Roo's Birthday Surprise

The man's muscles ripple as he pumps his fist up and down. A sheen of sweat glistens off his olive skin. Andrew finds himself staring at the guy's tattoo, a red rose with a stem like barbed wire, running from the man's left pectoral all the way down to his pubis; Andrew's gaze follows the tattoo until his eyes settle once again on the man's erection, looking blurry but still impressive. The guy's webcam can't process the speed with which he is jerking off.

Andrew's slender fingers dance over the keyboard, tapping keys with uncanny precision. Roo's right hand is buried in his trousers, wrapped around his own cock. Enter. A loud

ping

-- too loud, it hurts his ear -- momentarily drowns out the other guy's soft moans and heavy breathing. An indication Andrew's message got delivered via private chat. Andrew adjusts his earbud, rereads his own message on the screen.

can i see ur face??

He doesn't expect a reply. The other guy (nickname:

heli0s29

) never replies. At least, he's never replied to Andrew, but Roo's never seen him typing either. Except for the black cloth bandana covering his face, "Helios" is always fully naked already when he gets online -- usually every Saturday and Sunday between 3 and 4 in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening on weekdays. Andrew knows this because the website sends alerts to his phone whenever Helios comes online (for a fee, which Roo pays for with the credit card his dad "lost" but hasn't blocked yet).

Roo types another message, hits send.

mmm ur cock looks so fine

Roo picks up the pace, his fist moving up and down the length of his shaft while his eyes rove over Helios' body before fixating on the webcam performer's thick cock again. He types yet another message, his breathing shallow.

I want to feel it

And he does; he imagines what it would be like to have Helios' dick in his mouth. Would he be able to take it all in? What does Helios taste like? It's funny, in a way -- up until a couple of months ago, Andrew never would have wondered about stuff like this. And then one day, on a whim more than out of curiosity, he surfed to the cam site and clicked one of the performers at random. Helios.

And Andrew was hooked.

Gay for Helios.

Well, not only for Helios... Ever since Andrew first blew his load while watching Helios stroking his thick dick live on cam, he's been looking at guys differently. Sneaking glances at the curve of their ass, the bulge in their pants. Getting not-so-random boners in the shower after gym class, surrounded by smooth, soapy bodies. Furiously masturbating at night while imagining his hand on another guy's ass, his mouth on biceps and pecs and abs and cock.

A tingle in his balls warns Andrew he's close. He slows down his strokes, tries to tense the muscles around his perineum -- he read about this online: it delays the orgasm and makes it more intense. And, what the hell; Andrew reaches out for the keyboard again.

its my birthday

Roo doesn't really know what he hopes to accomplish by sharing this tidbit about himself with Helios, and it doesn't matter. His breathing comes in shallow gasps; he leans forward in his chair, nose almost pressed to the laptop's screen as he takes in the sight of Helios' dick and imagines it filling him up, imagines the weight of Helios' body on his own, pressing him down while little drops of sweat fall down from Helios' brow onto Andrew's own face, his lips brushing against Helios' bandana as their eyes lock--

"Oh, fuck," Andrew gasps. "

Fuuuck.

" Hot cum spills over his fingers and darkens the inside of his sweatpants. He'll have to wipe them clean before putting them in the laundry basket, or his dad might wonder about the stain.

Pling

.

That's weird. He hasn't sent any message... Still in the throes of his orgasm, Andrew gasps. On the screen, in a red font, is a message from Helios.

happy bd ;)

An actual message from Helios! Andrew stares at the screen, flabbergasted. Helios is back to stroking his dick, but is that a crinkle at the corner of his eye? Is he smiling underneath that bandana?

Andrew jumps when there's a knock on the door. "Just a sec!" He slams the laptop closed, reaches out for a pillow with his left hand -- his right still wrapped around his cock, sticky with sperm -- and knocks over the plastic water bottle on his desk. "Shit!" He tries to pick it up, now holding a pillow, and only succeeds in batting the bottle off the table.

The door opens. Andrew freezes, horrified, pillow in one hand while the other's in his tented and stained trousers. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then screams, "Oh my

god, dad!

Why do you even knock if you're just gonna come in anyway?"

#

With an involuntary groan, Ellis starts to climax. Long experience has taught him at which angle he should hold his dick for the best visual effect, so that the jets of cum hit his body

just so

and leave glistening trails on his upper body. Sometimes, after a particularly long session, his cum shoots all the way up to his face; he tries to aim for the bandana, but on several occasion he's managed to hit himself in the eye. Not that his viewers ever seemed to mind that, or even notice it.

As his balls spasm and push out the last of his seed, Ellis glances at some of the messages streaming by on the screen.

WOW!!!

Oh yeah bby cum for me

mmm I wanna see you eat that cum

Yeah, yeah, yeah. He suppresses a sigh and unceremoniously disconnects the webcam. The bandana comes off next. Ellis takes a deep breath; he hates how the bandana makes his face all sweaty, how it makes his stubble even more itchy. He's tried masks a few time -- both regular cloth and latex -- but they felt too constraining. And anyway, his "fans" seem to prefer to see his eyes, at least.

Ellis rummages in a drawer, fishing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lights one up. He would kill for some weed right now. Probably for the best he doesn't have any, though; his shift starts in a couple of hours. He takes a drag from his cigarette and absentmindedly scratches at his pubis. The trails of cum are already getting dry and sticky, clotting his pubic hair together, but that's okay. There's still time for a shower later.

Why did he send that message? He always sticks to his three rules: one, don't let them see your face. Two, get as many viewers as possible, for as long as possible -- many guys on the site pay by the minute, and Ellis gets fifteen cents on the dollar. And three: don't respond to the messages. He's on the website to make a quick buck, not to make friends.

Not only that, but the one time he breaks his rule, the other guy goes offline not five seconds later. Rude. The odd thing is, Ellis recognised the guy's username, roo99. This "Roo" is almost always watching when Ellis performs; one of Ellis' first viewers, "Roo" is probably responsible for a good chunk of the money Ellis made while camming on the site.

Ellis stubs out his cigarette. Ah well. Lesson learned.

Don't trust any of the sleazy guys on this site; they're only here to watch you jerk off.

Still, it stings. Why do all men have to be dogs? He's never interacted with this "Roo" guy -- until today, that is -- but he'd gotten... accustomed to him. Another reason to never respond to any of the guys on the site, he guesses. They can't disappoint you if you never talk to them.

He pads into the shower, lets the lukewarm water run over his body. Picks at the dried cum on his stomach, his mind miles away.

Truth is, he likes showing off in front of a webcam. The money is nice -- if it was any nicer, he could probably give up his job at the

Cupid

-- and it goes a long way towards paying rent. But it turns him on to feel wanted, to know he's responsible for a complete stranger's excitement, for their orgasms.

What he doesn't like is

guys

. Sure, he likes to have sex with them (mostly, there's always exceptions). Not a big fan of being ghosted, though, or of being treated like a walking dildo. Most dudes assume he's dumb, because of the way Ellis looks and because of his bartending job, and never mind he's taking up 15 credits in community college this semester. One time, a guy Ellis was dating -- and quite liked -- found out about the webcam site and called Ellis a whore, insinuating

that

was what Ellis really did at the

Cupid

instead of bartending.

Ellis hasn't really dated anyone since that conversation, three months previous. Well, he's had a few one-night stands, but those don't really count...

He shakes his head, clears those thoughts away. He's been wool-gathering, almost feeling sorry for himself over guys who aren't worth his attention anyway. What a waste of time. And water.

He steps out of the shower, towels himself off, and gets ready to leave for work.

#

Jeremy glances over at the passenger seat for the umpteenth time since they left home. His son, Andrew, pointedly ignores him by looking out the window, arms folded across his chest.

Great. Just great. Jeremy clears his throat, prepares to say something, anything, to break the silence.

Just as he opens his mouth, Andrew's hand shoots out, lightning-fast, towards the car radio. Some happy pop tune fills the car at top volume, drowning out whatever Jeremy was about to say. Jeremy snaps his mouth shut, looks at the passenger seat again. His son glares back defiantly, red blots showing up on his cheeks.

Okay. Deep breath. Andrew's temperament sometimes seems like an unholy mix of both his parents' worst sides. As much as Jeremy would love to remind his son who's boss, that would result in a drawn-out shouting match. And Jeremy's trying, he really is. He wants to be a cool dad. A

chill

dad. And it's the kid's birthday, after all.

Or course, it doesn't help the tension any that Jeremy walked in on Andrew during a... private moment.

"Son," Jeremy starts -- no good, he can't even hear himself over the music. He reaches for the car radio, simultaneously trying to meet his son's baleful gaze and to keep an eye on traffic. The music turns off abruptly. Wrong button. Andrew's glare intensifies.

"Son," Jeremy tries again. "I get that you're... embarrassed--"

"Oh my god."

"--but there's really... there's no reason to, these--"

"I'm not hearing this. I'm not."

"--perfectly normal urges. In fact, when I was your age..."

"

Dad!

We don't need to talk about this!" Andrew looks as if he's about ready to jump out of the moving car. "Like, ever."

"I'm just saying, I understand," Jeremy mutters. Not for the first time, he wonders why it's so hard to talk to his son. Talking to the guys at the construction site is a lot easier--but maybe that's because he's responsible for their paycheck. He's never walked in on one of his employees jerking off either, so there's that.

The silence grows. Jeremy struggles for something, anything to say, and comes up blank. Then--an inspiration. "So... you seeing anyone?"

Andrew squints his eyes. "What?"

"Are you seeing anyone? Do you have a girlfriend?"

His son makes a small noise in the back of his throat that somehow perfectly expresses he finds the question both offensive and ridiculous. Jeremy waits, not taking his eyes off the road. Finally, Andrew deigns to reply. "No, dad, I'm not

seeing

anyone. Thanks so much for asking and pointing that out. Are

you

?"

"I--oh, no, I..." Jeremy says, flustered. Lamely, he finishes, "I still miss your mom too much."

He can practically

hear

Andrew's eye-roll at that. "Why do you always talk about mom like she died, instead of ditching us to shack up in with

Rrro-dri-go

in Barcelona?"

"

Andrew!

"

"Whatever. You know it's true."

"Well." Jeremy huffs. "Even if it's true, there's no reason to be so, so

blunt

about it."

"Seriously, dad? Being blunt is the issue here?"

"Yeah, yeah, all right. Can we just drop this, please?" The kid's got a point, though: maybe it's time to get over Sharon. Jeremy hasn't dated anyone in over a year now, not counting his monthly trips to the

Cupid's Arrows

, because he pays for those. He would claim he's too busy with work, but the truth is the guys at the site run such a tight ship they only need him to come in to sign off on everyone's hours.

"Why did you ask, anyway? If I have a girlfriend?"

Wait, does Andrew sound... nervous? The kid is staring at his hands instead of getting all in Jeremy's face, as he usually does. Maybe he's worried Jeremy found out about the credit card -- in fact, he's known about his son using one of his credit cards to access an "erotic webcam" site pretty much since the start, and he really doesn't mind. If anything, he feels like there's finally something about his son he understand. He was just the same as a teenager. That's what this whole outing is about. It's practically a family tradition.

"Oh," Jeremy says, playing it cool. "Just asking. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble."

"What does that mean?"

This is going to be great. By the end of the day, his son will practically worship him, like he did when he was a small child. "You'll see."

"Uh. You're freaking me out, dad."

Jeremy just smiles. "You'll see."

#

They pull in up the parking lot of a low structure, surrounded by woods. By Andrew's count, they passed the last house at least ten minutes ago. Between that and his father's mysterious behaviour, this is some serial killer bullshit. Roo is ready to bolt from the car when he notices the neon sign on top of the building:

Cupid's Arrows

. Complete with a bad animated cartoon of a plump little cherub shooting an arrow through a pink heart.

He's heard about this place.

It's basically a legend. Some of the older guys in school brag they come here every week, though no one believes them, of course. It'd cost too much. What's more believable is that about a quarter of Roo's classmates lost their virginity here. The

Cupid's

is not a bar, or a stripclub, or even

just

a bordello; it's a rite of passage for guys Andrew's age.

Damn. He'd even be excited about this, if only he were into girls.

He makes a decision. In the car he already had a mini panic attack when his dad asked him about his non-existent girlfriend. He has no idea whether or not his dad would be cool with him being into dudes, but it seems unlikely; he's made some disparaging remarks about "sissies" before, and he does work at a construction site, after all.

This is going to take some acting skills.

"Whoa, the Cupid's, huh?" He was going for enthusiasm, but it immediately sounds hollow and artificial to him.

Stupid. Don't try so hard.

His dad on the other hand perks up right away, oblivious. "You've heard of it, then?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, some of the guys, at school..." He trails off.

"Hey, I get it, son. I might not look it, but I was your age once." His dad seems very pleased with himself, and Andrew's heart drops. It's kind of sad, really, to think how he'll eventually turn out to be a disappointment to Jeremy.

Or he could just never tell him. Only bring home girls and tell dad they're his dates, or--

"You ready to go in?"

Andrew forces a smile. "Sure. Let's do it."

They exit the car and cross the short distance to the front door. Andrew reaches for it, but his dad puts a hand on his shoulder. "This is where you become a man, son," he says gravely. "That's what my own father told me here, once, so that's what I'm telling you now. And don't worry." Wink. "It's my treat."

Okay, that's actually sort of sweet, in a very awkward way. Andrew swallows, nods, and pushes through the

Cupid

's front door.

The front room feels a lot like a reception desk. A young woman stands behind a counter, offers them a smile. It grows wider as she notices Andrew's dad. "Jerry! How long has it been? And you brought a friend."

Jeremy turns beet red, stammers, "Hi, Sapphire. This is my son, Andrew."

The woman -- Andrew's not naive enough to believe her name is really Sapphire -- winks at him. "First time, huh? Well, you go right on in, sweetie." She nods towards double doors, framed by potted plants and decorated with shiny golden cherubs and curlicues. All fake, of course. All plastic, even the potted plants. He glances back to his dad, who's speaking to "Sapphire" in a low voice. She laughs, a bright, too loud sound, and touches Jeremy's arm. Jeremy smiles, keeps talking, and digs up his wallet. Probably to pay their entrance fee, or something. Andrew steps inside.

The heat, the music and the smell hit him all at once. It's like stepping into some kind of nocturnal jungle cave, if jungle caves were filled with chemical floral air fresheners and patchouli, and if the jungle animals were for some reason really into generic trance music. It takes only a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights.

There's topless women everywhere.

Despite himself, Andrew's heart starts to beat faster. His palms feel clammy, though he can't be sure whether it's because of the heat or the nerves caused by the excessive nudity all around him. Should've brought an extra shirt; he can already feel the wet patches form around his armpits.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he nearly jumps. It's his dad. "Feast your eyes, son. You only turn eighteen once."

Andrew swallows. His mouth is suddenly very dry. "Yeah. Hey, now that I'm a legal adult and all, how about a drink?"

His dad laughs -- too loud -- and slaps Andrew's shoulder -- too hard. At least one of them is having a good time already.

For fuck's sake, I'm your son, not one of your construction site buddies

. Andrew grimaces and hopes it looks like a smile.

"Let's go," Jeremy says, waving an arm around magnanimously. "You see anything you like, you let me know. My treat. Happy birthday, Roo."

"Don't call me that," Andrew mutters, knowing the music makes it impossible for his dad to hear him. In truth, he enjoys the nickname -- but to hear his dad use it, to be all

familiar

with him, to pretend they're buddies now, is just jarring. He desperately needs that drink, and fast. The bartender -- a hunky guy, seems to be in his mid to late twenties, not at all bad-looking, if a bit scruffy -- is in the midst of an animated conversation with a young brunette. Andrew waves to try and get his attention, and, when that doesn't work, loudly snaps his fingers and yells, "Hey! Some service here?"

He

really

needs a drink.

The bartender saunters over, frowning, which is... whatever. Actually, it makes him look even more attractive. Brooding.

Jeremy sits down on the barstool next to Andrew. "We'll have two beers."

"Actually," Andrew snaps. "Vodka coke for me."

The bartender scoffs. Looks from Andrew to Jeremy, then to Andrew again. Finally says, "Sure, kid."

Did he emphasise the

kid

? What-ever. It's not like Andrew needs anyone's approval -- and especially not from some meathead jock working at a titty-bar-slash-brothel. He glowers at the guy as he brings him his drink. "Thanks

so much

." He takes a big gulp from the cold drink.

"Yeah, sure." The bartender gives Jeremy his beer and goes back to talking to the woman.

"Hey, Ruby!" Jeremy booms. The woman looks up, smiles, gives a little wave. His dad beckons her over.

Andrew takes another big gulp. His dad's so pathetic. It's obvious the woman doesn't remember him, obvious she's just acting -- well, doing her job, more likely. He sips his drink again, ice cubes rattling against the glass.

"Jeez, Roo, slow down a bit, huh? It's not even four o'clock yet."

Andrew puts the glass down -- too hard, but he doesn't care. "'S my birthday, isn'it?"