Dumb But Fun




























 Art Michael Kirwan  — Story by Don Abruzzi



Originally published in Male Insider magazine - June, 1991



A horse-hung gift-horse...



I've never been able to psych myself up to study. College was the pater's idea; not mine. My father, being a self-made millionaire himself, thought the second generation ought to have a sheepskin on the wall for prestige. The old bastard already has all the money that the next ten generations of his imagined dynasty could spend in their lifetimes--even if they went at it with the dedicated rigor which I do. Now he wanted respectability, too.


My father's always considered me the black sheep of the family, but suddenly he saw a way for me to be useful in his scheme of things. The kid could go away to the land of ivy-covered walls for four years and maybe make some nice contacts with the families with class. Old money, long bloodlines, blue book. That sort of class.


The only trouble was, I didn't want to go. I happened to have been right in the middle of a hot and heavy affair with Joe Webster, our gardener's son. Joe was the first guy I'd ever had sex with, and the best thing that had happened in my life so far. I don't mean it was endless love. He just happened to like getting his dick sucked. And since I was so willing to do it whenever he was in the mood, he let me.


Joe was a real dish. One of the most popular jocks in high school. On all the teams. Good-looking, well-built, with a great personality. He'd been friendly enough to me in school--probably because his father worked for mine and he wanted to maintain good relations--but I'd never imagined we would ever be intimate.


One afternoon, though, I caught him jacking off behind our pool-house. While he waited for his dad to finish work, I guess he got bored and decided to pass the time by having some fun with himself. He was right in the middle of it when I walked around the corner.


I startled him, and he instinctively started to put his boner back in his pants. But then he must have noticed the look on my face as I stared down at his crotch, and sized up the situation immediately. A slow smile spread across his handsome face and his hands dropped away from his cock, giving me full view of it. The thing was standing straight up between his legs. Hard and fat and ready.


"What do you say, Billy boy?" he murmured. "Want to help me out?"


I'm sure that at best all he expected to get from me was a hand-job. But once I'd touched that sleek, smooth pole and felt the heavy veins pulsing against my fingers as I stroked it slowly up and down, how could I resist finding out how it tasted?


At eighteen, I'd never sucked a cock before, but I'd thought about it a lot and was pretty sure that I'd like it. I was right, too. My mouth went crazy on his dick, and in just a few minutes he was giving me my first load to swallow. I hadn't thought about going that far, certainly not the first time I ever blew a guy, but the instant I tasted his juice pouring over my tongue I knew I wanted to take al/of it. It was like I'd captured the very essence of Joe himself.


I was pretty sure that first time was a fluke. An opportunity seized, when we were both off our guard, but never to be repeated. Was I ever wrong! The very next day at school, while classes were changing, Joe came up to me in the hall and asked, "D'you want me to stop by your house after school today?"


"For what?" I asked without thinking.


His face broke into a big, awwwh­shucks grin. "Well ... you said yesterday that you liked how my stuff tastes. I got some more of it for you, if you're interested."


Well, you can see why I fought my dad tooth and nail when he told me I was going off to college, can't you? I mean, give up Joe just because my old man had an identity problem? He didn't give two shits about my education. It was just another status symbol for him; a matter of prestige to tell his business friends that his kid was away at an Ivy League school.


The night before I left for school, I blew Joe three times. I didn't know when the next time we'd get together would be, and I was trying to hoard up enough hot memories of how his di.ck felt in my mouth to last until then. I could have done him a fourth time, too, but he complained that his cock was getting sore and we'd better call it quits. Before he left, I slipped a hundred dollar bill into Joe's pocket.


"What's that for?" he asked.


I had to hold back tears of frustration as I told him, "For stamps. So you'll write to me now and then."


As we were driving to the airport the next day, I actually hated my father. I was losing the best thing I'd ever had, just to gratify his ego. In that frame of mind, then, is it any wonder that in the men's room at Kennedy, while waiting for my flight off to school and away from Joe, I sucked off a guy at the urinal? I did it mostly to spite Dad, who was waiting right outside for me. But that wasn't the only reason.


I mean, we were all alone in there and he was standing right next to me, waving a hard-on and pointedly looking down at the one I was getting while I watched him playing with himself. And he did look an awful lot like a ten-year-older Joe in a business suit.


When he touched me, and stepped back to point his boner in my direction so I could touch his, it was all over. That thing sticking out of his fly was calling my name and telling me to come closer; it had something to say.


I dropped into a crouch and took him in my mouth. The moment it was in there, I heard his cock's message loud and clear. You know what? it said. I'm not Joe's cock. I'm not even the cock of anyone you know. But I taste great, don't I? I feel pretty damn good in your mouth. And I think you're going to like sucking on me. And you're going to want to suck more cocks, just like me. Lots more!


And do you know what? The cock on that guy was right. One hundred percent correct. When I got back up off my knees, with the guy's load still warm and its taste still sweet in my mouth, I was a complete convert to cock-sucking. Not just Joe's any longer, but all cocks.


And when I walked out of that john, I had a totally different outlook on going away to college. Being plunked down in the middle of an all-male school, surrounded by over two thousand horny preppies, suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea!


For the next four years, before Dad set me up behind a desk in a top-floor office in one of his companies, I could pig out on cock. Fresh, young, sweet cock by the score. Preppy cock.


All it took, I soon discovered, was a certain degree of frankness, a bold approach, and the insight to know when to quickly back off. If the old man had taught me one thing, it was to go after what you wanted and don't take no for an answer until you're absolutely positive you can't make a deal.


You'd be surprised how well that philosophy works. Not just in business, but in getting into the pants of some unbelievably hot studs who'd never even thought of letting another guy blow them until the offer was made.


So, like I've said, with all the meat around school needing to be ser­viced, it wasn't often that I could get into studying. And it was partly the -college housing department's fault. Did they have to assign me a room right next door to the john? I'd no sooner crack open a book than I'd hear the door open next door and I'd start wondering who was in there and what he might be doing.


Was it gorgeous Phil Ardery from down the hall, standing at the urinal and playing with himself again? Or maybe Tom Bassford, on the can with the door left ajar so you could look in and see him flashing that big, stiff meat of his? Or Adam Towcroft, shaving in the raw again, his dick so big and floppy it hung two or three inches down into the sink?


You see what I mean? I just had to go investigate, or I'd have gone crazy. I couldn't concentrate on the books anyway. So I might just as well go on in there, see what was cooking, and maybe bring a little joy into some jock's dreary life. And mine!


About three months into my second semester, reality suddenly reared its ugly head in my paradise in the form of a letter from the dean, advising me that if my grades didn't show a dramatic improvement by the end of the term, I would not be invited back for another year. Now I didn't give a damn about collecting the sheepskin souvenir Dad wanted, but the thought of being booted from cock-sucker's heaven and deprived of my steady supply of hot jock dick was frightening me enough to start the midnight oil burning.


I had a big history exam coming up on Monday that I was totally unprepared for. Given that I had a full weekend before the test, if I crammed every possible hour until then I just might be able to pull out a C.


During the first hour of reading, I heard the john door open and close at least a dozen times, but I blocked out all thoughts that weren't directly related to the Magna Carta.


After a few hours I was actually starting to understand the British parliamentary system when, as luck would have it, there was a knock on my door. I decided to ignore it but the knob turned and Chris Varney lurched into my room.


Now let me tell you about Chris Varney. Blond, blue-eyed, and gorgeous enough to be a model, in or out of clothes. He came from one of the richest and most famous families in America. His father's picture was on the cover of Time twice, and his mother is always in the papers heading up some charity or another. Dad would definitely be impressed by Chris's background, but it was his foreground that I found impressive.


We were in the same gym class, and the first time I saw Chris Varney naked in the shower I thought I was seeing double. How one guy could have that much meat hanging on him was a question they could never answer in anatomy class. It just didn't seem possible that a human cock could be so big.


I was dying to do some first-hand experiments on it, but Chris lived in another dorm and I'd never had a chance of catching him in the john or being alone with him long enough to put out a feeler. Until now.


I sat up immediately, hardly daring to believe my luck. If you asked a computer to put together a composite of the ten most gorgeous guys in the world, it would probably look a lot like Chris. The only thing that Chris did not have was a brain.


I've got to be honest about it. The guy was dumb. He believed everything he was told, no matter how outrageous, and was always being made the butt of somebody's joke. I guess if there's any justice in the world there had to be some flaw in him. With so much else going for him, Chris Varney didn't need to know how to think.


"Is this where the party is?" he asked, weaving slightly and reaching for the doorknob to support himself. There were always room parties going on in the dorms.


"It sure is, Chris! Come on in!" I lied. I leaped up to close and lock the door behind him. "Man, I'm sure glad to see you!" I said. "You're the first one here. Make yourself comfortable. What can I get you to drink?"


''I've had a couple of beers so far. Maybe I better stick to that."


"How about a bourbon?"


He shrugged. "Okay."


I tossed my toothbrush out of its tumbler and filled the glass almost to the brim with Jack Daniels. "Bottoms up," I said, handing it to him. I didn't expect him to take me literally, and watched in amazement as he drained his glass.


"Got any ice?" he asked, handing the tumbler back to me for a refill.


"You'd better slow down," I warned him, realizing that at this rate he'd be dead to the world in another half-hour. I'd wanted my lips to do pushups on his dick for months, and finally I had him alone in my room, but he'd be useless to me drunk.


"How come, dude?" he asked. "This is a party, isn't it?"


I swear I don't know where the idea came from. It just sort of sprang into my mind fully developed, without even a moment's thought, and I found myself spilling it out to him before I fully realized what I was saying.


"Yeah," I said, "but we're going to get drunk afterward. When it's all over. How are you going to get a load out if you're too drunk to even get it up?"


"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, dude," he swore.


"You mean the other guys didn't fill you in on what we're going to do tonight?"


He shook his head resolutely no.


"Those dorks! Then I'll bet you didn't even bring a rubber, did you?"


"A rubber? For what ...?"


"It's a good thing I've got a couple of spares put away," I said.


I dug into the back of my dresser drawer for the carton of Trojans that Dad had sent along in a recent care package from home. It was one of his sick little jokes. "Just in case you go calling at that girls' school down the road," he'd written, "I want my kid to be well-dressed!" That was his kind of humor.


"Here," I said, tossing Chris one of the foil packs. "You might as well put it on now and get started. I don't know how long it takes you to cum."


He swallowed so hard that his Adam's apple bobbed like it was on a string. "I still don't know what the hell you're talking about, dude."


I sat down beside him on the bed and gave him my most sincere look. "They really didn't tell you about what we're going to do?"


He shook his head like the innocent sheep he was. All trusting and ready to believe anything I told him.


"Well, here's the deal," I said. "Mike and Jerry are the ones who cooked it up. We're each going to fill up a rubber with cum, tie a knot in it to keep the stuff from dripping out, then drive over to Heathmore and break into one of the girls' dorms. We'll leave a scumbag full of juice in every girl's dresser drawer while they're at dinner. Right on top of their panties! Can you picture the grossed-out looks on their faces when they all go to get dressed tomorrow morning?"


"No shit! Man, is that ever rad!" He liked the idea. I could tell by the way his eyes instantly lit up and his handsome face broke into a leer of anticipation. It was just the kind of sport that he and his buddies were used to. A typical college jock's notion of fun. I couldn't help wondering how I'd been able to think it up! Maybe all those jock-genes in the loads of cum I'd swallowed were starting to infiltrate my brain!


He picked up the pack with the rubber and studied it for a few moments. I had a hunch he'd never seen one before. "What should I do with it?" he finally asked.


"Well, the first thing you've gotta do is get your dick out and put it on."


"Oh. Oh, yeah. Sure." As though it were the most natural thing in the world to do right in front of me, Chris kicked off his loafers and dropped his jeans right to the floor.


The moment I saw that unbelievable bulge in his shorts, my own prick sprang to attention. I felt my mouth starting to juice up with anticipation as he slowly drew down his Jockeys, uncovering the beast inside them.


"You're never going to get that rubber on this," I chided. His dick was completely soft. Long, yes. And fat, too. But laying completely limp against the side of his leg. I guess that so far nothing had hap­pened to give him any cause for excitement. A lot of straight guys think nothing at all about having their dicks out in front of each other. And Chris was so naive he honestly couldn't have guessed what was about to happen to him.


I reached for the loose tube of cock and lifted it off his leg. Its weight surprised· me. There was even more potential there than I'd imagined. Neither of us said a word and the room got real quiet. I started to play with it, stroking my fingers slowly up and down the floppy shaft. But after several minutes of coaxing, I hadn't pro­duced any visible results. Not even a twitch had rippled through the big thing.


I looked up at him and smiled. "It sure looks like you're going to need more than a hand to wake up this monster." I scrambled off the bed and dropped to my knees between his legs. I bent over and put a quick kiss on the broad, pink tip of his cock, then glanced up and found him smiling at me.


"Yeah, that usually gets me hard," he said. "Go ahead, if you want to. Help me out."


Did I need to be invited twice?


With a single swoop downward, I swallowed as far as I could go in the first gulp, then tickled my tongue frantically from side to side on the way back up. I felt life finally begin to stir in his hot prick.


A cock feels so different in your mouth when it's soft. Especially a really big one. Like his. It's a spongy sort of sensation that you -feel against your lips, and the weight of it falls heavily on your tongue. It's a little hard to get any kind of rhythm going, because there's nothing solid to hold onto yet. You just have to keep working it in and out of your mouth and stroking it with your tongue until it starts to respond to what you're doing.


Chris's dick took about two minutes of concentrated work before it began to swell up and stiffen. But once it did, it soared almost instantly to full size.


Encouraged by the progress I was making, I really went to town on him. My lips rose and fell on the stiffening shaft, while I made wet, gurgling sounds of pleasure deep in my throat. I couldn't believe I was finally blowing him. I'd wanted his dick in my mouth so long that only the steady pressure of his cock-head battering the back of my throat and almost choking off my supply of air convinced me I wasn't dreaming.


I stroked my fingers up the insides of his thighs while I blew him and cupped his big hairy balls with my left hand. I bounced them slowly up at down at my chin each time my face went into his crotch. He liked that. I could tell by the way his fingers dug into my hair and his hips began to undulate on the bed.


I gave it my best shot, but there was no way I could keep that much cock in my mouth indefinitely. His dick was just too big to swallow the whole way. Too fat and hard to fit comfortably between my lips. My jaw ached from the effort of stretching my mouth wide enough so my teeth wouldn't scrape him. I had to pull off and rest for a moment.


"Man!" he gasped. "It's a good thing you quit when you did! I'd better get that rubber on me quick, or we're gonna lose my load!"


I had no idea he was that close. He fumbled with the foil pack, opening it, and then seemed to be having trouble fitting the engorged head of his dick into the circle of rubber.


"Let me help," I said, taking it from him.


While he held his cock upright at the base, I stretched the rubber open with both hands and posi­tioned it over his tool. It went on him like a too-small glove, but once the rubber was over the flared ridge of the tip, it went easier down the shaft. I popped his cock back in my mouth and unrolled the rubber the rest of the way down with my lips. Stretching my throat to the limits, I took him right to the root. 'Til my nose was buried in the dense tangle of light brown pubes spread out like a fan across his lower belly.


"I can't even tell it's on!" he laughed. ''Your mouth still feels so damn good!"


It felt good for me, too. And he was right. The rubber fit so tightly around his cock that when I started to suck him again I could barely tell the difference. The texture of the condom wasn't quite the same as his skin, but the heat of his cock came right through the thin latex and the sensation of it feeding in and out of my mouth was just as wonderful. Maybe even a little better, since the rubber coating protected his dick and I didn't have to be quite as careful about hurting him with my teeth.


Even the pulsing in his big, thick cum-tube came through to my tongue when I realized he was about to shoot his load. I pulled up and sucked frantically on just the head, while my fingers toyed with his balls.


He made a sharp, gasping sound and pushed down on the back of my head. As my lips slid lower, I felt the cum-tube tremble and pulse against my tongue and I knew that he was filling up the rub­ber with his cream.


I didn't know just how much stuff he'd shot, though, until he'd finally stopped shaking and his dick was getting limp again in my mouth. I slowly pulled off him and gasped in astonishment. Not only was the lit­tle rubber nipple at the tip filled with cum to the point of bursting, but the white syrup had oozed down over his dickhead and the whole end of the rubber was swimming in it.


"Do you think that's enough," he asked, watching me tie a knot in the rubber, "or should I fill up another one?"


I gaped at him in disbelief. "Could you?'' I asked. After the load he'd just shot, it hardly seemed possible.


"Hell, yeah!" he laughed. "If you gimme the same kind of help you just did! We might as well bring along as many as we can."


I swallowed hard. The moment of truth. "Chris, I've--uh--got something to tell you. I made the whole thing up. There's no party here tonight. Nobody's going over to Heathmore with any rubbers." I shrugged, hoping to throw myself at his mercy. "I just wanted to blow you, that's all."


He looked at me kind of funny. Like he was trying to figure out how he'd been had again. Then he started to laugh and he waved his cock in my face. "Okay. So what? D'you still want to do it again?"


As I got up to get two more rubbers from the drawer, I glanced at the open history book still on my desk. Who gives a shit about the past? I thought. And the future would take care of itself, one way or another. The only thing that mattered was the present. If I went home with rubbers filled with Chris's hot cum, instead of the diploma my old man wanted, so be it. At least I could say that when it came to making the really important "contacts" in life, I'd given it the old college try!



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They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
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