Entry Level 04 (Patreon)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Story update: As you guys know, I originally intended this to be a weekly update, but this one has taken a bit longer to flesh out. Still, I’ll be intermittently adding a new chapter to this longer story. It’s going to be a novel, and you guys are the first eyes to see it! Enjoy the next chapter of Entry Level!

Chapter 4: Summer Secret

A couple weeks passed and Decker and I never direcetly talked about any of it. There was no conversation where we established what we were doing or what we were to each other or what any of it meant. We just kept doing it, and we developed a sort of physical read of each other, like our own sign language, and that was weirdly enough.

I was sleeping in his bed more than my own by that point. Not every night, but most of them. I'd follow him in at night, and when I didn’t, he’d often knock on my door at some point and jump into bed with me. Sometimes he'd knock in the morning and we'd end up just cuddling until the last minute before we had to get up to be at work on time.

The only part that felt genuinely strange was that nobody else knew. Not my friends from home, not anyone from school, not anyone at the office. Every morning we walked to the subway like two normal dudes in suits, interns who shared an apartment, and every evening we came home and became whatever we actually were, and the gap between those two versions of the day was something I was getting better at compartmentalizing, but it stuck with me that there was a strong sense of unspoken discretion about it. Maybe it was natural when two college guys got intimate, especially since we weren’t historically gay or anything like that. 

—[]—

Work went on, with a normal progression of college interns, getting more intense each week. Friday came around, and our boss, Logan came by our desk cluster at four-thirty with a stern expression, maybe even a bit sympathetic.

"Rita needs the quarterly variance reports cross-referenced against the new projections by Monday morning," he said, "Which means tonight. All the Hedrick and Criswall accounts." 

He looked at Tony and then at me. "It's coming from Rita, so." He turned to Decker. "You're off the hook. Have a nice weekend."

Decker raised both eyebrows, a quick flash of something behind his eyes that was mostly sympathy and partly relief. He'd been running hard for two weeks straight on Logan's projects and if anyone in the room needed a Friday night it was him. Rita had taken ownership of the accounts assigned to Tony and me a few weeks into the summer, which meant our work ran on a separate track from Decker's. Less visibility for him, but also less of Rita, which seemed like a reasonable trade.

Decker packed up his bag without making a thing of it. He looked at me once on his way out, a small look, and then he was gone.

Tony and I pulled up the files and got started. About twenty minutes in, Logan came back with a small tray of coffees, black. He set them on the edge of the cluster and pulled up a chair and sat with us, jacket off, sleeves rolled, more human than he usually seemed, less business. He wrapped both hands around his cup and looked at the middle distance for a second like he was thinking about what he wanted to say, while Tony and I just kept hammering away at the keys.

"You guys are good workers,” he said with a much more casual voice than normal, and it hit me that he had been drinking. 

“You know what I've figured out," he went on as we half listened, "is that you're a freshman again every four or five years of your career. Different title, different floor, same feeling of being a the bottom of the pile.”

"That's kind of a depressing way to look at it," I said.

He looked at me, considering what I had said.

"Other way to look at it," he said, "is that it means you're always moving. The guys who stop feeling like freshmen are the guys who stopped going anywhere." 

He picked up his coffee. "Never forget that."

He got up and went back to his office, shutting the door behind him.

Tony watched him go. "So basically we're always going to feel like we have no idea what we're doing."

"I think that was supposed to be the optimistic version," I said.

"I'd rather just actually know what I'm doing."

"Yeah,” I said, looking down at another yellow folder full of signed documents, while my mind was stuck on what was waiting for me at home. “I know what you mean.”

—[]—

We were in the office until almost nine. The space had mostly emptied out, except for Logan in his office, loudly yammering on the phone to people in the Bejjing office, making slightly racist comments, probably without even realizing it. 

“How many egg rolls is it going to take to close this deal?” he said loudly like he couldn’t control the volume of his voice, clearly not hearing what he wanted to hear.

“Fuck it!” he shouted next, “Tell the Chairman I’m tired of this pissing contest. I’M the big swinging dick around here, and… oh wait… how much is that in US Dollar?... Yeah ok sounds good, have legal wrap it up.” 

Tony and I heard him sloppily drop the receiver a couple times before it clicked into the hung up position. We snickered, looking at each other, learning how business really gets done, at least at this place, is drunk idiots staying late and lazily tying up loose ends, leaving others to do all the paperwork for them. 

With Logan quiet again, it felt like it was just the two of us and the cleaning crew left. Tony had loosened his tie and was eating a big, greasy steak sandwich he had gotten delivered.

At some point I got up to use the bathroom.

Tony came in about thirty seconds after me and took the urinal to my left. I stared at the wall, internally irritated that he always followed me to the bathroom. It was like he was afraid to go pee alone, whereas I leaned more the opposite. I felt like I was the normal one, but Tony had some sort of camaraderie vibe when we all had our dicks out.

He was quiet for about four seconds, which was unusual.

"Had to take care of this," he said.

I looked over without meaning to, and saw his big white pole jutting out of his shorts. He was rubbing it and it was already hardening, much bigger than the time he flashed me at the night club.

He wasn't even peeing.

“Bro, what the fuck,” I said.

“What, you never had a urinal quickie?”

“I’m standing right here,” I said.

“So leave if you want,” he said. “Unless you wanna stay for the cock fight.”

He was looking straight ahead at the wall with a slight smile, his hand moving, his pants open, his full hog on display, as it got longer, thicker, and redder. He proceeded without any apparent concern for the context, the office bathroom at nine o'clock on a Friday with his deskmate standing next to him trying to piss. I couldn’t help but glance down a bit. He was enormous, the same as in the bar bathroom weeks ago, maybe more so in the fluorescent light, and he was doing what he was doing with the complete comfort of someone who considered this a reasonable use of a bathroom.

I looked back at the wall in front of me, but I could still see him in my peripheral vision. I could hear him, and the friction of his hand working himself getting wetter as the seconds passed. He wasn't making any effort to be quiet about it, like he wanted me to watch and at some point I looked again and he was looking back at me with a smirk.

He looked down at himself, and released a white rope a second later, streaking the urinal.

“There we go,” he said, milking out the rest of his load. He shook off the last of it and started to pee. 

I finally looked away.

"You're jealous," he said, at the wall, zipping up. "Admit it."

“You are so weird,” I said. “But honestly, nice cock, bro.”

He washed his hands at the sink, took his time about it, dried them with paper towels, and walked back out to his desk.

I became aware, in a specific order, of the following things: my pants were still open, I had not peed, I was fully hard, and I had been standing at this urinal for several minutes with my hand on my dick.

I stood there, chuckling to myself, thinking about how weird my life had become.

—[]—

Tony and I left together at nine-fifteen. He peeled off toward the 6 train and I headed for the F, and on the solo walk I decided to call Tay.

Tay was back at school, staying on campus for the Summer, finishing an extra class and doing a research thing. We'd been friends since freshman orientation, just casual, comfortably familiar faces to each other. He was from a black neighborhood, and I was from a mostly white neighborhood, and we bonded over the shared joke that we were both learning about diversity in college. It was a simple friendship that I really appreciated, somehow easier than any regular friend I had had before college. I hadn’t talked to him since I left for the Summer, so I thought I would just cold call him and see if he answered. He picked up on the second ring.

"My man," he said. "How's the city treating you?"

"Good," I said. "Weird. Good."

We talked for a minute about nothing serious, his summer class and a girl he was seeing, the slight differences in climate between our locations. Then I told him that I had ended up seeing more dick than I'd anticipated this summer, starting with my coworker who had made it somewhat of a recurring show.

Tay laughed. "White dudes, always."

"This dude Tony at work is enormous though. Like legitimately."

"None of them probably compare to my BBC."

"Okay," I said with a sigh.

"I'm just saying."

"I know."

“You’ve seen what I’m packing. Just last night…”

“I wonder if you’re actually bigger than him,” I said, letting my thoughts out, and interrupting him before he put yet another dick visual into my head.

“I’ve never lost a size comparison,” he said.

“You really do that?” 

“Yeah, haven’t you?” 

I thought about that day with Decker, but couldn’t really talk about that in detail. 

“Once,” I said after a pause.

“And…?” 

“It was a tie.”

He laughed again and I turned a corner and the river was visible at the end of the block. I was almost back to Decker.

"So what else," he said. "You good? You sound like you're in your head about something."

"I'm fine."

"Tell me."

"I'm good, man. It's a lot of work, it's a good summer. There are some genuinely insane girls in this city. That guy Tony keeps dragging us out to party after work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's a whole thing."

"You getting any?"

I paused. "I’m in a satisfied place.”

I wanted to talk about Decker, at least say something about it. I had no one at all to discuss any of it with. But I couldn’t figure out what to say. 

“Mmmhmm,” he said like he didn’t really care. We talked about little things for another block and a half and then he had somewhere to be and we hung up. I put my phone in my pocket and walked the rest of the way in silence, listening to the wind and the hum of the city.

—[]—

The apartment was warm and low-lit when I got in. Decker was on the couch in his underwear, one arm stretched along the back of it, the TV on. He looked up when the door opened. It was relaxed and warm.

He looked happy to see me.

I dropped my bag and my jacket and sat down next to him. His thigh was warm against mine. I thought about that night on this same couch with Decker a couple weeks prior, the porn, the dick comparison, how dry my mouth had been when he pulled his waistband down and sat there like it was nothing. That felt like a different summer entirely. The same couch, the same person, and I had somehow become someone for whom this was the most natural place in the world to be.

He put an arm around my shoulder.

"How bad was it," he said.

"Survivable. Tony ate a sandwich at his desk for three hours."

"What kind."

"I don't know. This big, nasty pile of grease."

He smiled at the TV.

I sat with him for a minute, feeling his warmth, confirming that I had missed him all day. Even when he was sitting next to me, I missed touching him. The thing from the bathroom was still sitting at the edge of my thoughts, unprocessed. I wanted to ask if I was allowed to tell people about us, but that didn’t make sense and I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t need his permission, but I didn’t even know what to call what we did. I looked at Decker, at his jawline against the light of the TV, and my questions faded away a bit. I suddenly didn’t want to talk about anything complicated.

"Tony beat off at the urinal tonight," I said.

Decker turned his head slowly and looked at me.

"He literally came right in front of me," I said. "Just stood there and did it. I think he wanted me to watch."

Decker was quiet for a second. "That dude is an animal."

"He's got a gorilla hammer down there, dude. Genuinely."

"I know," Decker said. "And he's addicted to pussy. That's like his whole thing."

I looked at the TV. The thing I was about to say had been sitting at the back of my throat since the subway.

"You haven't gotten with a girl in a while," I said.

"I know."

I paused. "Is it because of me."

I heard my own voice get soft on the last word, almost sheepishly, my insecurity showing a bit.

He didn't hesitate.

"Yeah," he said. "It's because of you."

His arm pulled me slightly closer and I sat there and felt the warmth of his affirmation settle in my body.

Again, I forgot what I was going to say.

He was looking at the TV, his arm warm around me, and I looked at him and thought about how different we were in every physical way that could be measured. His arms and his chest and his shoulders versus mine, his height against mine. The way his shoulders almost filled a doorframe and the way he made me feel diminutive. And then I thought about the one exception to all of that. Dick size was the one measurement where we came up nearly identical, and something in that struck me as funny. We were dick bros. We had basically the same dick. 

Out of everything we could have had in common, it was that. Our bodies were very different, but we were both winners below the waist.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You've really never been with a guy before? Like before this Summer?"

He looked at the ceiling for a second. "I mean." He paused. "I shared a room, so there was a little nonsense. Enough to know that guys give better head than girls, but…"

"Do you wanna fuck me," I said, cutting him off before he said something I didn’t want to hear, and I felt my pulse in my ears in the half second after.

He looked at me. A slow smile came up that he didn't try to stop.

"I mean," he said. "Yeah… hell yeah, if you want."

I just sat there, nodding slightly, like I was just taking a survey of sexual interest, nervously accepting his answer, as my insides ignited with nerves. He reached over and turned off the TV, and the apartment went quiet.

He kissed me. He always kissed me first, slowly and gently, probing my body to see how it would react this time. His hand came up to the side of my face, and by now I knew how to meet him halfway, rather than just receiving his advances. My body tingled with a hint of fear about what was going to happen. We'd had weeks of this and I'd been learning the whole time, the pace and the pressure, the way he communicated things without words. I was better at it than I'd been in the beginning. He'd told me so, which I thought about more than was probably useful.

We moved to his room. We'd done that enough times that it wasn't strange, the walk down the short hallway, our hard dicks leading the way, getting into the dark room, the city light coming through the curtains. What was different that night was the quality of attention in it. Something was going to happen that hadn't happened before, and we were both thinking about it.

He took his time. That was the thing I hadn't expected and probably should have, given everything I knew about how Decker operated. He was unhurried about everything and this was no different. He laid me on my back and made out with me while he rubbed my body, kissed my neck and rand his fingers through my hair. His hands moved over me like he was giving me a reiki massage. My mind was blank. The strangeness, stress, and efforts of the day melted in my body while I got the treatment I needed. I wasn't running any internal commentary. There was just this, his weight and his warmth and the smell of him that I knew better than almost any other smell at this point.

He didn’t ask me if I was sure I wanted to do it, he just stimulated my body in excruciatingly slow ways until he knew I was desperate for it.

He lifted my legs and licked down my taint, then my hole. I was confident in that area, since I always made sure my body was clean before I got near to him at this point. I had never had his tongue there before, and the wet tingles radiated outward, exacerbating the copious outrush of pre-cum from my poor, aching cock. His tongue went deep and ran in circles, and I knew instantly that he had done this with girls before. His physical charisma seemed boundless, and being on the receiving end of it was like being in a trance. He was an outside force that was taking me on a trip through the stars. 

When he shifted upward, shoving his tongue in my mouth while he squirted on a liberal amount of baby oil that I hadn’t even noticed before, the first sensation I noticed was the pressure. A human dick was approaching my most sensitive area, slowly but insistently. I held on to his large upper arm, reminding myself that his strength was taking care of me in that moment, and I breathed. 

“Good boy,” he whispered as he rubbed himself against me, teasing my hole with the head of his cock, until I was basically desperate to get him inside me. 

When he finally popped the head in, the fullness of it and the heat of it and the closeness of his face above mine all felt like too much. I couldn’t even point to one thing that was overwhelming. His dick was just a metaphor for my entire life flipping upside down this Summer. His eyes were open and on me and I kept mine open too because closing them felt like I would be missing something.

As he stretched me out from the inside, the sensations continued to build slowly. He moved carefully at first, watching my face, adjusting, and I found my body responding in ways that surprised me, a feedback loop between what he was doing and what I wanted more of. He escalated so slowly and patiently that I felt more pleasure than discomfort. I leaned into it and held his body tightly, encouraging to do more, while I leaked a heavy puddle of pre-cum onto my stomach.

At some point, he shifted from being careful to being assertive. He folded my legs more firmly, and I felt him inside me differently. I made a sound I didn't recognize as he pressed some button inside me that felt like a new type of sex. I exhaled and lost control of my vocal chords and his pace changed in response, reading me the way he'd been reading me all summer, and I held onto his arms and his back and his muscular ass and whatever I could reach, and I gave up the last of whatever labels, inhibitions, insecurities, anything I'd been holding onto.

“I love you, man,” I said with a squeak, as our eyes met. “I fucking love you.”

“You’re my boy,” he said, dropping his forehead against mine. “You’re my favorite fucking little thing.”

He kept thrusting inside me as I groaned.

“I love you,” he said breathily between thrusts.

I don't know how long it lasted. It felt complete in a way that the couch never had.

“Are you gonna cum in me?” I said.

“Yeah,” he almost growled as he grabbed me.

We finished together as he pounded me hard, never stopping until his load was frothing at the base of his dick, getting every ounce of orgasm out of his body before gripping me firmly, making me squirt up to my neck. 

When it was over I lay there and felt the specific, whole-body weight of having crossed an important line. 

He stayed above me, catching his breath, his chest and his stomach rising and falling, a sheen of sweat across his abdomen in the low light from the window. The lines of him, the shape he made above me, the V of his stomach pointing downward, drawing the eye directly to his thick,  white pole, and he was still present, still close, still looking at me with that expression I'd been accumulating interpretations of all summer.

"I can't believe we waited that long to do that," I said.

He smiled, genuine and unguarded. He was still breathing hard.

"I actually can't wait to be the catcher," he said.