Black Star Cross - 33. Of Sex and Pot Roast

Black Star Cross

Chapter 33: Of Sex and Pot Roast

It was getting warm underneath the sheets. With the two of us naked, giving off excess body heat, and trapping it within the thick blankets, I could already feel myself start to perspire. Despite that, I wanted to get as close to Anthony as possible.

His hands were on my ass, softly kneading them, perhaps unaware of it. I was lightly thrusting against him, savoring the sensation of our dicks rubbing against one another. We were both staring into each other’s eyes, completely lost in them. My smile morphed into a grin; he mirrored the action. Thinking that it was a sin that our lips weren’t locked together, I rectified the problem with ease, and enjoyed it as well. His hands behind my head, mine behind his, it was a miracle that we didn’t break each other’s noses from the rough make-out scene we were having.

I humped against his crotch vigorously. I could feel it start to get slippery. No doubt, if his smaller head were to touch his stomach, it would stick there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bead of sweat form at my armpit, and then drop, almost photographically, onto Anthony’s abs, right below his nipple. Because of how we were placed, neither of us could see anything below the middle of our chests, which disappointed me. But we could feel everything below that point, and that made me happy. And I’m sure Anthony could tell.

He moaned. He did it directly into my mouth. I don’t know why he did it, but I loved every second of it. I tried to figure out what it was that caused the reaction. Maybe it was the humping? I tried to replicate whatever it was I was doing three seconds ago, but it did not produce the same results. I briefly came up for air, allowing him to do the same, and then went back down to his mouth. Maybe it was something I did with my tongue? However, there was no way that I knew what that thing was doing at the time of the muffled, verbal praise. It had a mind of its own in there. Disregarding the thought, I resumed my attack on Anthony’s body.

Unfortunately, he pulled me off as I was slipping him more tongue. I looked down at him questionably.

“We have a time limit here, dude,” he explained with a smile. “Can’t spend all of it on first base, can we?” It was a statement, not a question.

He then pushed my ass down, bucking up slightly, indicating what he wanted. What I wanted as well.

Using one of my available hands, I slowly slipped it under the covers, both Anthony and I knowing where it was heading. As soon as I reached my prize, Anthony let out an audible gasp, then proceeded to breathe raggedly. Again, ever so slowly, I squeezed his manhood, feeling how thick it already was. The more I squeezed, the higher up he arched. For a minute there, he held his breath, but continued to spasm his jaw. Finally, I released my grip on him, without letting go, and he subsequently exhaled loudly, nearly doubling over from the pent up air. If he wasn’t glimmering in sweat before, he certainly was now.

I suddenly felt something grab at my dick. My gasp was more out of surprise than pleasure. I instinctively looked down, though I don’t know why I did. It wasn’t like I could see what was going on down there. Anthony’s grip on my member turned out to be more erotic than I had pictured. I knew this because at the slightest squeeze from his hand, I let out a groan that effectively communicated just how much I was enjoying this. ‘He seems to be learning from the master,’ I thought, ‘squeezing my cock like that.’ Like I’m one to be called “master.” I ain’t never done this before in my life.

Oh shit! What is he doing now?! I started to feel Anthony’s hand slide up and down. My body automatically started humping into his hand. Gotta cum; gotta cum! There was no other purpose in life right then other than release. Pretty soon, my mind shut off completely, the primal voices in my head going away. All there was, was pumping. Pump into what makes you feel good. Pump until the feeling comes. Pump until you can’t take anymore. PUMP!

Suddenly the sensation around my dick was gone. I immediately stopped my actions, wondering what had happened. It was only then that I bothered to look up, and I saw Anthony’s face. He was looking at me like I had lost my mind.

“Dude. What was that? I know I said that we have a time limit here, but I don’t want it to end that quickly,” he said, with an amused look on his sweaty face.

“Well if you didn’t have to make it so irresistible to NOT want to screw...” I retorted.

He smiled back, and effectively shut me up by resuming his stroking on my cock. He quickly developed a slow and steady rhythm. Again, my body started pushing back against his hand, subconsciously. I felt his hand upon mine, gripping it, taking it further south. As soon as I felt his penis, I latched onto it, squeezing it firmly but gently. A soft release of breath escaped from his lips. Mimicking his actions, I started slowly stroking his cock. Our hands brushed against each other as they slide past the other whilst stroking. I shifted my hips slightly so that we could stroke without the bumps along the way. We both started bucking into each other as we continued our administrations on each other.

“Ahhhh...yessss...” he hissed.

“Yeah...yeah...” I numbly agreed.

I lowered myself down to him, enveloping us both completely. I never stopped stroking. I was now breathing heavily into his shoulder. I felt his head dip down into my shoulder, his warm breath racing across my back. I swear the goosebumps on my back were fully visible and actually crawling along the skin. Our humping started to get faster. Our stroking followed suit. Weren’t we supposed to make this last? At least more than ten minutes?

My eyes closed by themselves. My mouth could only sputter out incomprehensible grunts and groans from time to time. I was nearing it. I was almost there; almost done. From the sounds of it, Anthony was in the same condition as well.

With one final yelp from Anthony, one final thrust upwards, he was done. I felt his penis grow harder, more rigid. Had one of my hands been on his balls, I’d have felt them retreat into the recesses of his body, I’m sure. I suddenly felt something warm on my stomach. I would have looked down to see what it was, but one, I was too lazy to do so, and two, I already knew what it was. I felt more warmness on my stomach.

Throughout his release, he unconsciously squeezed my own erection hard during each of his spasms. The thought of bringing Anthony to orgasm, the feeling of his seed on my stomach and his, and the gripping pressure he was unknowingly putting on my cock was all that was needed for me to start shooting myself.

Without a sound, only a sharp intake of breath, I unloaded myself onto us. My fluids mixed with his. I knew that we would soon become stuck together, but I didn’t care at the moment. I just kept breathing into Anthony, my head now resting in the crevice of his neck. The sensation was incredible.

I felt Anthony’s hand lift from my cock and, with his other hand, rest on top of my back. It could almost be considered a hug, if not for the fact that he wasn’t applying any pressure with his hands. I believe he was just resting them there.

It was at that moment that I felt something I wasn’t expecting. Anthony wrapped his legs around mine and squeezed, along with his arms, making it a full-body hug. What was going on here? What was he doing? In my confusion, I returned his hug, though my legs were currently bound together. His breathing was becoming more controlled. We stayed silent for a few minutes before he spoke.

“Dude, that was awesome.”

“Yeah.”

We stayed silent for a few more minutes.

“That was the first time I’d done that with somebody else,” he said.

“I would’ve thought that you’d done that with several girls by now.”

“Nah, dude. You get girls pregnant that way. Can you imagine my mom if she found out I got a girl pregnant?”

“You mean before or after she’s done baking everything in the house?”

No laugh. That was bad.

“She’d flip out,” he said, ignoring me. “She’d practically order a shotgun wedding.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

We rested some more.

“I think we’re glued to each other right now,” I said.

“Probably.”

Neither of us made an effort to move.

“Think we should shower or something?” I asked.

Anthony didn’t answer. I swear I heard him start to snore. Well, I guess that answers ONE question. Suddenly, we heard a beeping noise come from downstairs. It sounded like the pot roast was done. The oven woke Anthony up.

“Wha…?” he said, sleepily.

I noticed him looking around the room, down to me in his arms, and the state we were both in, and fell back asleep. He started snoring again. The timer on the oven went off again.

“Mnnnnn...” he groaned, incoherently. He obviously didn’t want to wake up or get out of bed.

I knew that the oven would just continue making noises; plus, we promised Emmy that we would look after the roast. Thus, I pried myself from our entanglement, cleaned myself up a bit, put some pants on, and headed downstairs to turn off the oven and take the dish out.

As soon as I took the pot roast out of the oven, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Into the kitchen comes Anthony, looking a little more awake now, and a lot more refreshed I bet. Oh, and he was only wearing his boxers. If only his mom or Emmy could see him now.

“Hey dude,” he said dumbly, but with a satisfied smile on his face. “You made dinner for me? You’re so sweet. Such a good housewife.”

Whether he was kidding or not, I was a little more than a bit pissed off.

“Fuck you, asshole,” I said back. “Did YOU want to explain to Emmy WHY we couldn’t get the roast out of the oven in time?”

Anthony held up his hands in defense.

“Hey, hey, hey! Whoa, slow down there. I was just kidding, dude. Don’t need to yell at me.”

“Yelling seems to be the only way for me to get you to listen.”

“Now that’s not true, dude,” he tried to make a counterpoint.

“Still, how would YOU like it if someone called you a girl?” I challenged.

“I didn’t call you a girl.”

“Housewife! Close enough!”

“I was trying to be funny!”

“Well you bombed, terribly!”

Anthony held up his hands again.

“Fine. It wasn’t funny. Whatever. Can we move past this please?” he said, tersely.

I was about to chew him out again, but I stopped and considered his plea. Emmy’s words were also echoing in my head. ‘You two argue more than most married couples.’ I was beginning to realize that this was true. I’m not quite sure how to feel about that.

“Fine,” I said, just as tense.

Which brought us to another one of our trademark uncomfortable silences. You can’t just “make up” a new line of conversation from that. Luckily, I thought of the TV, and told Anthony to go grab our clothes from upstairs and then join me in the other room. He got the hint and soon joined me on the couch.

Turning on the TV, I asked, “What do ya wanna watch?”

“I dunno. What do you wanna watch?”

“I don’t care.”

Didn’t we have this exact same conversation before? I just started flipping the channels. Whilst surfing through the stations, I suddenly saw a flash of rainbow and stopped a couple stations after it. I turned back to see what it was.

“Dude, what’d you find?” Anthony asked.

When I reached the station, we saw muscular, shirtless guys, waving the rainbow flag around, dancing on floats. Those dancing had only a pair of tight speedos on. It appeared to be a news coverage of some city’s Gay Pride Parade. Besides the free eye candy, it disgusted me. I looked at Anthony for his reaction. He had a similar expression on his face.

“Dude, that’s not gonna be us, is it?” he asked, worriment evident in his voice.

“God, I hope not,” I replied. “I could never be out in public in only a speedo. And if I ever show that much pride over being gay, I give you full permission to shoot me in the head.”

“Can do!” he said, just a little more enthusiastically than he should be. I shot him a glare. “What?” he said, feigning innocence.

“On second thought, I think I’ll take you down with me.”

“But you’ll be at that gay parade. I’ll be sniping you from across town.”

“You’ve had this all planned out ahead of time, haven’t you?” I pried.

“Gotta get rid of you somehow. Just leaving you on the streets isn’t enough.”

There was a cold silence. I didn’t look at him; I focused on the TV instead.

“Dude, I’m sorry. That was totally over the line. Shouldn’t have said that. I picked you up OFF the streets, remember.”

“I remember, Anthony,” I said, distantly.

“Dude, don’t be like this. I said I was sorry, right?”

I didn’t say anything back. I felt hurt that he could find something humorous in something that nearly killed me. He didn’t try to continue the conversation/argument. We just sat there and continued to watch the coverage. It seemed like guys of all ages were there, as old people were joining in on the parade as well. Frankly, I’d preferred if they had just stayed out. Nobody wants to see two old guys frenching each other. The media, of course, focused on the most flamboyant gay guys, all dressed up in feathers, make-up, and glitter, and the more stereotypical gay guys as well. ‘Yay for fair media portrayal,’ I said to myself, heavy with sarcasm.

“They’re all acting pretty...um, gay, aren’t they,” Anthony said.

“That’s what the media does, Anthony. That’s what happens at these kinds of parades. Only the gayest of the gay show up to party, and to shack up later on,” I explained.

“So the media helps us make fun of fags easier?” he said, then looked quickly at me for his slip up of word choice.

“Well, if they walk like a fag, talk like a fag, think like a fag, then they bring it upon themselves to be made fun of by everyone else, including guys like us,” I replied.

He noticeably relaxed, probably relieved that I wasn’t going to go on some rant about name-calling and taking the word personally. What I said was true, though. If those guys think that they can be THAT different, and not expect some form of hostile retaliation, then they’ve got another thing coming.

For the past several minutes, we had been leaning into each other on the couch. It felt good, so it was a shame when we heard Emmy’s car pull up to the driveway, and we split apart instantly towards opposite sides of the couch. It just seemed so natural to do so, even though we know now that Emmy knows about us. But the kids, Stephanie and Erik. They don’t know. Or, at least I don’t think they know. Did they pay attention to Anthony and mine’s arguments while we were staying here? Did Emmy just tell them while they were in the car driving home? I changed the station to another news broadcast before they came in.

“We’re back, boys,” said Emmy, helping a sick Erik through the door. She glanced at us, and gave us a look of suspicion, like she was surprised that we weren’t making out on the couch. What was that about?

“We took the pot roast out of the oven,” Anthony exclaimed. “Didn’t know if you wanted us to let it sit out or keep it warm in the oven.”

“It’s only been out for about ten minutes or so,” I added.

“Well, I’ll take care of it once I get Erik to bed. Thank you so much for staying and taking care of it while I was gone.”

“No problem,” I replied.

Emmy, Erik, and Stephanie went upstairs, leaving me and Anthony alone to ourselves again. Anthony noticeably relaxed and was about ready to lean into me again until we heard footsteps and saw Stephanie come downstairs. Anthony stiffened up and went to the other side of the couch again.

“Grandma said that I could watch Spongebob with you guys!” she said excitedly.

Knowing better, we agreed with her statement and switched the channel to whatever Spongebob was on. This also effectively cut Anthony and mine’s time together, and any possible private conversation we could’ve had together. We stared blankly at the screen, only partially watching the cartoon, the other half clearly in our own heads, thinking about stuff. I don’t know what Anthony was thinking about, but I had our first sexual encounter still burned into my head, playing itself over and over. It was a good memory to have.

Anthony decided to leave earlier than he expected. He told me that he couldn’t stand watching Spongebob anymore, and even the lure of a free pot roast meal made by Emmy wasn’t enough to keep him staying. Since he was also my ride, I kind of had to leave as well. We said our goodbyes and left. We arrived at his house a little before six. There wasn’t anyone there. Anthony’s fear of being intercepted by Keith had proved unwarranted. He invited me inside. It suddenly occurred to me that he should’ve driven me home first, since I had no car. He’d practically kidnapped me for the day and now I’m being held hostage at his house.

“Anthony, you know that I have to go home eventually, right?” I questioned.

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean that you can’t stay here for an hour or so,” he replied.

“But if I stay here for even an hour, and you drive me back, won’t your mom know that you’re gone?” I countered.

“Shit. Fine. If you want to go home now, I can drive you.”

Wanting to squeeze out as much time as possible to be with him, I said, “I can stay for half an hour, okay?”

“Cool.”

And what does he do? He plops himself down on the couch in the living room and switches on the TV...just like he was doing less than fifteen minutes ago. Is this really how the popular kids live their lives? Shaking off my disbelief, I walked over to him and sat myself down next to him. He switched to a sitcom and stayed there. All was quiet, except for the TV, for awhile.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” he said.

“Hmm?” I answered.

He shifted himself on the couch so that he was lying down on it, and brought me down, with some force, so that I was lying in front of him. He draped his left arm protectively over me, and I finally got what he was trying to do. I snuggled myself closer to him, and let myself be embraced by him. It felt good; I couldn’t help but to smile. I couldn’t wait to do it to him, though the size difference may prove to be a bit of a challenge. When the father of the sitcom family came out in a dress and commented on the fact that he looks better in it than his wife, we both laughed together.