Camo Hat • Chapter Four
by Sean Reid Scott
Posted: in the before time :: Approx. 3,600 words
ORMALLY IT TAKES ME A CERTAIN amount of time-- like maybe a half hour-- to recover after an orgasm. But in Cam’s presence, as was already demonstrated, my normal bodily functions and regular parameters of operation are suspended. As soon as I emerged from my bathroom after cleaning up, Cameron’s physique had me totally erect again within seconds. Maybe it was that his embrace had served to break down any walls and pretenses, and therefore I was free to be as turned on as I wanted. Or maybe his embrace was simply something that might possibly cause me to be forever erect. Being enveloped by those big, strong arms was life-changing, to say the least.
“You still want me to go?” Cam said. He was serious, but I almost detected a slight smile- almost an imperceptible turning up of the corners of his mouth, with the requisite indentation of those darling dimples.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I said. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened.”
Now Cam smiled-- it was a comforting smile. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, man,” he said. “If you want me to leave, I will.”
I tried to make light of the whole situation. I was thoroughly embarrassed, enough so that I could have just crawled into a hole and died. But my nature is to try and act cool, even in the face of humiliation. I guess it’s just a natural response, after years and years of conditioning to try and fool people into thinking I was straight. Anyway, I moved into the kitchen and worked on finishing the dishes. “It’s up to you, man. I mean, you’re always welcome to stay. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” I loaded the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “It’s no biggie, really.”
But Cameron could see right through me. He gave a slight smile again, and said “Well, maybe it’s getting late. I think we’re both tired.” He slipped his wife-beater back on, much to the delight of my eyes, and thanked me for a great day.
As he drove off, I collapsed in a heap on my couch. How could I have let that happen? And worse than my involuntary orgasm was how I handled the situation afterward! He had been totally cool about it, but I, in my nervous attempt to save face, might possibly have put the kibosh on the whole friendship! How embarrassing!
I got up from the couch, after sulking for awhile, and poured myself a drink. An hour later I was passed out on the couch.
• • • • •
My hangover on Monday morning was pretty severe. The day was pretty much wasted-- I felt horrible from my headache and nausea.
At about 4:30 in the afternoon, Cam called. I held my cell phone, wondering how to answer. After I let it ring as long as I could before the call went to voicemail, I pressed “answer.”
“Hi Cam,” I said, trying hard to present just the right balance of light-heartedness and seriousness. (I actually didn’t know what I was trying to do. I was totally nervous.)
“Hey, Matt-- I mean Your Royal Mattliness. How’s it going dude?”
“You address a Royal with ‘how’s it going dude’?” I smiled.
“Sorry, your worship,” he grinned back into his phone. “I just thought that maybe we were becoming a little more familiar with each other.”
“Oh. You mean-- you mean after last night?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to bring it up,” he said.
“I just freaked out, that’s all. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, really-- I was thinking that you would be the one freaking out. I just didn’t want you to be upset with me, and I pushed away. I didn’t know how to react.” I stopped talking because I realized that I had just gone off-- trying to justify myself. Shit, I was so self-conscious.
“Dude,” Cam said, “Forget it. Don’t give it another thought. Okay? It’s nothing, really.”
“Thanks, man. You’re a good friend.”
“Well, I guess we can add that quality to the long list of my attributes. There are so many,” he said.
I laughed out loud. “And certainly we need to add modesty,” I said with noted sarcasm.
I continued to chuckle, and he did likewise. God, it was cool to hear him laugh-- it was cool to laugh with him.
“So,” he finally said, “You get the air conditioning installed yet?”
“Naw,” I said. “Supposedly day after tomorrow.”
“Shit, man. The radio just said it’s 97 outside. Should top 100 before tonight. You must be roasting in there.”
“Aw, it’s nothing,” I said. “I just roll myself over and broil on the other side.”
‘Man, you need to get out of that oven. I’ll be by in an hour and we can head over to my place. It’s cool, and I’ve got some killer ribs marinating.”
“Sh-- sure,” I gulped. “Sounds great!”
I took the hour to shower and take a few more aspirin, trying to shake off the last remnants of my hangover. It was mostly successful. Cam pulled up, wearing a ice-blue ringer T-shirt and shorts. For the life of me, I don’t know how he found one that had sleeves that large. The dark blue rings around his arms only needed to have the inches marked off, and it would have been perfect. We drove off in his FJ Cruiser.
“Shit, this place is awesome!” I said as we entered his air conditioned apartment. It was really nicely furnished, and although sparsely decorated, it was good; not so “tastefully appointed” to convey any kind of gay tendencies. No, Cam’s heterosexual identity was thoroughly communicated in his minimalist decorating style. It wasn’t even spotlessly clean, although it was totally well-kept. Any more meticulous and I would have questioned his sexual orientation. But it was a really nice place.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, motioning me to his living area. He set up camp in his kitchen, retrieving the ribs from the fridge and making a few trips out to his patio to start up the barbecue. I grabbed some iced tea out of his fridge, making sure not to bump into his massive frame as we exchanged spots in the kitchen, and then returned to my comfortable seat in his overstuffed chair.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” I asked between sips. He had vehemently refused my previous offers of assistance, and he did likewise with this one. He had a plan, and he was very focussed on it.
After he had thrown the ribs on the barbecue, he came inside and said “I just need to change real quick. I’ll be right back down.”
Of course the mystery of what he was changing in to heightened my curiosity-- so much so that I couldn’t really focus on his veterinary magazines anymore. In a flash, Cam returned down the stairs in shorts and a tank top.
Fuck, this guy knows how to drive me crazy.
He retrieved a large barbecue apron from a kitchen drawer and put it on. The straps over the shoulders seemed to compete with the straps of his tank top, and he immediately went back upstairs. Within a second, he was down again. He had abandoned the tank top altogether, and wore just the shorts with the apron. The front of the apron said “Kiss the Cook,” and its square section of fabric barely extended far enough to cover his nipples. “You okay with this?” he asked, coyly. “I mean, I can put on a T-shirt if you want me to.”
I smiled, and said “I’ll be okay, man.”
This innocuous acknowledgment of his complete control over my sexual functions-- just by taking his shirt off, came and went quickly and without further notice. But I did notice it. We had just established a very important fact that he couldn’t help but understand.
And yet it was like it was nothing to him. He just went on, cooking his ribs and preparing the salad. (And allowing me to watch his huge muscles.) This guy was driving me absolutely crazy.
“It’s too hot to eat out on the patio,” he said as he set a few plates on the table. “I’ll bring the ribs in in a few minutes.”
As we finished our meal, Cam said, “I should have told you to bring some extra clothes, since you’ll be spending the night here.”
“Oh really?” I said with raised eyebrows. “I will?”
He gave me a “well duh” look and said, “You plan on going back to your oven to try to sleep? Give me a break, man.” He motioned to his couch in the living area and said, “My couch folds out to a bed. I’ll take that and you can have my bed.”
“Yeah, right I will,” I said indignantly. “There’s no way I’m going to make you take the hide-away bed. It’ll do fine for me.”
“I insist,” he said matter-of-factly. “You will be sleeping in my bed tonight.”
I tried with all my might, but I just couldn’t keep myself from grinning at that last statement. Cam caught on as soon as he saw my face, and he grinned too. “And I will be sleeping on the hide-away bed.”
My face started to hurt because I was still trying hard to stop grinning.
“I usually get up at about 6:00 to go work out,” he said as he cleared the table. “I should be back by 8:00.”
“You work out?” I said in a dry, detached manner.
He flashed a smile at me as he walked into the kitchen. “I’ll expect you to have breakfast waiting,” he called out from the kitchen.
“Tell you what, in gratitude for the cool accommodations, how ‘bout I take you out for breakfast.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said, coming back to the table. His freakish physique was just as overwhelming as the first time I saw it.
“So, am I required to kiss the cook, like your apron says?”
Cam looked down at it. “Oh shit,” he blushed. “Forgot all about that.” He looked up at me and said,” Yeah, you can kiss me, but it’s gotta be my feet.”
“Sure,” I said. “Did I mention that I have a foot fetish?”
Cameron paused. “I think I’ve met my match, when it comes to talking smack, dude.”
“I’ll take that as a surrender.”
“Never,” he said. “The battle is joined, man. Just wanted you to know that I respect you as an equal when it comes to trash talk.” Then, his demeanor totally changed and he relaxed back into his chair at the table. “I’m glad I met you, Matt. I like you.”
I smiled, but I couldn’t bring my mouth to come up with anything to say in response. I was dumbfounded. Finally, I squeaked out a feeble, “Me too, man.”
Cam looked down at the apron that barely covered his thick pecs. They literally overflowed from beneath it. It looked so hot! “Geez, I think this thing is too small.” He flexed his pecs in a slow, rippling wave underneath the green fabric, and although partially covered by that apron, it was an overwhelming display of his hyper-masculinity and power.
“Oh shit,” I said. “You are unbelievable.” My boner was as hard as a steel rod in my pants.
Cameron stopped flexing and stood up. “Yeah, I need to get rid of this. Mind if I excuse myself for a minute?”
Without waiting for my permission, Cam turned and went upstairs. I put my hand on my crotch, and had to immediately remove it for fear of another un-commanded ejaculation session. I pushed away from the table and went into the living area to examine the hide-away. I crouched down and looked for the handle to pull it out.
“I hope you aren’t thinking you’re going to be sleeping there.” Cam startled me and I looked up to see him standing there, shirtless. I jumped at the sight of him and stood up quickly.
“Uh, no-- uh, just seeing how it works.” His chest was staring me in the face-- it’s skin hugging the bulging muscles tightly, and the cleavage between his pecs a deep, dark valley anchored by a sternum covered by only a paper-thin piece of flesh. His massive shoulders pretty much filled up what was left of my peripheral vision, and what they didn’t cover, his gargantuan arms did.
He just stood there.
I could feel the heat emanating from his muscles.
I slowly moved my eyes up to his face and they were met by his gorgeous closed-mouth smile. He was so relaxed and sure of himself. But then, why wouldn’t he be?
“I’m hoping you can last a little longer than last night,” he said. “Before you-- you know.” He looked down at my crotch.
“Uh. I thought-- I thought we weren’t going to talk about that anymore.”
“Sorry man,” he said. “Forgot.”
“Selective memory, I think.”
“Guess so,” he said. We just stood there, staring into each others’ eyes. I could feel my heart racing. As if he could read my mind, he placed his palm on my chest. My heart throbbed against his hand, and I could feel that he felt it. “Your heart-- it’s beating pretty fast.”
“Is it?” I was getting totally flustered. I put my hand on my chest, trying to find a place where I could feel it. I certainly didn’t need to do this to confirm his observation; I was just trying to make like I didn’t know what he was talking about. My hand fought to find a place to get my heartbeat, but I was unsuccessful in getting his hand to move. “I don’t feel a thing.”
“Here,” he said, removing his hand from my chest and taking my hand and placing it where his had been. “Feel that?”
“Yeah. I guess it is pounding kinda fast.” We were still looking at each others’ eyes, and my neck started to get a crink from looking up at him. “Must have been the cooking or something,” I tried to joke.
“Well, I ate the same thing you did, and my heart is fine,” he said. “Here. Feel.” He took my wrist in his fingers and moved my hand from my chest to his.
Oh holy mother of god.
Amazingly, I could feel his heart beat, in spite of the fact that it was buried under huge deposits of muscle. He held my hand there, not letting go of my wrist to make sure I didn’t remove it.
“You feel it okay?” he said. Without waiting for a response, he moved my hand from the center cleavage area onto one of his pecs. Slowly, he slid my palm right on top of one of his nipples. He released my wrist and moved his fingers on top of my hand and pressed my hand into his pectoral muscle.
At that gentle squeeze of Cam’s hand, my cock-- once again rebelling against all sensibilities-- exploded with a hot volley of semen. My body jerked, and unfortunately, this time my penis had grown to such proportion and stiffness that it was actually snaked toward the elastic band of my briefs, the result being that said elastic was slightly pulled away from my waistline, the result of that being that as my orgasm commenced, my sperm actually found its way into the great outdoors and began to squirt up to my left side in a great arc and plop loudly onto Cam’s carpet, without regard for my composure whatsoever.
I found my hand tighten on Cam’s pectoral, and he tightened it just a bit, in response.
As is often the case in orgasms, the second jerk came with more force than the first, and my whole body convulsed with such force that I actually snapped a nerve in my neck. Likewise, the accompanying second shot of semen into the air was delivered with such enthusiasm that it easily bested the first in both height and distance, as well as the sound of its splatter on the rug. As is not common in orgasms, at least in mine, the third burst of semen came with an intensity that caused me to shudder with a deep moan. And in the periphery of my vision, I could tell that its mass was unlike anything my penis had ever produced. It was more a stream of jizz, not really a shot of it.
As Cam continued to meet the squeezes of my hand with equal force from his pectoral, I enthusiastically entered the wanton abandon phase of my orgasm. I cut loose.
Loud moans and the occasional “Oh shit,” and “Oh fuck” began to erupt from my throat. I steadied myself by putting my other hand on Cameron’s waist.
Cameron, fully impressed by the copious amount of milk I was producing (or perhaps because of his concern for his carpet) brought a hand up and cupped his palm around the opening in my waistline where I was spewing forth my love offering. It blasted into his big hand, and he must not have really been concerned for his carpet because it freely dribbled down his wrist and onto the rug without an effort by him to stop it.
I slowly moved my hand over the full real estate of both his pecs, back and forth, slowly exploring the massive muscles. Whenever I brushed a nipple, Cam seemed to tighten. I made sure I returned to them often, and each time, I was rewarded with a slight gasp, or a miniscule buckling of his knees. Yeah-- he had a sweet spot.
Or, two of them.
As my involuntary breakout subsided, and I was able to catch my breath, I looked Cameron in the eyes again. He looked back and said, “I hate it when that happens.” His dimples melted me once again as he smiled slightly, showing sarcastic concern for my well-being.
“You fucker,” I said. I looked down at my waistline, his hand still hovering over my cock head, and said, “You did that on purpose.”
He took his drenched palm up to his mouth and began to lick it. “I did not,” he protested.
“Did too.” I cupped his pec in my hand and massaged his nipple.
“Uuuhhhh,” he moaned as his eyes seemed to fight to keep from dropping back up into his head. “Don’t do that,” he begged.
Like, right. Like I’m going to stop? I lightened up on my touch slightly, the result being an even more irresistible tickling sensation that melted his enormous body into even greater whimpering.
“Oh gawd,” he said, closing his eyes. “You are driving me crazy.”
“’bout time the shoe was on the other foot,” I said, continuing to drive him nuts with my light, soft caresses over his nipple. “Samson, I think we’ve found your weakness,” I chided.
He stepped back. “You should probably go clean up,” he said, looking at my stained shorts. “I’ll get a towel for the rug.”
I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Was he embarrassed by my touch and his resultant loss of power? Was he just fine with everything but wanted to play the field? Was this just a normal kind of thing he often did to guys, and it didn’t really mean anything to him?
I went into his bathroom and dried everything off as best I could, then returned to the living room where Cameron had just finished rubbing out the carpet.
As if there were no question in his confident mind, Cameron-- ever the self-assured man-- smiled and stood close. “You okay, dude? I don’t want you to feel bad-- like last night.”
“No worries, man,” I said, trying once again to appear confident. “Uh-- it’s cool with me if it is with you. I just don’t want to freak you out.”
“Do I look freaked out?” he smiled.
“Well,” I looked over his massive muscles, “you do look pretty freaky, but I’m not sure that’s what you mean.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“I know you are, but what am I,” I countered.
This story is free. Your appreciation is priceless. Please write to me if you enjoyed this story. If you experience orgasm during the reading of this work, well… all the more reason to let me know how much you love me:
My very wankable website: https://musclewank.com
©©: 2022 & earlier: Sean Reid Scott
The above copyright is held under the Creative Commons License, noted forthwith:
Additionally, the following conditions apply to reproducing this work:
Permission is hereby given to reproduce (heaven knows us gays can’t do that on our own), transmit and publish this work IF & ONLY IF the following conditions are stringently met (and I mean, stringently!):
- Said work must be published in its entirety only. An exception will be made for brief reviews (only if they’re favorable, though), so long as a link to the original website of publication (https://musclewank.com) is plainly and obviously attached to said review.
- Permission for publication is completely and utterly limited to the Internet/Web only. No paper printing of this work is allowed under any circumstances, unless granted in writing by The Author, Sean Reid Scott.
- (& this is a biggie:) Any and all publishment of this work on the Web must include the following:
- The Author’s name: Sean Reid Scott (with the prominence due such a luminary)
- A hyperlink to the home website of publication: https://musclewank.com
- Lots o’ love.
- This work (and any derivatives allowed under Clause One, above) must be published on the Web only, for the enjoyment of others only. NO HATEFUL, DEROGATORY, ANTI-GAY, EVIL, BAD or NEGATIVE (in any way) usage of this work is allowed. Nor will it be tolerated. Seanny has lawyers, k? No one is allowed to harvest the juicy, erotic, nasty, smutty stuff from this work and use it to further an agenda of hate and/or not liking gays. Got it? We are everywhere.
The above-cited Creative Commons License is binding. It is full. It is all-encompassing. It is exact and real. Nor does the aforementioned license stand alone regarding this work: The four CONDITIONS noted above (including the three alphabetized “biggies” subjugated under Number Three), must needs be adhered-to in addition to the Creative Commons License cited herein. The Author reserves the right to impose additional conditions (possibly retroactive) regarding the use and/or publication of this work, at his whim, without regard to anything.
So it is written. So shall it be.