Banger

This is a revision of a story I posted ages ago. (The new version is way better :P) A million thanks to comixgal for the beta.

I also have two follow-up short stories that come after this that I’ve started working on, and hope to get finished and posted soon. But, as I hold the official title of World’s Slowest Writer, I can’t really say when that will be. I’m trying, though! :) For now, this one stands alone.

Thanks for reading!

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Banger

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I didn't even have to pee, not really. And I should have known better, since he didn't give a shit about propriety and after guzzling warm beers all afternoon, he'd just as soon whip it out on a bush as go out of his way. So when he said we should hit the dingy bathroom at the back of the park “before we get on the road”, something should have clicked in my mind. But then, I've never been very good at seeing the train before it hits me, even when the horn is blaring in my face.



Inside it smelled like shit and mold and somehow like seawater, even though we were a hundred miles from the coast. Hey, they say all drains lead to the ocean, eventually. There weren't even any lights inside, just murky sun coming in from the little windows up by the roof. But just stepping through the door somehow jump-started my brain, made me suddenly hyper-aware of being in a small, secluded place. With Mark.



The realization stopped me in the middle of the room, but he just kept walking on in, smirking at me like he could read my mind. Passing by me way too close, crowding me like he does, before settling in front of one of the urinals and letting it fly with a low, satisfied grunt. I eyed him for a minute, torn between turning back around or just going with it, breezing in like I wasn't nervous like a little kid all of the sudden. But it was a stupid debate. We both knew I'd never walked out on him once.



See, Mark Band wasn't gay. He was a shit-kicker, not a fudgepacker. If sometimes he liked his dick sucked off by a pretty boy's mouth or if he liked to rub one out with a pretty boy watching, that was just him getting off where the getting off was good. He didn't touch. He didn't kiss. And he didn't fuck.



I don't know how I came into the picture. Maybe he could smell me out, find the one queer in this shit-hole town. Maybe somehow repression amplifies gay-dar, makes him like a hunted animal with his senses honed. But however it happened, somewhere along the line his sights set on me, and I think from the first day he pushed me up against a wall I knew that it was over. I was his.



So I didn't walk out, like we both knew I wouldn't. Instead I kept my eyes on the grimy bowl as I opened my pants, playing it cool, or trying hard for cool, anyway. But I was twitchy, nervous, waiting to see what he would do. Waiting for him to make his move. I couldn't seem to get my dick to work so that I could have my piss and get the hell out of there, get back out into the sun. I won't lie; I won't try to pretend that I don't love the things we do, most of the time. But I didn't really want to do any of them in this rank, filthy, public john.



I was just about to give it up as a lost cause when the door banged open. The man who walked in was middle-aged, balding over a pudgy middle, sweating some in his tacky button-up and brown polyester pants. He stared at us for a minute, gaping a little like he had never seen guys in a bathroom before. Mark threw him a dark look over his shoulder and the man seemed to pull himself together, huffing and pushing his bulk into one of the stalls.

As soon as the door closed and the lock clicked shut a big knot smoothed out in my stomach, because even Mark wouldn't try something with an audience. And if it was as much regret as relief settling down in there, I did my best not to notice.



But Mark still had that look on his face, like he knew everything that went on in my head. He turned toward me, buttoning his fly up one slow button at a time, waiting. Watching me. Sidled up way too close, pushing into my personal space; smirking and leaning a shoulder against the disgusting wall. There was an unlit cigarette between his lips, pressed nearly flat from him mouthing at it, and I tried hard not to look at him. But he just kept standing there, all the time smiling like I'm not two inches away trying to do my business.



I don't think I'll ever know what it is about him. It wouldn't be enough to say I do it because he's hot and I'm horny and there's no one else, though God knows that's true. He's everything that I'm not. Hard muscles not earned in some pansy gym, square jaw and thick black hair. He sports the whole white muscle tee and jeans, leather jacket, slick-hair look like some wannabe fifties greaser, but somehow on him it just seems natural. Like, he can look like one of those guys because he is one of those guys.



But there has to be more to it, because I take shit from him I wouldn't take from anyone. I may be pretty and quiet and queer, but I'm not a pushover. Not for anyone but him.



So when he crowds me in the john and smirks like that, and I know that he's got things on his mind for doing back home and I know they aren't half of what I really want from him, even then I probably just smile back at him, finish up and turn to him, way too much hell yes in my face for any kind of dignity.



That's when he grabs me by the throat.



I can’t even get a sound out before he's swinging me around, pushing me into the second, empty stall with my pants still undone, pressing my back up against the flimsy partition. His big, callused hand comes up over my mouth, holding my head still while he puts up a silencing finger, like the guy next door didn't already hear us practically knocking down the stall. But Mark doesn't seem to care, just starts fumbling his hand down into my pants, pushing at them till they fall down around my ankles, tugging at his own fly and fishing his cock out. And then he's pressing his hips right up into mine, dick to dick and nothing in between.



For a minute the only thing I can feel is his skin. He's hard already, his whole body pressed up to mine, and I almost never get to feel him so close like this. His weight and his heat and his smell are right there and I'm already starting to swell up against him. He gives me a hard look before slowly moving his hand off my mouth, his face just inches away from mine; his eyes black and huge. He looks like he’s ready to slap his hand right back up again if he has to, but he doesn't have to worry— I’m sure as hell not going to make a sound.



He grabs my wrists and pushes my hands up over my head, pressing them against the stall before letting them go; he knows my arms stay where he puts them. I arch my back a little just to feel him, and my fingers curl over the top of the stall, hanging on, but that makes me think of the guy on the other side. Fuck. My body wants nothing more than to stay right where it is but I can hear him back there, panting a little like he's straining and damned if I'm going to fuck around to the sound of another man taking a shit.



But then, Mark's hips move. They start slow, rubbing just a little, but it makes his cock slide against mine and suddenly nothing else matters much at all.



I can feel all of him, his big body rubbing against my body, and every inch of him is so damn sweet. He finds a rhythm, thrusting his hips roughly against mine, and it’s sweaty and hot and a fucking tease and too much. His pubic hair is scratching like fire at the base of my cock and I know I'll be raw there, but I don't give a shit because his heavy balls are bumping right up against mine, and each time the fat, firm tip of his cock slides up it hits that spot on the underside of my dickhead that makes my eyes roll back in my skull. I'm biting my tongue to keep from moaning out loud and screw that fat old guy, anyway. My man has gone queer!



And his hands are there too, gripping at my waist, sliding up under my shirt. He's touching me like he's never touched me before, and I'm trying hard not to get swept up in what it means because I know better, after two years of him I know better than to hope.



But really? I don't know better at all.



His hands move down to my hips, slipping back a little, cupping my ass. And I'm whimpering for real now, and fuck, not daring to hope that he'll keep going, that he'll touch me there. His fingers knead into me, kind of pulling at my ass cheeks while he leans on me hard, and it's a strange feeling with the cool, smooth wall of the toilet stall pressed against that inside skin that hardly ever touches anything. But I barely notice, because with each slide of his hips my whole world is narrowing down to him, and to me.

And then something that's not any part of Mark pokes right against my asshole.



I probably make a nasty squealing noise, squirming and pushing Mark off hard, but he’s slapping a hand over my mouth again and throwing his whole weight into my body, nearly knocking the air out of me as I slam back against the wall. His hips press back into mine, pinning me, and then the fat finger is poking there again, wiggling and stroking at my asshole like it knows to hurry, like it knows I'm trying my damnedest to get away.



The finger is slicked up and slippery, and it's inside before I can even think about trying to keep it out. It circles a little and then pushes in deep, and it doesn’t hurt, not really, but my whole body starts to shake because the feel of it is so strange and so strong. I make a feeble grab at Mark's shoulders but he catches my wrists easily in one of his big hands; he was always so much fucking stronger than me. He presses his face down into my neck, and we're both growling and I'm pushing him off as hard as I can, but he's got me pinned.



After a minute, a second finger presses against the first and worms its way inside, prying me open, and my body just goes limp from the feel of it. The skin all around my ass is warm and tingling where it’s being rubbed and spread, and it’s almost good except for the prickling burn, and my heart hammering in my chest like mad.

And then there’s a little crinkling sound from back there that I just can’t wrap my brain around, but I must have stopped fighting for just long enough because suddenly the fingers are gone and something else is there, thick and fucking serious, heavy and very warm and pushing too fast. I whine and clamp my ass down hard, trying to keep it out, squirming desperate now under Mark’s solid weight. But the cock is too damn slick and it's working its way inside anyway. And the tighter I squeeze the more it pushes back, shoving at me hard, and it hurts like fuck so finally I just give it up, just let it through, and then it's sliding in and in and never seems to stop.



I can hear him now, the fat old guy in the other stall, panting high and wheezy as he shifts and huffs and pushes a little more, and finally gets his cock in as far as it can go. Probably not that far really with the wall and me bucking like crazy, but it feels so deep it takes my breath away. The guy grunts and moves a little inside me like he trying me out, making me twitch and whine under Mark’s hand. But then he seems to get his feet because suddenly he pulls back, groaning and pushing in again in one long, hard rush.

I've never done this, never. There's never been anybody to do it with. Yeah, I’ve thought about it; I think about it all the damn time. In the dark, sometimes, when I’m jacking off alone, reaching a hand back there to slide one of my fingers in, getting myself a little high on the the thought of it, the thought of how it could be.

But now this man is putting his cock inside me and I’m shaking and breathing hard through my nose like an animal, and Mark’s face is tucked in and hiding in a way that scares me it’s so strange. And suddenly it all comes together in my head, the bathroom, this guy fucking me for real, for the first time. And I can’t, I can’t get him off but I have to, and the strength comes out of somewhere and I’m surging up and pushing Mark off, the guy’s fat cock dragging out of me like fucking fingernails on my nerves as I throw myself across the stall.

Mark’s back hits the wall hard. I can feel his chest heaving under me, his breath coming out fast and rough, both of us tense against each other. My face is right up in his and his eyes are so close, they hardly seem real. His fingers are wrapped tight around my wrists, our cocks still pressed together and damned if I’m not still hard against him.

I don’t know what kind of expression was on my face right then, if it was painful or an angry challenge or as desperate as I felt, but Mark just looked back at me, his eyes like two black stones, dark and far away.

“C’mon, baby,” his voice is low and soft against my lips. “Try it.”

I open my mouth but all of it catches in my chest, and all I can feel is his hard cock against me, and his heat, and his mouth so close to mine that each breath he pushes out goes right on into me. And he must have felt it when all the fight went out of my body, because he lets go of my wrists and wraps his palms around my naked hips, so gentle that I have to squeeze my eyes shut against him. And he slowly starts to back us up, just a couple of shuffling steps with my pants tangled around my feet, but I just let him lead me until I’m leaning full and passive against the wall. And all I can hear is baby and all I can think is try it and then I’m pressing my ass back, all awkward angles and dizzy scared and still so hot, and I’m holding my breath in tight.

The guy on the other side doesn’t mess around, he seems to know that he’s gotten his chance and only a damn fool would miss it. My eyes are still closed when that thick cock fumbles around and then starts pushing back into me, going in easier this time, but not so easy that it doesn’t pull a startled, helpless moan from my throat.

I feel wide open. Like he’s pushing me all the way open as he starts to thrust. And suddenly I can see him in my head, tacky pants and all, belly pressed up against the glory hole, his face wide and sweaty and grimacing as he fucks in and out of me. He gets confident quick, finding his rhythm, and before long he's really shoving, banging me hard, making the wall shake. But the pain is fading to a low burn, and all that movement down in my guts is starting to make my balls clench and my belly tremble. Mark is still pressed tight against me, his hands on my skin and the feel of him, and I just have to drag my eyes open, maybe just to be sure that he’s really there.

I've never met anyone who can look so long and deep into you and not show one single thing of themselves. But I look, I have to look anyway, and slowly, he starts to move.

Something like a shout pushes out of me, the sound bouncing around the little tile room, because every time Mark’s cock rubs against mine it's like we’re touching live wires with the one shoved inside me. And suddenly everything is hot again, tingling and melting and I'm moaning loud enough that they can probably hear me outside the damn windows, hell, halfway across the park.



The man is grunting loud now too, but Mark doesn't make a sound, just keeps his eyes locked onto mine and his hips moving. I'm not even standing on my feet anymore, suspended between them, loosing my mind.



And then Mark's eyes narrow just a little and he growls low in his throat, in that way that I know means he's coming. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause as he shoots, just keeps rubbing and rubbing at me, dick sliding all around in the slippery mess. And then he reaches down and touches me there for the very first time, rubs the big, rough pad of his thumb over the head of my cock.



And I couldn't help it, could I, if I threw my arms around him as the world whited out, digging my fingers into the soft hair at the back of his neck and pressing my lips to the side of his face while I moaned and shuddered and shot jizz all over us.



The guy in the stall must have come too, because suddenly he’s shoving wild and desperate, and he’s wheezing like his heart is going to give up. But he felt a million miles away, not even there with us at all really, even while he rode me out hard. Not even close to the feel of coming with Mark’s arms around me. Not close at all.



When the guy pulls out a minute later we stumble a little, my legs shaking under me, still clinging to him hard. And Mark and I just stood there, pressed together, for maybe three long heartbeats. Just breathing each other’s air in and out.



And then he was gone. Suddenly standing on the other side of the tiny stall like he had never been anywhere else, his pants done up and the unlit cigarette back between his lips. I stood there for a minute, waiting for my knees to work, staring at the floor with my pants around my ankles. And maybe I'm waiting for the moment to make up its mind about what it's going to be, what I'm going to feel. But really I'm just standing there like an idiot, so I drag my pants up, putting it all back together again and then I'm turning toward the door, turning away from him. But his hand comes out of nowhere and catches my chin. Turns my face up to his.



And I think almost for a minute that he's going to kiss me. And almost, it would all be worth it if he did.



But he just grins. "Hey man, it's about time you got some, huh? Even a fag like you can't stay a virgin forever."



And then he's lighting his cigarette and walking out of the stall, out of the building, and there I am, following behind. And I try not to blush when the man who just fucked me is hovering outside, even though for some screwed up reason my cock twitches hard in my pants when I see him. And I pretend not to look when he slips out a fat wad of bills and palms them over to Mark.



But fuck. Mark is damn well going to buy the beer tonight.

 

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the end

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