Catharsis

The teen stud recoiled, a look of sharp anger in his face. He grabbed the blond man's wrist, and yanked his hand back out with such, sudden, violent force as to draw a collective gasp from the table.

"Come, come now, what's all this then?" said a darkly attired, patrician looking English gentleman sitting to the right of the Francophile.

"Poor baby, doesn't know what he signed up for," said a thin, willowy Japanese man to the left of the Francophile. He spoke with the kind of catty relish that was the exclusive province of high school age mean girls and certain gay men.

"I know its cliché, but it really must be hard to find good help these days," the blond man said.

"Well, then, perhaps it might be good to find the help hard," the Englishman said.

"You heard him. Go on, get hard for us, faggot!" The blond man shouted, in his high, reedy voice.

The Japanese man tittered at this outburst, as if the blond man had uttered a fabulously witty bon mot.

Asad was struggling to contain his anger. Any ordinary human being would have already buckled under the strain of knowing he was to be used to gratify the sexual desires of a dirty old man, quite against his will. It was no mean feat to keep a calm expression as fat, balding forty and fifty something Vice Presidents tucked twenties into one's jock, merely to satisfy the urge to graze one's pubic region, to caress the base of one's cock, an urge they felt fully entitled to satisfy. And Asad was no ordinary individual; he was the definition of a Big Man on Campus, a boy used to other people trying to impress him.

And so the teen's reaction when the blond man ran his hand over Asad's washboard abs was inevitable.

"Fuck off!" Asad said.

The guests at the table broke into laughter. Other diners turned to look at the little comedy unfolding in their midst.

"What a dirty mouth you have on you, baby. I know just what will put it to good use," the Asian said.

Asad ignored him, his cheeks burning hot. He turned, and began striding back toward the house, no longer fearing the consequences. He'd had enough.

Coach Jacobs trailed after him. The teen had made it half-way up the stairs, when the older man stopped him.

"I don't know why you're throwing a hissy fit. Do you, or don't you want to be of debt?"

"Yeah, but fuck, man- I'm not going to let some old perv take my anal cherry."

"But you are."

Jacobs patted Asad on the shoulder. The teen lowered his gaze, his head hanging low.

"I'm going to be taking your anal cherry."

"You?"

"Why the hell not? I'm your coach. If anyone here is entitled to that particular prize, it's me. Believe me, you're getting a good deal. I have no idea where many of my guests have been, but a few of them like to travel abroad..."

Asad struggled to digest this. The teen had to admit he felt slightly better. If he had to engage in homosexual activity, at least it wouldn't be with a total stranger. A part of the teen couldn't help but be glad Coach was fit, and good-looking.

"What about my debt?"

"I'll consider the matter settled, after tonight."

Jacobs led Asad to the living room, and instructed him to sit down, and try to relax.

"Let me get you a drink. A little liquid courage is obviously what this situation calls for," Jacobs said.

The older man went to his kitchen, and poured Asad a shot of apple brandy, a traditional French palate cleanser.

Jacobs then crushed a couple of Viagra tablets with the hilt of a steak knife. He scooped up the powder, and dumped it into the glass. The teen wasn't going to know, but not knowing wouldn't hurt him.

He returned to the living room, and handed Asad the drugged drink.

"Thank you," Asad said.

The teen swallowed the shot. The liquid was hot and sweet going down his throat.

"Here, you need this tonight."

Jacobs cut three lines of coke on a small mirror. He handed Asad a crisp dollar bill. The teen rolled it up, and bent down over the mirror...

One by one, the lines of coke disappeared.

Asad's nose burned, but he felt his brain light up like a roman candle. His eyes widened, his lips curling into a smile.

"Feeling better now?" Jacobs asked.

"Yeah. A lot better."

"Get out there, and flash your pearly whites. It's just one night, Asad."

The teen walked back out into the garden.

It was impossible to encapsulate the feeling of total superiority Asad felt to these horny old queens, even as he paraded himself around for them like a common gigolo.

Asad moved from table to table, with the glorious unashamed feeling of someone pin wheeling out into oblivion. He was amused by the stares, by the sheer, undignified animal hunger he aroused in the carefully composed and groomed partygoer's faces. He felt, in fact, like Superman. No, even better, like the Nietzsche ubermesnch he had written his paper on for his AP philosophy class. Faggots, he thought, with an undisguised smirk.

The old cocaine was working its magic.

In his mind, there was deep distinction between ordinary gay men he could respect as real human beings, like his old friends who harbored tender schoolboy crushes on him, and the openly predatory, mincing, ravenous faggots who had gathered at Jacobs' house that night for a feeding frenzy of teenaged cock. Yes sir, he thought, there was real difference between the two, just as surely as a difference between ordinary black people, and...how did that Chris Rock routine go again?

Still, Asad managed to make his way to all the tables with a smile, after the shot of apple brandy, and the coke.

Eventually, he found his way back to Table No.17, the Francophile' table. This time, he was able to feign a flirty attitude for the high society johns.

"Glad to see your attitude's improved," the platinum blond fag said.

Asad said nothing, as he set down a White Russian in front of him. The blond man rudely stuck his hand down Asad's jock. He smiled up at the Croatian boy, as if daring him to say anything.

The teen maintained a stoic expression as he was fondled. The Francophile's fingers were smooth, delicate, moisturized. They worked the length of Asad's shaft, squeezing, and pulling with the eagerness of a freshman on his first date.

To his utter shame, Asad sprung an erection at once. He managed to keep his composure.

"Your attention is truly flattering, sir" Asad said, reasonably, "but table number seven is still waiting for their drinks."

Blondie giggled.

"I like this one, he exudes a certain joie de vivre," He said.

The older man slipped a hundred dollar bill into his jock, his knuckles brushing Asad's sweaty scrotum. It was his first really big tip of the evening.

The Francophile watched Asad walk over to another table, making careful note of the boy's firm ass in motion. Yes, it was exactly right. He eagerly placed his bid, jotting down two thousand dollars for No. 38 onto a slip of paper with his Mont Blanc Agatha Christie ballpoint pen. He was to be sorely disappointed, however.

The boy who collected the bid slips informed him that the Croatian stud was not to be bid on. Thoroughly flummoxed, the blond man sought out his host for clarification, and got it.

But the answer was not quite to his satisfaction.

"Come on, Henry, let me bid on the Arab," the Francophile said.

"He's ain't Arabic. He's a Croatian." Henry explained.

"Oh, call it what you want, he's perfect. I've never seen an ass like that. And his dick looks glorious tenting out that jock. Hell, the boy is just an all-around magnificent specimen, a fortuitous confluence of excellent genetics and rigorous self-discipline."

"Exactly. We might be able to work something out for another night, but tonight I'm that boy's master, Nikko," Henry said.

The Francophile, not used to having his whims and desires thwarted in such a decisive manner, sulked, and wandered off to mingle with the other guests.

Henry wasn't worried. Something would be worked out later, but tonight the boy was his. He had decided to forgive Asad's debt, because despite his outwardly rugged exterior, Henry nursed a variety of remembrances and regrets dating from his own high school years. Being human, these remembrances and regrets every so often took precedence over monetary matters.

The world of literature had recorded many a story of men who had lost themselves for the love of an unattainable woman. The vast catalogue of this sort of affliction (this very particularly male sort of affliction) was by and large bereft of homosexual equivalents. And yet, there was hardly a gay man who in his time had not lived out his own pocket size variant of The Sorrows of Young Werther or Gatsby, and so it had been with Coach Henry Jacobs.

Even now, Jacobs was haunted by the beauty, the sheer masculine beauty of a boy he had once known, a boy very much like Asad Udovicic. Only his name had been Masood, and he had a much darker complexion, his speech rougher, less Americanized. Little details bubbled to the surface unexpectedly from time to time: taking Masood's cock in his mouth, the first he had fellated, ever; the salty taste of the boy's olive skin; the sun setting over South Padre island on the summer he lost his anal virginity to Masood, the dying rays of light burning a brilliant orange, as a cool breeze rose from the gulf.

These images and sensations played about in his head, colliding with other, less joyful recollections. He recalled Masood abruptly ending their relationship as graduation loomed near, the veins standing out his neck, as he intoned the word "abomination" in his thick, gun metal baritone...

It was time to lay the ghost of that summer to rest, Jacobs thought. Tonight, it would be done.

By the time the party began winding down around the start of the witching hour, Asad's jock was ready to burst, as much as from the strain engendered by his mammoth penis as from the equally fat wad of cash all of the revelers had stuffed in there with it. The cumulative total of all these gratuities came to a princely nine hundred and seventy-six dollars.

"Great party, man," the Asian queen said, in the foyer of Jacobs' country house. His arm was draped around Jake, who was fully dressed again. He glanced slyly in Asad's direction, and smiled.

Asad did not acknowledge the smile.

"Try not to rough up the Croatian's ass too bad. Or at least, save me a piece, if you do," the Japanese man said, laughing.

And then the door closed behind them, and there was silence. Asad and Jacobs were alone.

"You'll be sucking dick tonight, boy," Coach Jacobs said, hands on his hips.

Asad was already feeling like shit. Coming down from a coke high always left him feeling in the gutter, and his present circumstances were no help. He wanted more than anything for this night to be over.

Jacobs led the boy up the stairs once more, this time into the master bedroom, into the smell of sandalwood, and mint. Next to the big queen size bed was a bottle of bubbly, slanting, its long neck catching the moonlight in a thin, diagonal white slash. It had been sitting in a bucket of melting ice for a while now.

There were no wine glasses to be seen anywhere in the room. Asad had seen enough rap videos to know what was going to happen.

Jacobs picked up the bottle of champagne. It was a Louis Roederer Cristal Brut from 2005. The bottle's gold foil wrapper gleamed elegantly in the dark.

Henry jabbed with his sommelier's knife, and uncorked the bottle, making a single loud pop. Hissing foam splattered Asad's face, the bubbles tickling his nose. He opened his eyes, just as another gout of cold, creamy Chardonnay splashed against his chest. Goose flesh rose up and down Asad's arms as the sweet, sticky fluid streamed down his rippling abs, dripping onto the carpet below...

Coach Jacobs did not seem to care about that last, minor detail.

The older man stepped out of his shoes, and unzipped his pants. He took off his clothes with trembling, eager fingers. Jacobs was a fit, and very young looking forty-one. He was not overly muscular, but he exuded an aura of manliness that earned him respect from his boys, and attention from their moms. A dark treasure trail led down from his navel to this thick pubic patch.

His penis was six inches, flaccid.

The older man dropped to his knees. He pulled Asad's soaked Under Armour jockstrap down, slowly, savoring the moment, giving the act an air of ceremony.

The teen's penis was truly a sight to behold. Seeing it, Jacobs felt something like respect and awe; a cock like Asad's lurked as an ideal, deep in the primitive lizard brains of men, and had done so, since time immemorial. Swords of war, scepters of royalty, and skyscrapers housing financial institutions could all trace their ancestry back to a collective unconscious need to venerate the power and majesty of thing that dangled between the teenager's legs.

"So fucking beautiful," Jacobs said, in the same, breathless tone as the blond junkie.

Asad felt the Coach's hot breath on his exposed cock, as the man considered his next move...

But Henry pulled away from the boy's dick at the last second. No, not just yet, he thought.

Jacobs brought the jock strap to his nose, and sniffed the delightful fruity notes from the champagne, blended with the natural, musky aroma from Udovicic's cock and balls.

The Coach stuffed the wet white pouch of the support garment into his mouth, and sucked it until the flavor was gone.

Now, it was the boy's turn.

He licked Asad clean from head to toe, while being careful to avoid the boy's genitalia. Udovicic couldn't help but be reminded of an old orange tabby cat he had once had, and how it had tended to, and groomed its babies, bathing them with her sandpapery tongue.

The older man enjoyed the taste of the boy, loved his clean, masculine scent, compounded of sweat and Gillette Arctic Ice.

Time for the main course, the older man thought. He could no longer restrain himself.

Jacobs pulled his lips over his teeth, and clamped them to a rubbery flap of Asad's scrotal pouch. The Coach tugged and teased the teen's balls

A wave of unreality swept over Udovicic. Coach Henry Jacobs was gargling his sack! The teen's nerve endings were helpless against this attack...

The older man looked pleased with his effect on the teen. But it was not enough.

"I bet I suck better dick than that slut Amy," Coach said.

Jacobs tickled the teen's monstrous, coral colored glans with the tip of his tongue, until little moans of pleasure escaped from Asad's throat. He began swallowing the enormous rod, savoring the taste, his tongue swirling manically around its prodigious girth. The dick's thick dorsal vein throbbed against the roof of Jacobs' mouth.

Little by little, the teen's erection disappeared down the older man's throat, until Jacob's nose was buried in Asad's dark pubic hair. The older man's nostrils flared, greedily sucking up the teen's scent.

"Shit, you're really fucking good at this, Coach!" Asad blurted out, to his own surprise.

The teen threw his head back, eyes shut, mouth agape as a sound escaped his throat-a single vowel stretched out interminably, in the dark. Coach Jacobs brought him to the edge several times, all the while keeping a careful eye on the boy's sack. When the teen's nuts began to retract into his abdomen, he stopped what he was doing.

Jacobs waited until the teen's erection nearly subsided, and then went to work, bringing it back to life.

This went on for a half hour, before Jacobs felt it was time for a little ass play.

The older man ran his finger along the intergluteal cleft, colloquially known as "the crack". Coach Jacobs was a pygophile, and was obsessed with male asses, the way some Jefferson Davis High dads obsessed over certain brands of cigars, and their wives lost their minds over the perfect pair of shoes.

He raised his hand, and struck the kid's ass with his flat palm, making a hard, angry sound. Asad jumped, startled. Henry did it again and again, in a paroxysm of animal rage --whack-whack-whack- until Asad's cheeks bloomed an angry red.

Not satisfied, Coach Jacobs stood up, and slid his hard dick up and down vertically, between Asad's ass cheeks, his balls bouncing against the boy's hole...a little preview of coming attractions.

The older man spun the teen around to face him.

"You ever suck dick before?" Jacobs asked.

"No," Asad said. The teen's face was hard, the eyebrows furrowed, eyes unblinking, fearless.

"A first time for everything, though, ain't that right?"

Asad looked away, unable to respond.

Coach Jacobs placed his hands on the teen's shoulders, and exerted gentle downward pressure. The teen did not was resist, and was soon on his knees in front of Jacobs' boner.

The older man held the boys' head in his hands, like a vise, and lightly slapped Asad's face with the business end of his dick.

Udovicic winced, closing his eyes shut.

"Now suck it," Jacobs said.

Asad took the older man into his mouth, keeping his eyes closed.

"No. Look at me," Coach said.

Asad looked up at the older man, with wide, innocent eyes. This must be what my girlfriends feel like, Udovicic thought. He was surprised, and relieved at how little the Coach's penis tasted like anything.

The teen tried to replicate Jacobs' moves, moving his tongue around the older man's shaft.

Jacobs smiled down at the boy. He inserted himself all the way inside Asad's handsome face, not stopping until he heard him gagging.

Then he started thrusting his cock like a jackhammer...

Jacobs face-fucked the teen until he about to spill his seed, and the he stopped.

"Get in bed, I want to fuck the shit out of you," Jacobs whispered in Asad's ear.

Asad climbed onto the bed. The Egyptian cotton was cool beneath his hands and knees. Nothing to it, but to do it, Udovicic thought.

Henry squirted a glob of KY Jelly onto his shaft. This was it. It was finally happening.

The Coach's glistening dickhead tickled the teen's virgin hole...

"Are you wearing a rubber, Coach?" Asad asked, straining to look back over his shoulder.

"Rubber? L-O-L, as you kids might say. Not in my house, son. I ride bareback."

Jacobs thrust his cock inside Asad. The boy shouted in pain. It burned.

"Coach, go soft on me," Asad said.

"Relax your sphincter," Jacobs barked, ignoring his plea.

Asad was groaning, and grinding his teeth in agony as a column of fire shot up his anus with every thrust.

"Get into it, I want you to say, "Give it to me, motherfucker," Jacobs said.

Coach brought his hand down on Asad's ass like a carriage driver cracking the whip. The teen impaled himself on the older man's erection again and again, ignoring the pain, his firm ass cheeks slapping against Jacobs' thighs, the bed springs squeaking under him with every .

"Unghhhhhhhhhhh!"

The temperature rose by degrees in the room. It filled with their exhalations, and body heat, until the atmosphere was almost swampy.

To his surprise, Udovicic was beginning to enjoy all this.

Asad's erection became a leaky faucet, and a damp patch of spilled pre-cum grew quickly beneath it. The teen had always been curious about what it would be like to be the woman, after mounting more than his fair share. He had never imagined it could be this good.

Abruptly, Coach nailed Asad's G-spot with a vicious thrust of his cock- the teen shuddered, unable to stifle a cry from deep within himself.

Music to my ears, Jacobs thought, grinning.

I must be gay, as well, Asad thought, dismally, before quickly correcting himself, no, bi, I must be bi. The latter option was infinitely more acceptable in his mind, galvanized as it was against bigotry by his American upbringing. His Eastern European roots were still strong enough to necessitate just such a sop to his masculinity.