That's how I referred to him, anyway. The Stud. I didn't even know him. All I knew was that late last year he and his wife and baby had moved in just up the street from my house. He wasn't the best looking guy in the world, maybe 5'10 and 170 pounds, average looks, short brown hair kept high and tight (which, along with a few tattoos, made me think he was either active or former military), and brown eyes. But there was something about him that I couldn't put my finger on. Actually, the only reason I saw so much of him was because I was so turned on by him that I went out to Walmart and bought a pair of binoculars to watch him! I guess you can say I was obsessed with him. The Stud.
Now, you have to realize that I've never done anything like this before. Sure, I've gawked at guys before, but I've never “stalked” one before. Well, I wasn't actually stalking him. More like staring at him. But the binoculars I had bought were the kind with a digital camera built in, so while I was zooming in on The Stud, I was also taking pictures. That's how I was able to see what he looked like close up. From my living room window I could see the whole front of his house and he was always outside.
Summer in East County San Diego is a bitch. Even with air conditioning it's hotter than hell. And most of the older houses don't have central air. The Stud just happened to live in one of the older homes and seemed to have a penchant for not wearing his shirt. Of course, with that damn heat, who could blame him? He had the most magnificent upper body I'd ever seen, though. He must've hit the gym all the time! Six pack abs, nice pecs, pouty nipples. Totally ripped. Maybe that's what turned me on because, as I said, he was only average looking.
Last Thursday night my friend who lives in L.A. came down to visit. He comes down to San Diego a few times a month to visit me and other friends and we usually hook up. We've been fuck buddies for a while now. No strings attached. I like it that way. So does he. I had a couple of days off so the night he came down we went to a club in Hillcrest and we danced and drank the night away. Well, at least I did. Since my friend drove, he kept his drinking down. But that's about the only thing he kept down. I've always considered myself good looking, 6'1, 185, brown hair and eyes, in pretty good shape. But my friend... well... he's hot. Playgirl hot. He's at least a couple inches taller than me and has a good 20-to 25 pounds on me. But he's in shape. No stranger to a gym. He has sandy brown hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Not to mention a smile that could melt an ice cube.
Best of all, my friend always has the best stuff. Grass, E, any kind of pill you could imagine... he has it. Either on him or just a phone call away. That night he had me try out some new kind of designer rave drug and within minutes I was fuckin' flying like a kite! It was so awesome! And the sex! That must've been when I started to ramble on about The Stud, because the next afternoon my friend started to ask me about him and wanted to see the pictures I had. We spent the next hour or so on my PC checking him out. Thank goodness for CD burners because I had pretty much filled up my entire hard drive space with pictures of The Stud. A few weeks ago I had put them all on CDs.
Then we heard the noise of laughter through the open window and saw Him. The Stud. He was getting out of a car with a few of his friends. It looked like they'd just come from work. Before I could grab my binoculars, though, he was in the house. But he and his buddies came out a few seconds later, minus their shirts. My friend and I passed the binoculars back and forth as the guys played catch and goofed off in his yard.
That was when the brilliant plan to “get” The Stud was hatched. The Stud has a routine, you see. Every other Saturday, like clockwork, The Stud comes out of the house at eleven o'clock, no shirt on, and does yard work. I know it's eleven because the church bell in the neighborhood tolls, plus I can tell time. Just before he comes out to do his chores, his wife packs up the baby and she and a couple of her girlfriends all pile into one of their mommy mobiles and drive off for a day of fun or something. They're almost always gone until at least 3:00 p.m., leaving The Stud by himself for four whole hours.
The Stud would then come out, beer in one hand, phone in the other, set the phone down, take a swig of beer and proceed to work around the yard. He would mow the lawn, trim the hedges, work on various parts of the house, taking breaks here and there to answer the phone or get another beer. Sometimes he would take out a golf bag and chip and putt a few balls. Always without a shirt and always wearing shorts that sagged. Sometimes halfway down his ass! He had the best collection of boxers, too. You name it, he had it. Solids, colors, prints, cartoon characters... The Stud had them all.
“And he sticks to this routine?” my friend asked, handing me the binoculars.
“Yup,” I replied. “Every two weeks he does yard work. Always on a Saturday and always when his wife is gone. In fact, tomorrow is his day.”
“And you say she's gone for what... four or five hours?”
“At least four. Sometimes more. Why? What're you thinking?”
My friend turned to me. “You ever meet the guy?”
I thought about that one for a few seconds before answering. I'd seen him at the Mexican restaurant down the street a couple of times, but since I usually don't hang out in my neighborhood, we hadn't really run into each other. “Not officially,” I replied. “Seen him and his wife a few times, but never talked to him.”
“Do you know anything about him?” my friend asked.
“Well, I was at this Mexican restaurant one night with a friend, a girl, and he and his friends were sitting a few tables away. They were drinking and shootin' the shit, but they started talkin' about fags and stuff.”
“So, he's a homophobe?.”
“Big time. And he's pretty cocky, too,” I added. “When he's out horsin' around with his friends he's always struttin' and stuff. I get the feeling he was hot shit in high school or something.”
My friend just smiled.
“What?” I asked again. “What are you thinking about?”
A devious look came across my friend's face. “Tomorrow's Saturday, right?” I nodded. “He's gonna be out there, by himself, for about four hours, right?” I nodded again. “Perfect.”
I didn't get it. “What do you mean? What're you gettin' at?”
“I say we teach your Stud a lesson,” my friend said.
“How do you figure we do that?” I asked.
My friend sat me down and told me what he was thinking. When he was finished I sat back and processed it all. It could work, I thought to myself. “But what if he recognizes us?” I asked, suddenly afraid.
“I don't give a flyin' fuck if he sees my face because I don't live here and he's never gonna see me again,” my friend said. “And you'll be wearing some kind of mask.”
“It could work,” I said slowly.
“Leave it to me,” my friend said, picking up the binoculars and focusing them on The Stud and his friends.
The next morning we woke up early to get things ready. Even that early we knew it was going to be a scorcher, which worked in our favor. My friend was going to go out my back door a little after 11:30 am and go for a run. By that time, The Stud would've worked up a good sweat and would be on at least his second beer. My friend knows enough about landscaping and carpentry that as he passed by The Stud's house he'd stop and strike up a conversation. He was pretty good at that.
It seemed like eleven-thirty would never come, but sure enough, it did and my friend left to put the plan in action. The Stud's wife had left half an hour ago and he was just finishing up mowing the lawn. Of course he wasn't wearing a shirt. He went into the house for a minute and came out with another beer. His third. He took a sip of it and set it down on the porch railing. Then he went around back and came back a few seconds later with a pair of shears and began to trim the hedges. His shorts were sagging, but it didn't look like he was wearing boxers. I zoomed in as close as I could and I saw a white waistband. Was The Stud wearing briefs? Hmmm.... must be laundry day.
Then I saw my friend jogging down the street, Walkman on. That was my cue. I grabbed my gym bag and headed out the back door. The Stud lived next to an empty lot and there was a big set of bushes separating the two properties. I was going to hide in the bushes until I got the cue from my friend.
I had just reached the bushes, going around the block, and crouched down when I saw my friend stop jogging and talk to The Stud.
“Nice job on that bougainvillea,” my friend said, pointing to the bush The Stud was trimming. “Mine seem to have a mind of their own.”
“So do these mothers,” The Stud said. I heard his voice! I actually heard his voice! “I gotta get out every coupla weeks and trim 'em or they go crazy.”
I could just see The Stud and my friend from where I was sitting and he was nodding. “Good pointer. I think I'll try that. Must be a bitch in this heat, though.”
The Stud wiped his face with the back of his hand. “That's why God made beer,” he said, taking another drink.
”Amen to that,” my friend replied.
The Stud seemed to suddenly remember his manners. “You wanna beer?” he asked.
My friend laughed. “I just got finished running off last nights beer. But hey, why the hell not?”
“Hold this a sec,” The Stud said, handing his beer to my friend. “I'll go in a get you one. I'll be just a minute.” He went into the house.
As soon as his back was turned, my friend reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill. He dropped it into The Stud's beer. We had discussed this part earlier in great detail. I wanted The Stud to know what was happening to him and not to be totally out of it. To be unable to stop what was happening to him. My friend pulled out his bag of goodies and said he had the perfect answer. He took a small tablet and, with a sharp knife, cut it in half. “This should do the trick,” he had said. “Your Stud'll be all woozy and dizzy a few minutes after taking this and'll probably just think it's the heat.”
I snapped back to the moment as I heard The Stud coming out of the house. He handed my friend a beer and took his back. They sat down on the steps and drank. That was another cue for me. I reached into my pocket and took out the Viagra my friend had given me. I washed it down with my bottle of water.
“Names, Jake,” The Stud said, stretching out his hand. Whoah!!!!! The Stud had a name. Jake. Jake. Jake. Nice name.
My friend shook Jake's hand. “I'm Tim,” he said, lying. That wasn't his name, of course. “Nice to meet you.”
“You live around here?” Jake (The Stud) asked, being friendly.
My friend nodded. “Yeah. Well, about a mile and a half away. I started taking a different route on my run. Got a late start today, though. The wife was bitchin' about something.” He's such a great liar! That's one of the things I admire so much about him.
The Stud nodded. “I hear ya, buddy. Now don't get me wrong. I love my wife and all, but shit... if were up to me, I'd be in the house watching TV or down at the beach or out playing golf.” He took another swig of beer.
“You golf then?” my friend asked.
The Stud nodded. Well, I guess I can use his name now. Jake nodded. “I try to get out a few times a month.”
“Where do you go?”
“It varies,” he said, draining his beer. “I like Torrey Pines but it's so fuckin' crowded. Singing Hills is nice and so is Steel Canyon. How about you?”
“Oh, Torrey Pines, definitely,” my friend said, lying again. “My dad's a member so I can always get a good tee time.”
”Bastard,” Jake laughed. “Hey, I'm empty. You want another, Tim?”
“Sure,” my friend said. He knew the drug was in Jake's system by now.
Jake took the empties, stood up and turned around. He stumbled and nearly fell. “Whoah!!” he said.
“You okay?” my friend asked.
“Yeah, it's nothing,” Jake replied. “Just a little dizzy.” He grabbed the railing. “Must be this fuckin' heat.”
My friend nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it's a hot one. You got air inside? Maybe you should go in for a few minutes.”
Now Jake nodded. “Mmm... I think I will.” He struggled up the stairs.
My friend stood up. “Here, let me give you a hand.”
“Thanks,” Jake said. “I don't know what the fuck is wrong.”
“Like you said,” my friend reasoned, “it's probably the heat. Plus the beer ain't helping.” The both laughed as my friend held the door for Jake.
When I heard the screen door slam shut I stood up. That was my cue. I headed for the house and snuck quietly up the porch stairs and listened.
Inside my friend started to walk Jake into the living room when he stopped and shoved him to the floor. The thud was my cue to go inside. I opened the door as quietly as I could and stepped inside. I slipped on a mask we'd picked at Target the other day and walked over to where Jake lay on the floor. He looked pissed.
“Why the fuck did you do that, man?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit slow and slurred. “Get the hell outta my house!”
“We ain't goin' anywhere,” my friend said. “Except your bedroom.”
“Wha..?” Then it suddenly dawned on Jake just what was happening. Why he was so dizzy all of a sudden. Why two strangers, one wearing a mask, were standing over him.
We picked him up and dragged him down the hall. The drug in his beer sufficiently lowered his resistance but he still struggled. I had put a ball gag on him as soon as we pulled him to his feet so his cries were muffled.
Once in his room we pushed him down on his bed. My friend held his upper body flat down on the bed while I tied his arms to the bedposts. I just love four-poster beds, don't you? Once Jake was tied my friend took my video camera from the bag and began to film me taking off Jake's sock and shoes. Then his shorts. I was right. Instead of the boxers he usually wore, he was clad in briefs. Nice crisp white briefs. They looked new and unused. I bet Jake was a boxers only boy. He probably only wore briefs when he played sports, and then only if his jockstrap was dirty. He probably had to break open a new package of briefs this morning. I took a look around his room and my suspicions were confirmed. The laundry basket was overflowing and there was a six-pack of white Hanes briefs lying on the floor by the bed.
My friend zoomed in on Jake's crotch. Even soft, it looked sizeable. Fuckable. “Go on,” he urged. “Touch it!”
Jake's eyes widened in fear as I approached. I started to run my hands over his chest and down to his bulge. With my other hand I pinched one of his nipples and heard a soft moan.
“Ooooh.... we got a moaner. You likin' this, Jake?” my friend asked.
Jake was shaking his head back and forth, cursing up a storm. I could make out part of what he was saying, but it didn't matter. I wasn't about to stop.
My friend had the camera on a tripod now and was using a digital camera to get various angles. Jake looked pissed. My friend put the camera down. “You know what?” he said. “I think we need to get Jake here in the mood.”
“Poppers,” I said, reaching into the bag, searching for the small bottle, while keeping my other hand massaging The Stud's crotch. It was actually getting hard.
I found the poppers and took a look at the label. I didn't recognize it. “I've never seen these before,” I said. “Where did you find 'em?”
“Mail order from the Netherlands,” my friend replied. “They're the best I've ever used. Jake's gonna be in orbit.”
I smiled as I unscrewed the lid. I put them to my nostril and took a small, quick whiff. Immediately I felt my head go light and I knew exactly what a full hit (or several) would do to Jake. I smiled again.
Jake was shaking his head again but his muffled cries of resistance were falling on deaf ears. “We're gonna bust that cherry ass of yours, you homophobic asshole,” my friend said, his mouth close enough to Jake's ear that his tongue flicked in and out.
I put the poppers to Jake's left nostril and covered his right nostril. My friend removed the ball gag from Jake's mouth and quickly covered it with his big hand. Unable to get fresh air, Jake breathed through the only opening available: the one with the bottle of poppers next to it.
Immediately his eyes rolled up and his back arched. My friend moved his hand away from Jakes mouth. “Ohhhhhh.... mmmmmm...... ssshhiiitttt....” Jake moaned. My friend twisted and tweaked Jake's nipples and The Stud moaned even more. I put the poppers to his other nostril.
“Come on Stud,” my friend said. “Take another hit. Yeah.... that's a good Stud. Good, ain't it?”
After five hits in each nostril Jake had ceased his struggling and was now moaning like some horny slut. We untied his hands and lowered his briefs. Still high, he didn't resist.
We pulled his underwear all the way off and then flipped him onto his stomach. I spread his legs and, after rolling on a condom, plunged my dick into his virgin ass.
Jake's eyes widened and his body stiffened, but before he could even cry out, my friend shoved his cock into his open mouth and put the poppers to his nose. His body went limp again.
We fucked his face and ass for the next fifteen minutes, continually dosing The Stud with the poppers. Mid-fuck we flipped him onto his back. He didn't even know what happened to him, we moved so fast. Almost instantly I was fucking him again, my dick still hard courtesy of the Viagra and my pent up lust. My friend shoved the ball gag back in and began to work on The Stud's dick.
I looked into Jake's eyes. He was probably wondering why his dick was hard. After all, he wasn't gay. Why should a couple of fags working him over make him hard? He was probably wondering why his body was betraying him. The dumb fuck probably had no idea that the bumping I'd been giving his fuck nut for the last fifteen minutes or so was making his dick go all crazy. And now his dick was being pumped back and forth.
“Uhhhhggghhhhh.....” Jake moaned as he felt him self about to cum. Suddenly his back arched and stream after stream of baby batter came shooting out of his dick. My friend had a good grasp on Jake's dick and aimed it toward his head. With his other hand he lifted Jake's up and laughed aloud as The Stud's own cum blasted all over his face.
I was still fucking him. I couldn't stop. His ass was so tight and his moaning was sounded so hot. I'd already shot my load once, but I was still hard. I put The Stud's legs over my shoulders and squeezed his balls as I continued to pound his ass.
A single tear rolled down The Stud's face. He probably never thought this would happen to him in a million years. He was too tough, too big a bad-ass to let some fags man-handle him. But he was wrong. So wrong. Plain fuckin' wrong. Come to think about it, he was just plain fucked.
I wasn't about to let any of that sweet, sweet cum go to waste. I withdrew my dick from Jake's ass and proceeded to lick every drop of cum from his hunky body.
Now, if you remember, I said I'd never done anything like this before. But after today... well. I can see everything changing. It's Sunday night right now and my friend has gone back home. I haven't showered since I fucked The Stud. I've just been watching the video over and over. In fact, as I'm writing this story, I'm wearing The Stud's briefs. Those new, crisp white Hanes briefs I took as a souvenir. They're a little tight, but I don't mind. I've cum in them twice so far and it's still early.