written and illustrated by Yin Twig (陰 茎)
“Did you get the milk?” Fleet Hall—Platt’s father—asked in a quiet monotone. “I went to put milk in my cereal this morning, but I couldn’t find the milk, so I had to use mayonnaise.”
“You didn’t buy the milk, did you?” Fleet Hall continued. “I asked you to buy the milk yesterday, and you said, ‘Yes dad,’ and then you left the house for a long time and then I went to bed before you got back and now there is still no milk.”
“Sorry, Dad, I forgot to pick up the milk,” Platt said. “I went to get it, but when I was walking there I ran into Ike, and it’s been a while since I saw him last, and then we went to the… I mean, I lost track of time.”
“Did you go to the circus?” Fleet Hall asked, his pale eyes burning into Platt’s skull.
“I would never go to a circus, Dad! Like you always say, circuses are the Devil’s playgroup. Don’t worry; I would never go to a circus.”
Fleet Hall’s eyes fell on the melted cotton candy in its decorative bag that Platt had bought at the circus yesterday and then forgotten to hide properly. Platt waited for the explosion of paranoid banter, but it never came. Maybe his father hadn’t noticed, or maybe he didn’t care to draw the obvious conclusion. Fleet Hall simply frowned as he usually did and continued: “The Devil’s playgroup, yes. Now go get milk. I want cereal for lunch. Also, there are three people on the front doorstep. They’ve been there since dawn. Make them leave.”
“Are you sure they’ve been there since dawn?” Platt asked.
“Yes, they stepped on the doorstep sensor and I’ve been watching them through the security cameras. They knock on the door and they talk to each other and they don’t leave.”
“Is it zealots?”
“No, zealots don’t wear leotard,” Fleet Hall said. “Make them leave.”
Dressed, shaved, and showered, Platt was ready to face the world and the ‘three people on the doorstep’. Platt squinted at them through the grainy feed from the three different cameras that monitored the front landing, ignoring the other cameras, whose feeds were showing various scenic views of the grass waving in the back yard and a squirrel chewing on some garbage, which could safely be considered not to be a threat.
On the doorstep, there were three of them, three men.
The shortest man was about five feet tall and probably weighed as much as the squirrel. He had tanned skin and a deep widow’s peak of black hair. He was completely covered by a blue leotard with a thunderbolt pattern, except for a hole for his face to stick out of. He had the temperament of a house fly, alternating between standing at the door in various odd contortions and then doing backflips across the front lawn.
If the smallest man was a fly, then the tallest man was a mammoth. His shoulders were as wide as the short man was tall, with biceps the size of basketballs. His bald head gleamed in the mid-morning light. He wore only as much leotard as it took to cover his muscular groin and tight buttocks, leaving exposed the rest of his oiled, glistening muscles. He carried an oversized sign that said: “Wiener!”
The middle one looked like he was of normal height, contrasting with both the pebble and the mountain. His shaggy blonde hair reached his shoulders, and he stroked his stubbly chin as he stood watching the door, as though willing it to open. He, too, wore a leotard, this one which covered him from foot to waist in glittering gold. Platt tried to wrench his eyes away from the man’s crotch, which seemed both enormous and oddly lumpy.
There’s nothing to worry about, Platt repeated to himself. I will be personable and friendly and then they will realize that they are bothering the wrong people and they will leave on their own. Maybe they’re lost and have decided that this house, in a neighbourhood full of other houses, is the only house that they will go to.
Even as he thought it, the excuse sounded weak, but Platt was damned if he was going to let them intimidate him. It wasn’t good to be cooped up with his father for too long. After just under a month of living at home, he’d gone from being a well-adjusted college graduate to being a squinting cave-dweller who startled at small noises.
Get it together, Platt.
So he walked softly, leaving through the back door of the house and creeping around the side. He also carried a big stick — well, shower curtain rod. They didn’t have any actual weapons in the house because of Fleet Hall’s insistence that ‘a good defence is a really, really good defence’. Sticks were for people who didn’t have security cameras.
It was like they were expecting him. As Platt rounded the front corner of the house, he ran smack dab into the sightlines of all three men. For an instant, the world stopped as Platt considered his best options for survival:
Freeze in panic? Yes, freezing, that was just the thing.
In the same way that he froze every time he tried to face down the mountain of job applications that were burning a hole through the desk in his bedroom, Platt stood his ground in paralyzed, barely veiled panic. The shower rod fell out of his moist hand and bounced noiselessly off of the grass.
Fortunately for Platt, they didn’t seem to intend him any harm. Instead, they seemed happy to see him.
“Yay!” said the smallest man, leaping four feet in the air.
“Hurray!” said the middle-sized man, who caught the small man mid-leap and set him gently on the ground.
The tallest man waved the ‘Wiener!’ sign in the air and shouted: “Winner!”
“What are you doing here?” Platt asked, looking around to see if any of the neighbours could see them. Fortunately the summer’s tree cover did a magnificent job of shielding the house from view, just as Fleet Hall had intended when he hired the gardeners to plant the trees and all the ivy.
“Give prize,” said the tall one.
“You won a prize; we’re here to deliver it,” said the middle one.
“You won a prize at the circus,” said the small one.
“How did I win a prize?” Platt asked. “And don’t mention the word circus around here.”
“We asked you to write down wishes,” said the middle one. “To get the free samples.”
“You sure had a lot of free samples,” said the small one. “What an appetite!”
“I didn’t realize that there was a prize,” Platt said. The free samples had all been way better than his current all-cereal diet. “I thought that the samples were the prize. So what do I win?”
“Give greatest wish,” said the tall one.
“My greatest wish?” Platt said. “What? I never wrote down anything about that.”
“We have all of the papers that you submitted,” said the small one. “You won the draw, so we analyzed all of your wishes using our CandyGram analysis tool—which has been proven to be 99% effective—and determined your greatest wish, which is to make love to a hot man.”
“And to be gifted with a kilogram of cashews,” said the middle one, pulling a bag out of the front of his leotard and handing it to Platt. “It was a tie.”
“I never wrote that!” Platt protested. He opened the bag, which contained unsalted cashews at crotch temperature.
“You didn’t write that. You wrote other things, and the CandyGram analysis tool figured out what you really meant,” the middle man explained.
“I’ve never seen anyone who liked cashews as much as they liked sex before!” said the small man.
“High protein,” added the tall one. “Like beef and my penis.”
“Who are you people?” Platt asked, burying his head in his hands.
“I Strong Man,” said the tall one.
“I am Acrobat,” said the short one.
“I am Lion Tamer,” said the medium one. “The CandyGram analysis was inconclusive as to which type of man you would prefer, so we are all here as suitable candidates for your prize.”
“My greatest wish is that you will all go away,” Platt said. “Please grant it.”
“Social isolation did feature in your CandyGram analysis, though much further down on the list,” said Lion Tamer. “Please make your selection of which one of us you find the most attractive so that we can proceed with granting your deepest wish.”
“I’m not attracted to men in leotards,” Platt said, his face burning.
“That’s fine,” said Acrobat. “I can take it off. I can take it all off.” And, right there on the front lawn he started doing just that, in full view of at least two of Platt’s father’s security cameras.
“Ha ha!” said Lion Tamer, doffing his pants in mere seconds. “You say that I am so slow and bulky. Who is slow and bulky now?”
“Stop that, you can’t do that out here!”
Acrobat was now naked to his waist and was playing with the zipper in the small of his back.
“Let me help you with that, Acrobat,” said Lion Tamer. Lion Tamer’s mini-lion flapped in the crisp mid-morning air as he strode across the lawn to stand behind Acrobat and rest his hands on the latter’s taut behind, slowly pulling the zipper down, while making a sound like a purr.
Strong Man simply tore the speedo-sized leotard from off his loins and let the pieces flutter to rest on the grass. His enormous, swollen member sprang free of its trappings and bounced three times before coming to rest, perfectly parallel to the grass of the front lawn.
“No more leotard,” Strong Man said simply. Then flexed his biceps and humped the air.
“Stop!” Platt yell-screamed, like he hadn’t done since he was camp counsellor at the Owen Valley Summer Camp for Hyperactive Children. “I’m supposed to decide which of you is the most attractive, but instead of trying to impress me, you’re all just gallivanting around the lawn like a bunch of five year olds fresh out of the bathtub? You are not taking this nearly seriously enough!”
“Serious,” Strong Man said slowly. “Challenge?”
“Yes… a challenge!” Acrobat said. He shrieked in happiness and then in one quick handspring was free of all of his clothes. “Yes, let’s do a challenge. I love challenges!”
“Of course, a challenge,” Lion Tamer said, raising one eyebrow and smiling with only one side of his mouth. He said it with a vaguely French accent, so it sounded more like ‘chah-launge‘. “I am interested.”
“Okay, fine, yes,” Platt said. “A challenge. Let’s do a challenge. Follow me. I’ll take you to the… challenge area.”
“So, I heard that you had three naked men on your lawn.” Platt’s neighbour Ike said, emerging from the trees lining the sidewalk.
“Ike! What are you doing here?” Platt squeaked.
“Your dad called and said that you might need some backup,” Ike said. “But it looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
“Heh, yep. Under control. That sure is what this is.” Platt grimaced.
“Are these your college buddies?” Ike asked. “You didn’t tell me that anyone was coming to town for a visit.”
“They’re not my buddies!” Platt said. “I don’t even know them.”
“We’re his lovers,” said Acrobat. He licked his lips seductively.
“No!” Platt said. “That’s not it at all.”
“Three lovers,” Ike said. “Wow. When you went off to college, I assumed you’d come back with a swanky job and a bunch of money. But you really took it up a notch and came home with no job and a bunch of lovers. I, a humble handyman contractor, could never understand this sort of largesse.”
Platt choked momentarily.
“It’s not like that,” Platt said. “They’re competing… I mean only one of them will…”
“You’ve got three naked dudes in your yard, competing for your affection.”
“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, kind of.”
“I’m going to win the competition. Then I’m going to introduce him to Mufasa,” Lion Tamer interjected.
“Who’s Mufasa?” Ike said.
“I’d call him my cock, but that would be wrong, because Mufasa is a vicious lion,” said Lion Tamer, gesturing at Mufasa, his cock. “Anyways, it’s not so much of a competition, really, because we know roughly what sort of man he is looking for—we’re here to fulfil his deepest desire that he wrote about yesterday at the circus…”
“…I mean carnival—and so he just needs to narrow down who it is that is the winner for each of the categories.” Lion Tamer finished.
Acrobat beamed. “Don’t worry, I’ll totally be the winner.”
“A competition,” said Ike, beaming in his usual laid-back relaxed sort of way that always made Platt smile, like those times when they’d used to hang out together on the roof of the grocery store and talk about their futures, back before they went their separate ways after high school. It was different seeing him now, all successful with a job and a direction in life. This, while Platt was still trying and failing to sort out those pesky job applications.
“I’ll play, too.” Ike said.
“Not one of us,” said Strong Man. “You no count.”
“I’ll just play anyways,” Ike said. “Calm down. I like to win.”
“The CandyGram Analysis tool thought that you might insist on a competition.” Lion Tamer said. “So it went ahead and prepared the outline for a competition, to be judged by Platt. There are ten competitive categories on the list, and the one who has the most points is the winner, and is the one that you want to make love to…”
“He means spend the night with,” said Acrobat.
“Pork,” said Strong Man.
“I assume he means fuck,” said Ike. “And you’re cool with this, Platt?”
“So, um,” Platt said, feeling his face start to flush. “I mean, I guess I probably should have told you before now, but, well, you know…”
“College, huh,” said Ike.
“No! I mean, I was always like this, and…”
And then Ike cocked his head to the side and seemed to take in the surroundings from a new light, and Platt realized that there was nothing in the history of being gay that would mean that the current scenario was anything but incredibly and astonishingly odd.
“The first indicator is height,” Lion Tamer interrupted, silencing Ike with a stern glare. He now carried a sheaf of printed papers. Platt could not understand how he got them, since he still wore no clothes. “CandyGram analysis fixed the desirable height at five feet seven inches tall.”
“Sweet!” said Ike. “I’m exactly that tall. I win!”
“You’re not playing,” said Lion Tamer. “So in fact, I win, since I am five feet, eleven inches tall. Strong Man is seven and a half feet tall and Acrobat is five feet tall.”
“Don’t I get a say in this one?” Platt said.
“No,” said Acrobat. “This one is purely mathematical.”
“You’re a chemical scientist guy, you’d think you’d understand numbers better,” Ike said, sticking out his tongue.
“Chemist,” Platt said automatically. “And I do understand numbers, I just…”
“Then you understand why you don’t get a say,” said Lion Tamer. “The second indicator is hair colour. The person you prefer has hair that is dark.”
“Like me!” said Acrobat.
“Me too,” said Strong Man.
“Me three,” said Ike.
“You don’t count!” said Lion Tamer. “And I will point out that I dye my hair blonde. Its natural colour is a dark brown.”
“Then you all get points,” said Platt. “I don’t care that much about hair colour.”
Platt was struck with the memory of when they were fourteen when he’d shown Ike—well, Sarah at the time—how to put the gel in his hair in the way that made it look really amazing. It was still weird to think back to that time and to Sarah, that somber, elfin girl that Platt thought he’d known.
The change had probably started with the crew cut and with the crew cut came the use of way too much gel, which had resulted in a horrible Draco Malfoy sheen. Platt remembered massaging tiny bits of gel into Sarah’s very short hair until it stuck up just the way that made Sarah look a bit more like the Ike he was now. Platt forced his mind back to the task at hand.
“The next one is… hmm.” Lion Tamer rifled through the papers. “It’s so strange that none of your indicators factor in penis length or girth. You’d think that would be one of the things that you would care about in a potential partner.”
Well, it’s not like I’ve ever seen the parts I’m interested in, Platt thought, but instead he said: “That’s so shallow. I’m really all about the personality of a potential partner.”
“I see. The next factor is that their first name must rhyme with ‘psych’,” Lion Tamer continued.
“My real name is Mike,” said Acrobat, waggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
“I Spike,” said Strong Man.
“I am called Jake,” said Lion Tamer.
Ike didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His raised eyebrow said it all.
Platt’s cheeks burned. Were all of these factors going to directly point him to Ike? Platt had no intention of ruining his friendship with Ike just so that a bunch of circus freaks could validate their computer analysis tool, even if it was entirely too accurate.
He had to end this. “Jake? That’s not right at all. Points for Strong Man and Acrobat,” Platt said. “And look at that. You’re all tied. Forget about the other indicators. I’m too indecisive. You might as well go home and consider the prize awarded.”
“Oh no,” said Lion Tamer. “We will move directly to the elimination round; whoever is the best in bed is the one who takes it all.”
“What?” Platt said. “But that doesn’t even make sense! That means that the winner would sleep with me twice.”
“Twice? The winner would sleep with you as many times as you wanted!” said Acrobat happily. “That’s why it’s a prize!”
“I go first,” said Strong Man, muscling his way to the front of the line. In one swift gesture, he swept Platt off his feet and began lumbering towards the bushes at the back of the yard.
Platt squirmed. “No, that is not how this is going to go.”
“How it go?”
“Ike, I’ll need your help,” Platt said.
Ike raised his other eyebrow. “Help with what?”
“Make sure they don’t go anywhere,” Platt said. “I’ll be right back.”
He was looking for towels, but more importantly, he was looking to see what his father was up to.
“Did you buy the milk?” Fleet Hall appeared from around the corner, the living ghost of unbought cow juice.
“Not yet, dad,” Platt said. “I’m still dealing with the people who were on the doorstep.”
“Oh, yes, the ones who are naked now,” Fleet Hall said. “Don’t worry about the milk. I ordered it online. You boys can go play in the living room.”
When Platt returned to the back yard just a few minutes later, he found the three weirdos and his best friend sitting in a circle on the grass, spinning a beer bottle. Seeing Platt, Ike snatched the bottle before it stopped spinning and busied himself with setting it back in the recycling bins.
“I have towels for all of you,” Platt said. “Put them around your waists, and follow me into the house.”
He passed out the towels to one after the other, and by the time that he was done passing, disaster had already struck.
“Towel too small,” said Strong Man, in whose hands the beach towel looked like a piece of tissue paper.
“I’m tangled,” said Acrobat, who was.
“I’m ready,” said Lion Tamer, who had completely misunderstood the object of the towel. It was around his waist, but was tied at the front and served only to highlight ‘Mufasa’, which now looked like a sausage protruding from a pile of laundry.
“Just follow me,” said Platt.
Ike hefted the bundle of tangled limbs that was Acrobat and followed Platt into the house.
“Watch them,” Platt said. “Make sure they don’t wander off.”
“Should be easy,” Ike said. “I mean, only one of them is mobile.”
“We fuck now,” said Strong Man, with his usual eloquence.
“Maybe. In a bit,” Platt said. He walked with Strong Man to his bedroom and closed the door after him, feeling the weight of Ike’s gaze on his back.
Strong Man dropped the towel on the ground and stood naked again. He cocked his head to the right and indicated with his ham fists that he would very much like to rip Platt’s shirt off of his chest.
What he said was: “Rip?”
“I don’t have enough shirts that I can just rip them off. T-shirts are expensive,” Platt said. He pulled his shirt over his head and then tossed it on the laundry pile. Then he unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his pants, pulled off his boxers and finally he removed both of his socks. He rooted around in the bottom of his dresser drawer for the condoms and the lube and then he turned again to face Strong Man. It felt like he was at the doctor’s office. Decidedly not the right mood.
“Now?” said Strong Man.
“No!” Platt said. “For crying out loud, slow down. It’s not like I do this every day.”
Strong Man looked down and appeared to think. “Oh. Foreplay.”
He turned so that he was facing Platt. Then, he reached out and grabbed Platt’s biceps with firm hands like those of a masseuse who thinks that deep massage means pain. In one swift motion, Strong Man lifted Platt off of the ground until his head hit the ceiling.
“I blow you,” Strong Man said, and it was the least attractive thing that anyone had ever said to Platt.
His crotch wasn’t quite at Strong Man’s mouth level, so Strong Man angled Platt so that his back was practically resting on the ceiling.
Strong Man opened his mouth and moved toward Platt’s groin…
Platt wriggled and squirmed with everything that he had and braced himself with his feet on Strong Man’s chest until Strong Man let go of him and he landed on the floor.
“This isn’t going to work,” Platt said. “Sorry. You’re not the one.”
“Oh,” said Strong Man. “Sad.”
Platt wrapped Strong Man’s discarded towel around his waist and walked back out to the living room, where he saw that Acrobat was now doing a naked backbend over Ike’s lap; Ike was reading yesterday’s paper, his elbows resting on Acrobat’s torso.
“Done already?” Ike asked.
“I can definitively say that Strong Man is not my type,” Platt said.
“Sweet! I’m so glad he’s not, because I bet I am!” Acrobat oozed off of Ike’s lap and rolled into a somersault and then sprang to his feet, nearly hitting the ceiling light fixture.
Did Ike wink? Platt shook his head to force himself back to the present.
“I’m sure that I will be your type,” Acrobat continued. “I’m so flexible that I can be almost anyone’s type!”
They barely made it into the room before Acrobat slammed the door closed with a dramatic flourish. Then, with a leap and a flip and a jump, Acrobat was in Platt’s arms like a damsel in distress, causing Platt’s towel fall off. Acrobat stayed in this position for only a fraction of a second and then he wrapped his legs around Platt’s waist and his arms around Platt’s neck and then Platt felt a… toe?… something reaching around and caressing his dick, which was so confused that it didn’t even get hard. Platt checked and he could account for both of Acrobat’s arms and legs. So what was…
“Isn’t my penis talented?” Acrobat asked, gesturing down with his head, because his hands were busy weaving through Platt’s hair. Platt’s hands were occupied with simply holding Acrobat aloft, which was quite an effort considering that Acrobat was doing a perfect imitation of a bag of puppies.
“Your penis?” Platt said. “Let me guess, it has a name?”
“Yes,” Acrobat said. “I call it, a penis. But I mean it’s talented, because it’s just as flexible as I am. I bet you wondered what was stroking your cock?”
Platt dropped Acrobat.
“Nope.” Platt said. “Nope, I’m sorry. You’re definitely not the one I’m looking for.”
“How come you gave Strong Man four minutes and I don’t even get one?” Acrobat whined plaintively. “It’s not fair! I demand four minutes!”
“You can’t demand anything. It’s not your prize, it’s mine,” Platt said through gritted teeth. “Now, shoo, before I kick you all out.”
“You can’t kick us out until we’ve granted your wish!”
“I’m sure the police will think differently!”
“You’re so mean,” Acrobat wailed as he ran out the door. “Lion Tamer! It’s your turn. He didn’t like my penile acrobatics!”
“Did someone call for Lion Tamer?” asked a voice from Platt’s closet. “Rawr.”
“Augh! What are you doing in here?”
“Admiring the view,” Lion Tamer said. “You have a very comfortable closet. Do you spend much time in it?”
“Never mind.” Lion Tamer emerged from the closet and stalked towards Platt. If one was being generous, one would compare his gait to that of a feline animal. Platt was not feeling particularly generous and he just thought that Lion Tamer’s walk was silly. “Mufasa is very excited to be able to meet you up close and personally. But be careful. He scratches…”
“Why is your dick scratchy?” Platt jumped back and threw a condom at Lion Tamer like one might throw garlic at a vampire.
“Okay, well, Mufasa doesn’t scratch,” Lion Tamer amended. “But sometimes Mufasa tells me to scratch things and then I do, because that is what Mufasa wants.”
“So, Mufasa is like a lion?” Platt asked, readjusting the towel around his waist.
“No, Mufasa is a lion,” Lion Tamer said. “But I don’t ever try to tame him.”
“Oh,” Platt said.
“All of this talking is making Mufasa sleepy,” Lion Tamer said. “Let’s… wake him up, shall we?”
“No. No we won’t,” Platt said. “You’re not my type either. We’re not doing this. You’re all leaving.”
“Is it because my name is wrong?” said Lion Tamer, leaping in front of Platt with a few quiet hops. “I could change it to Dick Van Dyke.”
“It’s not the name.”
“I could dye my hair brown.”
“It’s not the hair.”
“What is it then?”
“Just… actually, it’s Mufasa.”
“Why does everyone always like Mufasa better than they like me?” Lion Tamer wailed.
“No! Ugh! That’s creepy! I’m tired of having creepy people here in the house! You’re all leaving! This competition is over!”
“Over?” said Ike, rounding the corner. He held Acrobat at arm’s length, which was particularly impressive, considering that Acrobat had managed to suspend himself completely around Ike’s arm and was sucking on one of Ike’s fingers. “I didn’t get my turn yet.”
“Your turn?” Platt repeated, confused.
“You’re not playing!” wailed Lion Tamer.
“Yes I am,” Ike said. “I’m trying to win.”
“You can’t win! You’re not one of us!”
“I’d say it’s up to Platt,” Ike said. “What do you say, buddy?”
“Sure thing, pal,” Platt said sarcastically. “Come on then.”
“Down you get, Acrobat.” Ike shook the man off of his arm. Acrobat hit the ground with a spring and then was halfway up the hallway wall, watching them like a gargoyle.
The two friends walked to Platt’s room. Platt let Ike enter first and then shut the door when they were both in the room together.
“Always one for the win, aren’t you Ike,” Platt said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll play along. Should I moan happily or something?”
“You should,” Ike said. “But you should wait at least until we start kissing.”
Ike reached a work-roughened hand out and cupped Platt’s jawline, his fingers playing in the hair just behind Platt’s ear. He rested there for just a second, taking a deep breath, running his other hand through his own dark hair looking nervous for a second. Then Ike took a deep breath and moved in for the kiss.
Platt met him halfway and their lips locked. The last time they’d kissed was in middle school when Ike was Sarah, whose lips had tasted like cherry lip balm, and everything was wrong.
It was only pressure at first, two faces pressed into each other. Platt brought up his hand, wrapping it around the back of Ike’s neck. His thumb wrapped around to Ike’s cheek, brushing against the slight roughness of his stubble.
There was nothing wrong about this kiss now: the cherry lip balm replaced with body spray and aftershave, their combined scents a heady rush. Platt moved in closer, pressing his body closer and feeling the hard muscles of Ike’s chest.
Ike’s hands left Platt’s face, tracing his jaw bone to his neck to his collar bone and then to his shoulders. Platt hugged Ike’s back and pressed into his torso, feeling Ike’s cotton t-shirt against his bare chest.
The towel took that moment to work its way free and fell in a heap at Platt’s feet.
Platt watched it fall away, revealing his very hard dick, and felt his face get hot. This was the point of no return. Should he flee or panic or…? No.
Platt grinned wickedly and pushed Ike back until he fell onto the tiny twin bed. They fell together, entwined, Platt lying on top of Ike. The springs wheezed and Ike smiled, reaching up again to pull Platt’s face down to him. They kissed again. Then Ike’s strong fingers traced Platt’s back, past the shoulders, past the ribs, past the spine, until they came to rest on Platt’s bottom.
“So,” Ike said, tilting his head to the side. Platt couldn’t look at Ike because his mind was in that place where minds go when their occupants find themselves naked and straddling their best friends. He couldn’t stop staring at the pillow that sat oddly under Ike’s head and looked uncomfortable. “You want to fuck a hot man?”
“Apparently,” Platt said.
“Apparently?” Ike probed. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Platt didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward and adjusted the pillow around Ike’s head until it stopped being at an odd angle, but now the pillow wasn’t lining up with the rest of the bed. It was very troublesome.
Ike took a deep breath and swallowed. Was Ike nervous too? Probably.
“Fine, yes,” Platt said. “Yes I do. I want to fuck a hot man. There. I said it.”
“Must be nice to get that off your chest,” Ike said, shifting in a way that was entirely distracting Platt’s mind from being able to think coherently.
“Anyways, what about you?” Platt asked. “I always sort of thought you joined the sausage team so that you could go after the ladies.”
Ike laugh snorted. “The sausage team? Do you even listen to yourself…”
“Oh don’t be like that,” Ike struggled for a few seconds and then managed to regain composure. “I’m team sausage and I… I guess I like sausages? One hundred percent sausage. That’s me. And you too, I guess.”
“Sausages,” Platt repeated.
“Sausages,” Ike repeated.
“Take off your shirt,” Platt said. “Unless you want it to get ripped off.”
“You know, you’re awfully impatient for someone who took five years to even hint about his feelings,” Ike said. “If I took two months to take this shirt off, I’d be moving faster than you.” But he squirmed until he could get his arms around and over his head. The shirt came off, revealing a tight white undershirt that hugged Ike’s muscled torso with its tufts of black chest hair poking over the top.
Platt sat back on his heels, straddling the top of Ike’s legs, and worked at the button on Ike’s pants.
“The undershirt stays on,” Ike said. “But I can see you’ve already moved on. Jeez, pants already? By your timeline, that should take you about a year,” Ike stuck out his tongue, but he lifted his hips when Platt finally finished with the button and the zipper on the jeans, so that he could pull them away.
The cartoons on Ike’s boxer shorts smiled at Platt, who paused with his hand in mid-air as he reached to pull them off. Was he really ready to see what lay underneath? Given his luck so far this morning, Platt was pretty much expecting Ike to be packing an angry ferret.
“By my timeline?” Platt feigned indignation. “You might have said something, too.”
“Oh don’t give me that,” Ike said. He sat up so that the two were again face-to-face. “The one with the most education has to make the first move. It’s the rule.”
“That’s not a rule.”
“I guess you’d know. I bet they teach you the rules in first year, what with that crazy gay dorm sex that the talk radio guy always talks about.”
“Right. The rules of fucking. It’s a full semester course, right along-side the one for Satanism.”
“Says the guy who has three naked men running around his house. I’d believe anything you told me about college.”
“Oh god! They’d better not be causing trouble,” Platt stiffened. “I should probably go and…”
“They’ll be fine,” Ike said. “Your dad has all of his valuables booby-trapped. Are you planning to take off my boxer shorts too, or did your college degree grant you the ability to fuck through fabric?”
Platt blushed again and he tried to answer, but all he got was a stutter.
“You’re terrible at this,” Ike said. He smiled mischievously, and in one swift movement he slid down the bed so that his face was level with Platt’s dick. His tongue slid around the tip, slowly moving lower as his mouth enveloped the shaft. Ike’s hands moved to Platt’s balls, cupping them and applying gentle pressure and moving in small slow circles.
Platt moaned. Ike’s thumbs joined under the base of the shaft and pressed up towards the tip in the same rhythm as he sucked. Platt tilted his head back and closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation.
The sucking grew more insistent and Platt moaned again, feeling himself getting closer and closer to a blissful climax… but then it stopped. Ike pulled away, shimmied all the way under Platt’s legs and emerged on the other end of the bed. Platt groaned in disappointment and rolled sideways onto the bed, his dick aching.
“Hey, don’t get all tired on me just yet, college boy. You’ve got work to do.” A condom and lube bottle hit Platt in the chest. Ike grinned.
“Taking the lazy way out, Ike?” Platt teased, ripping open the package and rolling the condom on. It took him about two seconds to listen and process his own word noises, and then Platt immediately feel like the worst human ever to evolve out of primordial goop.
Ike didn’t seem to mind. “I’m all about the lazy way,” Ike said simply. “Just like you’re too lazy to take off my shorts. More lube, Platt, don’t you be lazy on that too.”
Platt flushed and busied himself with his task, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ike took off his blue and yellow Minion boxers. Underneath that was black underwear that looked like the world’s least supportive jock strap, because instead of undergirding the loins, it had a hole in the front out of which Ike’s dick appeared to sprout.
Ike had a dick already? It was, what, two years ago that he’d even told anyone that he was a dude? Platt remembered very clearly reading Ike’s mass email just before his second-year organic chemistry final. That he didn’t remember the exam itself was probably for the best.
“Is that silicone?” Platt asked.
“Sure is,” Ike said. “Best that money can buy.”
This dick wasn’t doing acrobatics, it wasn’t named Mufasa and it was perfect – really perfect, possibly the most perfect dick ever to exist. Clearly there were benefits to buying your cock off the shelf.
Ike adjusted his dick so that it was erect and then busied himself inspecting Platt’s work.
“That’ll do,” Ike said and nodded. Their eyes locked. They both held their breath for a second and then again their lips came together. Platt bit Ike’s lip first and Ike responded with a nibble of his own. Ike’s tongue explored the front of Platt’s teeth and the tips of their tongues met, the shock and the taste like an electric current.
Ike’s hand slid down Platt’s chest, over his stomach, down to his cock. Platt could feel the warm pressure of his hand holding the shaft, adjusting his grip carefully. Through their kiss, Ike took a deep breath and then he started adjusting his body, manoeuvring himself overtop of Platt. Ike’s hand still guiding his dick, Platt felt the tip press up against skin.
Platt moaned again and thrust his hips slightly, only to get swatted by Ike.
“No rushing, college boy. If it takes three weeks, it’ll already be fast on your time scale,” Ike said. He shifted his hips again, lightly brushing the tip of Platt’s dick. Then slowly, so slowly, Ike eased his way down and down, pressing his weight into Platt’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed. Platt moaned again and realized Ike was doing the same. Ike paused for a long moment and Platt waited, feeling the pressure on the tip of his dick, feeling his heart beating there.
“Now you can go,” Ike said quietly.
Platt didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around Ike’s waist and thrust his hips slightly and then again a little more. With a final cry, Platt came.
Ike grinned and leaned forward, relaxing into Platt’s chest as they slowly came apart.
The door burst open.
Fleet Hall sat in Strong Man’s right arm, grinning like Platt had never seen him grin. In Strong Man’s left arm was a four-gallon jug of milk.
“I thought that I should tell you not to worry about the milk.” Fleet Hall still spoke in his usual quiet monotone. “Strong Man picked it up from the doorstep, so that I didn’t have to go outside.”
“Oh, all right,” Platt said. There didn’t seem to be a point in trying to hide under the covers at this point, so he didn’t bother.
“Also, I thought I should tell you that Strong Man is now my boyfriend,” Fleet Hall continued.
“Given that you shunned our prize package, we awarded it to the candidate who was closest to you,” Lion Tamer said, still looking grouchy.
“That’s fine, cool,” Platt said. Then he said: “I should probably tell you something”
“You’re gay,” Fleet Hall said. “Your browsing history revealed that to me years ago.”
“Oh, oh I see,” Platt said, trying to ignore the awful thought of his dad’s seeing his browsing history. “So you knew that… Did you know that your boyfriend is from the circus? You should probably know that too.”
“Oh no,” Fleet Hall said. “He assures me that he’s from the Carnival, which is very different. Bring Ike to the kitchen. It’s lunch time and we can all have cereal together.”