Let’s go back to some short fiction this week. Meet Barry Prescott, who’s called Barry Bungee Jump because of his passion for the sport.
BARRY BUNGEE JUMP
My name’s not really Barry Bungee Jump. It’s actually Barry Max Prescott, but I’m so nutty about bungee jumping, the fellows started calling me that. I can’t explain the rush I get from making suicidal leaps and being snatched from the clutches of death at the last possible moment. I go looking for a jump whenever I can, and that’s not often enough for me. Guys keep warning me I’m gonna go blind from all that jerking around, but I’ll take my chances.
Problem is, I don’t have any money, and it takes money. Equipment isn’t a problem. I don’t own any. I just borrow somebody elses, even the ankle or chest harnesses. But getting to the jump places is sometimes a concern. And, of course, the bail bond and fine money can be a major hassle if you jump off places where it’s against the law. And what bungee jumper hasn’t tried that?
I’m nineteen, but don’t look it. Most guys take me for around fifteen. Pisses me off at times, but it works in my favor, too. I discovered a long time ago that I like guys. Figured I’d grow out of the hand jobs my buddies and me did sometimes, but instead they turned into blowjobs and belly fucking. It wasn’t until last year I figured out how looking like a kid could help me with my passion.
This older guy—musta been about thirty—named Jefferson Hodges was a big deal in the bungee world, at least in Albuquerque. We got to talking at a local hangout one day, and he invited me to go up to Taos with him the next weekend.
I jumped on it in a New York minute and didn’t bother to tell him I didn’t have any gear until we met that Saturday morning. He laughed and said we’d make do. I figured we’d end up making more than that, and I was right. But I didn’t expect the dude to fall in love. Still, that’s what he said the last time I sucked his dong. We did it so much that weekend, I worried about him having the strength to haul me back up, even if he did have a gear-lock box to help out.
He kept on calling and coming around so much my roommates at the off-campus apartment on Grand Avenue started razzing me about it. Didn’t bother me. He was a buff, good-looking guy with a solid economic foot on the ground.
Anyway, it was a soft life for a while. Then I met Dari, and things got complicated. Dari was a swim coach at the U, but since I didn’t swim, I’d never met the guy until I crashed a frat house party early in the semester. As soon as I saw him walk across the room with two glasses in hand, I knew I had to have the guy. Tall, slim, and foreign looking. That’s what got me, his dark, sloe eyes. I was drawn to alien glamour the same way some are drawn to my little boy looks. Exotic is erotic, at least to my eyes.
As soon as he delivered the drink to a guy standing alone in the far corner, I knew I was in. Toothpick Wilkinson didn’t look his age, either, but his nickname defined him totally. I not only looked younger than he did, but I also had discernable body parts. I walked up, said hello to Toothpick, and proceeded to destroy his evening. Before midnight, Coach Darius Pedralis and I were in his bed doing all sorts of delightful things, including one I’d never attempted before.
Guys been trying to part my buns for years, but I’d never let one in … until Dari. As he stared at me with those hypnotic eyes that night, I let him raise my legs to his broad, dark shoulders and rub his dripping cock up and down my puckerhole. I was so fascinated I almost didn’t feel his penetration. But I did feel the athletic fucking he gave me and vowed he could do this any time he wanted.
On our next jump trip, I offered my ass to Jeff. Man, did he go for it. And he was great at it, too. But he had a different attitude about it. Dari expected it; Jeff appreciated it. If Jeff hadn’t still been in the closet to his family, I think he’d have asked for my hand in marriage.
For a little while, I had a great thing going. Two studs, as different as a peach from a persimmon, were fucking me regularly. And one of them was hauling me around the state to every bungee location we could find.
Then I screwed it all up.
Obviously we’ll see how Barry messed everything up next time, and I won't wait a month to post. Somewhere around the middle of the July we'll learn how badly he bungled thingsl.
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