FRICTION FICTION: Assault by Night

[monshanjik]

ASSAULT BY NIGHT

By Joe Jefferson

(Honcho.Aug.1985.)

The car pulled over in the heavy shadows across the road from us. We
knew it would. When the rollers heckle you twice without getting any
satisfaction, they usually come back.

Our part of the park was deserted. The other guys, wary of the rednecks,
had taken off. Only Frank and I had stayed. Frank stepped just out into
the roadway; he stood with legs apart and his hands in his hip pockets.
His jaw was taut, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders seemed to
stiffen.

The car doors opened. The two of them, dressed only in cutoffs and
sneakers, stepped out. Their sassy grins and intense eyes showed that
they had either fucking or fighting on their minds (and I didn't think
they wanted the former).

They swaggered across the asphalt and stopped a few feet in front of us.
Their legs, like Frank's, were spread apart. Their hips were loose, and
their arms were cocked back at the shoulders. I couldn't help but stare.
Their young, athletic bodies were — by my standards — typical of
straight guys: broad, defined pecs, strong slender bellies, and tight
round butts.

"We're lookin' for us some faggots," said the taller of the two.

Frank surprised me by cutting through all of the conventional bullshit.
"So," he answered, "what do you want? Fucking or sucking? A four -way
maybe?"

The taller one growled back. "Aw, ain't you cute, though. Naw, you two
can have that shit. All we want is some fairy blood, right Dave?" He
glanced sideways at his companion while he raised his forearms and
clenched his fists. "Fairy blood. And we're gonna get it."

He went for Frank. There was a brief blur of arms and bodies, and a
burst of sound. I turned for a moment to watch Dave, but he didn't move.
When I turned back I saw Frank, who had stood his ground like a wall,
moving in on the bigmouth. I had sparred with Frank once; I knew how his
battle would turn out. I waited for my own.

The guy named Dave just stood there, obviously undecided about what to
do. I figured he'd go for me, either to make sure one of them whipped a
faggot, or to save face when the two of them compared battle scars.

He charged at me. In a desperate move of self-defense I shot out a fist,
and caught him flush on the nose. I lunged at him, flailing at his head
and body with both hands. We ended up tangled in a clinch, and I was
conscious of his warm, smooth skin against my own. It was an erotic
sensation.

He broke away from me. Seeing his friend crumpled on the ground, he
headed for their car. As he reached the door I grabbed him from behind
and spun him away from the car. Realizing that I was blocking his way to
the car, he turned at an angle and ran for the darkness of the park. I
scrambled after him.

There was enough dim light from the surrounding city for me to keep him
in sight. The dark tan of his bare skin had a faint sheen that I could
see through the bushes and trees. As I followed him, both of us
shirtless, I felt a primitive thrill. He was mine; I knew it. I was his
physical master, and when I caught him he would be my quarry, my trophy.

I realized the exhilaration of naked aggression. I had always thought of
myself as fairly butch, and enjoyed those times when I got to have my
way with other men. But this was different. There was no game here. We
were not playing roles. This was real life conflict — Mother Nature's
own S&M — and I didn't have to pretend. He was mine to conquer when I
caught him. He had seen to that. He had started it. He had started the
little war game. Tonight, we were ruled by the law of the jungle.

I lost sight of him, but then heard his footfalls behind a stand of
cedars to my left. He was obviously heading for the midtown freeway,
which passed behind the park, leaving his buddy and the car behind. I
was not impressed by his lack of loyalty but I was impressed by his
body.

His shoulders were wide, and his denim shorts fitted tightly on his hips
and butt. He was lean and strong. I've had sex with well built guys
before, but this Dave turned me on more than most of them. He was so
natural. Bodybuilders look good, but there's usually the look of the
bodybuilder about them. This guy looked as if he ran, wrestled, and
played football; he had a fresh look of strong, animal vitality.

Suddenly he spotted me again, and darted off toward the freeway. I took
off after him, running double time, pushing my legs and my lungs. There
was another fifty yards of darkness left before the park opened into a
wide meadow that was bright under the highway lights. I didn't want him
to reach the light.

We were twenty yards from the edge of the trees, and I closed to within
three feet of him. Diving low and hard, I grabbed his legs and pulled.
He came down hard on his chest. I heard the air whoosh from his lungs as
he hit the ground.

I wanted to get at his face. I didn't want to break my knuckles on the
back of his head; I wanted to see blood on his nose and mouth. He was
still out of breath, so I rolled him over.

There was already a smear of red under his nose from the punch I had
landed before. He was struggling to throw me off, so I mashed his nose a
couple of more times. As he pushed against me I lifted my leg and
smashed my knee into his belly. For the first time, he made a groan
which let me know I'd finally hurt him. I raised my knee up and then
plunged downward again.

I grinned at him. "This ain't the way it's supposed to end for a roller,
is it?"

He kept staring up at me. I moved my body forward; my knees were on his
arms and my crotch hung over his face. I saw him studying it with his
eyes.

"Yeah. That's what it is, Dave ol' boy. You know what I oughta do?"

His eyes widened in fear.

"I oughta stick it in your mouth — deep in your mouth. Make your tongue
roll around on it, make your lips suck on it like a big lollipop until I
finally come in your throat."

"Yeah? And I'd bite the son-of-a-bitch off," he spat back at me.

"No, I don't think you would." I reached back with my right hand,
extended the fingers stiffly, and slapped them against his balls. He
jerked his legs.

I drew my hand back from his groin, but something caught my attention. I
reached back again and felt his crotch; he had a hard on. This redneck
bastard who hated faggots enough to pound them on sight, this All
American boy who was flat on his back with a faggot on top of him and a
crotch in his face, had a hard on! I traced his cock through the denim,
and petted it caressingly. He was silent. I felt the outline of his cock
again, and then grasped it through the cloth.

"You got a big one there, champ."

A lunge shook his entire body, but he failed to throw me off.

"Oh, so the guy likes it. He likes having a half naked man on top of him
threatening to stick a dick in his mouth." I couldn't help grinning down
at him. "Maybe you'd like a big kiss, too, tongue against tongue."

"Yeah, and how would you like a mouthful of spit, sucker?"

I grinned broadly at his glaring eyes. "Remember, the last time I used
my palm. The next time I go for your nuts I'll use a fist, Davey." I
hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to do anything to my
aroused playmate. It didn't take me long to make up my mind.

"Now, when I move, fella, don't get any bright ideas about hurting me or
getting loose. Remember where your balls are!" Before he knew what had
happened I turned, and brought my face to his crotch. I slowly opened
his zipper.

His entire body was tense as I reached in and pulled his hard cock and
large balls out of his pants. His dick was rigid; it pierced the hot,
dark air in front of my face.

"Ah, yeah, man, you got a nice one," I said as I started licking and
sucking his cock.

The tension in his body eased, and he started shaking. I was alert for
any attempt of his to break free, but he didn't try anything. I kept
going at his cock with my tongue and lips; I could feel every ridge and
vein against my tongue. He surprised me as much as he must have
humiliated himself by shooting in about two minutes. I lifted my mouth
off the dick before the juice had finished flowing. I caught some of his
in my hand, and smeared it on his belly. He was very quiet.

I crawled back around so that we were face to face again. "You liked
that. You can't deny it."

"I couldn't help it. It's just a mouth on a penis. It happens like
that."

"You came, and it was a man's mouth on your dick." I eased off his body
and rose so that he could get up. Since he had just come I wasn't
worried about him trying to run away. He looked up at me with a sneer on
his face.

"So I came. Big deal. A mouth's a mouth. It would happen to anybody. But
you're the one who put my cock in your mouth. You're the faggot. My
mouth didn't touch any part of you. I'm still clean, queer."

He got to his feet, gave me one more withering look, turned and started
to walk away.

I thought I had been angry before, but now I was furious. I leaped at
him, spun him around, and started pumping my fists into his belly and
ribs. His knees buckled and he sagged, grunting, toward the ground.
Instead of letting him fall, I whirled him around and smashed his face
against a tree.

I held his shoulders and kicked his feet apart. In one fast motion I
jerked his cutoffs down around his knees, and shoved my spit-coated cock
into the crack of his butt.

It was a tight, dry entrance, but the more it hurt him the better I
liked it. "Hang on, sucker, 'cause you're getting fucked," I growled as
I shoved my cock in deeper.

The guttural sound he made started deep inside his belly and died out in
his throat. I was pumping hard now; my cock was a weapon. But as I
plunged in, my feet started slipping backwards. I couldn't keep my
balance in that position.

I pulled him away from the tree, my dick still deep inside him, and
grabbed him around the chest. Turning our bodies at a right angle from
the tree, I pushed his shoulders until he bent over. Unable to move his
legs because of the shorts tangled around his knees, he fell forward and
landed on his belly.

I pounced on top of him, and rammed my cock back inside his ass. He was
pinned to the ground, out of breath; his ass was mine. I gave it to him
hard and fast. After each plunge I lifted my cock almost out of his ass,
then drove it in deeper with the next thrust.

I suddenly became aware of the figure standing in the darkness beside
us. It was Frank. He looked both surprised and proud. I relaxed and let
the juices flow.

Frank watched over me in the aftermath of my orgasm. When my cock
finally softened, I pulled out of the guy's butt, crawled to my feet and
pulled my shorts back up. Dave was slow in getting to his feet. He never
looked at us, but simply pulled up his cutoffs, zipped them up, and
walked away.

I haven't mentioned that night to anyone, nor has Frank, but it is
always at the back of our minds. I keep an eye out for Dave in the park,
but I haven't seen him. I figure that getting fucked did one of two
things to Dave: either it showed him what he really had wanted for a
long time, or it made him even more vehement in his homophobia. Maybe
he's still trying to act on his real instincts, trying to decide whether
he will be a faggot or a fag-basher. But I keep looking for some sign
every time I go to the park at night.

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Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!