The point of sex is two people coming together; their minds meet -- they share in one common humanity. And then one of them fucks the shit out of the other one.” - Excalibur


Dannye and Swap1 were looking forward to a weekend in the woods, alone, camping underneath the stars. Dannye was pretty bummed. He had just lost his job the week before. Downsizing. Swap had also had a personal setback of his own that he was worrying over, and needed to get away, to clear his head. He had no way of knowing that this weekend would only confuse him more.

They set up camp a few feet away from a stream, and began gathering wood for a camp fire. Swap had been in the Mexican Equivalent of the Boy Scouts, and knew what kind of wood to collect, while Dannye gathered stones to form a circle around the fire. Both of them had held desk job for years, so by the time they finished the fire, they were exhausted. They set out folding chairs and drank tallboys, their eyes growing bleary with the drink. They began to complain about the way their lives had gone, the choices they had made, the women that had screwed them over.

Dannye began to softly cry. Swap stood up to console him, and the night sky spun around him. He had been drinking a lot more that he thought. He stumbled over to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. It was warm. Dannye looked up at him, and Swap knew what he needed. He needed tenderness. A wolf howled in the distance. Their hearts raced, but not from fear.

Dannye broke the silence. "I've never done this before."
“Silencio” Swap said, cupping the back of Dannye’s neck.
Dannye's greying beard, distinguished as it was erotic, grazed Swap's cheek roughly.
"Ouch! It's like sandpaper," giggled Swap.
"Forgot to brush my teeth" says Dannye.
"S'okay dannye boy." Swap says, pressing his lips to Dannye’s. The feeling wasn’t like kissing a woman, it was more like kissing a man in the woods while drunk. Dannye gave himself over to the sensations flooding his brain, let himself be swept up in the madness of it. Gay sex felt familiar, like a favorite recliner or a long wait at the DMV.

Their hands roamed furiously over each other’s bodies. These weren’t the soft smooth curves of a woman, but the prickly, strong parts of a man. They found each other’s babydepositers, and Dannye let out a deep moan as Swap touched his. It had been so long since he had been touched by anyone else. This was so much better than sitting on his hand until it went numb. Swap growled in his ear, nibbled it a bit. Then he put his hands firmly on Dannye’s shoulders. Like an epileptic with wobbly crutches in front of a strobe light, he was going down. He fell to his knees, facing Swap's hard cock. It was the first time he had ever even thought about something like this . . . or was it? Hadn't he dreamed about this before?

As his lips wrapped around Swap’s throbbing, engorged, tumescent, blood-filled, erect, hard-as-nails tallywhacker, he thought “Well, this is it. I’m a dongsucker.” With that he lost all inhibitions, and went for the gusto. He, a heterosexual man with no previous homosexual experience, done in by sorrow and cheap beer. All of a sudden, Swap pulled his member from Dannye’s mouth and took his hand. He led him into the tent, into the sleeping bag, and laid him on his side. Dannye was scared, he knew this was going to hurt. Swap softly serenaded him as he poured vegetable oil into his hands.

“Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, I’m still, I’m still Jenny from the block. Used to have a little now I got a lot, but no matter what I know where I came from…”

Dannye wanted to believe him. He felt Swap kissing the back of his neck, felt Swap’s body ask permission, and in a move that surprised even himself, he granted it. Here was pain and pleasure mixed in a way he had never before understood so well, not while reading the Marquis De Sade, or even during his two year stint as a dungeon master for a sexual theme park. There was no need for a safe word here; Swap was so very gentle. He reached around and freed Dannye’s member from his FTL’s, and began touching it ever so slightly, whilst rubbing his prostate from the inside. Dannye gasped. "Harder, harder!" panted Dannye, as Swap thrusted. "Turn me into your little bitch, BE THE FRITO BANDITO OF MY LOVE TUNNEL!" When they erupted, it was at the same time, and Swap bit Dannye’s shoulder. Dannye thought he would die from the pleasure.

They held each other late into the night. When Swap awoke, Dannye was gone, the memory of their night together hanging in the trees.








1. Both of whom have given the go ahead to use their likeness in a fictionalized manner.

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