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Chapter 1: No One Loves Cocks More Than Hot Jocks

I’m in love with Brock Greenfeld!

After a months-long, secret courtship, I had found the kind of love that makes your brain playback the corniest, sappiest, syrupy love songs and think, “Yeah, that’s totally what I’m feeling! My heart will go on!” I created a “Simon & Brock” playlist on Spotify that recently passed twenty-seven hours of music. My handsome high school quarterback boyfriend wasn’t aware of the length. I didn’t want him running straight for the hills. To be honest, I kind of think he’s got it just as bad for me. At least, I hope he does. Sometimes we’ll be lying in bed, staring into each other’s eyes, and it feels as though neither of us wants to break our embrace. Yeah, we’ve both got it bad, and it feels so damn good.

My best friend Laura informed me over a FaceTime chat that I have a “Brock” voice. When I denied it, she spoke with a soft cadence while regurgitating lovey-dovey things she’s heard me say about my dreamy boyfriend of two weeks.

“Okay,” I admitted. “I see your point.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Laura replied. “It’s definitely given me an idea of how I want to feel when I eventually meet my Mr. Right.”

That was it. Brock was just that, wasn’t he? My Mr. Right.

Laura, and our friends Gabby and Rick, had welcomed Brock into our circle. This made the transition from openly straight to openly gay easier for Brock, who had only recently come out of the closet at home and at Robinson High, where we were all seniors. The five of us weren’t hanging out as much as a group, but we were committed to driving to school every morning and meeting up for lunch in the cafeteria daily.

My family was also quick to welcome Brock as soon as the two of us started dating. Mom, a therapist, said that Brock had brought a much-needed balance to my life, but she held any deep psychoanalysis close to her chest. For the most part, I think she was happy that I was happy. Dad, a former professional football player, watched Brock and me closely. I sometimes got it in my head that he wished he was our age again, and enjoying all the fun that came along with it. My older brother Lee adored Brock, but I was sure it had more to do with Lee wanting to get inside my boyfriend’s pants.

However, there was something I didn’t feel comfortable sharing with my friends about dating Brock: after the first week of blissful, sheet-soaked, non-stop sex, we agreed to allow other guys into the mix. My boyfriend was as uninhibited with his sexuality as I was, and he didn’t think there was anything wrong with keeping the door to our relationship open. Okay, we took the damn thing off the hinges.

Brock and I tested the waters after school on Monday when I brought him to the Delaney Park restrooms. I had become something of a glory hole junkie in this place. We laid claim to the stall near the end of the space and provided our services to whoever was fortunate enough to bestow us with the cocks. On that first afternoon, we spent three hours draining the balls of strangers in any number of ways. Brock screwed one of the businessmen who regularly came in to fuck me. I was initially worried about seeing Brock satisfying another man, but the only effect it had was on my dick. It leaked with precum until I was blanketing my handsome boyfriend’s muscular thigh with my DNA. With our toilet fun done, we walked out in total agreement on one thing: we were going to fuck and be fucked frequently by a host of men.

My parents were cool with Brock being over almost every night to do homework and smooch on my bed. Of course, they were unaware that my boyfriend would only pretend to leave around ten p.m. on most evenings. After thanking them for a pleasant evening, and enduring five minutes or so of Dad’s jokes, Brock would walk out the front door. But he wouldn’t go home. Brock would park his car around the corner, and then return to our house to sneak onto my balcony so that we could feed our overactive libidos. On a few nights, we went out after my parents were in bed for a night of sweating, twisting, and creamery.

One evening we snuck out to Midtown Atlanta and got fucked by a group of men behind a gay hot spot. Our competitive sides kicked in, and we found ourselves jockeying to get the most cock (I won by a hair). The guys were hot, but I told Brock that I’d been fantasizing about being screwed with him by some real rough and tumble types. While at the gym, Brock was propositioned by a guy in his thirties named Dan, who he’s fucked around with every so often. Dan invited us to a plush hotel room downtown where we took turns fucking him before he had to get back home to his wife and kids. Two nights ago, we found ourselves in Cory Powell’s bachelor pad, getting fucked relentlessly by the muscle-bound stud who popped my cherry in a neighbor’s pool last year.

A cloud of guilt was hovering over me, though. I wasn’t open with Brock about one corner of my sexual discovery. I didn’t know how to tell my boyfriend about my relationship with my older brother, Lee.

 

“I think it’s sweet how close you and Brock have gotten in such a short period,” Lee said. “Does he know what’s going on at home?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” I said, pulling my mouth off of my brother’s cock. Though Brock and I had been together for a few weeks, Lee would regularly come to my bedroom to fuck. This was usually in the middle of the day, before Brock stopped by, and while Mom was too involved with her work to check in on us. “He’s cool with my sleeping with guys like Cory on the side, but I’m not sure if he’d be as accepting of this. I have to find the right way to tell him.”

“Mmmm… keep sucking,” Lee replied, forcing me back onto his eleven-inch tool. “God, nobody sucks dick like you, Simon. Nobody. Have you seen Brock’s brothers? Those two are hot as hell. If Brock is as promiscuous as you say, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got something similar going on at home.”

Why did my brother have to say that? While sucking Lee off, my mind became littered with mental images of Brock jammed between his two athletic brothers. It wasn’t the first time I’d imagined this. But it was only a personal fantasy I’d been having. Until my brother put the thought inside my head, I hadn’t considered it a reality. Regardless, Lee was the benefactor of the scorching visions flowing through my imagination.

“You like that, huh?” Lee groaned as my blowjob went from impressive to dazzling. “The idea that your boyfriend might be as twisted as you? Mmmmm… fucking choke on it, Simon. Yeah… you never know. If he’s as much of a horndog as my kid brother, he might already be fucking around with them.”

Was that the reason Brock left earlier than usual last night? Did he have something going on with his older brothers? Was that so sensational a thing? Not really, considering that I was presently going down on my older brother. At the same time, our mother was downstairs working on the second draft of her book.

“Mmmm… fuck… oh… eat my cum, Simon!” Lee gasped as his thick load soared into my belly. As much as I loved having a cum factory across the hall from me, I was beginning to feel uneasy about keeping my home life a secret from my boyfriend.

“Do you think I should come clean with Brock?” I asked my brother after I finished gulping down the last of his spunk.

“Maybe we should cool it until you do,” Lee suggested. “That may be the afterglow of my getting off that’s doing the talking, though.”

“I figured,” I said. “But you’re right.”

“Wait,” Lee said. “Um… it’s already wearing off. We don’t have to make any concrete decisions right this minute, do we?”

Lee sighed loudly as he got out of bed and got dressed. He was still panting as he made his case for ongoing fuck sessions before I had an opportunity to discuss anything with Brock. Lee was concerned that there were limits to my boyfriend’s open-mindedness. “Don’t worry,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how Brock would react when I eventually told him about Lee.

Or my Dad.

While I wasn’t technically having sex with him, Dad would invite me into the garage every few days to tell me stories about his “more impulsive years.” After we fucked for the first time, I assumed that I got my sexual appetite from his side of the family. But as each tale of uninhibited sex grew wilder, bordering at times on tall tales, one thing became indisputable: the Spears men were sexual deviants.

“There was this one time with Uncle Frank,” Dad said. “I was dating your mother, but I wasn’t sure where it was going yet. Anyway, some of my teammates and I got invited to this party on a yacht. It went on all weekend, and things got exceedingly less inhibited as the days turned to nights.”

My father’s stories unfurled like a vulgar tapestry of obscene fantasies, each one hotter than the previous. He would release his cock from his jeans, open his shirt to reveal the athletic physique, and then put his arm over my shoulder. I would do the same. We jacked off to his erotic tales of sex, youth, and excessive recklessness. The longing in his voice was as explicit as his recollections.

Dad bucked his hips forward while he jacked off as though he would prefer plunging his twelve-inch rod into a warm asshole. However, he insisted on not crossing that line again. Though my body yearned to ride his cock again, my consolation was being held tight as he brought himself to orgasm. There were few things as enthralling as John Spears climaxing as he pulled me toward his sturdy frame. And if his story was particularly intricate, he usually came more than once.

“Oooohh… oh… I’m gonna cum, buddy,” Dad would say as he closed in. His grip on my shoulder would tighten, and then it was my turn to release my cream.

A week ago, I stopped letting Dad’s cum all spill to the floor. It was a mouthwatering waste that I could no longer bear. I started placing my left hand in front of Dad’s cock, catching as much of his warm jizz as I could while he rattled through his orgasm. Of course, most of it would still splash against the cement because Dad always came in puddles. But I would take my drenched palm and forearm and lift it to my mouth to lick every salty bit of my father’s seed. We would make out for a while, trading the clumps of cum he deposited. And then Dad would let me cum into his palm so he could nourish himself on his youngest boy’s load.

The closest Dad and I came to screwing again was two days ago. He was sharing an insanely hot story about being screwed by Grandpa when Dad was my age. Dad had me pull my jeans down so that he could place his cock between my asscheeks, which he squeezed together and fucked. Dad came three times and never finished telling me what happened.

“Are you ever going to tell me the rest?” I asked.

“When I get the energy, kiddo,” he said.

We straightened up and returned to the house as we always did, resuming our normal life and shutting off anything that happened in the garage. Mom didn’t know what was going on between Dad and me, and Dad invariably went back to being his typical affectionate and committed husband. This was why he restrained himself around me, and I needed to be okay with it.

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