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homomenhommes · 1 month

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STORY: My First Bukkake Party

by Brock Archer

OMG! I couldn’t believe I was surrounded by two dozen hot men beating their meat and spooging all over the hairy muscle stud on the workout bench. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My name is Colt, and yes, you could call me a cowboy. I grew up on a small ranch on the outskirts of Nowhere, Nebraska. As you can imagine, there weren’t lots of opportunities for a gay teenager in a rural area to explore and learn about his sexuality. So, when I graduated from high school, I got the hell out of there and went straight…uh…directly… to San Francisco, the gay capital of the world. San Francisco State University, to be exact. I had earned excellent grades in high school, so I could have gone to any of the most prestigious schools on either coast, but I wanted to go where I could experience the full range of what it means to be gay. I was looking for a different kind of education, and man, did I get it.

Josh and I met at freshman orientation and become fast friends—“fast” having a couple of different meanings here. We are so much alike. We had both played sports in high school and were ripped: both 5’10”, 42” chest and 30” waist. Brown eyes and brown hair, though his is a little lighter than mine.

Like me, Josh had come from a small town (in a remote corner of Outhouse County, Oklahoma) and was also eager to explore his sexuality. We began by exploring each other, and we branched out from there. We are both versatile—for now at least. Josh tends to lean more to the bottom, and I’m more of a top, but we decided to experience both sides until we had learned everything we could.

Both of our cocks are just over 6”, a little bit more than the average but still within the “normal” range. Actually, I’m quite sure that my cock is just a tad bigger than Josh’s, and we argued often about this issue. Those arguments usually led to wrestling matches, which led to rough sex. The rule was that whoever won the wrestling match got to fuck the shit out of the other one. Of course, I always won the wrestling matches…except on those rare occasions when I would let Josh think he had won because I was in one of my rare moods to feel a hard dick up my ass.

Just after Josh and I got settled into our dorm, we immediately logged onto our favorite hook-up sites and a few more we had never heard of before, and from there, we arranged one-night hookups, got invitations to bate parties, and found out which gay bars were best for cruising and which ones had dark corners and back rooms.

We especially liked the leather bars, sports bars, and country-western bars, and we never failed to score at any of them—often two or three times a night—sometimes back in our dorm room or at the other guys’ places but just as often right there in the bars. I can thank those bars for giving me the opportunity to experience sex on a pool table for the first time—but definitely not the last.

At the country-western bars, we didn’t have to pretend to be cowboys. We were cowboys, and we had the well-worn boots, Wrangler jeans, leather belts with large silver buckles, plaid shirts, and Stetsons to prove it.

When we went to sports bars, I would wear a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, a skin tight tank top, and 49ers gym shorts or sweat pants. Most of the time, I went commando—not only because it was comfortable and more revealing, but also for the ease of access (wink, wink). Sometimes, though, I would borrow some of Josh’s designer underwear, the kind with a built-in cock ring to lift my junk and push my dick forward. Not that I really needed the help, but the extra advertising certainly didn’t hurt.

At the leather bars, of course I wore leather, but not the biker kind that you usually see in such places. My leather gear consisted of cowboy leather: brown chaps, gambler’s vest, and suede jacket.

To experience a long fetish itch, we once sneaked into the athlete’s gym at San Jose State University and fucked on a mattress of jock straps that we had swiped from the lockers. Most of the jocks smelled like they hadn’t been washed all semester. The stench was awful, but that was the whole point. We didn’t want the kind of proper, sanitized sex tolerated—if not always practiced—by Presbyterians back in Nebraska and Oklahoma. We wanted sex that was raunchy, stinking, vulgar, raw…and real.

To be fair, not all of the jocks were rancid. A few were actually fresh. Those were the ones we used to wipe up the cum we spewed everywhere. Josh and I both walked away with personal souvenirs.

From going to the bath houses in Oakland and San Jose, we learned that we are both voyeurs and exhibitionists. We like to watch, and we especially love being watched. We even got spit roasted in the middle of Folsom Street during the annual festival.

We checked out every exhibit at the festival and volunteered for every demonstration we could. We sampled bondage, flogging, gangbanging, E-stim, fisting, edging, rimming, water sports, and all kinds of toys and gear—from both the giving and receiving ends.

Not all of it really appealed to us, but we figured we’d never know until we tried it, and man, we tried everything. Or at least, I thought I had tried everything until Josh burst into our dorm room one day exclaiming, “Colt, you won’t believe what I found.”

Waving his smart phone at me as he plopped his ass down next to me, he practically yelled, “Look!”

It was a link from one of our favorite fuck apps, a link that led to party announcements. We had both been to sex parties that freshman year—separately and together—but this one was different. “What’s a bukkake party?” I asked.

“Scroll through the screens,” he pressed.

As I did, I found pictures of a bunch of guys circling around another guy and jizzing all over him. “Fucking hot!” I gushed.

“It’s this weekend,” blubbered Josh. “Apparently, these two guys in Sausalito host a party about once a month, and the next one is this Saturday.”

Josh went on to explain that participation was limited to 20 men, and we had to apply by sending our E-mail address. We had both set up extra accounts with aliases, so we used those to sign up. Fortunately, we got in before everyone else beat us to it.

Josh and I both were super hyped and super horny all week just daydreaming about the adventure ahead. We jerked off and screwed even more than usual those last few days.

As we drove up to the house at the address we were given, we could tell right away that the inhabitants had money. The place was a fucking mansion. A valet dressed (or undressed) like a Chippendale dancer met us under the porte cochere and directed us to the front door, where we were met by an ultra-sexy blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk in his early 30s. His entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but a cock ring, which bolstered his already considerable assets.

“Welcome, men. I’m Scott,” he said, extending a firm, masculine hand. “Come on in and get comfortable,” which really meant, “Get naked.”

Directly in front of us, several men were removing their clothes and putting them in brown paper bags, on which they wrote their names (real or fake) with a black marker. We followed their lead and drew flattering gawks and whistles from some of the guys. Josh and I were used to that because we were both handsome, muscular, and approachable (i.e., slutty).

From that room, French doors led to the patio, where we found more guys—ranging from our age to 70 or more. Neither Josh nor I had ever expressed a particular interest in older men, but we were quite surprised at how hot some of the older men looked. Most of the men were completely naked, and some had even started warming up before the main event, though the first hour was supposed to be just for socializing. I guess it all depends on your definition of “socializing.”

There were men of all types. Tall, short, and in between. White, black, Asian, and mixed. Blonds, brunettes, and gingers. Average-looking guys, muscle jocks, pretty boys, and gorgeous hunks who looked like underwear models. Most of the guys had dicks that looked to be average, though most were not yet sporting full erections. Once they did, we found that some even exceeded 9 inches.

Some of the men retained their underwear, though none left much to the imagination. Several were dressed in leather, though some of those wore chaps that exposed their junk or their asses.

Several coolers lined the edge of the pool. These contained various drinks ranging from bottled water to sodas to an array of beers. Josh and I each took a beer and began to mingle. As we did, most of the guys took the opportunity to lay hands on us, squeezing our biceps, ass cheeks, or dicks, placing their arms around our shoulders or hugging us so tightly that our cocks rubbed against each other. One guy, a beefy bear, walked up to me and, without a word, assaulted my mouth as if he were trying to tongue-fuck my tonsils. Some guys might have been put off by such aggressiveness, but I ate it up, and Josh loved watching me succumb.

I don’t know about Josh, but I had learned that I am not really either a dom or a sub, a master or a slave, but I can lean either way up to a point. I learned that you don’t have to go all the way in either direction, and you don’t always have to stay in one role. You can just do what feels right under the circumstances.

Nearly all of the men were complete strangers to us, but we did recognize two familiar faces at the other end of the patio. One was Josh’s chemistry professor, whom I dubbed Dr. Beast. He was ruggedly handsome, giving the appearance more of a construction worker than a university professor. I made a mental note to log onto the registrar’s Website as soon as we got back to our dorm and pre-register for his fall class. I had not really been looking forward to taking chemistry—not really my bag—but this was a man I was definitely eager to exchange test tubes with.

The other familiar face was a guy from my American history class my first semester. I almost didn’t recognize him without his nerdy reading glasses and frumpy sweaters. Many people are quite surprised to learn how cold the air coming off the ocean and the bay can make San Francisco feel. Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Being from Nebraska, I was used to the cold, but this kid was from southern Arizona and bundled up every day for our early morning class.

I say “kid” because he looked younger than his age. Being no more than 5’6” no doubt contributed to that impression, but so did his really cute baby face. He had a nice bod, though—a swimmer’s build, lean but with strong legs, arms, and shoulders. And to top it all off, he had the most delectable ass I had ever seen. I could just imagine his sphincter muscles milking my dick and balls dry.

Dr. Beast and Chip (we later learned was his name) crossed the patio to greet us, and by the time they reached us, my dick was as stiff as a board, and Josh’s was gaining on me rapidly. We reached out to shake their hands, and they extended theirs in return, but they did not take our hands. They grabbed our boners and took a couple of lustful tugs. Dr. Beast even pumped his dick in tandem with mine with his big, husky hand. Damn, this was going to be a really fun party.

Suddenly, the rock music that had been blaring from patio speakers ceased, and Scott, the blond cock-ring-wearing guy, though he was one of the tallest men there, stepped up onto a weight bench to draw everyone’s attention. An extremely handsome dark-haired and furry middle-aged man offered his shoulder to brace Scott as he ascended. Though the second man was totally naked, I imagined him as one of the actors in a porn flick, the ones that feature middle-aged executives in Brooks Brothers suits pounding away at the coffee boy. Uhhh, cream and sugar, sir?

“For the benefit of the first-timers,” said Scott, “let’s go over the rules. Most of you know my partner Chuck,” the man whose shoulder he leaned on. “As tonight’s guest of honor,” he continued, “Chuck will take the throne,” which was actually the adjustable weight bench that Scott was standing on. The choice of “furniture” was not really surprising since Scott and Chuck both looked like they had spent lots of time in the gym.

“There’s really just one rule,” said Scott: “all the cum belongs to the guest of honor. All of it gets dumped on Chuck. You can fuck his mouth or even his ass, you can ride his cock” (which was already hard and sticking straight up), “you can even play with each other however you wish, but when you’re ready to come, you must shoot it onto Chuck. If you find yourself exploding uncontrollably into a condom or another guy’s mouth, you must transfer the baby batter onto Chuck’s face or into his mouth.” Though I had seen what Scott was talking about in the videos that Josh and I had watched, I was really turned on by the way that Scott explained it. Hell, I was turned on by everything Scott did. He and Chuck were both fucking hot.

“Since no one has signed up to be the clean-up man this month, I will assume that role,” Scott continued. I was not sure what that meant at first, but it soon became pretty obvious.

With the preliminaries out of the way, Scott hopped down from the bench, which he then adjusted to a 45-degree angle, a comfortable level for most of our cocks to reach Chuck’s mouth easily.

The beefy bear who had accosted me was the first to shove his big cock down Chuck’s throat. Chuck gagged, but his eyes revealed that he really wanted that cock. As Mr. Bear fucked Chuck’s mouth, the rest of us played with our dicks as we worked up a good load in anticipation of our turn. Some of the guys stroked their own dicks, and some pumped others’. Some made out, and some sucked each other up to a fever pitch.

In no time at all, Mr. Bear had filled his balls with man juice. He pulled out of Chuck’s mouth and held it open as he aimed his spew into the hunk’s mouth. Some of the shots hit their target, some landed on Chuck’s face, and some dripped off his chin onto his hairy chest. Scott immediately sprang into action as the clean-up man, licking up the cum that had missed Chuck’s mouth and feeding it to him. They snowballed and then kissed, passing the nectar between them. I thought it was the hottest fucking thing I had ever seen in my life. I wasn’t sure who I envied more, the guest of honor or the clean-up man.

As each man neared his climax, he approached Chuck and drenched him in cum. At times, two or even three guys unloaded at once, and Scott dutifully performed his clean-up duties. A couple of guys swapped their loads with Scott before depositing them into Chuck’s eager mouth.

While Chuck was getting his face lathered, some of the guys played with his nipples or his dick. Some rode his stiff cock, and others fucked his ass with their fingers or dicks. Chuck was getting worshipped from every angle and in every way possible. God, I envied him.

I wasn’t ready to shoot yet, and I desperately wanted Chuck’s big cock, so when one guy rose off of it, I grabbed my chance. I positioned myself at the foot of the bench and bent over to swallow Chuck’s manhood. As I began to suck, I felt someone’s feet between mine, spreading them farther apart. Then, I felt two strong hands spreading my ass cheeks. I thought for sure I was about to get shafted, and I was eager for the opportunity, but instead of a cock against my ass, I felt a wet tongue. Some guy was eating me out, and he was doing a hell of a job at it. I thought I was going to come just from the fantastic rim job.

It was useless to look back to see who this tongue master was since his face was buried in my ass, but then he stopped, rose up, and positioned his dick against my opening. Before he entered, though, he spit on his cock several times to lube it. The feral nature of his approach turned me on big time. With his cock and my hole both wet from his saliva, he entered me, slowly at first, and then with one hard thrust after another. He worked up a rhythm and picked up speed, and in no time he was pounding my ass and nailing my prostate like a jack hammer. It was rough. And glorious.

Sensing that Chuck was getting close and not wanting him to shoot just yet, I withdrew my mouth from his dick, which caused him to gurgle through a mouth full of cum, “No! No! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” But I had a different plan and apparently so did the man with his cock in my ass. When he withdrew as well, I looked back to discover that he was none other than Dr. Beast.

The construction worker masquerading as a chemistry professor threw his strong arms around my chest, lifted me up into the air, and set me back down on Chuck’s raging cock, which I proceeded to ride like a wild stallion needing to be broken. Despite having two cocks in his mouth and cum spraying all over him, Chuck maintained enough concentration to buck back, pounding my ass balls deep. I thought he was going to tear me apart, and I couldn’t think of a better way to go.

With each smack, my own dick flopped against the treasure trail adorning his lower belly. That action alone was enough to bring me to the verge of a climax. Without even touching my cock, I shot volley after volley, the first one flying right over Chuck’s head and landing on the cock of a man standing over him. The next two hit him in the face, and the rest trailed down his hirsute chest and abs.

Nearly exhausted, I started to dismount my stud, but Dr. Beast quickly intervened, pushing me back down onto Chuck’s still-hard cock. Then, he really shocked me by shoving me face to face with Chuck. I felt the cum I had just unloaded squishing between my body and Chuck’s, between my cheek and his. As the Beast held my head down next to Chuck’s, he slid his cock alongside Chuck’s in my tight asshole. Yes, with Chuck’s dick and Dr. Beast’s cock both inside of me now, I was getting double-fucked for the first time in my life. Meanwhile, guys continued to jizz all over not only Chuck’s face, but now also over mine.

My sphincter muscles and Dr. Beast’s cock both felt the pulsations in Chuck’s dick and knew that he was about to burst, so the Beast quickly pulled out of my ass and lifted me off of Chuck’s missile just as Chuck began to explode. Once Chuck’s juices had completely soaked his body and face, the professor again pressed my body over Chuck’s and my face against his. Chuck and I swam in the warm sauces we shared.

Dr. Beast’s resolve evaporated also as he shot his wad over my lower back. Momentarily, I felt a tongue lapping up those juices, followed by a hand grabbing the hair on the back of my head and pulling me upright again. I assumed, naturally, that it was the Beast, but it turned out to be Josh, who had been standing nearby, delighting in my public and thrilling humiliation. I expected him to snowball the Beast’s love nectar into my mouth, but instead he spit it onto my face.

Before I could even conceptualize what had just happened, Josh grabbed one of my arms, practically dragged me to the other end of the bench, and laid my head next to Chuck’s. He pulled on my jaw, forcing my mouth open. At the same time, Dr. Beast positioned Scott in the same fashion. With three receptacles now, Dr. Beast and Josh jerked off, shooting their streams across our three orifices. Before Scott and I could reposition, more guys lined up for target practice, showering us with sperm from all directions.

As the three of us tried frantically to keep up with the pace of the jizz blasting our mouths and faces, a very tall black man straddled Chuck’s chest, fucking the cleavage between Chuck’s well-developed pecs and then impaling his mouth with his monster cock. Though Chuck tried desperately to take the entire 9 inches, he just could not manage, so the black man laid one hand behind my head and one behind Scott’s and pulled us together to lick and suck the base of his massive cock while Chuck sucked on the rest of it. Scott wrapped his lips around one side of the man’s tool, and I worked on the other. When the man ultimately pulled out and splashed his juices all over Chuck’s face, the three of us—Chuck, Scott, and I—launched into a three-way cum kiss.

For most of the guys, that was just the end of round one. Everyone came at least twice (even the older men), and some even came three or four times.

Pleasantly drained, men began to trip all over themselves trying to put their pants back on and stumble out of the house sometime after midnight. Josh and I exchanged phone numbers with most of them. “Hope to see you again next month,” said several of them as we kissed goodnight. “Definitely,” we assured them.

As Josh and I gathered up our clothes, Scott caught us by surprise. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Well, we thought the party was—”

“Fuck it,” Chuck exclaimed from the doorway. “Spend the night,” he added. “My belly is full, but so are my balls. Scott and I have gotten off only once tonight. We’ve had loads of cum, but now we could use some ass. We’re up for it if you are.”

Josh and I both gushed as we tried to contain our enthusiasm.

As our hosts led us to their bedroom, we passed several guys sprawled out on couches and some even on the floors. “They’re either too exhausted or too drunk to drive home,” explained Scott. “We’d rather they crash here than try to make it home.”

“Besides,” smirked Chuck, “who knows which ones might be ready for another round tomorrow morning?”

We ended up spending the entire weekend with Scott and Chuck, in and out of bed, and as it turned out, bukkake was not our only first-time experience. Josh and I had sandwiched before, but never in a four-man chain and never rotating through all the positions.

I had just experienced double penetration for the first time, but Josh had not, so Scott, Chuck, and I set out to rectify that deficiency. As Josh sat on my shaft, Scott and Chuck took turns tag-teaming his ass. I had loved having two big dicks in my ass at the same time, but now I got to experience the exhilaration of Scott and Chuck’s dicks rubbing against mine as we took turns double-fucking Josh.

“Fuck! We’ll never be able to top this weekend,” I lamented as Scott and Chuck walked us back to our car Monday morning.

“Sure you will,” Scott assured us. “Next month, you’re going to be the guest of honor.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

“You and Josh both,” replied Chuck. “You can share the honor.”

“We’d love to,” Josh gushed.

“But only if you’ll play clean-up, Chuck,” I added.

“It’s a deal,” the hunk replied. “And maybe we can get that cute little friend of yours (Chip) to assist me.”

Josh and I remained on a testosterone high for the next four weeks. Could there possibly be any sexual act that we had not yet experienced? “Colt, you’ll never believe what I’ve found now,” shouted Josh, bursting into our dorm room just a few days before the next bukkake party.

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jeansgaze · 2 years

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annaphoenix1994 · 1 year

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Ch.71 - "Our World Just Got Better"

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

Teeter and Soap host the gender reveal party; The gender of the babies is revealed.

"I'm so excited." Kiera smiled as she slipped on a baby pink sundress for the gender reveal party, smiling at Simon as he was wearing a casual pair of jeans and blue shirt.

"Me too, love," He smiled through the mirror, watching her fix her hair to be a half-up style to complement her natural waves. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, babe. Are you sure leaving the gender reveal in the hands of Soap and Teeter was a good idea?"

"I'm positive," He chuckled. "I also told Soap that if he fucked it up, there'd be hell to pay."

"No you didn't."

"You're right, I didn't say that, but I'm sure he knows better."

"I think he does, but he's really sentimental and so is Teeter, so I think it'll be special regardless. They've been really secretive about today."

"They're always secretive, love," Simon huffed. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eager to see what he's planning."

"He loves you, Simon. Not in a gay way - I know what you're thinking when I said that," She giggled. "You two have always looked out for each other and had each other's backs."

"That's because we were in war."

"Probably so, but you can't deny that the both of you look out for each other. I've heard how you talk him through his anxious episodes when he's alone. You look out for him."

"I do, but he's not the only one I look out for."

"But he's the first one you check on." She arched her brow.

He huffed, "He is."

"Because he's your best friend. Even though you're going to say that it's because you were teammates."

"I swear you're a mind reader." He chuckled, stepping behind her to rest his hands on either side of her belly, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"You make it easy to read your mind."

"How so?"

"Like you've told me: eyes are windows to the soul."

"That they are. I can't contain my excitement anymore, love. I'm ready to find out what you're having."

"Me too." She smiled, eagerly taking Simon's hand for him to lead her out of the house and towards the lodge to meet with her parents who had been planning a simple barbeque to not only celebrate, but to supply the number of her friends as well as the wranglers that wanted to participate in the gender reveal.

"Alright, L.T., what do you want to watch first: the way Teeter was planning to reveal one or the way you're going to reveal the other?" Soap asked, taking another bite of the hot dog Bud had made him. I fucking love American food.

Simon furrowed his brows, "I'm nervous to see what you've planned."

"So that means we're doing what I planned first," He chuckled. "You'll love it."

"If you say so."

Eva clapped her hands, "I'm so excited!"

Soap led the group to the oak tree that was nearby, grinning as he handed Simon a sniper rifle - one of Simon's favorite weapons of choice. You thoughtful bloke, Simon chuckled to himself. "I set up a target three-hundred yards away north of our position. Find it, then take it out, then you'll know what one of them is." Soap directed.

Simon took a seat at the table Soap had set up, Kiera placing a nervous hand on his shoulder as he adjusted his scope, peering his head up to search for the target before adjusting his aim. "Cover your ears, love." He warned as he loaded the bullet into the chamber.

Eva and Bud stood back a few feet, Eva covering her ears and leaning against her husband as Kiera admired Simon's focus, watching his index finger curl around the trigger before squeezing it, the projectile colliding with the target Soap had set up, purposefully failing to mention that the target was rigged with Tannerite - a powder explosive that mixed with blue powder, leaving a blue cloud in its wake. Simon bowed his head in what looked like disbelief, but Kiera knew that he couldn't believe what he was seeing. I'm going to have a son of my own.

He set the rifle aside, standing to his feet to wrap his arms around Kiera, placing a tender kiss to her neck as she ran her free hand through the hair on the back of his head. He knew she wanted a girl, but he knew she was happy either way as he didn't sense any type of disappointment with the first reveal. "I should've known you were going to make something explode." He poked at Soap, peering at him from Kiera's shoulder.

He shrugged, "What can I say? I am a demolitions expert. Had to tie in my signature somehow."

"I still wonder how you even got that rank."

"I'm just that good." He teased.

Simon drove Kiera down to the arena after Soap directed them that Teeter's reveal would take place there, helping her into the UTV as Soap escorted her parents to the designated area. Simon smiled as he watched Kiera's eyes light up at the display in the arena: ten poles each topped with balloons: five being blue, four being pink, and one being white - the last balloon at the end of the pattern that would reveal the gender of the other baby, Teeter displaying the reveal in one of Kiera's favorite hobbies.

Mounted Shooting.

"I been workin' on my aim, K," Teeter announced from the back of Kiera's horse, walking him up to her so she could pet him, placing a kiss to his muzzle and smiling at how Teeter decorated his mane and tail by braiding blue and pink ribbons into the braids. "I might miss a few, but I'm bound and determined to hit that white'n."

"I'm sure you'll hit all of them," She assured her. "I haven't shot off of him in a while-"

"Don't worry about that, K. I've been ridin' him on this pattern and shootin' for a while. He knows it."

"I'll take your word for it."

"How far do we need to stand back so that we're not shot?" Soap asked, confused as well as intrigued with the sport.

"Baby, they're blanks. Crimped at the end and no projectile. Ya'll be fine if you stand behind the fence."

"I think that's the biggest word I've ever heard her say." Simon poked.

"It's because she's around me," Soap snickered. "Someone's gotta teach her big words."

"I'll teach you how I'll fit this boot up yer ass if you don't shut yer mouth." She warned.

"I might like that."

Kiera scoffed, "I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time you've had something up your ass."

"It ain't," Teeter chimed in, glancing towards Eva and Bud to ensure they were out of hearing range for the next thing that was about to leave Teeter's mouth. "Jus ask him how he likes bein' pegged-"

"I never did that!"

"Bullshit." She poked, her tone low.

The couple had never gone as far as pegging, but Teeter loved to embarrass him, especially in front of Simon, knowing the bits of information would be a subject in future bickering between the two. It's so funny to watch 'em fight.

"Nothing surprises me about you anymore." Simon shook his head.

"I was going to refer the "woman" he slept with in Mexico, but this takes it to another level." Kiera giggled.

"Just get in there and shoot those balloons so I can eat another hot dog." Soap sighed, leaning against the fence as his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sure yer eager to get another weiner in yer mouth, baby."

Both Simon and Kiera's brows rose at Teeter's comeback, "You walked into that one, mate."

"Fuck you, L.T." He breathed a chuckle.

"I'd rather you not. Just because your street rolls both ways doesn't mean mine does."

"Bloody hell!"

"Walked right into another one, Johnny." Kiera added.

"I know," He sighed. "I'll eventually learn to keep my mouth shut."

"You know if we didn't love you, we wouldn't poke at you."

"I know." He chuckled.

As much as he hated being picked on for his apparent sexuality and drunken mistakes, he loved being teased. It reminded him that he had people who loved him.

They all watched as Teeter entered the arena, patting Kiera's horse on the neck before loping him in a small circle to warm him up before she drew her weapon, sending the horse into a gallop as she fired the revolver with precision before turning the horse around a barrel to draw the other revolver, firing four more shots until she went a couple of strides past the last balloon before firing her last shot, shouting with excitement after seeing a cloud of pink dust exit the white balloon. "Yer gonna have a little barrel racer to teach, K!" She shouted, dismounting the horse before running towards Kiera and Simon, who were in a delicate embrace, Simon chuckling at how Kiera was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. He placed a kiss to her forehead after wiping away her tears of joy before Teeter embraced her while Soap did the same to Simon. "Is the other one a girl, too?" She asked.

"I thought you were the one in charge of it?" Kiera giggled.

"No, Soap read the results and wanted it to be a surprise for me too-"

"Mainly because I knew she'd spoil it." Soap teased.

"He's probably right. I always run my mouth and can't keep a secret."

"Oh, we know," Simon chuckled. "I guess you're forgetting about the gift you got Kiera for her birthday."

"So, is the other a boy or girl?"

"Boy." Kiera smiled.

"Oh, hell yes!" She shouted. "Lil' cowboy and cowgirl," She smiled, kneeling down to place her hands on Kiera's belly. "Now you two better come out soon because I got so much to show you and so many words to teach you!"

"At least hold off on the bad words until they're legal adults." Simon teased.

"Shit no, I'll wait when their brains are like a sponge 'n teach 'em early. Ye know how funny it is to hear a two-year-old call you a bitch?"

"I'm guessing that was your first word?" Simon questioned.

"No, it was fuck," She shrugged. "Ye best believe I used it in every sentence."

"Like I said: nothing surprises me anymore, especially with you two."

Eva approached her daughter and future son-in-law, "Congratulations, baby girl. I'm so excited for you two!" She smiled, embracing her daughter and placing a kiss to her cheek before doing the same to Simon, except she had to stand on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek due to his tall stature.

"Thank you, momma." Kiera smiled, her cheek pressed against her father's chest as he held her for a few moments longer, realizing that Kiera wasn't his little girl anymore. As much as it hurt him to see her move on in her life without his protective grasp on her, he had never been more proud of her to settle down with a man that proved his worth with every moment he and Kiera were together and be a father to his unborn children. Approval of Simon was an understatement.

"I love you, sweetheart." Bud whispered into her hair.

"I love you too, daddy."

He nodded, placing a kiss to the top of her head before making his way to Simon, reaching his arm out for the men to shake hands. "Proud of you, son. Take care of her."

"You know I will, Sir."

Both Kiera and Simon looked at each other before approaching, Simon unable to resist the urge to kiss her again. His heart continued to flutter with excitement and happiness, even willing to take a picture with Kiera when Eva suggested it, his hands securely on her belly as they took a picture together before a group photo with Soap and Teeter as well as with Bud and Eva. "Our world just got better."

#simon riley #simonriley #simon ghost riley #simonghostriley #simon riley x oc #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #ghost mw2 #ghostcod #ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #callofduty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #simon riley cod #soap cod #cod mwii

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mikencowboy · 2 years

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#cowboy #gay cowboy #redneck #wrangler jeans #gay redneck #marlboro #gay smoker #men at work

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raplele · 9 months

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what's your taste in music and fashion style?

ooooooo cool question

sorry I took so long to answer, everytime I look at this ask I try to formulate a response but I can never think of a good one 😭

my taste in music and fashion is really really like spread out, like i'm not particularly into any one genre or style or anything.

Ig for fashion I really like tiny goofy graphic t shirts, and oversized pants with massive pockets. I also like giant graphic t shirts and tight fitting corduroy pants. I guess my favorite kind of style is like, pseudo-cowboy. I rlly like a lot of the elements of a cowboy outfit, just like, changed around a little so they're less conservative and more gay. Like cowboys tend to wear long sleeve button ups. So I like short sleeved button ups that are a little too short and show some belly. And like, cowboy hats that are kinda goofy and not rlly serious. That kinda thing. And like JNCOs instead of wrangler jeans. Idk if this makes any sense I hope u get it.

And for music, I like a lotta stuff. I like sad slow ambient music, and rlly fast loud stuff with hard hitting beats. I like remixs of Yeat and Carti songs from soundcloud. I like breakcore and I like the Hollow Knight game soundtrack and I like Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake.

my top 3 artists would have to be

Radiohead - THE BEST BAND EVER OF ALL TIME. ALL OF THEIR SONGS ARE SUCH BANGERS GODDDDDDD

Tokyopill - idk I fuck with Tokyopill. They make hype ass music. Gives me new emotions.

and Frank Ocean - BEST SINGLE ARTIST OF ALL TIME GOOD LORD, HIS SONGS ARE JUST PERFECT

anyway yeah okay that was a lot. that's my best answer. hby who are you? Why are you? I don't think I've seen you on my feed before I'm not quite sure why u sent me an ask 😭😭 thank you for that though I had fun writing this out!

#answered asks

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littlemountaintownrp · 2 years

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I think it's the nicest hat I've ever known

Stan has been accepted

out of character info

Name/Alias: Ali Pronouns: she/they Age: 22 Join Our Discord: ;) Timezone: mst Activity: 6.9 Triggers: badly written characters Password: craigs gay Character that you’re applying for: Stan Favourite ships for your character: Anything messy

in character info

Full name: Stanley Randall Marsh Birthday: October 19th, 2004; Libra Sexuality, gender, pronouns: closeted bi man, cis, he/him Age and grade: 17 Faceclaim: i dont have 1 yet

Appearance:

Stan's about 6'1, he has broad shoulders and an athletic build; his body is well sculpted from his long hours on the farm and football. His face can be described as slimmer and angular. He has broader cheekbones and a defined almost square shaped jaw. The peek at a Randy-stache was even starting to form, really solidifying how much he looks like his father. The resemblance was uncanny, except for the shape of his eyes and how he spoke. On occasion, people that know his father will approach him, thinking he’s Randy from afar. When he keeps up with his haircuts and keeping it at around a 3” skater cut, the unwanted confusion is kept a bit at bay, but every winter when he grows out his hair to keep him warm, he gets it frequently.

Despite his strong semblance, his wardrobe often sets him apart. Stan’s never been the type to care that much about he was wearing, outside of his very short metrosexual phase. He would take $200 to a goodwill and buy anything that he thought felt comfortable as soon as he started to get properly paid by his father. The staple pieces are his wrangler jeans, he saved up to buy 5 pairs in different shades of blue because he liked the fit so much. As for shirts, he wears a lot of just plain white shirts, graphic shirts he found at a thrift store, or a button up flannel overtop of the previous two options. His dad got him a pair of cowboy boots with a weed plant on the side that when Stan started to wear, he fell in love with the comfort even if he thought he looked dorky. He has two main coats, a big brown work coat for when he has to go out and water the plants in a colder morning, and a nice YSL jacket style coat for when he has to go to school. Stan owns a small collection of designer clothes. It consists of two coats, a sweater that was a gift and a wallet. Having a few nice things was all he wanted. He prefers to spend his money on other people.

Personality:

Stanley grew up in a very small Republican town, it leaves a mark on a person. For the most part, he’s politically indifferent, and indifferent to a lot. His job and schoolwork are the only things he really works on. Though it sucks out his soul, it comes back on his one day off a week that he tries to spend with as many people as he can. He tries to be generally indifferent to his life responsibilities. If he doesn’t like it, he won’t want to do it, but he has to do it regardless. He does it so he can spend time doing things he actually wants to do. It made him responsible, and a generally happier person. Mental health isn’t his biggest priority, and he deals with a bad day by drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and watching the sports network. He tries to be a generally nice guy, but has a tendency to be a bit misogynistic, but in an almost chivalrous way. He doesn’t let women open doors so that he can do it for them, he sees women as weaker than him because physically they were. It wasn’t in a superiority way; it was in a protective way. Stan’s a pretty soft dude and didn’t want to see any girls getting hurt around him, he’s always been a protector type, trying to save animals and help people.

Religion isn’t the most important thing in the world to him, but he still feels a strong tie to his Catholicism. Stan has literally met Jesus on multiple occasions and feels a strong connection to his faith for that reason. Other peoples’ religions have nothing to do with him, so for the most part he doesn’t care or pay attention to it. His history with different Christian based churches only further solidified to him that he should focus on his relationship with Jesus and maybe the saints. Though he’s not very involved in the church, and occasionally goes on a Sunday morning when he’s going through a hard time. Overall, Stan’s just an easygoing farmer boy, he’s just focused on trying to have money and enjoy his youth.

History:

Ever since the day it started, Tegridy farms would encompass all of Stan's life. Anything Randy got up to, he got the brunt of at home that day. He had to move away from his friends, which meant his mom didn't have her bridge nights anymore which made her mad, Shelly had her reasons too, even if Stan never exactly knew what they were. Over time, he got more used to living outside of town, and Kyle's parents started letting him spend full weekends, and he'd go home with Stan on a Friday, and come back to school with Stan the following Monday, it was the dawn of the rumor that they were gay for each other. It was almost every weekend, and when Stan got over hoarding and properly and deeply sanitized his locker, he even let Kyle store a pillow in there on the Fridays and Mondays to make it easier on his friend. The vast majority of his core memories of this life are just him and Kyle on the family farm.

When he was around twelve, Randy bought two baby dairy cows. This was what really made Stan actually like living on a farm, and shortly after the cattle matured to adolescence, Randy went out and bought a bunch of fertilized chicken eggs, a hen, and an incubator. Stan loved the baby chicks the moment he saw the eggs and cried actual tears over each one that didn't live. The plan for these chickens was never to eat them or anything like that. The week they were bought, Randy was obsessed with the idea of raising chickens and having fresh eggs. Once Randy's fascination with the chicks was over, Stan took on all the animal duties, knowing that in his heart, taking care of these animals was what his heart wanted him to do with his life. Hunting was traumatic to him as a kid, but something about raising animals and caring for them healed that in him.

Around his 14th birthday, Randy gave Stan an official, legal job on the farm, so he could finally get paid on the books. It gave his dad some kind of legal loophole being a family private business or something. Stan really wasn't paying that much attention to the legal information, he cared that he was being paid $28 an hour for 15 to 25 hours a week, and his dad had hired someone to do his taxes for him. His job was primarily packaging and trimming when he was ten, until he was an official employee. That's when he became a laborer. Randy put him out in the fields on a tractor to harvest and water. Around the same time, Randy hyper fixated on starting Sharon a garden which she seemed to like. Seeing his mom happy for once, made Stan okay with managing the plant care for a week for so.

His strong work ethic is what really helps him progress in life. Driving a tractor all day basically taught him how to drive a car, day in day out laps around the property. After talking to his dad, he was able to get his permit almost immediately, and Randy was practically jumping for joy when Stan said he wanted a truck, because it could be used for work and be written off. His 16th birthday present from his dad was a brand-new black Chevy Silverado with a hitch on the back. He loves his truck more than he loves being alive. It has a back seat, so all of his friends can sit inside when it's cold, his truck bed is large, so when it's hot everyone can ride in the back. He keeps an air mattress and a blanket in a box in the backseat in case he ever "needs" it.

His education has always meant a lot to him. Graduating is a steppingstone of his path to most likely taking over the family farm. It wasn't until his 17th birthday, when Randy bought Stan a horse that he truly knew this was what he wanted. Deeply truly, he loved the farm, even though originally it ruined his life, riding Buttercup, a beautiful show mare, made him realize that it gave him a new life.

Sample Para [ Removed to keep the feed clear of NSFW]

Headcanons: (Or any additional information you’d like to add about your muse)

Stan's favorite school subject is Reading/Language. He loves words, and still writes poetry from time to time.

Randy and Stan go for lunch at Hooters every Wednesday because Randy can write it off as a business expense, and it did not help Stan be shaped into a feminist.

Football is still a big part of his life, even if it takes a backseat to the farm on most days.

He would say he's socially liberal, and financially conservative, but upon taking the political compass test, he's fairly moderate.

Anything else: (Something you’d like to add about yourself or questions you have for the admins, list them here)

#stan marsh

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sheshallfromtimetotime · 1 year

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By John Paul Brammer

There was a spot where I liked to sit at the local gay bar, a nook with a window and two wooden stools. I’m the kind of person who likes to “go out” just to sit down. A friend and I sat there together once, quietly sipping our drinks and watching people walk by. It was a peculiar scene. The sun was out and the bar was mostly empty. In the coming days, cops would be installed by the entrance, and they would frisk everyone coming in.

But not yet. We sat in silence. I think we were both waiting for the other to start crying, but neither of us did.

A sense of emergency brought out a different side to the bar, which felt like a shelter that day. I was reminded of a time when I was a kid back in Oklahoma. The sky turned yellow-green, a funnel was spotted, and we were marched into the school gym and told to hunker down. The wooden floor of the gym, inches from my face, felt in those long minutes like the fierce embrace of a parent, like it had promised to protect me where on any other day it would have hosted my jumping jacks and halfhearted laps without comment.

Sitting in the nook at the gay bar, my phone was going off in my pocket, my drink was incredibly stiff, and I could do little but watch the world, the real world, the world outside, mosey past the window. The partition between these worlds, I was reminded, was ever so thin.

Surely, every person is a house of private hurts no one else is privy to, aches that others don’t share and can’t understand. This is true of entire communities, too. Looking out from the inside, one wonders how everyone else can go about their days so outrageously unencumbered. It feels traitorous. It must be the case for everyone. But all the same, I felt resentment. I both wanted straight people to be more visibly upset, and for straight people to disappear for a while.

Tragedy shrinks everything. It was a small thing to think. But there it was.

How successful can a front door be at keeping the world at bay? The front door of the gay bar has help. See a couple of would-be patrons walk in, having somehow missed the rainbow flags and posters for the drag show and a name like “Manhole,” immediately realize what they’ve stepped into, politely look around, and leave.

In the past, maybe it’s not so much like this anymore, the gay bar would be in a spot nobody wanted to go, in a neighborhood nobody wanted to live in, on a street nobody wanted to be seen walking down. Before these neighborhoods became gayborhoods, they were ecosystems for trans sex workers and broke artists and runaways.

It must be the case in any number of cities around the world, for any number of “historically gay” locations. It’s usually the beach nobody wanted, the park nobody felt safe in. Later, as coffee shops and boutique fitness gyms move in, they are scrubbed and festooned with flags and hailed as monuments. A past life is alluded to, perhaps in the form of a mural with Marsha P. Johnson on it, while the people who would have huddled there decades ago find another jagged corner of the earth to perch on.

That’s how it goes in some places. Others persist, or become a mix of misfits and faces fresh out of the closet and elder gays who will tell you all sorts of wild things if you listen. I know a few of these places in Oklahoma City, where all the bars are sequestered together, a bowl of free condoms, drinks that are actively trying to kill the demons on the way down.

One night, I met up with a man from Grindr and we went to one of them. An old cowboy in Wrangler jeans and boots and holding a guitar sat up on the stage next to a drag queen who introduced him. He gave the saddest cover I’d ever heard, a country version of “Someone Like You” by Adele.

Goodness, life is harsh.

In the mix of pain and sadness and rage following the shooting at Club Q, a nightclub in Colorado Springs where five people were gunned down and many more injured, there is an emphatic lack of surprise. Threats of violence to trans people and drag performers have found acceptance in the mainstream, with accusations of “grooming” being levied against essentially anyone who isn’t cisgender and heterosexual. “It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?” seems to be a prevailing sentiment.

And it was, really, only a matter of time.

Among the victims were trans people, straight people, gay people, all committing the grievous sin of being there. For all the modest gains in the past decade, the truth remains that even if you sequester yourself, even if you keep it all behind a closed door, they will find you anyway.

In the collective psyche, if there is such a thing, the violence perforates a membrane to hit a specific and tender spot, where the inner child hides behind a flimsy wall. You were never safe.

The rest of the world doesn’t disappear in the gay bar. It laps at the front door like waves against the ribs of a ship. It isn’t a universe unto itself where we get to live unencumbered by the lives we left propped up against the wall outside. The grimy gay bar, the one in my head, resists the gold-leafing of an ode. I don’t think of it as a temple, or as a church, or as a sacred space. I threw up in one after accidentally drinking too much as a plus-one to the GLAAD Awards in 2015.

But sometimes, after spending too much time outside of one, I get that familiar urge for an overpriced well drink and shitty pop music, for the sharp, judgy, lustful glances of faggots, for the near-darkness and the sticky floors and the people who, while not in perfect accord, have at least resolved to find each other.

We do find each other, I think. That much hasn’t changed over time. Life can’t be all fight, and while historically our movements have been depicted as a headstrong march against the tide, we do also move like water, following from different sources a common gravity toward a spot, both hidden and in plain sight, where we learned without remembering ever learning it, “that’s where I go.”

#John Paul Brammer #JP Brammer #A Spot #Hola Papi

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