Oscar arrived late at my apartment. His breath ranked of stale liquor and a look of abject sadness on his copper-colored face. He confided that he and his wife had it out three days previously and had not spoken to each other since. We lay watching a porno and drinking beer naked. I asked if I could snuggle up next to him. I loathed being with someone so...heterosexual. But he was an old friend and it was my duty to offer what ever help was possible.
"Okay." Oscar reluctantly rested his back and head against the end of the bed and I joined him against the wall. I got on my right elbow, facing him, and gently ran my fingers around his nipples. He closed his eyes, licked his lips and began stroking his penis. I leaned lower to lick his hardened nipple; he let out a whimpering ‘aahh’ and increased his speed. I swirled my tongue dizzily, then with my free hand, reached the other stiff nipple and pinched it. Suddenly, my ear was flooded with warm liquid.
"What the fuck?" I exclaimed.
I lifted my head higher, getting the continuous gunshot spray of Oscar’s cum shower. He was shooting literally everywhere. He could not stop. He was hitting his chest, his face. My quivering, shocked body was trying to clean his jizz from the side of my face and my inner ear, all the while he was now down to a depleting drizzle from his cock head. What is really surprising was throughout all of this, he made no sound. None! His eyes again were clasped shut and his mouth was perched to one fine point in the middle of his face: an ugly ‘O’ face. I rested on my elbow again, studying his contorted countenance, wondering what internally could cause this, traveling over the now loosening lips and the drifting, flicking eyes, witnessing the deep breaths through his nostrils. Then I realized this fucker was falling asleep.
I hurtled over his spent body, “Want a towel?” I grabbed one and quickly cleaned myself off.
A “Yeah,” was muffled towards me. I threw it at his chest.
Oscar quickly wiped himself down, his face first, then his chest; I requested him to clean the backboard and he responded with awe at his performance. While he diligently wiped his sperm from my bed, I put on some khakis and a black shirt, slipped on my shoes, and informed him that I needed to use the restroom. I walked into the hallway and turned into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I turned on the sink, washed my face briefly, dried myself, and stood in the mirror for a good minute, giving Oscar time to collect his belongings, get dressed and leave. After a minute, I extricated the bathroom, entered my room only to find Oscar still on the bed naked, attention fixed on the television.
I have lived in this country and dealt with his type for so long, I knew the score. Bust your nut then jet out the door. Girls first, fags secondary.
“Aren’t we done?” I asked. “It’s late and don’t you think your wife is going to worry?”
“I don’t care.” He said, eyes fixed on the flickering screen. “I don’t want to go back right now, anyway. I rather stay here with you.”
Well, don’t that take the rag offen the bush?