Prologue 3.0 – The Hotdog and its Mustard
Chapter Song – Stupid Grin - Dragonette
“When I was young, I wanted to be a semen.”
(*Cough* Seaman *Cough*) Ugh.
“That’s what I sayin’, semen.”
“You’re stupid, Matt.”
“What’d I say?”
“Semen.”
“That’s right. You know. The men who sail and shit the ocean. Semen.”
“No. Repeat after me. Say ‘sea-man’. The second syllable is man, not mən.”
“Alright,” Matty boi cleared his throat to try again, “sea-mən … how’s that?”
“You’re a fucking retard with a big dick,” hissed the lady wearing a tramp stamp.
“Hey, that ain’t cools, girl. I ain’t a fucktard. I got me a big dick but I ain’t dumb.”
“Oh God, Matt … you’re impossible to deal with. Ok, let me veer off topic for a bit and engage your stupidity for a second. Just how big are you?” asked lady tramp with no shame. She a hoe!
“Give me your arm.”
“My wha—? No!”
“Come on. This ain’t cannibalism. I swear on my dick and hope to die,” Matt crossed his heart.
Miss Ma’am rolled her eyes, “Fine,” she surrendered her arm, “I was just wondering you know. Coz it looks pretty big with your pants on,” she cautioned.
“Okay. Mine is as big as your arm right here. Imagine this inside you,” Matty Boi held her arm like how he would his red-headed monster, “going in and out. In, out, in, out, in, out, in—”
“I get it. I get it. Stop,” she yanked her arm and thought about her next move. She was conflicted.
Matty Boi cleared his throat, “Okay then. Can we fuck?”
‘Smack!’ slapped a hand, hard across Matty Boi’s mouth, “I’m guessing that’s a no then?” was Matt’s final plea as lady tramp stamp pushed against the table then sashayed to leave the resto.
A gay maître d' with perfectly polished hair made his way to Matty Boi’s table. He readied to take his order, “What will you have tonight, Sir?” he gesticulated to a forlorn Matthew Holston.
“I’ma have the cheap hotdog with mustard across the street, you sick fuck. Didn’t you see? My date just left me,” he was being a douche and he knew it. But he didn’t care. He just got dumped.
With hands in pockets, Matty Boi made his way out the rather quaint yet expensive diner near the club. He wasn’t in the mood for dancing, but his beating heart was. It thumped along with the track Stupid Grin by Dragonette as he neared the line outside Club Minxology. It was then he knew that he didn’t have time. He needed to do someone if he were to survive the night. And at the corner of his eye he saw his prospect. Matty Boi wasn’t going to be picky now. Oh no, he wasn’t. He was hungry.
And so he made his way towards the man who wore white, red, and yellow, “Hey, I’m a bit—” was how Matt started the conversation. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold out. The ground he stood on was starting to move beneath his feet. He was dizzy. He needed to have sex so badly.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m dizzy.”
The guy knew who Matt Holston was. He was the hot Miami douche he’d been eyeing for months since he took to selling hotdogs near Club Minxology every Friday night. He would move his cart outside this location during club nights, not just for the crowd but also for Matt.
And so with haste like that of a libidinous mustang, he pulled Matty Boi’s right arm over his shoulder. He led him at the back of Club Minxology with no coherent thought in mind, “Uhm, hospital?” he inquired. His stream of consciousness blurred the more he held Matt in his arms. He wanted to have a piece of Matt. He wanted it now. He was going to have his way with him no matter what.
Matt slurred his words, “Nah. No hospital. I don’t wanna scare you but … can we fuck here?”
With that note, Matty Boi made haste to rid himself of clothes. Buttons snapped, hems flew, and belt buckles dropped to the floor. They were a haze of mouth, tongue, and skin on skin action as they explored every contour and sinew of their bodies. This wasn’t Matty Boi’s first time at the rodeo, though he surely preferred the warmth of a woman. However, that wasn’t a luxury he could afford himself tonight. He needed to do someone. So he settled for a hotdog with mustard.
Matty Boi pummeled hard with reckless abandon. He was like a horny jackrabbit. His heart sped like a freight train. What people didn’t know about him was that he was sick. Not STD sick. But sick. An ailment he had been dealing with for as long as he could remember. And as his motions pushed upwards against the poor dude he rammed without lubrication, he came to a realization … he was going to be a Roué … forever.
“Matt … it hurts, please. I already came. When are you going to finish?” Mr. Hotdog cried.
“Just a little more … sorry about this,” Matty Boi’s words were like a caress. Who could resist a perfectly tanned and sculpted body with a penis that the Gods envied? Exactly. No one could.
And so with a few more strokes, Matt continued his assault. His barriers thinned, then came a broken dam. The outpour was drowning. He filled every space imaginable. He then realized he came inside a stranger without wearing any protection, “Oh crap. I’m sorry,” Matt apologized.
“It’s okay … Oh God, fuck … Matt. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you that night at the—”
Matty Boi abruptly pulled his wiener out.
“Ow, fucking sh— what the fuck, man!”
“What? We done here, right? Thanks.”
“Fuck your red-headed monster!!”
“That’s right. You just did.”
And so with a steady heart and a satisfied dick, Matty Boi left with a stupid grin on his face.
Reader: Finally! Some BxB action ^^
Matty Boi: That’s just a warm-up (¬_¬)
Reader: (eyes like a blow-up doll) Really?
Matty Boi: (stupid grin) Really. Stay tuned.
YOU ARE READING
Roué (18+ BoyxBoy)
Short StoryHis name is Matt, and he's got a rare condition. He's had sex with hundreds, yet not once has he fallen. Love beats too slow a tempo for him. It just won't do for his oversexed heart. Can he bed you tonight? This book is a GENDER SALAD. It's for all...
