Chapter 2: Final Fantasy

"Okay," I heard my own voice.

I made a deep breath, which only now I did it.

I turned around to face him for the first time not sure since when, and our visions formed a line. His face was straight, with cards in hands, and doing some slow shuffling motion. That was a real Poker Face.

He didn't wait until I began waiting before he spoke again. "Serious?" He made a heavy nod at the word. "Because I am."

I looked at his shoulder. Then down to his chest. He puzzled me with his steady breathing, shaking his body following some mental beat. He was calm, which I was trying so hard to pretend one.

"Cody?" he said again, slipping the deck back into his back pocket. Then he turned back to look at me, with eyes relatively wide, but brows at ease. "Seriously Cody I think I can do it. If for one thousand."

I tried to find a new spot to gaze at, but that time everything that I was seeing kept being distracted by a trailer of flashing scenes extracted from various versions of my fantasies combined. There was me stripping down the foreskin . . . Me sliding my finger below the ring of the freshly exposed bell-end . . . The wet sticky surface upon the touch . . . His moan above my head . . . "It's closing in Cody . . . it's close . . . close . . . about to flow into . . . ahh . . . into the shaft . . . ahh . . . at the root now . . ." My thumb pulls back one side of his glans . . . forcibly gap open the tip . . .

Spurt! Splashing wet my forehead . . . Dribbling down and fully covering my eyes . . . Spurt! Slapping hard my left cheek and even onto one side of my nose . . . Too much that it flows into the edge of my mouth . . . And down to my neck . . . Spurt! Hitting the inner side of my readily protruded lips . . . Into the cavity between my lips and teeth . . . My face is now like the topping of a birthday cake, with cream that is oddly slimy.

"Cody . . . I came . . ." he moans out of panting . . . breathing loud . . . "Ahh . . . Cody . . ."

"Cody," he keeps calling my name.

"Cody?" he asks. Huh? Why did he ask?

"Codster!" a shout penetrated into my ears. My brain finally returned me my eyesight. Zack was already showing a pair of crumpled brows. "Deal?"

Then I realized my hand was right in front of my gaping mouth, wrapping about a stick made out of air. I quickly twitched my arm. "Yeah. Deal."

"Really, Cody?" he asked again, now beginning to shake his leg. "One thousand?"

It took me one second of dumb stare, to fully shut my critical thinking down, to block any reasoning from getting in. And finally, upon a signal from the back of my head, I nodded.

"It's a grand, Cody," he spoke again, with a flat tone.

I nodded again, displaying some certainty on my face. "What about you then?" I asked him. "You okay with it? I mean . . . You feeling alright with it?"

He diverted his gaze from mine, then for the first time, I saw him taking a relatively deep breath. "No I'm not. I'm not feeling alright," he said, with eyes staring at the space beside me. Then he shot me a gloating glare. "But I'm thinking alright."

I was beginning to feel guilt for my action. Yes he was right, I wasn't thinking right. "I'm the exact opposite here," I told him. "I was feeling so right, but upon thinking . . . it's stupid."

"So you fucking want it or not?" he yelled, scowling at me out of the blue. "Don't let me think twice!"

"Okay, I want it," I responded quickly, the sentence had never passed through the frontal lobe of my brain. I just let it out. I couldn't let go of this sudden surge of craziness that struck him. This could be my one and only opportunity, to realize my heart scratching fantasy, to get it for real, to taste him for real, and to do so, I had to be crazy as well. But still, a small drop of consciousness managed to ooze into my head. "Make it eight hundred?"

"Okay just cancel the deal."

"Okayokay! One thousand."

The exchange was fast. He wasn't giving me a chance at all. No bargain was possible. He'd known me all too well. He knew how much I wanted it. He knew how deep my desire was, from all the conversation I'd had with him.

"Ahaha . . . Good." Then in a sheer sudden, his gloating eyes blinked into a narrow leer. His hand jumped toward the front of his pant and his body flexed inward, then his palm began to grind, his groin. "Oops . . . Codes I think I'm hard."

I trance out. A wolf possessed my fingers. I was lusting to scratch things down. My jaw shivered, teeth rapidly knapping each other. I had run out off air in that thorough sigh upon his words. His hard-on.

"Fuck off!" I barked. "What're you doing!"

Another blink, and he was back to his trademark smirk. "Kidding. Hehe . . ." His entire act had left me petrified, and the next thing I realized was that my penis twitched.

"What? Did I make you hard?" he said. Then he glimpsed at me down there. I glanced down, and saw a pulsating tent poking my jeans rhythmically from the inside, peaking higher and higher.

I immediately crossed my legs, so to conceal the visible bulge. Then I saw him straightening up, laughing. "I've just seen the answer~" he twanged melodically, and that if not mistaken was the chorus of Lady Gaga's Monster.

He continued to hum the rest of the melody, before he suddenly stood up and looked at the direction of the door.

"W- where are you going?"

"The internet café," he said, adjusting his buckle head. "Unless if you can fix the Wi-Fi in our room." Then he inserted his hand into his pockets—"but . . ."—and pulled out his hands together with the bags in them, showing me some empty pockets. He looked at me apologetically. "Oops . . . Forgot my wallet . . . Would you mind? Three dollars?"

I grunted.

"Thanks!" He smiled, somehow pretty genuinely, almost sweeping away the snarl on my face. Then he strode over to the door, grabbing the handle. "You're going or not?"

I jerked my eyes up almost rolling them. "Owh right . . ." I shrugged, then I stood up and followed him. "But ATM, later."

It was strange that he could clear the air that quickly, the entire tense atmosphere just blinked gone, and that was real magic. I admired him for that, and for that, I love him. So much.

"M-m-m-m-m-MONSTER KI-FIRE IN THE HO-Braaiin . . ." The internet café was soaked with noises from various kinds of games, with only a faint voice of Celine Dion singing My Heart Will Go. Much as I like that song, I still preferred listening to Christmas songs for now; it was still December and had only been three days after Christmas.

"This is why I hate this place," I said to Zack on the chair besides me. He was cupping his chin in front of the monitor; and on the screen, it was still loading Facebook. "And the line is snail-slow!"

He was still staring at the spiraling worms at the Google Chrome's new tab. Then failing to yawn, he replied. "So when's the one thousand?"

I instantly blocked any remaining voice of my about-coming sentence. I made a new sentence, for the sudden shift of topic. "I suppose it's nine hundred and ninety-seven?"

He made a sullen snort upon the look at my face. "That's why I was asking you! 'Would you mind spending three dollars for me?'" he retorted. "And looks like you do."

"Okay fine. Forget about the three dollars," I said; in fact I had more to say, but before I could continue further, he spoke again, "We'll do it prepaid. KFC style."

I hesitated for no longer than a few seconds before I nodded. It didn't matter either when I was going to hand over the cash to him, he wasn't going to run away anyway. "Okay, we'll dig it out after this."

"Good," he said. Then I saw his screen was already displaying Facebook's News Feed. I looked over to my own, and saw mine had finished loading too. And thus with quite some joy on my face, I turned to him. "Zack, see this one, my fan fiction."

He tilted toward me, with eyes on my screen. "Where?" he asked. I smiled, then I clicked on "The Suite Life of Dylan and Cole Uncut!" This time it finished loading pretty quickly. Upon the look at the brick wall of words, he yawned, just as I'd predicted. "So . . . Who fucks who?"

I almost yelled at him for his choice of word, but not to complicate the situation, I suppressed my arguing spirit. "Not yet reaching any explicit part though. It's going to be a long story," I told him. "For now I'm still building the reasons to break his straight, I mean Dylan; put him in my old shoe; and hopefully in several more chapters, he could be lusting over Cole and then . . ."

"Wait," he stopped me. "Cole's the one who looks like me, right?"

"No, you look more like Dylan," I said. "Cole's the one I like. He's more of a twink."

"See! You better just go fuck yourself!"

I threw him a stabbing glare. "Your voice!" I grunted.

"Dude! Nothing's wrong with that!" he said. "Not that I've mentioned about your thing thing."

I let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine. So you're reading it or not?"

"No."

Thus, I hit the X button with a loud groan and closed the tab, leaving me dumb-gazing at the desktop, arms crossed.

"Ugh . . . C'mon. Stop behaving like a baby." He looked at me with a smirky frown. "Here. I've got something to show you."

I rolled my gaze over toward him at a small angle for a brief peer. He was clicking on somewhere on the screen but I couldn't see the cursor. But it didn't grab my interest much, something else did. It was at the corner of his jeans, on the zipper, a slight bulge. I wonder if it was more than simply a fold of the denim fabric. Then at some point, I had just gotten driven to make it sure when his body spun around toward me. "Ta-da! 'Peter Answer'!"

I bent over toward him. "Huh? What's that?" His screen had switched into another page. The page was dull. There was a maroon rectangular tab on the center of the page, with two blank bars in it, respectively labeled with "Petition" and "Question."

"It's Peter. A spooky guy that can answer you any question," he told me, jerking his brow. "Now ask a question. I'll type it for you."

I wasn't sure what the whole thing was about; who'll be answering me actually? "Any question?" I asked him. I was skeptical right upon hearing such a thing. He made a big nod, half-bowing. So I just went ahead and picked a random question. "What's my name?"

Soon I heard him typing. I looked at the "Petition" bar, and there appeared the sentence "Peter, please tell me." He paused, stealing a short peek at me, then returned to the screen. Next he shifted to the "Question" bar below, there he keyed in "What's his name?"

"Now watch carefully," he said, leaning into his chair so to make room for me to bring my head closer to the monitor. Then he pressed "enter."

Loading . . .

The page refreshed, with an additional row of word below the two bars. "Codester," the word spelled.

I tried to hold my twinkle, though involuntarily I still did. "H- h- how did you do it?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Go ask Peter."

I felt challenged. "One more question!" I said. I theorized that the answers were preset, so I had to ask a question which is specifically known at only a particular time.

"Go ahead then," he replied, with a head dance joining his smirk.

"How much am I paying Zack?" I said.

"Okay then," he said. Then he repeated the whole thing. He typed "Peter, please tell me" in the "Petition" bar and my question in the "Question" tab right below it. Then "enter."

"1000," the answer appeared after loading. He began whistling.

So the answer couldn't have been preset. And after thinking of it twice, I was beginning to get suspicious of that "Petition" bar. I mean, what's the point of it anyway? Why must there be a "Peter tell me" to ask a question?

"So much for the retired magician," he said, sneering together with his hand-made quotation marks. "Wow it must've taken a biblical CPU to delete such amount of data clean off."

That was an insult of intelligence. Yeah I knew I'd had developed quite some passion in magic, but that was some four years ago! Who the hell would remember the details of something that far back in time!

"When and where are we going to do it?" I threw him another one. "Now answer that."

"What a long one," he sulked, then he was typing again. I focused at his keyboard, but he typed it all too fast that my eyes just couldn't catch which keys he had pressed. When I looked back up and there was already a "Peter, please answer me" in the "Petition" tab. Then he continued the rest, enter, and the answer showed up. "Dunno u decide."

"Okay, enough for that." He closed the tab. I could tell that he knew I was almost going to see through the trick.

He went back into examining his Facebook, and I leaned back into my chair, looking around, and a final peek at him before deciding to open my Twitter. "Say, where'd you want to do it then?" he said, looking at his monitor screen. "And when?"

Casual though the way he was asking me, but still I couldn't dodge it, the reminder about the magnitude of what we're saying, the magnitude of what we're going to do. "Err . . . Y- your room? I guess? 'Cause you know Marcus more than I know Woody. You can decide the time better."

"They'll accompany London doing her shopping at the town. They'll be going at six. They won't be back until just before curfew. They'll gather in London's room. She'll be wearing a pair four-inch high heels that is suitable for the atmosphere and mood . . ."

"Waitwait!" I stopped him. "How'd you know all these stuffs?"

He reclined onto the chair, and gestured at the screen with his hand. I looked over to his screen, and what I saw—a long list of London's status updates which were not on her Wall or Timeline, but on the News Feed!

"Oh. So it'll be tonight," I said, back into my chair. "Just either one of our room?"

"Your room," he answered.

"No, your room."

His face swapped stern, shuddering as he leaved his monitor and spun about his rotatable chair and toward me. "Why?" he asked, accentuating the word. I didn't see what was actually behind his big reaction.

"Because . . ." I managed. For some psychological reason, I really didn't prefer my own room. "My room . . . It'll feel like there's Woody present on his bed, watching us as we do that thing."

"Then in my room I'll get fucking reminded about this thing every day!" he barked, repeatedly pointing at the floor like he was going to poke a hole on the ground.

"Uh . . . oh . . . sorry. Never have thought of that." I felt sorry for him, which I shouldn't have, the hell it wasn't like he was going to do it because I forced him, nor had I begged him. I paid! It wasn't free!

"So your room, then," he said.

I nodded. Heck I wondered how many times had I nodded today. Then just as I was about to turn away and redirect my sight at something else, he grabbed my shoulder, on the left side, and yanked me back into facing him. "Now what?"

"Cody, I want to make it sure." There was a tiny but still noticeable stutter in his voice, and I wondered if only now did he get nervous. "It's you sucking mine, isn't it?" he asked. "And not the other way around, right?"

I jerked my head back. The question struck me as silly, and nonsensically stupid. "Well of course it's me giving you the blow . . . err . . . yeah. . . ."

"Say it clearly. Who, sucks, who?" he asked again, with voice as stern as his face. I was beginning to worry about his volume when he added again, "I'm not doing it if I were to suck yours!"

I clenched my fist, but then as I looked around, I noticed no one was hearing us either. I sighed in relief. "Tsk." Then I stooped closer to him. "Me, sucking yours," I practically just said it, not whisper.

"Okay good." He gave me a thumb-up. Then he smiled again. "Hehe . . . Just worried, in case it's the other way around."

"No, I don't particularly like doing the reversed version," I told him. I was really hoping Zack could understand my condition more in-depth.

"Weirdo," he replied, throwing quite a suspicious look at me. I knew he understood me only stereotypically, not the way I really was, and so I felt the need to elaborate further, but that was when a chat box popped up on his screen. "Oh! Maya!"

My brain arranged me a sharp draw of air and a light jab onto my knee. "What does she want?" I asked. Then I saw his fingers bombarding the keyboard with vigorousness he'd never before shown except when playing games against pros.

Finished typing, he hoisted up both hands and sank into the chair, gazing at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. "Cody, forgot to tell you," he said. "I have a date with Maya tonight."

My eyes popped. "What?"

"Not really a date actually, it's more of a meeting," he told me while still leaning, which none of the points caught interest in me.

Then he bobbed up and turned to me with a sorry look. "No, it's okay!" he said, holding up his palms facing at me in an attempt to calm me down. "Wait, I'll try asking her if we can simply cancel it." He looked back at the monitor. "Oh no she's offline!"

My spine straightened, at the worrying possibility that it's our date—no—plan that was going to be called off.

He pulled out his cell. "Don't worry, I'll call her." Then he dialed, and waited.

"Hello?"

"Yeah . . . I know."

"Yeah. It sure was. I liked it too."

"Yeah. She always did that."

"Kind of. But true it is."

"At six, of course I do."

"Yeah. Just wait for the Zackman! Haha. See ya later."

Then he hung up, and turned back toward me simpering with his tongue out.

Really, I swear that time I had thrown at him the worst face I'd ever made at anyone or at any oil spill and toxic leak newspapers strip.

"Codes," he fucking voiced. "Make it tomorrow. Can we?"

I didn't answer. But thinking that not that I couldn't wait for another day, it shouldn't bother me much to be submissive—no—permissive for another time.

"Hmm!" I groaned, loud enough to indicate my irritation.

"Great. Tomorrow nine in the morning?"

I nodded. There was no problem with the timing as Woody usually left the room pretty early in the morning. Zack just knew him so well.

"Okay, set." He snapped his fingers and stood up.

My scowl quickly followed him up. "You're done? But there's still so much time left!"

He tightened his belt. "Yeah I know, but let's go to the Plaza Deck"

"For?"

"ATM."

I keyed in my password, then the figure "1000", which casted spell onto my fingers, making them really heavy. And then the last step left me hesitating.

"What're you waiting for?" Zack said behind me. Distant enough not to see my password. "Hit the green button!"

With my tight-shut eyes, I did. I couldn't believe I was going to throw away this crap load of money for something like this. A gigolo would be far cheaper. But I wasn't into cheap stuff. I wanted an ace-class guy.

After making a noisy rumble, the machine spat out a thick pile of purple-grayish banknotes. I snatched them fast, and stuffed them into my wallet.

Zack gave me an uncomfortable look. "So when will I get a hold of that?"

"Just before the service. Like KFC," I told him. "So I'll still have a long night for a thorough think over."

He nodded understanding. Then upon a sudden twist of his neck, "And Cody," he said, briefly pointing at the ceiling and with a worried wide-eyes, "No kissing."

I froze. A moment of thinking.

"Oh, no worry on that," I tell him. "I won't get to your face." I don't usually fantasize kissing him either. I simply couldn't imagine things that are against plausibility.

"And . . . and there'll be no squeezing hugs. No love bites . . ." he continued, as if trying to recall a long list of don'ts. "And above all, no hickeys!"

I was thrown into silence, partly disapproving the "no hugging" and partly wondering what's the difference between "love bite" and "hickey."

But no, I couldn't take it. No way was I going for it without any form of hug at the slightest degree. And thus I suggested an alternative. "Okay let's put it like this." I cut an imaginary line across his chest with my hand. "I'll only touch you from this line down."

He tucked his chin into his neck, looking down at my hand on his chest. "Nah." He grabbed my hand and pushed it down to his belly. "Should be from this point down."

I yanked my hand up, and tucked it into the region right below his chest. "Here! Up to the diaphragm!" Then he grabbed my hand again, but before he could do anything, "This is for one thousand US dollar!" I reminded him.

He gave in, loosening his grip. "Okay." He sighed. "Up until the diagram." Then he flicked my arms away.

"It's 'diaphragm'," I corrected him.

"Yeah. Whatever." He shoved his hands into his pocket and moseyed around me, which soon enough an old lady hobbled in. "Let's go," he said. "Before somebody hits me with her bag." Then he walked away, me following behind.

I walked with him through the hallway. "Zack," I called him as I overtook him. "Zack."

Now I was on the front as I was walking backward. Then I turned my voice sheepish for the next line. "I'll be err . . . sucking you until . . . it comes out, right?"

He nodded, but was looking at the ground, with arms crossed.

"And Zack . . ." I slowed down in front of him, blocking his way, and gradually bringing us into a stop in the middle of the hallway. "Zack . . ."

"What?" He dropped his arms hanging, and made a sullen frown. "What you fucking wanna say now?" he asked, with a tone a little bit resembling mewling.

"Zack, that time . . . when we're doing it. Your hands . . . could they do something like caressing, fondling . . . and such?"

He seemed to stress out, scratching his head. But soon he finally rested his arms on his waist, recovering upon a heavy snort. "Depends," he said. "We'll see how it goes."

"What you mean with 'depends'? It's one thousand dollar!" I yelled, feeling like wanting to whack his head. "Please. Yes, I'm pleading now. Zack!"

He whipped away. "We'll see," he replied, bobbing his head.

"And one more thing," I said.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, looking very annoyed.

I sucked in some air. "Could you . . . moan?"

He pulled back his glance, and completely facing the other direction. He began tapping the floor with his back toward me, arms folding again. "We'll see."

"Zack! It's one thousand!"

"Let's go back." He motioned with his head and strode away, completely ignoring my question, and not bothering if I was following or not. But still, I did.

I was behind him again and was about to pick up speed when—"oh!"—he suddenly halted. I almost bumped into him. He turned around. "So means I couldn't jack off tonight?"

The realization struck me with awe. That was the wisest thing he'd uttered today. "Of course you can't! I want it full-load!"

"Okay, noted." He poked at his head lightly with his finger, then turned back around.

"And eat some chocolate!" I ran toward his front. "And some celeries!" I added. "Also some pineapple juice!"

He gently swiped me to the side. "Yeah I know about that thing much better than you do." Then he began to continue his walk. "But I'm not taking pills," he scowled at me.

I nodded. Then he took another step, before he halted again. "And careful with your teeth."

What a silly reminder. "Yeah I will. Oh do you mean people stuck their teeth often when doing that?

"No. But there's a high bet that you're among the odd."

"Pfft."

"Let's go," he said, and then walked away; and we proceeded making our way to the boys' cabins.

We reached the front of our doors, which are right in front of each other. I saw he jerked the handle about to go in.

"Zack," I called him again as he walked in the doorway.

He jerked his head. "Now what?" He was standing inside the room like about to shut the door close anytime soon.

I couldn't understand myself that time as an abrupt urge to sing suddenly burst into the channel of my throat . . .

"I bought your love and, I bought your revenge, you and me will write a PAID romance..."

"BAM!" a thunderous slam stopped me right off. His door was smashed shut a few feet away in front of me, marking the end of significance for that day.

I stood there before my own door, one hand on the handle, the other one on my back pocket which contained my one-thousand-dollar-filled wallet, the things that I would trade out in exchange of my first time on heaven, the very moment in which I would forgo the Earth, the very instance of something final we called "life."

The circle of light disappears. A cloud hides away the moonlight. There I return to present, in my pitch-dark room, with Blankie in hand.

This is too much. I knew I shouldn't have recalled back the event this afternoon, now I'm even more awake. Damn, if it's not because of that stupid date, Zack and I would have finished doing it already, and now I'll have to wait for a full seven hours, which would be only an instance away if I can simply fall asleep. I need to do something to put myself into sleep. I need to tire myself, which perhaps a good way is to do my nightly ritual that sure will wear me out mentally and physically. And with that, I set Blankie down on the bedside table next to my head.

I pull my cover up to my neck, to better wrapping myself. I couldn't risk myself to Woody suddenly waking up and seeing me doing self service in the middle of the night.

My whole body is under the cover, only my head lying outside of it. I checked upon Woody one last time making sure he is dead asleep, then I look at the bathroom door, for every time I would hold the fire and release it into the toilet bowl. And then with everything secured, I let out a final sigh. I prepare myself for this last pre-visit to heaven.

I run my hands down, not to fast as to avoid any loud rustling, and tuck my thumb into the edge of my boxer. Quickly I pull it down and rest the waist band around my thighs, and my member flicks up like a wobbly man, only much jerkier, immediately rubbing against the silky surface of the cover, which is totally odd because usually upon release it would simply tumble down onto my navel. But this time however, it just refuses to go down, even forming a huge tent across the cover. Tonight it's just so inexplicably hard.

I grab it around the shaft with three fingers, not wrapping it with entire hand for that will finish things up all too quickly, and then I slowly push the foreskin up, so that it rewraps the whole glans. Then I pull it back open again. And with that I close my eyes, and let Zack fills my thought in this every-night movie. Only that tonight it'll be different. I have to adjust so much on the details so that it goes along with reality, also I couldn't just release my seed as usual. I have a theory that fully loaded testes and glands will bring more sexual excitement over empty ones, which I should save it for tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to do it with myself fully loaded. Upon noting that, my hand begins fondling my hard-on below, and the picture starts moving in head.

He's sitting on a chair, leaning, and legs open; and I'm kneeling below him, my head is sticking near the corner between his thighs. The tip of his hard-on is right above my nose, about touching.

There's no pube, no bush; just pure white crotch, rooted upon by an obelisk of heavy flesh, leaning at about forty-five degree, twitching occasionally at the breaths from my nose. I bring my nose closer. I jam his tip into my nostril. Then I inhale.

I touch my own hard-on right below the ring of my glans, wetting my finger with the moisture; then I bring it over to my nose. Sniff. "Aahhh . . ." That's how it smells like; Zack's member.

"Now fucking take it all in," he says, thrusting his hip forward, his penis hooking my head up and to the back.

"Okay," I replied, and to no hesitation and restraint, I stuff the giant into my mouth. I manage to tuck in the glans behind my teeth.

I push further down, and take in more than half the length. It's like a sausage.

His head is thrown to the back, mouth open and his jaw quivering like wanting to bite the air. "Ahhh," I hear he makes a loud sighs. Then in a total sudden, his shaft flexes up abruptly.

It drags my entire head up upon its swing. I practically lift my entire body up, to join the motion. My head eventually touches his abdomen.

He begins panting; and slowly, his shaft relaxes down, slowly, until it's back to its initial angle. My head follows it down; it's like a gearstick that actually controls me.

"Again . . ." Zack summons me from above with a breathy voice of an old man.

"Aahhh . . ." Another loud sigh. "Quick . . ."

And with that, I get myself ready to impale my own throat. I slot his length into my mouth, like a katana into its sheath. Tight fit.

Slowly, his length shoves in deeper and deeper into my mouth. His tip advances across the surface of my tongue. Then reaching the end of it, into the throat.

Halfway along his length, "ngaahh . . ." this time he moaned, for real; for there is vocal instead of pure gushing air. And thus I continue. I push it further in, even deeper.

Starting from some point along the length, my mouth eventually have to gape to the widest as the diameter increases down the root. But at last, I feel my lower lip nudges against the skin holding his hanging testicles.

I go for one final push. His penis head latches deep in my throat, the entire bell-end is now behind my tongue. Then I realize my lips have fully kissed the surface of his crotch. I move my lower lip, left and right, fondling the rather loose skin below.

"ARGH!" he groans loud; and instantly I feel tremor spreading along his length; oh no it's about to flex up again, only this time it has been all in and into my throat.

His penis begins to swing up, and I can only wince at the incoming catapulting. Just in time though, Zack throws his upper body forward and incurvates into his waist—"ugh!"—and that nullifies the upward swing of his length, saving my head from being hooked upward in a violent stir.

His body is now bent forward, practically crouching; only that he's sitting on a chair, with my head still stuck at his groin. "You still okay?" he asked with quite a worried look on his face, about to straighten back up. I nodded, totally forgetting that his whole length is still deep in my mouth, and thus jerking it altogether.

"ARGH!" he cringes again in a wild swing of his upper body, sending his abdomen and chest into an arc over the top of my head.

With his shoulders somewhere on top of the back of my head, he holds my head with both hands like holding a basket ball, and pushes me gently into his abdomen; then I feel his hard-on relaxes a little, recovering from the flicker. "Don't worry," he tells me. "I don't lean back into the chair; we'll continue like this."

With him proceeding in his current position, he tucks his finger into my hair and carefully pulls my head away, slowly unsheathing his length, revealing centimeter by centimeter of wet white skin, until his tip reaches the tip of my tongue; and there he stops; and jams my head back toward his crotch.

There I pause, halting my train of thought, and I slow down my stroking hand. I can feel my testes have just squeezed out the sperms into the duct. This means I have to jump to the part where Zack hits orgasm.

"Arhhh!" Zack groans, jerking my head up and down along the axis of his length. His entire length goes in, and then out of my mouth, wildly, and rapidly. His skin and my tongue are fondling each other.

His whole length is getting noticeably harder and harder. I can feel that with my tongue.

The root of my length itches.

"Codes! Get ready to drink! ARH!" he groans, very loud, like a father going to give birth to a child. "ARGH! Watch out it'll be more than a mouthful! ARH!"

I stopped my hand.

His entire form halts, his toes shrink, head thrown to the back, eyelids and fists tightly clenches; and it's a split second of silence when "AARGH!" an outburst of liquid in my oral cavity instantly filling my mouth full.

I quickly pull his length out when "ARGH!" an elephant load of semen smashes onto my entire face, and it starts to dribble down.

I tried to lick the slime trickling down beside my mouth when "UGH!" I feel my shoulder like has just taken a shower, of viscous mayonnaise.

He's panting hard, with a very loud breathing through his snarling mouth; his face is like just being tortured by intense pleasure.

He looks down at me, with eyes hardly open, then he pulls my semen-topped face over to his member, and levels my slightly gaped lips right in front of his tip, which is still oozing out excess semen. "Don't waste it."

I smile to him. Then I cup my lips onto his tip, and slurp in the remaining bit.

"Great job, Codes," he says, still panting hard. "I think I'll just . . . make it free then." He takes in a deep breath again. "It's free Codes . . . It's just . . . too great."

And there the show ends. I sink back into my mattress, panting hard; with hand still wrapping my steel-hard erection. Good thing I managed to hold the fire just on time. I must save it for tomorrow. Tomorrow I must enjoy it to the fullest.

The only thing that I realize is that I am so exhausted. And with my all-too-tired state of mind, I can finally put myself into sleep, awaiting the real thing tomorrow. The thing that is not my mental movie, the thing that happens without me directing it, the thing that goes through my senses, the thing that is material, and real.

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