By Brad Beau Cohen
One hour after leaving Pornceptual, and forty-five minutes after swapping dick pics, he’s hooking a thumb through my cheek. A bite and a kiss whispers on his index knuckle like a little incubus. I can already feel it, but a quick look down confirms a glassy string swinging toward the gloss. I let my calves rest for a sec but the blur of his pelvis doesn’t struggle to hold my weight.
Between the deafening pants, my skin that is one raw nerve, and the Brazilian flag on his Grindr profile: I am hidden somewhere. If there’s a language we both speak, we are not now fluent. There’s a kind of freedom in relying on primal instinct and body language alone. He doesn’t ask, he simply does.
Scuffed feet on the landing… His housemate haunts us from outside the bedroom door. All the decibels seem to levitate above us, even our breath is too loud to let escape. Footprints float out of earshot. He falls out of the 1 – 2 rhythm for a flash. Must be close.
He steals all the oxygen in the room with his open-mouthed spasm dance. I feel the licks of air climb my spine. Shaky lips wisp my back: ‘thank you’. His fingers tip-toe across my hip to lend a hand, but the housemate has thrown me off. Straightening, I wave him off: ‘never mind’.
I locate my clothes with professional speed and start peeling them back on while he’s lighting up a cigarette. He motions toward me: ‘want one?’. I take one, placing the first word in the room, “cheers”. He places a finger to his lips and nods in recognition. I lose, apparently.
Joining him at the window, I spark up and blow out a long breath of woolly smoke. I could’ve found comfort in not having to come up with small talk if he weren’t doing it with his hands. He points to a scar on my stomach. Another wave: ‘long story’.
More scuffing of feet on the landing. I take another drag, unthreatened. I can see in his face that he’s casting Portuguese banishing spells at the door with his dark eyes. The room seemed to inhale and hold its breath.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door opens with a rushing gasp. The sound collapses back into the room.
I’LL BE RIGHT BACK
By Rito Osam
He couldn’t breathe. My legs were wrapped around the back of his head to push my cock deep into his throat. He had rivers of tears running down his face that merged with all the spit around his mouth. It was clear that he was choking. It was also clear that I was enjoying this way too much to stop. And his puppy eyes on a red face were clearly saying “thank you”- I wiped the tears from his face until he was on the verge of passing out. As I pulled my dick out of his mouth he took a deep breath, and resumed worshiping the head of my fat cock on his knees. I grabbed him by his dirty blond hair and started feeding him my pre-cum until he was really hooked on it.
His cunt was open and he asked me to fuck him as hard as I pleased. I pushed him on his back and teased his hole with my cock, which was so hard after all his sucking that it felt like I ripped him open when I pushed in.
His hole was hot and wet. He started moaning and he seemed to have lost the ability to say any other words than “thank you”, and “fuck”. People were slowly gathering around us in the darkroom and having an audience turned me on even more, so I started pounding him harder until he started crying.
A guy took a step closer to him and asked me to stop, but as I was close to cumming I completely ignored him. I kept on destroying that boy’s hole.
“I’m gonna shoot,” I said, to which was answered with a soft “cum inside me, please.”
The one dude who tried to stop me earlier was still in the proximity, kind of frozen in space. I started cumming and from the loud moaning, I figured the blond guy was cumming at the same time. It felt like I was pissing in him rather than cumming. It felt that the volume of spunk could have been measured in litres and judging by how full my pubes and pants were, it might have easily been that much. I took a scoop of the blond guy’s cum with my hand and I stuck it up the mouth of the man standing next to me, laughed and pulled my pants up, going out for a smoke.
As I lit a cigarette stepping out from the darkroom, the blonde guy and the one I fed his cum to walked out.
“Hey, what’s your name?” asked the blonde guy.
“David,” I replied, but my name is actually Stephan.
“I’m Markus and this is my boyfriend Jan,” he pointed to the fellow next to him who still had semen dripping from his beard. I nodded and ended the conversation there. I had already been in the darkroom for more than an hour.
I quickly made my way back to the bar.
“Where were you?” asked my girlfriend.
“You know how long the queue to the toilet gets, baby,” I answered, and kissed her while the last drop of cum dripped out of my cock and into my pants.
By Brad Beau Cohen
Yours is a precision arm
a reach which could
make spines forget legs
or left forget right
tongue forget tongue
your screen unlocked head bowed in prayer private and away
your face a mask of orange neon
with the expression forms a sign to ‘wait’
seconds before, we were one
language of limbs, a conjoined creature
now cut in two
by your device, a bedside surgeon
and I’m still glazed by our fluids.