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“Why don’t you chow down on this, fag boy?”

I could see temptation in Cory’s eyes, probably contemplating his chances of coming out of such a move in one piece. Brick, the football jock, was baiting him by grabbing a handful of his ample crotch through his shorts, encouraged by his two Neanderthal buddies, Scott and Jake.

Is there anything more terrifying than a booze and drug-fueled gang of jocks egging each other on, violence barely suppressed? You learn young to avoid these sorts of situation.

Cory obviously hadn’t. He went for the provocative rather than the placatory. “Doesn’t look like it’s a decent mouthful to me.”

That really got Brick off side. If it was one thing Brick was inordinately proud of, it was his dick size. Cory sneered and walked back to chat with other people at the party. Confrontation over. Granted, arch homophobe Brick had been baiting him all night, but it didn’t do to retaliate. Unless you were a champ at boxing or something similar.

It had been my skill in the ring that got me accepted by the jock fraternity, Alpha Beta Pi, at college. It was a rare distinction to get into such an exclusive club if you didn’t major in football, basketball, and track, with a distinction in hetero gangbang. The frat house was reserved for brainless sporting types who would go on to marry one of the cheer leaders and get a job as a used car salesman before going to fat and dying young of high blood pressure or a heart attack. Brick had achieved the first, was part way to the second, and, much to my regret, had not yet succumbed to the third.

He was a thick shithouse of a man. He’d put on bulk, including a lot of fat. He had the sort of body that drove Cory wild. He was beefy, solid muscle with a beer belly, pecs you could serve a plate on, and biceps that could crack a walnut just by flexing. He was good looking in that dumb jock way they have, and he shaved his head because, as you could tell from the stubble, he was going bald through the center. On him, a shaved head was scorching hot. And he knew it.

He had a sexual appetite to go with it. His wife was continually knocked up which meant he was always on the prowl for new experiences. He was as straight as a ten-inch rule – his purported dick size – and as virulently homophobic as any fundamentalist. Gay boys swooned over him and came away with a split lip, a black eye, or worse. He had a temper on him that was legendary, which is why I feared for Cory.

Bazza’s 70th Birthday Bash

Best Selling Erotica

Stories to get you so heated you’ll need to wash your sheets!

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He Won’t Send Roses

ISBN 78-1-911478-13-3

Ebook Cover Price: 9.99

Length: 325 pdf Pages / 178775 words

Formats Available: pdf, prc, epub, mobi

Excerpt: