Straight Guys Always Talk Shit — This One Made me Pull Over and Fucked Me Stupid Instead

Some opportunities just slide into your lap. Or, in this case, into your passenger seat with a backward ball cap and a half-chugged beer. My buddy Marcus’s friend’s boyfriend’s roommate — some bro named Zane — showed up uninvited to my carefully plotted beach trip. Marcus’s boyfriend, Trent, didn’t think I needed to know someone else was joining. Trent was wrong.

The car we planned on taking couldn’t hold all of us and our gear. My first instinct was to tell Zane to hit the road — preferably on foot. Plan B was just to drive two cars and make Trent cover the gas. That worked.

Marcus and his bestie Elise insisted on riding together, which meant Trent had to squeeze in with them. So guess who got the leftover bro? Zane, drunk on three parking lot beers, took one look at my car and declared, “Bro, this is the sickest ride I’ve ever seen — and I’ve seen a lot of cars.” Translation: his buzz was kicking in.

Total bro energy. The cap, cargo shorts, and a voice like he did push-ups just to warm up for chest day. But he was hot. No denying it. That scruffy beard, the way his forearms flexed when he grabbed the door handle, the soft patch of hair sneaking out the collar of his mangled muscle tee — he looked like a beer-commercial fantasy: sloppy, horny, and dangerously charming. The kind of handsome that hit harder the longer you stared. Like your dick figured it out before your brain did.

The first hour was pure testosterone static. He rambled about his “fitness routine” (aka ogling women in yoga pants and occasionally touching a dumbbell), his rust-flecked 1984 Ford Bronco, and that one time he almost got backstage at a Kings of Leon concert before he had to pee “like a racehorse.” Riveting stuff.

What made it worse — or better — was the way he kept adjusting his dick. Like, constantly. One hand casually resting on his thigh, the other casually shoved down his cargo shorts, rearranging his thick junk like it was a full-time job. Not flirting, I don’t think. Just part of his existence, like gravity. But damn if it didn’t distract me. I couldn’t stop watching the way his fingers tugged and shifted, the heavy outline moving around every time he shifted in his seat. That cock had presence, even clothed.

When we stopped for gas, I stayed in the car to savor a moment of peace. Zane swaggered back ten minutes later, Mountain Dew in hand, biceps flexed like he’d been pumping gas with his triceps.

“The chick behind the counter almost gave me this for free,” he said, licking his lips. “She was eye-fucking me the whole time, man. If her boss hadn’t been there, I swear she would’ve let me take her out back and show her what this tongue can do.”

His left nipple had popped free from his mangled muscle tank, and for a split second, the absurdity gave way to something primal. The fucker was hot. Obnoxious as hell, but the kind of sloppy, natural hot that made your mouth water — fuzzy chest, thick legs, cargo shorts riding high enough to hint at the curve of a thick, heavy dick.

Back on the road, he started talking about all the women he’d supposedly banged. Stories full of tits, spit, and vaginal musings I didn’t ask for. I was tuning out until he dropped a curveball.

“I heard you suck dick. What’s that like?”

I laughed, mostly out of surprise. “Thinking about trying it out sometime?”

He leaned his head back against the seat and shrugged. “Man, if it feels good, it feels good. Double the mouths on my cock? That’s just efficient evolution.”

“You ever even kissed a guy?”

“Nah. But I’ve thought about it. Usually when I’m jerking off.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, then.”

He gave me a look — one of those tilted-head, half-lidded stares. His lip curled like he couldn’t decide if he was amused or turned on. “You tryin’ to hop on this dick, ain’tcha?”

“Depends,” I said, matching his stare. “You offering a ride?”

The energy shifted, dense and hot in the car. His leg bounced. Mine didn’t. I was still. Watching. Waiting. I reached across and killed the music, let the silence settle.

Without a word, I took the next exit and pulled into the back lot of an abandoned strip mall. Cracked pavement. Faded signs. No prying eyes.

I turned to him. “I’ll stop the second you say to. But if you go with it, you’re gonna cum harder than you ever have. And I’ll make sure you love every second of it.”

I cupped his crotch and felt the heat under his shorts — thick, twitching, already leaking. I leaned in, tongue brushing his still-exposed nipple. He groaned.

“Fuck, dude…”

I yanked up his shirt, worked both nipples with mouth and hands, his chest hair tickling my lips. My face nuzzled into his pits, inhaling that raw mix of sweat, deodorant, and something uniquely him. Masculine. Ripe. I loved it.

His cock pressed into my belly. I reached down, tugged his shorts and boxers in one motion. His thick dick slapped against his thigh, glistening with precum.

“Goddamn,” I whispered. “You got a beer-can cock.”

“All yours, man. Fuckin’ go for it.”

I slid my lips over the tip, swirling my tongue, letting him feel the difference. He thrust up, cock bumping the back of my throat.

“Jesus fuck, you know what you’re doin’.”

“You’ve never had head like this,” I said, before diving back in.

I massaged his taint while sucking him down, spit dripping from my lips, balls slapping my chin as he rocked into my mouth. He was close, breathing hard, hips twitching.

I pulled off. “Hey straight boy, you wanna fuck me?”

His eyes widened. “For real? You want this dick?”

“Yeah. But you gotta warm me up first.”

“Thought you guys were always ready.”

“Not for that dick. Get in the back.”

I stripped to my jock. He slapped my ass. I bent over, presenting myself, and he hesitated, clearly unsure what ‘warming me up’ actually meant. Instead of eating me out, he ran his fingers along my crack, exploring, awkward but eager. Not skilled, not sensual — just curious and turned on. It was clumsy and straight-boy as hell, but the pressure, the roughness, the fact that it was him touching me there, made my whole body twitch. I groaned and pushed back into his hand, hungry for more.

“Fuck me, Zane. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate. Spitting into his hand, he slicked up his cock and lined up behind me.

No questions. No hesitation. Just raw, hot intent.

“Ready?”

“Do it.”

He slid in, slow at first, stretching me wide. I hissed through my teeth, gripping the seat as that thick cock pushed deeper. His hands grabbed my hips, then moved up to my chest, pulling me into him like he owned every inch of me. He started to fuck — deep and grinding, then rough and relentless, like his cock had something to prove.

I arched back against him, each thrust sending a jolt through me, moaning like I hadn’t been fucked in months. Because I hadn’t. Not like this.

His mouth found my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Fuck, you feel so tight. So fuckin’ good.”

“Harder,” I growled. “Give me all of it. Don’t hold back.”

Zane snapped. Whatever control he had evaporated. He slammed into me with brutal force, skin smacking skin, sweat flying off his body and splattering onto my back as he pounded like a man possessed.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled through gritted teeth. “This is what I need. Bitches don’t like it hard like this. They get all whiny or tell me to slow down. But you — fuck — you take it. You want it.”

Every word made me tighter around him, every thrust made my vision blur. He grabbed my shoulders, using me like leverage, grunting with each savage stroke.

“You’re made for this, bro. Taking cock like a good fuckin’ whore. Like your ass was built to be used. Goddamn.”

I was moaning nonstop, drooling, desperate for more, and I could feel his cock swelling, twitching, about to unload deep inside me.

“Shit — fuck — I’m gonna cum,” he panted. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in your ass.”

I slammed my hips back into him. “Do it. Fill me up. I want it.”

He groaned like an animal, buried himself to the hilt, and let go. I felt it — hot, thick, pumping deep inside, pulse after pulse coating my guts. His whole body shook as he collapsed over me, arms wrapped tight around my chest, cock still buried in my hole, twitching.

It pushed me over the edge. My own orgasm ripped out of me, untouched, cum spurting onto the seat and dripping down my thigh. My hole clenched around him, milking the last drops out of his cock.

He didn’t pull out. Just stayed there, panting, still inside me. We were sweaty, messy, used — and I’d never felt better.

He leaned against the door, breathing hard, staring into space. “I’ve never done that before. No girl ever let me fuck her ass.”

“You did good. Better than good.”

He looked at me, thoughtful. “I liked it. I’d do it again. Maybe even… suck your dick next time. No promises, but I’m curious.”

I grinned. “We better get to the beach. We’re forty minutes late.”

Zane smirked. “Tell ’em we both had to drain the main vein. Not a lie. Just didn’t mention who drained who.”

I chuckled, wiping a smear of dried cum off my jaw. I reached for my shorts, still inside-out on the floorboard, and pulled them on as Zane tucked himself back in with all the grace of a frat boy after a keg stand.

He looked at me, eyes a little wild. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Believe it,” I said, grabbing the wheel. “And get used to it. I have a feeling this road trip just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”

As we pulled back onto the highway, Zane reclined his seat and gave me a crooked grin. “Next time, I’m driving. And I’m not wearing underwear.”

“Next time, you’re not wearing anything.”

He laughed, low and dirty. “Deal.”

The sun was setting, the air still thick with sex and sweat, and the beach wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was Zane.

Not yet.