The Good Gay the Bad Gay and Me

I woke up, totally naked, lying awkwardly on my stomach. As my eyes adjusted to the morning light, I knew innately that something intense had happened earlier during the night. It wasn't until I gained full consciousness that my dazed confusion subsided. The night before, my work done, I'd collapsed into an exhausted, sweaty sleep. I'd passed out in the middle of two equally naked men.

After an uncomfortable few minutes, somewhere around 4 am, we all recognized at once that there wasn't enough room for the three of us on a single mattress. One of them had evidently arbitrarily decided to lead me to a nearby sofa and to retire again to the bed.

I could have been annoyed that I was the odd man out, but for the moment I was simply too preoccupied with what I was hearing to care. Rolling over onto my side, I heard the unmistakable sounds of sex. As the blur gave way to greater focus, I found myself in full view of the same two men who had formerly been my partners.

The more energetic and forceful of the two had described himself at the outset as the bad gay. I wasn't sure what he meant by that at first, but it wouldn't take long before I knew what an apt description his self-assigned nickname really was. He leered at me, erect cock in hand, climbing onto to another hot body in this nihilistic trifecta.

"Watch as I wake him up," he said, with a smirk.

The good gay opened his eyes immediately, as if electrocuted, discovering all at once that he had his boyfriend's cock buried in his ass. I got the feeling that this wasn't the first time. The show had been clearly put on for my benefit, but I doubted that I was the first, nor even the last threesome member to have been granted the courtesy.

Draping the boy's scrawny legs over his shoulders, the bad gay started vigorous strokes. I saw a look of slight reluctance on the face of the good gay, but mostly it was annoyance. The top kept smirking, with every slap of thighs against ass, looking my way periodically as if he was on camera and I was the lens.

The sight was very arousing. It felt as though I was viewing a sex tape, one recorded for my private enjoyment. I'd had the bad gay's cock inside me only a little while earlier, and I knew what it felt like. I wanted to give it another ride.

Savoring the memory, I remember how I'd impatiently rolled over on my back with my legs in the air. From long-practiced habit, he vigorously thrust up me.

"Ughhh..."

The sensation took my voice and my breath away at the same time. Damn, he was good at this. Most gay boys are so timid with fucking, but not the bad gay. If this was the absolute best I was going to get in the course of one lifetime, I wouldn't have been disappointed. I have had worse, much worse.

Before I knew it, he'd pounced on me like a tiger. My back slid roughly against the bristly carpeting and I knew I'd have crazy friction burns to deal with the next day. But I didn't care. His mouth was on my mouth. His tongue was on my tongue. And his cock was thrusting in and out of me. It was perfect. I was physically dominated and sexually satisfied at once.

But that had been last night. Today, this instant, the good gay was getting very close to obligingly blowing his load. I saw the muscles in his cock contract and spasm the moment before he did. He didn't shoot so much as dribble, the stickiness caught in his close-cropped pubic hair. But the effect was all I wanted. My imagination could supply the rest.

I wanted to be next.

The good gay, the bottom, flashed me a look of great jealousy. One could tell he never got fucked like I'd been last night, or at least not anymore. Being a glorified voyeur wasn't enough for him. He sulked away into a corner, licking his wounds.

The bad gay shot him a dismissive look.

"You little baby! Go sulk to your room, you little shit"

The good gay left the room in a huff, still naked. I was concerned, but I figured it wasn't a new development. And I wanted to be pounded again. The bad gay was glad to oblige. This time he had me on all fours, my knees balanced on a pillow. As he slid all the way into me, my eyes closed involuntarily and I let out a swift intake of breath. Who gives a shit about that little bottom baby. This cock is mine, and fairly won.

Now in a very different position, I saw myself in a mirror that had been mounted into the wall before me. Looking closer, I found a purplish-blue mark on the right side of my neck, just above the collarbone. He'd given me a hickey, that prick. How long had it been since I'd gotten a love bite that prominent?

The bad gay was to blame, of course. I probably could have been more upset about it, but a part of me liked being used this way. Why do all the really experienced ones have to be such assholes? Before I could protest too much, his hand snaked underneath me and began to masturbate my cock. Mmmm, he was good at that, too.

I looked up. The good gay was back, standing up, jerking himself off but looking none too pleased with the action on the set. It was clear that he liked a combination of arousal and humiliation, and that this situation had fit in nicely with his fantasies.

The bad gay was barking instructions now.

Don't cum! Don't cum!

I thought he was talking to me, at first, but he was instead bossing around his little bottom boy. I was in danger of blowing my load, too, because the visuals, the drama, and the way the action was unfolding stimulated me in multiple ways. I wanted to be the new little bitch. If it meant great sex for a long time, I'd do it.

Most of the time, my random hookups were unsubstantial. And by the climax, when clothes were donned, and awkward goodbyes made, every man always told me that they'd be ready to return. All I had to do was ask. I don't think anyone ever made a return visit and I never opened channels of communication.

This was quite different. Maybe I'd be the next to wake up with an injection of hard cock by way of devious wake up call. I was wise enough to know that no one ever really tamed the bad gay. Men tried, of course, but no one ever succeeded. In this sex-drenched scenario, I'd have him forever, and even tolerate the next seduction to follow.

Unlike the good gay, I didn't really want a boyfriend. That lizard-brain part of me wanted him for my own, a kind of evolutionary jealousy, but the rational part of me spoke otherwise. I knew when orgasm arrived that I'd be thinking a little more rationally.

Rational thought is the last thing I wanted. I was neither the good gay, nor the bad gay, but l'd be whatever the situation required.

I had found a never-ending reserve of cock and pleasure. And that was enough for me, at least for the moment.

I wanted to be possessed wholly, made to do the bidding of the bad gay. I'd do whatever he wanted, and be his open hole. I'm not sure why I felt so strongly attracted to him. Maybe this was wrong and maybe it was right, but I wasn't going to analyze it too much. More would follow, I was sure of it.