Donnie
WHEN Donnie Armstrong was sixteen years old, he helped his sister Michelle move in with her roommate, Alejandro Castellanos, and it sorta kinda changed his life.
Yandro was a nice guy. He and Michelle were both dance majors at the local college and, more importantly, part of a local professional dance troupe that had been catching some buzz for being “inspirational” and “cutting edge.” Of course, at sixteen, Donnie wasn’t entirely sure anything that wasn’t baseball was really much to get excited about, but then he met Alejandro Castellanos, and suddenly men in tights seemed, well, exciting.
Alejandro had spent the day bending at the knees and lifting Chelle’s boxes of dance crap out of her bedroom, and with every bend, Donnie could see the muscles under his brown Hispanic skin ripple and flex. Yandro was wearing tight spandex shorts and a tank top, so said muscles rippled and flexed in his narrow ankles, his rock-hard calves, his thickly muscled thighs, his trim waist, and his surprisingly wide shoulders. He also had thick, dark hair, the kind that fell from a widow’s peak over one eye, making him look hot and seductive like some sort of movie star or something.
At first, as Donnie followed him and Chelle around like a gawky kid, he thought he was just impressed by the muscles because he wanted some of his own. He’d been drinking nothing but protein shakes and working out with the baseball team, and still he was more wrists and ankles and knees and elbows than anything else. But Yandro…. Ooooh…. Yandro’s muscles were… big. And flexible. And ripply. And….
“Donnie, stop ogling my roommate and help me with this box!” Chelle snapped. She was usually pretty nice, but the move had stressed her out, and there were going to be tears and sadness with Mom and Dad, so she was taking it out on Donnie, which was sort of his job, right?
Donnie grunted, because his job may have been to take it, but who wanted to be that nice to your sister, right? “Keep your pantyhose on, I’m coming.”
“Yeah, you keep staring at Yandro’s ass long enough, you will be!”
“Chelle!” he protested. “I’m not gay!” Except his voice cracked up at the end of the word “gay,” an octave break high enough to make Chelle arch a perfectly sculpted eyebrow up at him.
“Who said anything about you, dumbass? I was talking about Yandro. And he’s a real manslut, too. He must pick up a different guy a week!”
Donnie goggled. “Yandro’s gay?” But Yandro was so… so cool. He had that cool Venezuelan accent, and he talked about poetry and dance and passionate music, and… and…. Oh God.
Donnie fumbled his end of the big box he was helping his sister move, and Chelle swore at him.
“God, Donnie, you’re practically useless. Nut up and pick this thing up like a man!”
Donnie did and tried to ignore the fact that Yandro had just doused himself with the hose on his mom and dad’s front lawn, and that his white spandex dance shorts were wet in the front, and the muscles across his back were not the only things that were big and frightening and rippling.
Oh my God! Alejandro had the biggest fucking cock Donnie had ever seen!
Donnie tried to control his breathing—and his hard-on, and his hyperbole—as he helped schlep that damned box out to the borrowed truck. Of course Yandro had what appeared to be the biggest cock Donnie had ever seen. It’s wasn’t like Donnie spent his time checking out the other guys in the locker room, right?
Well, everyone except Chase, because Chase’s cock drooped halfway down his thighs when it was wet from the shower, and what guy didn’t want to see one that did that, right? It didn’t mean he was gay, it just meant he was curious. Everyone wanted to know what other people looked like, right? Because Chase’s cock was long and thick, but Kevin’s was short and thicker, and Donnie had tried to imagine that thing in some guy’s… girl’s mouth. Would soft pink… red lips be able to take it? Would you be able to see Chase’s blond stubble if he was working that thing in his mouth? It wasn’t a gay thing, it was a man thing, right?
Donnie talked to himself right up until they got the box on the edge of the tailgate, and then he used his hips to thrust the box in and almost doubled up in pain and arousal. His cock was as hard, as painfully swollen, as it had ever gotten.
“’Scuse me, Chelle,” he mumbled. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
He practically ran through the house to lock himself in the bathroom next to his own room. Once he got there, he dropped his pants and thought of Alejandro’s full lips and those brown/black eyes gazing up into his face while those lips, with a little bit of a mustache on the top one, wrapped around Donnie’s cock and sucked.
Caught up in the vision, Donnie wrapped a trembling fist around himself….
And came, hot, hard, all over his stomach, chest, and thighs.
He leaned back against the bathroom door and trembled, rubbing the come into his lower stomach, into his chest, into his thighs, and then, when it started to get hard again, over, around, against his slick and pulsing member.
His second climax didn’t take much longer than the first, but with his third, he had just enough time to pinch his nipples hard beneath his other hand and then reach down and cup his testicles before he exploded.
His arms and legs were shaking and his heart was pumping hard in his throat, but still, he jumped into the shower at Mach 5. He was outside and helping to shift the last of the boxes before Chelle and Yandro missed him.
He made a point to be polite but distant to Alejandro for the rest of the day—to nod and to speak when spoken to and do everything Yandro asked him to do—because he didn’t want to attract the man’s attention, not even a little tiny bit.
Donnie figured he had enough to think about before he dealt with the way Alejandro’s white smile in that soft, lush mouth made him sweat, or the way a brush from Yandro’s hands on his own, or a shoulder bump, or even a careless laugh made a cock that, by all reports, should be resting, limp and asleep in Donnie’s shorts after a hard day’s work, wake up and start sniffing around Chelle’s roommate with some serious tenacity.
So for the day, and the day alone, Donnie pretended his cock and his pulse rate and his tightened nipples and the sweat that kept forming on the back of his neck were all rogue body functions. They were functioning outside his control and without his permission, and he would ignore them all until he got them all alone and gave them a stern talking to about what was expected of them and what he should be looking at to provoke those reactions, as opposed to what he was looking at when they decided to go all hyper-sex-drive and adult on him.
And in the meantime, he’d keep sneaking miserable, covert glances at Alejandro and pretending all of those rogue body functions weren’t totally set on hyperdrive by that brown skin, ripple-y muscles, and the sound of that lilting, accented voice cursing at Donnie’s sister.
