel unpleasant at all. In fact, it felt kind of nice.
More than nice, actually. It felt pretty fucking great.
The instructions said go easy, and Chris did. Mostly. Chris had always
had control problems when it came to his dick. Call him crazy, but he liked to
stick it in things that felt good. He pumped until his cock was visibly bigger
then carefully, so carefully, removed the cylinder.
"Whoa," Chris said to himself, wondering if he was allowed to
touch, terrified that if he did it would just fall off or something equally
traumatic. The problem with being a famous pop star was that a thing like
injury-via-kinky-sex was the type of shit that followed a guy forever.
On the other hand, his dick was rosy and pink, and looked pretty healthy, and
it he didn’t jerk off soon, then it really was going to fall off. Chris
curled his fingers around the shaft and then nearly passed out, because it felt
so fucking awesome. Furiously, Chris started beating off.
~~~
In the morning, his cock was still there.
Thank god.
~~~
The success of the penis pump, or rather, Chris’s enjoyment of the penis
pump, threw an unexpected wrench into Chris’s master plan. His dick had
actually stayed plump for a glorious two days, but he had no one to show it off
to, because he still wasn’t talking to any of the guys.
The results, of course, didn’t last forever, but Chris didn’t mind. He
was, after all, perfectly average, and there was no need to mess with nature,
and blah blah blah. It was, however, a perfectly dandy masturbation tool, and
Chris could never, ever have enough of those.
Chris decided that he needed to tell someone, though, so he started calling
people whose numbers he had stored in his cell phone. People who a) he wasn’t
related to and b) who might actually appreciate a big dick. After getting
seventeen no-answers, someone finally picked up.
"Hello?"
Chris suddenly couldn’t remember whose number he had dialled. He pulled the
phone away to look at the display then frowned. Okay, probably not his best
idea, but he was desperate, and it wasn’t like anyone else had picked
up. "Hey, Kev! How’s it hanging, dude? It’s Chris."
There was a long pause and then, "Chris who?"
Chris’s lips were flapping like a flock of seagulls before he could stop
them. "Chris Kirkpatrick, man! I’m in that rival boyband. Oh, wait, we’re
calling ourselves vocal groups now aren’t we? Anyway, I’m the short one with
the enormous dick. You remember me, right?"
"Unfortunately," Kevin said dryly. "Listen, do you actually
want something?"
"Have you ever used a penis pump ..."
Kevin hung up before Chris could utter another word.
~~~
After ten days, Chris began to worry that he’d inadvertently caused the end
of his own beloved vocal group. The guys had seemingly given up trying to make
amends, and Chris knew then that the joke had gone way too far. That was always
the fucking case when it came to him.
Sure, his dick was marginally bigger, but it wouldn’t stay bigger,
and what was the point of even having a slightly larger soon-to-be-vanishing
cock if he didn’t have anyone to share it with? And the group was more
important to him. Inches came and went, but friends were forever.
"I suck," Chris said to anyone who would listen, but there was
nobody there.
After the show in Vegas, Chris climbed into one limo as the guys climbed into
another, and he moped all the way back to the hotel. They were going to go out,
and they weren’t going to ask him, and the idea of spending another night
alone with just his penis pump depressed him.
Chris was seriously contemplating a friendly hooker when someone knocked on
his door.
"Hi," Chris said when he saw Justin standing there, wearing
sandals, low-riding jeans and a wife-beater. Definitely not clothes for
clubbing, Chris noticed idly. "You wanna come in?"
Justin grinned. "Duh. Yes," he said, and pushed his way in.
"You idiot."
"I know," Chris said, "and dude, I’m really not mad. It was
just supposed to be a joke."
"Yeah, I figured. Took me a while, but, you know, sometimes, your brain
works in mysterious ways." Justin was walking the perimeter of Chris’s
room, hands behind his back, looking around. Chris wasn’t sure why, but
he didn’t stop him either. "The guys know, too."
"Do I have to apologise?" Chris asked, because he didn’t want to,
unless they did first.
"Nah," Justin said. "JC did mention, though, that he thought
your dick looked bigger."
Chris was struck with a sudden wave of pride, like Justin’s offhand comment
had just validated his entire existence, and the sad thing was that it pretty
much had. It wasn’t like Chris had done much with his time in the last
two weeks besides sing and try to increase his penis size.
"You freak," Justin said, laughing.
"I know," Chris agreed, emphatically.
~~~
"I expected shit like that from them," Chris said later, sharing a
plate of room-service nachos with Justin, who had paid for them, "but
you," Chris poked Justin hard in the shoulder, ignoring his laughter,
"know better. Haven’t gotten laid in a year? Pfft. Liar, liar, pants on
fire!"
Justin grinned. "I was under the assumption I wasn’t supposed to be
bragging about that."
"You should be telling everyone who will listen how magnificent
my cock is!"
"It is pretty nice," Justin agreed, biting cleanly through a chip
then happily chewing.
"Pretty nice, the boy says! Hmph." Chris lifted his chin and
tried his best to look indignant, even though that was what he had gotten
him into trouble in the first place, but Justin was in on the joke this time.
Justin merely smiled that infuriatingly secret smile he often wore.
Chris hadn’t thought recreational fucking could ever improve a
relationship, and while he wasn’t sure he could say that about him and Justin
(what he could say was: there really wasn’t much room for improvement when it
came to them), it certainly hadn’t made anything worse.
Chris couldn’t even remember when they’d started doing it, just that
Justin had definitely been legal and that it hadn’t happened while Justin was
with Britney. During one of their free-range break up periods in the middle of
the larger scheme of their doomed romance, yes, but never when they were
formally together. A couple years, Chris figured. It was very low drama.
"If we hurt your feelings, we’re sorry," Justin said quietly.
"Eh, I’m over it," Chris said, and he really was.
~~~
They watched some bad porn together, and Chris let Justin rub his shoulders
until Chris was pliant and boneless and totally at his mercy. Usually, Chris
couldn’t stand people putting their hands all over him without, like, giving
him a handjob or something, but Justin was okay.
"Did you really use it?"
"Hey," Chris said defensively, "it’s good for jerking off,
okay? Makes everything more sensitive and shit. Like you know when you’re so
hard you think your dick is gonna burst and you finally get some friction and it’s
like whoa? You get there with half the effort using a pump."
Justin hooked his chin over Chris’s shoulder and went "hmm"
warmly in his ear.
"Then get naked already," Chris replied, slapping Justin on the
knee. Chris kneeled and took off his shirt, tossing it into the corner of the
room. He and Justin tended to get a little athletic when they fucked, and they
were notorious for tripping over shit and hurting themselves.
Justin wriggled out of his jeans then peeled off his tank top, throwing them
in the general direction of Chris’s stuff. Wouldn’t it figure, Chris’s
zipper got stuck on his boxers, but with a little help from Justin and a lot of
impatient grunts, Chris was finally free from his stupid jeans.
"Into the bathroom," Chris said, grabbing Justin by the wrist and
pulling him along, slapping at his hip when Justin took one look at the razor
and began to vehemently shake his head. "You big pussy, get up there. It
just works better if you’re trimmed a little. Look at me."
"I thought something looked different," Justin said, laughing as
Chris physically lifted him onto the counter, spreading his legs. His dick
looked good enough to swallow down in one gulp. "You probably look bigger
because you weed-whacked that overgrown mess of yours."
"Better stop talking, or I might accidentally snip it off," Chris
said, snapping the scissors.
It was quick enough work to trim then shave around Justin’s cock. Harder to
ignore the merry bob and bounce of Justin’s dick, but Chris managed that, too.
When Chris stood up, his knees cracked loudly and then Justin’s mouth was on
his. They made out for a long, long time.
"Next time your joke goes horribly awry," Justin said, fingers
fluttering against the bob of Chris’s throat as he struggled to get his breath
back, "swallow your pride and tell us, okay?"
"Will do," Chris promised, and pulled Justin off the counter and
back into the bedroom.
~~~
There was no better look for Justin than naked and spread out on Chris’s
bed. Someday, Chris was going to suggest they get together, like formally and
shit, just so this look would be a bit more common. But until then, Chris was
going to take what he could get, which was this.
"This isn’t gonna cause ... damage, is it? Like nerve
damage," Justin added nervously.
"Nah. If we overdo it, you might bruise a little, but that’s nothing
you won’t get over." Chris pressed his thumb to the centre of Justin’s
forehead where Justin’s circular bruise had been. Though it had vanished over
a week ago, just the thought of it still made Chris impossibly hard.
"Are you sure ..."
"Shut up," Chris said, glaring, and Justin snapped his jaw
together.
Chris hummed as he stroked Justin’s cock, using the pads of his fingertips
and nothing more. Justin’s hips undulated sluttishly under Chris’s soft
touch. Chris rolled his eyes, and didn’t stop, just kept moving up and down
Justin’s shaft until he was fully hard, his belly quivering.
"You are so damn easy," Chris muttered, grinning when Justin huffed
indignantly, then reached for the pump. It suddenly seemed bizarre that he was
doing this with Justin, but as Chris always said: don’t pump without friends.
Or at least, he would that say in the future, a lot.
Chris slipped the cylinder over Justin’s cock, holding it securely at the
base of his dick, then took the bulb in his other hand and began to pump. Justin
bucked up once then muttered, "sorry, sorry," and it was a visible
struggle for him to stay still after that. Chris didn’t blame him.
"This is so weird," Justin murmured, his toes curling helplessly,
his face all scrunched up.
"Good, though?"
"Very good," Justin assured him, lifting his arms to grab hold of
the headboard, which wobbled and groaned under the sudden pressure. If they got
fined for ripping it off the hotel wall, Justin was paying for it. Rumours about
wild sex romps were nothing out of the ordinary for him.
Chris watched Justin’s face for flickers of pain or discomfort,
occasionally distracted by the way Justin sucked his lower lip between his teeth
or the way his eyes slanted shut whenever he moaned. Justin’s dick was a
bright vibrant pink, and much bigger than Chris had ever seen it.
And he had seen it a lot in recent years, thanks to fucking like maniacs and
whatnot.
Eventually, though, Justin had enough, and Chris removed the pump, letting
the air whoosh back into the chamber and ignoring Justin when he groaned and
said, "no, don’t, more." Instead, Chris slid up between Justin’s
spread legs and pressed him, tight, into the dip of his hip.
"Move against me," Chris said quietly, mouth right up against
Justin’s ear. Justin started grinding against him, his dick feverishly hot and
impossibly hard. Chris kissed Justin’s open mouth, urging him onwards with one
hand on his sweat-damp skin, until Justin came with a cry.
And after all that, the motherfucker was still hard.
~~~
"I can’t help myself, man. You’re just so fucking sexy," Justin
said when he’d gotten his bearings back and taken the required mocking for the
state of his cock. Chris didn’t care that Justin meant it incredibly
facetiously. He was taking it for face value. He was fucking sexy,
thanks.
It was Chris’s turn, and Justin knew it. Chris tried to lie still as Justin
took his sweet ass time kissing and licking all over his favourite Chris-parts,
and he had a lot of them. It was torture for Chris, which was why Justin did it
and why Chris loved it so much. Justin did great work.
"You in the mood to be fucked?" Justin asked, sucking on Chris’s
ear. Chris loved that.
Chris shrugged. "Hey, sure. Got nothing better lined up."
"Funny," Justin said then kissed him, slicking his tongue into
Chris’s mouth.
Chris loved that, too.
Justin finger-fucked him for a bit, because he was a gentleman and Chris was
the wimpy sort of bottom who needed, like, twenty minutes of warm-up time.
Justin never seemed to mind, though, and he was so talented with his fingers
that Chris felt the need to tell him that, often.
"God," Chris muttered as Justin drove deeper and deeper into him,
using two fingers crooked at just the right angle. Chris may have spent the last
decade mocking Justin for his reading material, but the kid had learned
shit. "You are, like, the supreme master of fingering."
Justin laughed then screwed his fingers in again "Please, tell me
more."
Chris babbled inanely about Justin’s mad skills, pushing up to meet Justin’s
fingers, and it was maddening that Justin hadn’t even touched Chris’s
cock, absolutely infuriating. The thing about Justin was that he always had a
plan. When he pulled Chris to his wobbly legs, Chris got it.
~~~
"Can I try the pump on you?" Justin asked, his mouth moving against
the curve of Chris’s ear, and Chris groaned in frustration. He wanted to tell
Justin to just make up his damn mind already, but he didn’t want to risk
pissing Justin off, and well, anything Justin did would feel good. It was
just that Chris had actually been looking forward to being fucked over the
couch.
"Yes, sure, fine. Just fucking do something already please," Chris
said testily, trying to rub his dick against the fabric on the sofa, not caring
how filthy it probably was. Chris didn’t care about anything, but his poor
neglected dick that Justin simply didn’t seem to respect enough.
Chris dug his fingers into the back of the couch, tapping his toes and
waiting impatiently. When Justin came back, he fit himself tightly against Chris’s
back, his cock slipping between Chris’s ass cheeks. A knee nudged between
Chris’s thighs, and god, the fucking mind-games.
"What the fuck," Chris said then stopped as Justin drove into him
with one quick thrust. For a second, Chris thought his knees were going to give
out, because fucking wow, but then Justin dug one hand into Chris’s
hip, and with the other, slipped the penis pump onto his dick.
"I don’t have enough hands," Justin murmured, "so you gotta
do the pumping, okay?"
This was what Chris meant about athletic sex. Some days, Chris thought he was
too fucking old to be having sex with Justin, but other days Chris was
more than willing to die for the pleasure. That wacky Justin, always thinking
with his head. He was full of good ideas.
Chris thought it should have been absurd, being sandwiched between Justin and
a penis pump, but it was nothing like that. Sure, if there were hidden cameras
in the room, it would look pretty fucking weird, but the impossible pressure on
his dick, dragging every ounce of blood into one very, well, small (compared to
his arms and legs) appendage, the incredible slide of Justin’s cock deep into
his ass, well, Chris didn’t care if there were pictures or not. It was that
awesome.
Chris pumped and pumped until his concentration was shattered completely by
the most perfect thrust (hitting Chris right there, right fucking
there) in the universe. Vaguely, he was aware of the pump dropping and hitting
him on the toes, but the pain was erased by the pleasure.
"Oh god, oh god," Chris moaned, Justin’s hand replacing the pump,
and that was fucking intense. It was bordering on agony, his cock was so
sensitive, but Chris was too far gone to care. He spread his legs wider, pushed
back on Justin harder and crumpled forward, nearly bent in two.
There was nothing to grab, and every thrust practically lifted Chris’s feet
off the carpet. Justin kept one arm around Chris’s belly, holding him up, and
the other working feverishly at Chris’s aching dick, a tight vise of torture
that, if it didn’t do its job soon, Chris would die from.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Chris chanted, sweat dripping off his forehead,
stinging his eyes. Justin panted like an overworked racehorse in his ear,
gasping for breath, and finally, Chris felt his balls tighten the second
before he came so hard that he nearly bucked Justin right off him.
~~~
Later, after they’d both taken showers and put the couch back where it had
started before the sex, Justin invited Chris back to his own room. "Because
dude," Justin said, nose wrinkled disdainfully, "I love you too much
to let you sleep in that wet spot. You’d fucking drown."
They limped down the hall to Justin’s room then collapsed into a knot on
Justin’s bed. Chris’s heart was still racing, and he put his palm over it,
willing it to calm down. He’d never live it down with his mom if he had a
heart attack at age thirty-four due to hot sex with Justin.
"Shit, I can’t believe I used a penis pump," Justin said
suddenly.
"You should have known if you gave me something that involved me
sticking my dick in it, joke or not, I would do it." Every muscle in Chris’s
body ached, and he was so hungry that his stomach growled like a rabid dog. He
rolled over and grabbed the room service menu. "Food?"
"Yes, please. You paying?"
"No, it’s your room. And besides, you owe me. Hurt feelings, and all
that."
"Motherfucker," Justin said.
Chris grinned.
Fin.