This is a spin-off of "I'm Not Gay." It's encouraged that you read that story first, though you don't have to understand. While there isn't any gay sex in this first chapter, I promise it's coming. This story will be slower to develop, but I think it adds to it. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Eli
Eli McBride was not happy. Which really sucked, because he should have been. He was hosting the biggest party of the year—the annual back-to-school ragger that he always threw a week before school started. And adding insult to injury, this was senior year. The end all be all. The big kahuna. The last hurrah before he could wave goodbye to all these sorry losers and start his real life.
To his credit, the party was awesome. But he was hosting, so of course it was. You didn’t get a reputation like his without it. The booze flowed freely, the pool was open, and the drugs were plenty. Music thumped loudly. All of his friends had beautiful girls on each arm. Even the weather was perfect—a pleasant breeze making the usually stifling heat at the end of August seem not so bad.
College loomed and he had plans. With a full ride football scholarship, he intended on bringing his successful high school persona with him to the big leagues. He’d pledge at the best frat, hook up with the hottest girls, and rule just as he had in high school. It was supposed to be the best time of his life. He should be excited about it, living it up, getting fucked up and enjoying himself—to be fair he was pretty fucked up, but that’s not the point. He wasn’t excited, he wasn’t enjoying himself. Eli was pissed, plain and simple, and totally over it.
It'd been this way for months now and he couldn’t figure out why.
Slumping into a chair, he sighed. Some of the vodka in his glass spilled out onto the ground and he cursed. It was the good shit from his dad’s private stash, not that fucking swill his less fortunate friends brought. Fucking great, another reason to hate everything.
When shrill laughter made his head turn, Eli groaned. Hannah, his girlfriend and the hottest girl in school, was headed right toward him. She was drunk, fucking duh, and wobbling all over the place—dangerously close to the lip of the pool. A good boyfriend would get the fuck up and make sure she didn’t fall in, but come on, that wasn’t who he was. A sick part of him even wished she would just so he didn’t have to hear her irritating voice for one more second.
“Hey babe,” she said, too loud even for a party. He huffed as she collapsed into his lap, rolling his eyes and fighting the urge to buck her off onto the concrete.
“You’re trashed,” he muttered into her platinum blond hair.
She laughed, the sound like deranged birds mating. Eli ground his molars.
She laid her head against his chest. “Duh. And where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
Yeah, and now you’ve found me. Fucking fantastic.
“Around,” he said.
She pouted. “I missssssss you. I feel like I haven’t seen you all night.”
“It’s my party. I’ve been busy.”
Busy feeling sorry for myself like a fucking baby.
“I had to dance all by myself,” she whined, tracing her painted fingernail up and down his forearm.
He quirked a brow. “Funny. I saw you dancing with Paul earlier.”
She clicked her tongue. “Oh well… Yeahhhhhh. But just because I was lonely!”
Eli scoffed. Not that he fucking cared who she danced with. He didn’t care who she did anything with, really, as long as whatever dick she stuck inside her that wasn’t his, was wrapped. She sure as hell wasn’t the only girl he fucked.
“Whatever,” he said.
She twisted in his arms, until her glassy eyes were staring at him. He felt her hand snaking down his chest over his tank top until it was groping his soft cock over his swim trunks. She looked at him expectantly.
When he just stared, her clumsy hand rubbed over his crotch with zero finesse. “I’m so horrrrrrrny,” she said, her alcohol breath doing nothing for him.
Rolling his eyes, Eli hoisted her off his lap and dropped her in the chair. “You’re drunk. I’ll find you later. Try not to pass out somewhere embarrassing this time.”
Without waiting for her to respond, Eli finished his drink and headed toward the house. She’d be pissed, but when was she not? He didn’t care.
He and Hannah had been together for two years now, and any romance—there had been none to begin with—along with any sexual attraction was gone. But that wasn’t why he’d picked Hannah. She was the prettiest and the most popular, therefore, he had to have her. It was about collecting the nicest things and ticking the boxes. Reputation was everything. When it was all over and you were nothing but bones in the ground, the only thing that mattered was what you’d done and what you left behind.
He'd forgotten the last time they had sex. Not that it bothered him. Eli had plenty of other people for that. He preferred it that way, especially if it was with strangers. Sex was the best when it was quick and rough, and if he didn’t know their names. A need arisen and taken care of quickly. It wasn’t like he didn’t want sex, he was sure as hell horny enough, but it was getting boring. Nothing about it excited him anymore, even the conquest—his favorite part—had become dull.
Eli thought about it as he stalked through the cavernous rooms of his house, full of people laughing, and drinking, and dancing. People making out and snorting drugs in dark corners. If he was honest with himself, he really only enjoyed sex with himself these days.
When he was alone, he took his time. Edging had become a new favorite. Getting so close to the edge but denying himself the pleasure made the release so much sweeter. Porn helped, and though he had an extensive variety saved on his computer, he’d begun exploring further. The nastier the better. Anything to scratch that itch under the surface. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he ached to find it.
And if anyone asked him, he’d categorically deny it, but he had even started playing with his ass. It was only a little bit, just a finger here and there, but it did something to him. It wasn’t gay. No fucking way. It just felt good. He’d first discovered it after getting lost watching videos of guys getting pegged by hot girls with a dildo strapped over their pussy. It was something about watching these big macho guys getting turned into a moaning mess—submitting instead of dominating—that made him curious.
His dick twitched at the thought. Ugh.
“Yo!” Garrett said, coming up beside him and smacking him on the back. “Sick party.”
Eli gave him a knowing grin, twisting the cap off a bottle of Grey Goose and taking a huge pull.
“It better be.”
Laughing, Garrett leaned against the quartz countertops on his elbows. His massive biceps pulled the thin fabric of his t-shirt tight.
Garrett had been Eli’s best friend since kindergarten and the two kings of high school. They went everywhere and did everything together. At six feet, four inches, Garrett was a big bear of a guy. Unlike Eli, his body was more bulk than definition. He always teased Garrett that his six pack was just hiding when he’d pout and grab his belly in distress. Whereas you could wash clothes against Eli’s, they were so prominent.
He was model pretty, though. At least that’s what all the girls thought, especially with the thick waves of dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders—straight up surfer vibes. He was always having to sweep it over his forehead, or tying it back in a bun. Eli gave him a hard time about it, but truthfully, he was a little jealous. It’s not like he had bad hair. The color of chocolate, he kept it faded up the sides and longer on top. But it would never look as good as Garretts.
Garrett wiggled his eyebrows. “I saw you with Hannah.” As if on cue, Garretts hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back. Eli watched as his shirt pulled, exposing the tufts of hair under his armpits. He shook himself, a little dizzy from the alcohol.
“Don’t fucking remind me.”
Garrett leveled a fist to Eli’s chest. “Dude. Why don’t you just break up with her already? She’s dumb as a box of rocks and her voice is like sand paper. Plus, you know she and James hooked up, right?”
Eli shrugged. “Yeah, I heard that.”
“And what? That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why should it? You know I hook up with other girls all the time.” Garrett did know. He was Eli’s wing man after all. Hell, they’d fucked a few of them together, though Eli had tried to avoid that as of late for various reasons. Number one being Garrett’s fucking donkey dick. It was hard feeling like you could measure up when Eli’s own seven inches—a pretty good looking cock if he said so himself—felt small.
Garrett frowned. “Yeah, but this a homie. Not some rando. That ain’t right.” Eli laughed as he took another swig from the bottle.
“It doesn’t make a difference to me. It’s not like I plan on seeing these people ever again after high school.”
Garrett shot him a glare.
“Except for you, dummy,” Eli said.
“Fucking right.” Garrett puffed his chest. “Cuz we seniors now, homie.”
“Seniors, baby,” Eli echoed, though a little less exuberantly.
Garrett cupped his hands around his mouth. “Senior year baby!” His voice echoed through the house, a swell of whooping and hollaring his call. He was chuckling when he wrapped his tree trunk arm around Eli and led him away from the bar.
“Well,” he said, “even though you refuse to take out the garbage, I do have a surprise for you.”
“Ha, yeah? What’s that?” Eli allowed himself to be led out of the kitchen and into the family room where several girls he didn’t know were huddled around the couch.
Garrett pointed to the red head standing in the middle. “Her names Madison,” he said into Eli’s ear, causing him to shiver. Fucking weird.
“And?” Eli asked. When he turned his head, they were almost nose to nose.
He pulled back. “Ha, do I have to spell it out for you homie?”
Eli shrugged him off, sniffing. “Fuck off.”
Garrett was chuckling as Eli ambled forward, standing a little straighter and plastering his signature cocky grin across his face. It wasn’t lost on him how his skin was still slightly warmer where Garretts arm had wrapped around him.
Fucking weird.
What was this chicks name again? Eli knew Garrett had mentioned it at some point, but he couldn’t remember. He’d just stick to calling her the red head.
The red head moaned loudly and he pulled the fistful of copper hair wrapped around his fist a little tighter.
“Oh fuck me!” She cried, “fuck me harder daddy!”
Eli rolled his eyes and had to stifle a yawn. A. Fucking. Yawn. What the fuck? Still, who was he to deny a woman what she wanted?
He drilled into her, making his four poster bed creak—his thighs slapping a rhythm against her. He wondered how drunk she was and if she could tell he was only half hard, buried in her pussy. Honestly, it was a miracle he was even able to get hard at all. She’d sucked him for what felt like forever, before his cock had finally woken up. At least she was kind enough not to make a big deal out of it. He tried not to think about what it meant, chalking it up to all the liquor. He knew that idea was only half baked, though. He was drunk a lot of the time, and never used to have a problem with it.
Eli watched his figure in the mirror across the room, admiring his form, his perfectly sculpted five feet, ten inch body.
Damn, I look good fucking. At least there’s that.
Looking down at the stranger—ass up, face down in his bed—he wondered if maybe something was wrong with her. But what? It was obvious she was hot as fuck. Bountiful tits with turgid pink peaks, creamy skin, a tight body and a thick ass. No, it couldn’t be her.
It was him.
Fuck, he was softening. Softening. In a tight, warm, pussy. Jesus Christ. Drunk as she was, she’d definitely notice if he couldn’t stay hard, much less finish. Eli couldn’t have that, what would people say after all?
…..What would Garrett say?
His best friends name brought a flurry of images dancing in his head: his brawny arms stretching fabric, the massive expanse of his back while they worked out in the gym yesterday, his menacing form staring down at him, spotting while Eli benched pressed—that thick hair falling down over his eyes.
The redheads pussy tightened around him and Eli’s dick twitched, firming up slightly at the base. With a shudder, he couldn’t be certain if his bodies response was at the girl he was fucking or what he’d just been picturing.
Fuck, get out of here with that bullshit.
Eli let go of the fistful of copper hair and gripped the redheads hips, taking the opportunity to plow into her harder.
“Ohhhhh, yesssss,” she cooed, her hair fanned out over her back. “Yes, baby. Yes, yes, yes!”
Sweat dripped down his back. He couldn’t deny it felt good, but fuck him, he was going soft again. Several minutes later he was slowing and it was all he could do to keep his dick inside her.
To his horror, her face turned toward him. “You good?” She asked, breathless. He didn’t miss the slight irritation in her voice.
“I’m fine,” he growled, forcing her head away and grinding his teeth.
Fuck, focus McBride. Get it the fuck together.
He did have one last thing that would work. One thing he kept promising himself to stop thinking about. Something he just so happened to think about everytime he’d been with someone over the past three months.
Closing his eyes, he thought of a jock strap. Weird, right? More specifically, he thought about his jock strap—the one he’d left in his locker last year—the one someone had blew a fucking load all over, along with his spare jersey and work out clothes. Yeah, that jockstrap.
There was no mistaking it was cum, and he was positive it wasn’t his. When he found it, he’d been fucking livid. And not just because it was fucking nasty, but mostly because someone had done it to him. Eli fucking McBride. No fucking way.
Flushed, he’d thrown all his shit in a bag and slammed his locker. At least no one had seen. Whoever had fucked with him would never get the satisfaction of seeing his reaction.
He’d dropped the gym bag with its ruined clothes in the corner of his room, too pissed and disgusted to touch them. He’d throw them away later.
He didn’t though. For weeks, they sat untouched. For weeks, he tried not thinking about them, and failed. For whatever reason, he couldn’t get over how fucked up and nasty it was. He couldn’t stop guessing at who might have done it and why. And the longer they stayed, the more curious he became. He wondered what it would smell like…
Eli tried to stay away from it and convince himself to throw it away, but he never did.
One night, drunk and excruciatingly horny, he gave up. It was the smell that got to him—that manly musky scent—partly his own, but also something else. Someone else.
He’d blown the biggest load of his life that night, jerking off with the jockstrap stuck in his mouth, inhaling until the only thing he could smell was the sweaty, cum stained fabric.
Of course, he was disgusted afterward. It was only because he was drunk, he told himself. That’s why he’d done it. It would never happen again. Still, he didn’t throw the bag away. And more often than not, he brought the jock strap back out. Sometimes he wore it when he jerked off, especially when he started playing with his ass. Other times it was in his mouth, the smell that much more pungent the longer he kept it unwashed.
Eli groaned, hating himself for remembering how it smelled and how the cum drenched fabric felt against his tongue. Fuck, it was so filthy. Why did it make him so fucking horny?
Closing his eyes, he cut the commentary, getting lost to the memory and wishing he could stop to put the jock strap on right now. He wanted to blow his load right into it instead of the fucking condom he had to wear.
Rock hard, he pommeled the strange redhead, ignoring her moans and cries to “fuck me harder!” He was in his own world.
He was getting close, the nerves tingling and on fire at the base of his spine—balls heavy and aching to erupt. But he wasn’t ready yet. Fantasies kept playing out behind his eyelids. He had his head wrapped in the jock strap, suffocating against the smell. Only this time, the loads were fresh and still wet. In the fantasy he was lying flat on his back, breathing deeply, his cock singing to him for release. A strangers hand would pass over it, slick with lube and Eli would cry out, begging to cum. But everytime he’d get close, the strange hands would stop.
More. I need more.
More loads landed on the filthy jock strap from invisible strangers. He wanted to know whose they were, but he couldn’t see and that made it even hotter.
The redhead was screaming and he felt her pussy tighten on his cock. He was sweating and panting.
“I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” she screamed. Eli wished she’d shut the fuck up.
In his mind he was on all fours. He was wearing the jock strap now, fingers caressing his asshole, probing the tight ring. When one slipped inside, he cried out. His hand grasped his cock, and in real life he threw his head back.
“Fucking fuck,” he said in fantasy and present. “I’m gonna cum!”
In the fantasy, he turned his head and sucked in a breath. Garrett was standing behind him, his huge swinging cock pressed against Eli’s ass. He smiled that movie star grin.
“Yeah, blow that load,” his best friend said. “I wanna see you make a fucking mess.”
Eli’s eyes flew open, ripping him free of the fantasy and moaning loud enough to shake the walls. He erupted what had to be a volley of cum into the condom, humping her like a jack rabbit as his orgasm crested. He didn’t stop making noises until his pace finally slowed, slick with sweat and falling onto the bed.
The redhead was saying something to him, but he wasn’t listening. His heartbeat was erratic and wild and he stared, wide eyed, at the ceiling.
What. The. Fuck.
