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Copyright © 2017 by Guy New York
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
The English Teacher
Chicks are for Fags
A Daddy for Daddy
Frat Time is Bro Time
Occupy Bro Street
Fifty Shades of Gay
Bromancing The Stone
About The Author
“Duuuude,” he said slurring his words just the right amount.
“Wuuzup?” I asked, dating myself by inflection.
“Have you, like, ever sucked cock?”
“Sure,” I said a bit more soberly. That question meant more than “have you ever” and we both knew it. I let him keep going.
“Did you like it? I mean, was it gross?”
“It’s awesome. As long as you really want to be doing it.”
A part of me wondered if he would ask me just like that. He was one of the most brotastic friends I had, and I loved him for it. Fuck it, I thought. Let’s keep going.
“You thinking about getting some dick?” I asked.
He blushed and chugged the second half of his beer in one gulp. He didn’t say anything, but his head nodded back and forth, and I wasn’t sure he knew he was doing it.
“So gay,” I said.
“Dude, I’m just asking...”
“I’m fucking with you, bro. I think you should.”
“I don’t even know where to go. Or, like, who to talk to. Or if I’d be any good at it.”
“Just ask, man. I’ll say yes.” Fuck, was that too forward?
He opened another beer and gave me a look that was half threatening and half turned on. Shit. He might actually do it. He looked down and then up again with his eyes wide. He moved closer to me on the couch, and his breath was so fast I almost got him a paper bag.
“You promise you’ll say yes?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said too quickly. He looked at me for a while longer and then closed his eyes.
“Can I suck your cock?”
I almost burst out of my jeans when he asked, but there was something I had to do.
“On one condition.”
“Dude! You didn’t say anything about conditions. You fucking promised.”
I moved closer to him and undid my belt. Before he could say anything I had his hand on my cock. He moaned as he felt me harden beneath his fingers. When he finally pulled me out of my jeans I thought he might freak out. Instead he leaned closer and stared at my cock with his eyes wide.
“You have to kiss me. Not before and not after. Sometime in the middle you have to kiss me.”
I thought he might protest. I thought he might say anything at all. Instead he leaned forward and took as much as he could into his mouth, his hand still wrapped around me. He gagged for a minute and then pulled up until just the head of my cock was between his lips. He licked and sucked, slowly sliding his hand up and down my length, and his enthusiasm was overwhelming. He kissed the head before taking me again, and this time he didn’t choke at all. He moved faster and faster, sucking and squeezing me harder each time. I grabbed his hair and tried not to moan.
Just when I thought I might come, he stopped and pulled me down to him without pause. He grabbed my hair, bit my lip, and then thrust his tongue into my mouth. He was quick and rough, but his hand never stopped, and he kissed me far longer than expected.
My moans got louder and deeper, and he took me back into his mouth before I knew what was happening. I told him I was close. I think I told him he could stop, but I know I didn’t pull him off me. He grabbed the base of my cok as he sucked harder, and suddenly I was coming in his mouth. Still, he didn’t stop. He kept right on going, swallowing what he could, and he never once let go of me. I came over and over again as I pulled his hair and screamed out, and when I finally stopped shaking, he pulled his mouth off me with a loud pop.
He turned and looked up at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen. His grin was contagious, and I let myself laugh out loud with release. He leaned his head on my thigh as he stretched out on the couch.
“That was totally gay,” he said.
“BRANDING ISN’T JUST ABOUT PRETTY pictures. If you don’t know have a reasonable goal of where you want the company to be in five years, and you don’t have the right amount of financial and physical support behind that goal, then you’re going to fail. Branding is a part of that plan, along with overall promotion. Right now we’re putting less than two percent of an undefined sales goal into growth, and it’s just not going to work. So, don’t tell me that marketing is bullshit until you actually know how you’re going to move this company ahead.”
My talk was followed by a predictable silence. After two years of working my ass off, I felt like I was trying to turn around the Titanic.
“Well, Ben, thanks for the enlightening talk once again. Let’s reconnect next week everybody and go over our sales sheets for the quarter. Until then, back to work. And Ben, in my office in ten.”
We picked up our phones and note pads, and I swear I saw people shaking their heads at me as we walked back to our cubicles. They looked tired and bored at the same time. They were a giant fucking mess. Half of the guys in the room hadn’t even bothered to iron their shirts, let alone put on a tie. They were there to do their jobs and nothing else. And by nothing I else, I mean nothing at all.
Even the president of the company had no idea what he was doing. He thought a few pep talks, a better sales strategy, and getting ourselves on “the Twitter” was going to be enough. He could sell your grandmother a skateboard, but long-term thinking meant next quarter. He had as much vision as Helen Keller, but half her charm.
When I knocked on his office I only had one thought in my head: something has to change.
“Ben, sit down on the couch. Take your jacket off if you want. We need to talk.”
I felt like I was about to get dumped by my sixth grade girlfriend.
“Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you need to get back to what we hired you to do.”
“Build a Facebook fan page and engage our customers through social media?” I had memorized my job description as well as anyone else.
“Social media is just part of your job, but yes. Get us more television exposure, talk to our customers, and keep booking trade shows. All of this branding, marketing, and strategy bullshit is just that: bullshit. Can’t you just do your job like everyone else?”
I looked up at him and I could hear the snap in my mind. It was a switch that clicked on (or was it off?), and I knew things were either going to get much better or much much worse.
“How much did that suit cost you?” I asked him, trying not to raise my voice.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant...”
“Tell me how much the suit cost,” I interrupted. I pulled the tone of voice out of memory, and just like it had worked on me back in school, I saw him blush with his automatic response.
“Three thousand dollars.”
“And why do you need a three thousand dollar suit?”
“When I walk into a sales meeting they have to know I’m good at what I do. They have to know that I am so fucking good at what I do that I can afford to look like this. They have to feel it.”
“Exactly,” I said, as if that explained it all. “Now stand up.”
He gave me a smirk, but he stood up all the same, and I felt a surge of power as I kept on talking.
“Stand in front of your desk.”
“Look, Ben, if this is another of your stupid examples, I think we can skip the show-and-tell and just...”
“Peter, just stand the fuck up before I make you.”
His eyes opened wide and he stared at me. For a moment I thought I was fired on the spot, but instead he got up—his hands shaking and his eyes twitching—and walked slowly into the center of the room.
I sat down in his chair and leaned back as I looked at him. His suit was crisp and clean, and his tie was as expensive as his cuff links. He looked good. In fact he looked better than the company, and I was going to make him understand that one way or another.
“When I see you, I see power. I see a man in a nice suit and I think, he must know what he’s doing. This is a man who’s been there and done that, and he knows his business better than anything else. He has strong hands, a good hair cut, and polished shoes. He’s got a hot wife somewhere, a big dick, and probably a girlfriend on the side. This is a man who knows what he wants.”
He grinned and nodded his head at me as I talked, but part of his body twitched when I mentioned it. He straightened his stance, pushed back his shoulders and thrust out his chiseled jaw. I had him completely.
“Now, if I put the company where you’d standing what do you think I’d see? If I looked at our graphics, our ads, and our copy, do you think I’d get fucking excited? No, I’d wonder why someone was wasting my time. I’d wonder what kind of asshole thought he had any right to pretend he knew something about my industry, and I’d bet anything that half the competition was balling his wife. You look like a man. This goddamn firm looks like a limp dicked moron that’s not worth my fucking time.”
He stared at me, but didn’t say a thing. His face was red, his grin was gone, and I realized I was probably the first person to talk to him like that. He was embarrassed—almost afraid—but most of all I could tell he was excited. The bastard needed someone to stand up to him.
I got up off his chair and walked towards him. He didn’t move a muscle as I circled him twice before pouring myself some whisky from the decanter on his desk. I took a long sip and let the scotch burn my throat before I sat down next to my drink.
“From now on, I’m going to assume that you’re as shitty as the rest of the company. No matter how you dress or act, I’m going to judge you based on everything else, and right now you look like a pathetic excuse for a business. You look like an old, out of touch waste of space who knows less than nothing about his job.”
The more I yelled at him, the more he shifted where he stood, and the redder his face got. The outline in his pants grew bigger with each obscenity I hurled, and in spite of myself, I was getting excited too. There was something about yelling at this asshole that was turning me on, and he was going to pay for that as well.
I walked right up to him as I called him a useless piece of shit and he was trembling.
“Is this what you need?” I asked in a whisper. “Did you just need a firm hand to remind you of your goddamn job? Your dick is about to burst out of those expensive pants if you’re not careful. Do you like it when I tell you what to do?”
My mouth was right next to his ear, and my knee pressed between his legs.
“Yes,” he finally whispered, his voice quivering.
“Excuse me?” I asked, reaching up and pulling his tie tight around his neck.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, this time closing his eyes.
“Are you ready to show the world that we know what we’re doing?”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied once again.
I sat back on his desk, and before I knew what I was doing I had one hand on my belt and the other on my hard cock.
“Kneel,” I said to him.
Without a word he did as he was told, and his eyes were fixated on my hand. He moved towards me, never once looking away or closing his eyes.
“Do you have what it fucking takes?” I growled as he reached me.
He nodded his head, and I thought he might drool. I undid my belt buckle with one hand as the other pulled down my zipper. I had my hard cock out before he could say another word. I felt his breath on me.
“Show me,” I groaned.
When his lips closed around me I almost screamed. I steadied myself on his desk as my boss pushed his mouth down around my cock until he choked. I dug my fingers into his perfect hair, and he never once looked up as he got to work. He was almost shy as he wrapped his hand around my shaft, but within minutes he was sucking my cock for all he was worth.
“Is that the best you can do? Is that all you can fucking do, you little pussy?” I grunted. “You may as well just shut down now if that’s what you got. Do you want to succeed or not?”
He moved faster and faster, his hand gripping me harder as he struggled to blow me. I took another sip of his scotch as I pushed his head down. Fuck, he was going to make me come if I wasn’t careful.
“Do you have what it takes?” I asked pulling his head up so he was looking at me.
“I think so,” he said, looking into my eyes.
“You think so?” I asked as I tightened my fist and pulled him up. “Take out your little cock and show me.”
He pulled his zipper down and for a brief instant I felt the flesh of his cock against my own. He was hard, and his hand moved quickly up and down his own length without pause.
In one quick motion I was behind him and his head was pressed against he wood of his desk. The glass of scotch was right in front of his face as I held him, but he never stopped jerking his cock as I pulled his pants down around his knees. I grabbed a jar of hair gel from his desk and opened it with one hand. I scooped out a large amount on two fingers before whispering in his ear again.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” I said. “Do. You. Have. What. It. Takes?”
I was about ready to burst as I pressed the head of my cock against his ass, and I still couldn’t believe what I was doing. He didn’t answer me, even as I stuck my two lubed fingers inside of him. He pushed back against me, and he kept moving his hand as he groaned into the desk. It almost sounded like begging.
“I asked if you had what it takes?”
“Yes, Sir” he finally moaned as I pushed inside him. He stopped moving as I thrust into him, and his voice was shaking and weak as he repeated himself again.
“Yes, Sir, I have what it takes. I promise,” he moaned as I fucked his ass as hard as I could. I dug my fingers into his thighs as I thrust harder, and his moans grew louder as he grabbed hold of his cock once more.
“That’s right, you little bitch,” I said into his ear. “You’re gonna to take it and you’re gonna show me that you’re worth something. You’re going to get off your lazy ass and make it fucking work, aren’t you?” I asked, as I continued to pound him.
“Yes, Sir,” he moaned over and over again, struggling to stand.
He was so fucking tight, and I was fucking him so hard there was no way I was going to last long. He pushed back at me almost as hard as I was pushing into him, and when I reached around and grabbed his cock in my hand he screamed out.
“You’re going to come all over your carpet as I fuck your ass, aren’t you?”
He could only nod as I took him, and seconds later I was coming inside him as he was letting loose all over the floor. I pushed his face down into the hardwood as I fucked, pushing so deeply inside him I thought he might scream again. I pulled on his hair as I exploded, and I could feel his mess on my fingers as I kept squeezing his cock.
I finally pulled out of him and had my pants back up and zippered before he could move. I picked up the drink with one hand as I continued to hold him down with the other. I polished off what was left before slamming it down on the desk next to his head.
“Things are going to fucking change around here,” I said. “Starting with my budget. Do you understand?”
He just nodded, and when I closed the door behind me he was still leaning over his desk.
The following morning, I got an office wide e-mail at nine a.m.
“Full staff meeting at 10:30 this morning. Major changes to be announced.”
I leaned back in my chair, and for the first time ever, I smiled at the thought of a meeting.
IF YOU WANT TO PLAY beer pong there is only one place to go: Hoboken, NJ.
I know what you’re thinking, but forget it. It’s like beer pong fucking heaven out there and nothing in the city even comes close. New York is amateur hour when it comes to public drunkenness and Hoboken is the gods-damn king. That’s right bitches. The gods-damn king.
Tavi and I headed out there on a Saturday evening with two goals: we were going to get wasted, and we were going to get laid. And you know what’s awesome about Hoboken? Every fucking person in the bar is there for the same two reasons. No one is there to compare flannel shirts, brag about their recent vinyl purchases, or grow ironic mustaches. And no one is there in hopes of seeing some lame ass celebrity from Gossip Girl. In Hoboken, we are the fucking celebrities, and we’re gonna drink you under the table and then make out with your sister. Got it?
We stumbled into our favorite bar around ten p.m. and half the crowd was already hammered. We ordered Bud in bottles (yeah, they don’t even sell PBR) and put our names on the board. We pounded our beers pretty quickly and ordered another round before it was our turn. Surely enough we were suddenly teamed up with two girls who looked like they had just come from a Nascar event. They were hot, drunk, and happy.
“Okay, boys, you get the pitchers and we’ll set up the cups.”
Tavi ordered the beer while I stayed and talked, and within a half hour we were all best friends. Brittney and Tara were roommates in some school we had never heard of, and they grew up somewhere I don’t remember. They studied fashion (or maybe communications?), and they finished each other’s sentences. They pounded their beers when they had to, they laughed at our dumb jokes, and they thoroughly kicked our asses. We played three rounds and by the end of it, it was clear who was professional and who was just there for the beer.
“You two kinda suck,” Brittney said as we all grabbed a table after round three.
“Yeah, well, if we hadn’t drank so much this morning we would have been better,” Tavi told them.
“Tell me about it,” Tara interrupted. “Britt and I started with Bloody Mary’s at like noon, and we haven’t eaten a damn thing all day. Normally we would have seriously destroyed you.”