Shoulda Known It Wouldn't Agree With Him

This past Saturday night, Mark and I went out for some sushi (I know, I know, what's two man eating gay boys doing eating raw fish), but it's usually quite good as long as you slather it in some KikkoMAN sauce and a whole lotta wasabi to kill all the cooties. Mark warned me about the raw tuna, but I just wouldn't listen.

Suffice it to say, a might past midnight, Mark's ass was hungry for some meat, but was feeling a little too saucy back there; toot'n and scoot'n gaseous liquid. Neither of us slept well, the way he was stinking up the joint; even the damn dog, that loves sleeping at the side of my bed, eyes pried to the door, watching for burglars, found a soft cushion in the living area. Only venturing in as day break was upon us, and she needed a little pee and poo break.

Fine, off for a walk, and then it's time for our Sunday wrestle match! Coming back in, I feed the dog, strip down to my jock, and stretch and prepare myself for my oncoming attack. Considering how I left Mark, I was expecting to find him still sacked out, trying to calm his queasy stomach. But, as I come in, there he is in his bear crawl stance; on all fours, ass up and back in the corner of the bed, legs slightly bent, and up on his finger tips, ready to pounce. Caught off guard, I immediately swing into action! Two long strides to the bed, leap forward, then with palms on the end of the bed, and with legs springing me forward I leap up towards him and the middle of the battle ground. He dives low for my knees and, expecting this, I go high to leap up and over him, landing squarely on top of his back, holding onto his naked flanks to push him onto his side. He, of course, is grabbing at my ankles, looking to turn me in and off him, so he can pin me down.

The object of the game is to strip the other of their jock, and either tie the others hands behind their back with the jock or to wrap it about the others face, in essence forcing the other to suffocate in his own sweaty ball juice. We wrestle about for a good 20 minutes, trying to out wit, out muscle and just plain out the other. If we fall off the bed, whoever is the main momentum off the bed has to start on all fours, with the other hovering above, heaving chest suctioned to heaving back, with his cock grinding into his hot, sweaty ass crack.

With the third fall to the ground, that being my fault, we've both d-jocked one another, and with hard cocks and sweaty assholes ablaze, we head back to the middle of the bed, me on all fours, with Mark breathing into my right ear, above me. Surprisingly, so far, Mark's queasiness seems to have subsided, but as we are about to start the next round, he lets loose what must have been a completely uncontrollable tuba fart that resounded about the whole bedroom. Both of us lost it, tumbling together in a heap of laughter to the bed.

This, of course, is where I was tricked. The fumes must have made me dizzy for a second, 'cause next thing I know, I'm on my back convulsing in laughter, and Mark's toeing my jock towards his fingers as he moves his ass towards my face. Then, in a flurry of movement and trickery, dude tubas out another deep, wet, gaseous, dead rat from his ass, slips the jock over my face and then wraps my head up in the sheets with dead fart sorta lingering in the cocoon.

I, literally, thought I was going to fucking puke! I swear, I still feel like I got residue ass juice on my cheeks...I can't seem to wash it away!

He may have won the battle, but it completely put me out of the mood. Usually it's spoils to the victor, but, yesterday, the only spoilage he got was what came out of his dirty asshole.

He tried canoodling with me last night, and, fortunately for him, I'm a pretty horny bastard. I wanted nothing to do with his back end though, but gave him a nice, clean ride upside my velvety smooth hole.