Chapter 1

“Look at this way,” the bartender said, leaning over the counter and smiling down at Jameson and Reeve, “at least the drinks are half off for you guys.”

Jameson scowled and started to turn away but abruptly turned back when he caught a glimpse of the male strippers on the stage. Beside him, his work buddy Reeve did the same, looking up and then down at the bar uncomfortably. A loud cheer went up from the assembled crowd of ladies as the strippers whipped off their pants, revealing the tiny Speedos they were wearing underneath. 

Reeve took a sip of his cognac and raised an eyebrow at the tender. “How do you do it, man?” he asked, suppressing a shiver of disgust. “It must be awful to watch this night after night.”

The man shrugged. “It’s only on Friday nights.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. A little flash caught Jameson’s eye and he looked up to spot an earring dangling from the man’s left earlobe. It gleamed darkly in the dim light. A black pearl, he realized distantly, thinking it was strange for a guy to wear such a piece of jewelry. The man’s smile broadened when he caught him looking at it and Jameson abruptly looked away. “Friday night is ladies night.”

Jameson barely heard him. He was too busy regretting his decision to join his coworkers from the law firm for happy hour. Only after he and Reeve had arrived at the bar did they realize that they’d been invited by mistake (or maybe as a joke); the email was supposed to only have gone out to the women on staff. After hotly debating what to do, they reluctantly decided to stay because the hottest paralegal in the office, Consuela Ortiz, was there and both guys were eager to get into her panties. 

Thinking of her made Jameson turn back to the stage where he was just in time to catch Consuela whooping with delight as she stuffed a twenty dollar bill in the pouch of one of the dancer’s Speedos. He was starting to grimace when a thought struck him. Maybe if she gets drunk enough, I will have my chance to…

“Ever thought about dancing?”

The question startled Jameson out of his rape fantasy. He looked up at the bartender in shock as both he and Reeve sputtered in unison, “Fuck, no!”

The bartender’s eye twinkled. “Why not? You’re both young and in shape. You could make some cash on the side. Who doesn’t need a little extra spending money these days?”

“I don’t,” Jameson replied, looking down at his tailored Armani suit and the Rolex gracing his wrist. “I’m a junior partner at my law firm. I make more than all those fruity dancers combined.”

“Me, too,” Reeve said, nodding. He was also wearing an expensive, tailored suit but had on a gold-plated Apple Watch instead of a Rolex. “We were both just made junior partners.”

“Besides,” Jameson continued, sneering, “Only losers do that kind of work. I get paid for my brains.”

Reeve nodded. “Yeah, that’s precisely why I studied my ass off at university. I mean, look at them! They might be pretty to look at but there’s not a brain among them!”

The bartender’s smile turned wintry. “So, yer sayin’ that both you guys got where you are solely on the basis of hard work and talent? Your family’s wealth and connections had nothing to do with it?” He stared at Jameson before swiveling his gaze over to Reeve. Unable to maintain eye contact, both men looked down at their cognacs. When they remained silent, the bartender snorted, “Yer just a couple of spoiled rich brats! Someday, you’ll understand what life is like for the rest of us.”

Jameson bridled and opened his mouth to make a sharp retort but the guy had already turned his back on them and was serving a customer down the bar.

***

Jameson Turnberry didn’t go home with Consuela that night. In the end, drunk on more than a few cognacs, he and Reeve stumbled out to the company limousine and were dropped off at their apartments in the trendy downtown area. Jameson’s building was directly across the street from Reeve’s; he could even see the inside of his friend’s penthouse from his living room window.

The doorman ushered him inside and he wove his way to the elevators, ordering the attendant to take him to his private floor. Once inside, he flopped down on his leather sofa and scrolled through Instagram. Despite being drunk, he was horny as fuck and soon found himself trolling Consuela’s page. She was quite the minx, posting all manner of risque photos of herself in various states of undress. Soon, he was sporting a massive hardon and unzipped the fly of his immaculately-pressed slacks and extracted his dick. He jacked himself nearly to climax and then, in an erotic frenzy, snapped a dick pic and sexted it to Consuela.

He regretted doing so almost as soon as he clicked ‘send’ and desperately tried to undo it. Too late! The pic had already been sent.

Jameson groaned, dropping his now limp dick and taking his head in his hands. What the fuck had he done?! He could get fired for fuck’s sake! The seconds seemed to slow down to a crawl as he sat there, desperately trying to think of a way to dig himself out of this hole. When his iPhone dinged, indicating a message had been received, his whole body broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach clenched with dread as he lifted the phone and forced himself to read the message.

It read: >>Nice one, dude! Here’s mine!<< This was followed swiftly by a photo of a big, fat, dripping cock.

Jameson blinked. The message was from Reeve, not Consuela.

In his horned-up state, he’d mistakenly sent his dick pic to Reeve!

He dropped his phone, relief and revulsion washing over him in equal measure. Relief because he wasn’t going to get fired for sexting Consuela and revulsion because he’d just sent a dick pic to another guy. His whole body started trembling as he lifted his head and looked out his living room window to see Reeve standing in the window of the penthouse directly across from him, giving him the thumbs up. His big dick was jutting out hard and proud from the fly of his slacks.

His phone chimed again and he looked down at it to find another text from Reeve. >>Can I cum over?<<

Jameson swallowed bile as all of the expensive cognac he’d imbibed threatened to rise up in his throat. Staggering to his feet, he turned his back on Reeve and flicked off the lights. This entire day just plain sucked.

***

Chapter 2

Jameson awoke to the alarm on his Android phone the next morning. Groaning from a hangover, he rolled over onto his back and looked around. Light was flooding into the efficiency apartment he rented (with help from his parents) and he could hear the upstairs neighbors having sex. Grabbing the baseball bat he kept near his bed for this very reason, he lifted it and commenced banging on the ceiling until they quieted down. He was sick as fuck of listening to them scream at the tops of their lungs!

He reached down and was idly scratching his balls when his phone chimed. He looked down to find a text from Reeve Conyers. >>Dude, interview starts in 10 mn!<< his best bro sent, >>Git yer ass down here!<<

Confused, Jameson rubbed his forehead. Interview? But I already have a job! I’m a…I’m a…I’m a… The thought trailed off in his mind. He shook his head, certainty fading. He could have sworn he already had a job! Then he remembered, smiling goofily. Yeah, he did have a job. A shitty job at the university gym where he barely made minimum wage. Money was tight, though, and his parents had warned that he’d need to start paying a bigger share of his living expenses. Thankfully, Reeve had stepped forward and put in a good word for him at the bar where he worked and the manager had consented to interview him.

Shit! Jameson thought, scrambling out of bed. The interview is today! He had to get ready or he would be late!

***

He arrived at the bar ten minutes later. It was a nondescript cement building on the edge of the student ghetto with a big sign reading, “Welcome to Charley’s! All Male Revue! (Sorry, ladies only.)” Reeve was waiting for him outside with crossed arms and a scowl etched across his face.

“Jesus, dude! What the fuck took ya so long? You can’t be late fer an interview!”

Jameson dipped his head. “I-I-I’m sorry, man! I almost forgot!” He lifted his chin, adding eagerly, “But I’m here now and I’m on time!”

“Barely. And what the fuck are ya wearing?”

“It’s a suit I got on sale at Men’s Wearhouse,” Jameson explained, looking down at his blue suit self-consciously. “It fits me perfectly!”

Reeve raised a skeptical eyebrow, observing, “Pinstripes. Heh, no wonder it was on sale!” He sighed, clapping Jameson on the back and steering him inside. “But it doesn’t matter. The boss don’t care what yer wearin’. He’s only interested in what ya look like out of yer clothes.”

Jameson stopped cold at this, demanding, “Whaddaya mean he only cares what I look like without clothes? I’m interviewing for a bartender position, not a–” His voice trailed off as he caught the chagrined look on Reeve’s face. “Reeve,” he warned. “What the fuck is going on?”

Cheeks coloring, Reeve stammered, “I, uh, I mean. I might’ve… you know, exaggerated slightly. Yer gonna try out for a position as a dancer like me. Not a bartender.” He lowered his brown eyes sheepishly before lifting his head and dazzling Jameson with a winning smile. “I know it’s not what I told ya but just think of how much money you’ll make! And you can finally show off that rockin’ bod of yers to more chicks than ya can shake yer dick at!”

“Reeve,” Jameson growled, “yer such a fuckin’ asshole! I’m not gonna be a stripper! I’m not gonna fuckin’ take off all my clothes in front of everybody! And, besides, my parents’ll shit if they find out!”

“Yer not gonna take off all yer clothes,” Reeve pointed out. “This ain’t one of them seedy bars. It’s a high-class establishment! Ya only strip down to a Speedo. A full-coverage Speedo, too, not an ass-baring thong!” When Jameson hesitated, Reeve elbowed him in the ribs, adding slyly, “And it’s a ladies-only bar. No fags allowed.”

Jameson exhaled in annoyance but allowed Reeve to continue guiding him into the bar, muttering, “You had better be right about this, dude! I’ll fucking kill you if he makes me get naked!”

***

The owner, Charley, was a big man with a starched moustache and a permanent frown. Jameson stood stock still as the man paced around him, looking him up and down. After what felt like an eternity, the man barked with laughter, “‘Jameson,’ eh? Like the whiskey?” Jameson flushed. He was too embarrassed to admit that the whiskey was indeed his namesake; it was his dad’s favorite drink. When he didn’t reply, the man continued, “Ya got the looks but I need to see yer bod. And can you dance, boy?”

Jameson nodded, stuttering, “I-I-I think so.”

“Hmpf. We’ll see about that.” The big man turned to Reeve, ordering, “Take him in back. When ya come out, I want you dressed in the cop uniform and him in the prisoner outfit. We’re going to do a little ‘stop and frisk’ ditty for the ladies.” 

He turned to motion over to a group of women perched on stools at the bar and eying Jameson speculatively. When one of them lifted a beer bottle at him and winked, he felt his neck turn beet red and he thought frantically, I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I can’t do this!

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Reeve grabbed his arm and guided him to a room off the back of the stage and commenced unbuttoning Jameson’s shirt. When he started to unbuckle his belt, though, Jameson swatted his hands away indignantly, shouting, “Get away from me! I can take off my own clothes!”

His friend smirked. “Just be quick about it! Charley doesn’t like to be kept waiting. And here, put this on.” He handed him a bright orange jumpsuit with velcro seams, a pair of handcuffs, and a black Speedo.

Jameson reluctantly accepted the proffered items, holding up the Speedo and staring at it with distaste. “I thought you said it was full-coverage! This thing is really tiny!”

Rolling his eyes, Reeve shrugged his t-shirt over his head, exposing his toned, hairless chest, pronouncing, “It’ll stretch. Now hurry up! Do ya want this job or not?”

Jameson sighed and, stepping behind a scrim, stripped out of his pinstriped suit and donned the embarrassingly skimpy swimsuit and prison attire.

***

Once he got over his humiliation, Jameson found himself getting into the groove of the music. Reeve was an excellent teacher, guiding him through the moves with subtle cues as the song, ‘I Like the Way You Move,’ by the Bodyrockers pulsed through the soundsystem.

Reeve was a natural dancer, effortlessly undulating his body in seductive movements that got the watching ladies worked into a frenzy of lust. And the fact that he possessed a particularly well-developed backside didn’t seem to hurt, either. Jameson hadn’t paid much attention to his best friend’s body until then (and didn’t really want to) but it was impossible not to as Reeve shucked his black police officer’s uniform, piece by piece. When he was down to just his tiny Speedo, he pushed the brim of his hat rakishly askew with his billy club and shoved Jameson against the wall, ripping his orange jumpsuit off with practiced ease. “Stick out yer ass,” Reeve hissed in his ear. Jameson complied, arching his back and pushing out his buttocks. 

The women screamed their approval as Reeve spun Jameson around and forced him onto his knees, pushing him backward until Jameson’s crotch was thrust provocatively forward. The silky fabric did little to conceal his very prominent bulge, something that didn’t escape the audience’s–or Reeve’s–notice.

“Nice junk,” his buddy breathed, adopting a beefcake pose above him as he suggestively stroked his billy club. “But yer gonna have to tie yer boy’s down if ya want this job. They got a ‘no bulge’ rule here at the club.”

Careful not to break character, Jameson kept his gaze fixed ahead as he asked, “A ‘no-bulge’ rule?”

“Yep, but don’t worry. I got yer back…er, make that yer bulge.” Reeve danced away laughing as Jameson tried to elbow him in the crotch.

***

Charley surveyed Jameson’s near-naked body critically when the audition was over, ticking through an unseen list of requirements.

“No tats,” he murmured, eying him up and down. “And no piercings. That’s good. My dancers all gotta be cleancut. And yer not overly built, either. That’s important ‘cuz the ladies don’t like our guys too bulky.” He paced around in front of him, eyebrows lifting as he stared at Jameson’s furry chest. “That hair’s gotta go, though. And…” his eyes traveled downward before snapping back to Jameson’s face. The lighting in the bar was dim but Jameson could have sworn he saw color creeping up Charley’s neck. “You gotta conceal yer package, boy! This ain’t no stud farm! We got a reputation to maintain!”

Jameson cringed and then flushed when he caught Reeve’s sly wink. “I-I-I’m sorry, sir. I’ll–”

“I’ll make sure it’s properly hidden,” Reeve finished for him, taking him by the elbow. “And I’ll show him how to wax his chest, too. Don’t worry, Charley, he’ll be 100% respectable by the time he goes on stage tonight.”

***

When Jameson stepped out on stage with the rest of the dancers, his chest had been waxed smooth and his bulge was practically nonexistent. Reeve had made him don a tiny but very tight pair of briefs that crushed his big man down to prepubescent size. His eyes watered and his crotch screamed in pain but Charley pronounced him decent. His only consolation was that Reeve and his fellow dancers were in the same boat, although none of them were quite as amply endowed as he was. (He had to surreptitiously scoped them out while they were changing.)

It was a Saturday night and they drew a huge crowd, including two bachelorette parties. The ladies were drunk and ready to party, all of which boiled down to a pouch full of twenties by the time Jameson was through for the night. He was tired but glowing with pride as he counted up his money.

“Three hundred dollars! I made over three hundred dollars!”

Seated on the barstool next to him, Reeve looked over and smiled. “Yer the new guy. New guys always rake it in their first week.” He looked down at the wad of money on the counter before him, adding, “I made almost two hundred. Not bad for two hours of dancing!”

Jameson nodded, still pinching himself at his good fortune. He had never made this much money before! If he kept this up, he might even be tempted to drop out of university and strike it out on his own. His grades from high school had been so bad that he’d only been accepted into the university because his mother was an alum…and he’d struggled to keep up in his classes ever since. Lately, he’d been wondering if college was really meant for him. If I make three hundred bucks a night, I don’t need college, he thought and then promptly pushed the idea out of his head. If his parents learned he’d dropped out of college, they would disown him…

Still, he’d had fun and discovered he had talent on the stage. The women had gotten so excited when he’d made his grand entrance that the bouncers had to intervene and push them away from the stage. He was glad that Charley maintained such strict controls on the crowds, only allowing the women to touch the dancers at the end of the set. Sure, he might be a stripper but at least he was working for a reputable club!

***

A couple weeks passed and Jameson was settling into the rhythm of his job. His grades were suffering from the late nights at the club but so far he’d managed to stave off his parents’ ire by passing his midterms. They were further mollified when he announced that he was going to start paying the full cost of rent for his apartment each month. Even better, they didn’t pry for information when he told them he got a new job that paid well.

“This beer’s on me,” he said, settling onto the stool after the show. He’d showered and gotten dressed in his street clothes, meeting Reeve at the bar for their customary end-of-shift beer.

“Ex-cel-lent,” his friend drawled, leaning over the counter and displaying his impressive set of guns. Reeve had talked him into joining him at the gym and both guys were starting to bulk up. They were careful, though, not to get too out of control for fear of losing their jobs at the bar; Charley had just fired two of their coworkers for getting too muscular. (‘My dancers are lithe and lean!’ he barked. ‘And, above all, clean! I’ll can yer ass if you so much as get a dimple tattooed on yer tight, little bottoms!’)

“Hey, you guys ever think about dancing at the gay club on the other side of town?”

They looked up in unison at the new bartender, a guy with a fruity earring dangling from his right earlobe. Jameson was the first to recover, sputtering, “No fuckin’ way, man! There’s no way I’d ever let a bunch of faggots drool over my naked body!”

The man shrugged. “Strippers earn a lot more there. It’s good money. Who cares who yer dancin’ for as long as they’re payin’ ya?”

Jameson shivered theatrically. “I’m already making tons of money here. I’m not that desperate to make a buck!” He looked over at Reeve, demanding, “Isn’t that right, bro?”

Reeve was silent for a moment, contemplating his reply. Finally, he lifted his buff shoulders and said, “Yeah, yer right. We’re not that desperate.” It was probably just Jameson’s imagination but he thought his friend’s tone lacked conviction.

Later, Reeve found him at his locker in the back room. Leaning against the door, he folded his arms and arched an eyebrow. “Uh, bro, about what the bartender was sayin’ back there…”

“Yes?” Jameson asked, looking over at his friend and reading his expression. “Please don’t tell me you’d seriously consider stripping for fags!”

In wordless answer, Reeve stalked over to him and guided him by the shoulders to the full-length mirror at the back of the room. As Jameson stood there, blinking, he urged, “Look at us, bro! We’re total fuckin’ studs! Those fags’ll cream their fuckin’ panties at the sight of our oiled-up bods!”

Jameson scowled but nonetheless found himself checking out their reflections. What Reeve said was true, he realized: They were a couple of fucking studs!  While nearly the same height, the similarity ended there. Jameson possessed fair, Irish skin and Reeve’s Italian heritage meant that his skin was dark brown. Jameson had bright blue eyes to Reeve’s tawny brown. And Jameson’s slender build was made more obvious by Reeve’s stocky frame. And then there was their hair: Reeve had curly black hair to Jameson’s thick, coppery locks. More than a few women had commented on this pleasing contrast and it had resulted in a number of threesomes. Banging a chick with his naked and turned-on best bro wasn’t Jameson’s favorite thing but he could get through it as long as he kept his gaze firmly averted from Reeve’s nudity.

“C’mon, bro,” Reeve pleaded in his ear. “At least come with me to the club and check it out. We don’t have to stay long.”

Jameson exhaled in frustration but nonetheless found himself complying. “But I’m leaving after five minutes or after the first fag grabs my junk…whichever comes first!”

“Ex-cel-lent. Now let’s go out back and smoke a bowl before we head over.”

***

They drove over to the gay strip joint in the ancient Honda Odyssey that had belonged to Jameson’s parents. It took a lot of coaxing but Reeve was finally able to talk him into getting out of the car and going inside. Jameson was glad he was so high because otherwise he would have bolted as soon as he walked into the awful place.

Unlike Charley’s bar, this place was dingy and smelled of piss and booze. It was, however, really crowded with more gay men than Jameson had ever seen in one place. They were piled in, shoulder to shoulder, and everyone was craning his neck to see the stage. Reeve shoved his way through the crowd, pulling Jameson along behind him, until they had an unobstructed view of the dancers.

Jameson swallowed, fighting the urge to hide behind Reeve. The temperature was stifling and the air was fetid with sweat and other less salubrious odors. Music pounded out of the speakers on either side of the stage, splitting his eardrums. The crowd of excited men around him roared, hooted, and whistled. He was scarcely aware of any of this, though; his eyes were glued to the undulating bodies before him on the stage. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. He was unwilling captivated by those big, hairless, pumped and tattooed bodies thrusting their crotches skyward to the beat of the music. 

Jameson googled, unable to believe how salacious these strippers were compared to the much more vanilla dancers at Charley’s bar. For one, there wasn’t a Speedo to be seen. Instead, these men were clad in only the tiniest thongs and their pouches were all but bursting open from the effort to contain their obvious erections. (‘How the fuck do they stay hard for so long?’ he wondered absently in a far off corner of his mind.) For another, there clearly was no rule against tattoos or piercings or big muscles. These dancers–if they could be called that–made up for what they lacked in talent with their profane moves. When the guys spun around and presented their backsides to the audience at the end of the number, Jameson nearly vomited as they bent over and spread their cheeks. He was left gaping at a dozen exposed manholes, covered only by the tiniest of thong strings.

The crowd exploded in an orgiastic uproar, several guys rushing the stage to grab, fondle, and manhandle the closest dancers. Jameson looked desperately around for the bouncers. Surely they would intervene! But, no. No one stepped forward to corral the offenders. Worse, the dancers seemed to encourage this sort of behavior. When a shower of twenty dollar bills rained down upon the stage, Jameson turned and left.

There was no fucking way he would ever debase himself like that!

***

Chapter 3

JT awoke to his landlord pounding on the door of his basement apartment. He groaned and rolled onto his back. The pounding on the door matched the pounding in his head. He and Reeve had drunk too many beers and taken way too much molly the night before and now he was paying the price. It wasn’t Reeve’s fault, though. He was just trying to make JT feel better after Charley fired him from his dancing job.

“Open up, JT!” the landlord screamed. “I know yer in there!”

Throwing the dirty sheet around his nakedness, JT struggled out of bed and staggered to the door, dodging the cockroaches that skittered across the floor at his feet. Leaning his forehead against the doorframe, he pulled the door open and stared blearily out at the angry woman.

She blinked at him before narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “Your rent is a week past due, JT. I need you to pay me today or I’m gonna evict you.” She looked past him into the filthy apartment, scrunching up her face as the musky and mildewy odors contained within washed over her. “And you need to clean in here. I want this place spotless by the time I come back at five to collect your rent!” With that, she stormed away leaving JT staring at her retreating back and wondering frantically how he was going to come up with the rent money.

Life had been hard since he dropped out of university and his parents had stopped helping him with living expenses. Sure, he was probably somewhat to blame for this. He’d developed a bit of a reputation as a partier but it wasn’t his fault that the chicks at the bar and other dancers were always handing out drugs for free. And then there was Reeve, he best bro in the whole world, who dealt in some of the highest quality substances known to man. Shit, the highs he got with Reeve’s drugs were fucking sublime! Even better, the first hit was always free. Reeve really knew how to treat a friend!

Taking a deep breath, JT pushed aside his rising nausea and pledged he would turn over a new leaf starting that very day. All he had to do was figure out how to pay the rent.

Just then the alarm on his burner phone chimed and he jumped, realizing he was going to be late for his makeup math test at the local community college. (He’d enrolled there in order to placate his parents after failing out of university. His mom said that, if he did well enough in his classes, they would consider helping him out again. But only if he passed all of his classes this semester…) JT frowned. If he was going to pay rent, he couldn’t afford to go to class that day. But if he didn’t go to class, he might fail his classes and then he would never get the help he so desperately needed from his parents. What to do? What to do?

As usual, Reeve saved his butt.

His friend texted him as he was standing there, agonizing over his next move. The text read, >>Yo, bro! What up? Feelin’ lucky?<<

Wondering his friend meant, JT texted, >>Nope. Gotta pay rent No time 4 luck<<

Reeve took only a moment to reply. When JT read it, his knees went weak with relief. >>Got ya a job, bro! B @ this address in 10 min<<

***

JT groaned when he pulled up in front of the address in his old Ford Focus with the bad muffler. It was the same disgusting gay bar with the obscene strippers that he walked out of three months ago. He sagged back in his seat, chest tightening. There was no way he was going to work there! What the fuck was Reeve thinking?

He was sitting like that five minutes later when Reeve rapped on the car window with his knuckle. “C’mon, bro! Open up! Yer interview is starting!”

JT looked up at him balefully and was opening his mouth to protest when Reeve yanked open the door and dragged him out by the elbow. “Ya gotta pay rent, bro, and this is the ticket. Madame Droulx’ll even give ya an advance if she likes ya enough.”

“Reeve, I can’t go in there!” JT whined but it was no use; his friend was already pulling him inside.

There were a half dozen other young guys milling about when he entered. JT looked them over with a jaundiced eye, thinking, Great, a bunch of fuckin’ faggots ready to bend over and show their holes. Just what I fuckin’ need!

He was turning to go when a huge drag queen swept into the bar. Wearing a towering red wig, two-inch eyelash extensions, caked-on makeup and a red-sequined gown, she stopped before the stage and folded her surprisingly beefy arms. Pulling out an ornate Chinese fan from under an arm, she flicked her wrist and spread it out, fanning herself daintily.

“I am Madame L’Bia Droulx,” she announced in a gruff voice. “And you boys will serve me and my clients obediently or I’ll kick ya out on yer big ol’ bottoms!”

Confused, JT looked over at Reeve who was watching the big drag queen with clear affection. “What?” he demanded. “She’s not even gonna interview us? She’s gonna hire us just like that? No dancing? No tryouts?”

Overhearing his question, Madame Droulx answered in Reeve’s stead. “I don’t need to interview you, dah-link,” she explained, sashaying across the grimy floor to stand before him. “I can already see you got what it takes. You see, my clients don’t give a fuck about talent.” She paused to close her fan and, placing it under JT’s chin, pushed upward until he was forced to look her directly in the eye. He flinched away from her glittering gaze and she laughed haughtily. “They only care about one thing: Yer hot, sweaty, gyrating, naked, young bod. Can you gyrate?” Looking off to the side, JT nodded, or at least tried to. Madame Droulx’s face cracked into a cold smile. “Good. And can you get hot and sweaty?” Again, JT nodded. “Excellent!” the diva purred. “Now for the most important thing: Can ya get naked?”

“Er, well, I don’t wanna–OUCH!” He turned and gave Reeve an injured look, rubbing his side where his buddy had elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Trust me, Madame,” Reeve said hastily as he executed a low bow, “He’ll get naked. And you won’t believe what he’s packing…down there.”

Madame Droulx eyes lit up at this and she leaned in closely to JT while reaching down to cup his crotch with an immaculately manicured hand. He started to bark in protest as she fondled his incredibly generous package but Reeve shushed him. “Ahhhh, I see yer little fuck buddy isn’t lying,” she murmured in his ear. “My clients are gonna love you.” She pulled back and surveyed him closely, taking in his fair skin, delicate freckles and soft blue eyes. “A hung leprechaun,” she mused. “Who woulda thought? Clearly, you don’t suffer from the ‘Irish Curse.’”

“He’s…not…my…fuck…buddy,” Reeve managed to choke as the madame’s grip on his package tightened. “And…I’m…not…a…leprechaun.”

His resistance only seemed to amuse the madame and she barked with laughter before finally relinquishing her vise grip on his junk. “‘Course,” she explained, “ya can’t get completely nekkid when yer dancing or I’ll lose my license. But I want you to be as close to letting yer enormous banana fall out in my clients’ faces as possible. Reeve knows what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, don’t ya, honey?” Reeve nodded eagerly at this, earning an indulgent smirk in return. Turning back to JT, she fixed him with her steely gaze as she dropped a bombshell. “Reeve is one of my best boys. He always does whatever I tell him. Without question. Which is exactly what yer gonna do if ya want this job and the cash advance that I’m told you so desperately need.”

JT was stunned into silence by this information and cast a questioningly glance over to Reeve who merely shrugged. So, Reeve was a dancer here, too? How long had he been moonlighting here without Charley finding out? And why had he never revealed this to JT?

When he failed to reply, the madame gave him a final, haughty leer before turning on her high heels and stalking away. “Reeve, show him the ropes,” she ordered over her shoulder. “I want him looking as slutty as possible for tonight’s performance.”

***

JT awoke butt-naked, reclining in a barber’s chair with his legs spread wide and Reeve standing over him with a satisfied expression on his face. “Wow, bro! You look amazing!”

JT took one look down at his denuded body and abnormally large testicles and screamed, “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME???!!!” Belatedly, he also became aware of a mysterious pressure in his buttocks and a burning pain on his lower back.

Reeve stopped him when he tried to scramble out of the chair, holding him down with the assistance of a large man wearing a surgical mask and scrubs. “Easy boy, easy!” he soothed. “It’s nothin’ at all. Just the usual preparations for our dancers at the Ripe Banana.”

“I don’t know what the fuck yer talkin’ about!” JT yelled. “I never consented to this! What happened to my pubes and body hair? And what the fuck did you do to my balls?”

“We dancers have to be smooth all over, JT,” Reeve explained patiently as if he were talking to a small child. “Madame Droulx paid to have your body hair permanently removed but I had them leave some of yer pubes. I didn’t want ya to lose all of those sexy, fire-engine-red short hairs!”

“‘Some of my pubes’?!” JT repeated, unable to stop staring at the tiny patch of bright red pubic hair clinging to the base of his cock. “You call that ‘some’?! It’s barely more than a strip!”

“Yeah,” Reeve agreed, nodding. “A landing strip for guiding a–”

“Oh, fuck you, Reeve! Fuck you to hell!” JT shook off their hands and cradled his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears from leaking out.

“Shhhh, babe,” Reeve breathed, massaging his shoulder. “It’s Ok. Ya look stunning with yer new, bigger balls and magnificently floppy ass! The guys are gonna eat ya up tonight when ya go on stage! Just think of how much money you’ll make! Yer gonna be rich!”

“My…floppy…ass?” JT asked, attention returning to the strange pressure in his buttocks. “What do you mean floppy? My ass isn’t floppy!”

“It is now,” Reeve informed him. “Kinda like yer inflated balls, we gave ya a big ass to balance out yer big dick. It was Madame Droulx’s idea. But don’t worry, bud! It looks really great framed by yer new tramp stamp. Madame didn’t think ya looked slutty enough so we added a few tats…”

“Tramp…stamp…?” JT mouthed, his voice barely more than a horrified whisper. “You…tattooed…my…ass?”

“Well, not yer ass exactly,” Reeve answered blithely. “But that’s a good idea for the future. You’d look super slutty with an ass tat. Or–even better!–an asshole tat!” He paused to shiver with excitement at the idea before continuing, “The tramp stamp rides just over yer newly-filled ass cheeks. Super fuckin’ hot, bro! The other guys are gonna be so envious!” When JT failed to respond, Reeve reached out and gently shook him, prompting, “Hey, JT! Man, are you Ok? Sumthin’ wrong?”

JT didn’t hear him. He was too lost inside his roiling, chaotic mind. Only one thought reverberated through the panicked morass of his beleaguered brain and that was the deep conviction that his life was over and Reeve was responsible.

He was fucked. Completely fucked.

***

His day only got worse.

When Reeve dropped him off in front of his apartment building, JT discovered that all of his things were lying at the curb. Forgetting all about the alien sensation of his huge new buttocks, he jumped out of the car, yelling at the people picking through his stuff. They scattered, leaving JT staring down at the bedraggled and broken remnants of his worldly possessions. He fell down to his knees and sobbed.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that before he felt a comforting arm fall across his shoulders and heard Reeve’s compassionate voice in his ear. “I’m sorry ya got evicted, bro! I really am! But it’s gonna be Ok. I’m here for ya and ya got a job. We’ll make it work.”

“B-B-B-But where’ll I live?!” JT sputtered, tears streaming down his newly hairless cheeks. (The horrible people at the clinic had removed all of his facial hair, too!) “I don’t got no place to live!”

“Shhhh, babe. I tole ya I’m here for ya. Ya can move in with me!”

JT looked up at Reeve, lower lip trembling. “I-I-I can? Really?”

Reeve’s handsome face broke out into a radiant smile as he wiped the tears out of JT’s eyes with the back of his sleeve. “‘Course ya can, babe! I’d love to have ya livin’ with me! I don’t got much room, not even a couch for ya to sleep on, but my bed’s big enough fer two. We’ll be like a pair of bachelors!”

“Y-Y-Yer sure? Ya really don’t mind?” JT could hardly believe his good luck. His simmering anger and resentment toward Reeve instantly evaporated and he felt his heart bloom with pride and happiness for having such a loving and devoted friend.

There was that smile again. JT melted into Reeve’s luminous brown eyes and leaned into his friend’s strong shoulder as the guy lifted him up from the curb and helped him gather the remnants of his things and pile them into the back of the creaky Ford Focus. Soon, they were driving away toward a new life together. JT and Reeve, best bros for life!

***

Chapter 4

Reeve looked over at him and smiled. “Lemme help ya.”

JT was standing in the dingy back room of the Ripe Banana, staring at his costume…if a miniscule pink thong could be called a costume. He wrinkled his lip and dropped the humiliating garment on the floor, stating, “I’m not wearing that! I’m not!”

The other dancers looked over at him quizzically before resuming preparations for the night’s show. Sighing heavily, Reeve paced over and took his hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing his fingers. “C’mon, babe! Ya gotta work, right? Ya gotta make money? You need this job!”

JT was so repulsed by the prospect of wearing a thong that it took him a few seconds to realize that his best bro was kissing him. When he did, he lifted his gaze from the revolting thong lying in a tiny heap on the floor only to be captured by Reeve’s beguiling brown eyes. “R-R-Reeve?” he asked, voice catching in his throat. “W-W-What are you–?”

He never finished. Before he completed the question, Reeve had taken his head in his hands and commenced kissing him deeply. JT’s eyes opened wide and he froze in place…but he didn’t resist when Reeve’s tender lips parted and his moist tongue caressed his parted mouth. Stars burst inside his head and he sagged down into Reeve’s muscular arms. His head fell backward as he surrendered himself to his buddy’s mouth, tongue and teeth, allowing Reeve to take him, ravish him, fondle him, and…titillate him.

Only when he was worked up into a near frenzy, his huge cock inexplicably throbbing in his sweatpants, did Reeve release him. Propping him up against his locker, his friend turned and rummaged through his bag before surprising JT by yanking down his pants and jabbing a needle into his erection.

“OUCH!” JT yelled, pushing Reeve away and grabbing his aching cock. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“It’s an erection drug called Edex,” Reeve explained, tossing the empty syringe into a nearby biohazard wastebasket. He was completely unphased by JT’s outrage. “It’ll keep ya hard while yer on stage. All of us dancers inject it into our junk. Sorry I took advantage of ya like that but I figured it was the best way. I know how much of a drama queen you can be about shit like this.”

“I am NOT a drama queen!” JT shouted, dropping his now very engorged cock and glaring at Reeve. “And keep yer fuckin’ hands off me! I’m not a fuckin’ faggot!” 

The room fell ominously silent as the other dancers who had been watching the pair with amusement grew suddenly irate, crossing their arms and turning on JT menacingly. Reeve intervened before things got out of hand and inserted himself deftly between the angry throng and his buddy. Holding up his hands placatingly, he shooed them away, saying, “Give us a moment, OK? My boyfriend here is new to all this. He only just came out of the closet today. It’s a lot for a guy to deal with!”

“YOUR BOYFRIEND?!” JT roared. “I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND! I’M STRAIGHT! ONE HUNDRED PERCENT STRAIGHT! YOU HEAR ME?!”

“Yeah, loud and queer…I mean, clear!” Reeve teased, taking JT by the arm and dragging him over to a small broom closet. JT’s sweatpants were down around his ankles and he would have stumbled if Reeve hadn’t held him. His buddy thrust him into the closet and stepped inside behind him, closing the door. JT was left standing with his giant, throbbing erection pressed directly into Reeve’s equally tumescent crotch.

He took a deep breath, preparing to launch into an indignant tirade but Reeve forestalled him, taking him into his arms and kissing him deeply once again. Only when JT’s body went limp did he pull back, teasing the tip of his nose with his tongue.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” he breathed, turning his face to trace erotic designs on the nape of JT’s neck. “I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Do you know how hard it’s been?”

JT was rendered nearly speechless by this admission and stood there fish-mouthing until he managed to get himself under control. At first, he couldn’t believe that Reeve was gay…or at least bisexual…but the more he thought about it, he realized the signs had always been there. Shit, there had been more than signs! He mentally kicked himself for being so fucking oblivious. In hindsight, it was extremely clear that his ‘best bro’ had been actively pushing him toward a fucked-up, faggot lifestyle for a long time.

He began to tremble with rage when he finally put two and two together and saw how the conniving Reeve had engineered his downfall over the past year. First, he had talked JT into stripping at Charley’s. Then he’d pushed JT into the party scene, giving him drugs and buying him drinks, trying to get him to ‘loosen up.’ Weightlifting was next, getting JT to ‘improve his bod’ even though he knew the end result would be that Charley would fire him for bulking up. And, of course, it had been Reeve who had been there to ‘rescue’ him in his hour of need, finding him a job at the gay strip joint and offering to take him in when he lost his apartment.

None of this was done out of selflessness or purity of heart.

No, all along the way, Reeve’s ‘help’ had come with a price: JT’s further degradation and devolution into a faggot fuck toy. And not just any faggot fuck toy! Reeve’s faggot fuck toy! And he’d almost succeeded! Fuck, he had succeeded! JT balled his hands into fists as he felt his newly plump butt swaying behind him, the burning skin on his lower back where he now sported permanent ink, and, of course, the newly engorged ball sac hanging down heavily between his thighs.

He clenched his jaw, eyes burning with hatred as he stared daggers at his friend in the near darkness.

He lunged at Reeve, pulling his full weight into the punch.

But he failed.

Reeve had anticipated the attack and caught his fist in his right hand.

JT growled and punched viciously with his other fist.

Only to be stopped by Reeve’s left hand.

There was a laugh, then, “Did you forget I know mixed martial arts, bro?” Reeve’s voice was taunting. He was enjoying this!

JT roared with anger, throwing himself against Reeve. They tumbled out of the broom closet and spilled out onto the floor, much to the surprise of the prepping dancers. JT didn’t notice and didn’t care, though. All he wanted was to fucking kill Reeve Conyers. His friend’s manipulation amounted to the worst betrayal of his entire life and it cut him to the core. Unbeknownst to him, tears were streaming down his face even as he was howling imprecations at the top of his lungs. He pummeled Reeve with everything he had…or at least tried to. His buddy, however, turned out to be skilled at evading serious injury and managed to dodge the worst of JT’s assault. Only after he was beginning to tire did JT realize that Reeve was doing: He was inexorably wearing him down, using his momentum and muscle against him, forcing him to deplete his reserves until he was rendered helpless. All without landing one satisfying punch.

JT’s rage rekindled when he understood this was precisely Reeve’s strategy from the beginning: Use JT’s strengths and weaknesses against him until he was worn down and left no alternative but to surrender…and become his faggot fuck toy. If nothing else, Reeve was a master strategist.

Blubbering and wailing, he gathered his waning reserves for one last, desperate attack, only to fail once again. The ‘attack’ turned into a tantrum and he was left pounding his fists against the dirty floor, screaming like a fucking baby.

Reeve let him cry, waiting patiently for him to cry himself out of tears. After some minutes, JT collapsed and lay there panting and sobbing weakly. He was lying on his stomach, erection still throbbing hard and fat underneath him, rocking on his softball-sized balls. Worse, he was completely naked, his newly inflated buttocks quivering like giant Jello molds and his tramp stamp on full display.

“JT.” 

Reeve’s voice was calm and confident as always. When he didn’t answer, Reeve cleared his throat. “If you want me to leave, just say so and I’ll go. I’ll leave ya alone. You can even keep the cash advance. It’s enough for you to find another apartment. Or you could go home to your parents. It’s up to you.”

JT stifled a pitiful sob and remained mute.

“If you decide to stay, though, I promise to take care of you.” Reeve paused and when he spoke his voice was thick. “I love you, man. I want you. I want you so bad. I would be the happiest man in the world if you were my boyfriend.”

Still, JT refused to speak.

When the silence stretched, Reeve whispered. “You don’t have to answer me now. Just think about it. I’ll be here when you’re ready to tell me.”

His buddy sighed and was pushing himself up from the floor when JT felt himself do something that took him completely by surprise. He whimpered in shock as his body took over, moving as if on its own volition. Even as he willed himself to stop, he found his hips rolling forward and his back arching, elevating his balloon-like buttocks in the air. Soon, he was inching his knees underneath him and pushing his ass out further and further until there was no mistaking his intentions. He bit his tongue and clenched as cool air caressed the most private part of his anatomy. 

There was startled silence behind as the entire room swiveled to stare at him. He sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself, though. No matter how hard he fought to bring his mutinous body to heel, he was powerless against the undeniable urge flooding his system. A little moan escaped his lips as he thrust backward and relaxed the clench. He lowered his head in defeat, face burning with humiliation.

His asshole was exposed, unpuckered and gaping for all to see. All eyes to see, perhaps, but he wasn’t doing this for everyone’s benefit. No, he only cared about one man. He would only debase himself like this for one man.

Reeve.

He was offering his asshole to Reeve Conyers.

Fuck, he was more than offering it: He was begging him to take it!

To fuck it!

Use it!

Fill it!

Pound it!

And pump it full of his man spunk!

His butthole didn’t care what JT wanted. It wanted one thing and one thing only.

Reeve Conyers.

More specifically, Reeve Conyer’s fat, hard cock.

***

Chapter 5

“See?” Reeve teased, taking him by the hips and positioning himself behind JT. “I knew there was a slutty faggot bottom hiding inside you, just dying to come out!” He grunted as he aimed his rock-hard, bulbous cockhead against JT’s eagerly waiting man-bud, pushing forward and sending shivers of revulsion and desire through JT’s body.

“F-F-F-Fuck you!” JT hated how pathetic and pleading his voice sounded.

Reeve laughed. “Not yet, bro. Not yet. First, we gotta dance for our supper.”

With that, he stood and, turning to JT, offered him his hand. JT wanted to howl in frustration as he looked up at his friend’s huge, dripping tool. He wanted that cock! He needed that cock! He had to have that cock inside him. NOW! He didn’t give a fuck who was watching or what they thought. (The assembled group of dancers were trying their best to get ready while scoping out JT and his quivering hole–not to mention Reeve and his throbbing pole.) He didn’t give a fuck about dancing or money or being a faggot or anything else. All he wanted was to be fucked by Reeve.

In the end, though, he had no choice but to don the tiny, pink thong, tugging the waistband over his massively big ass and doing his best to stuff his giant erection and incredibly distended balls into the stretchy pouch. He could barely squeeze his junk into it and the result was ridiculously obscene. The fabric was nearly transparent and the sheathed head of his uncut dick was crammed so hard against the pouch that his leaking precum left a huge, dark spot. With his ballooning ball sac, his package now jutted full and ripe and ready in front of him. A cursory glance around the room confirmed his suspicions that his massive equipment dwarfed even the amply-endowed Reeve.

JT was the center of attention that night, earning lusty roars of approval from the cheering audience. Madame Droulx had been correct in her prediction that it didn’t matter if he had any talent; JT barely had to shimmy his hips in sync with the beat before his new fans were screaming at the top of their lungs. Reeve pushed him out in front of the other dancers, slapping him so hard on the ass that he jumped…thereby making his big ass bounce salaciously and getting the crowd ever more worked up.

At first, he went through the motions woodenly with a forced smile on his face but that changed as his popularity with the crowd grew…and as the drugs Reeve placed under his tongue during their brief intermission coursed through his system. Soon, he was loosened up and his inhibitions were rapidly disappearing as he threw himself into dancing with a new passion. He no longer cared about being groped and fondled by the fans as long as they continued to fill the pouch of his thong with twenties. And showing his hole? Shit, he bent over and spread his cheeks wide, giving the crowd the full view of his eager manhole. He laughed when he looked over his shoulder and saw dozens of phones aimed as his asshole, streaming his antics live for the whole world to enjoy.

Fuck, it was great to be a gay stripper!

***

The loads of money he earned and the adulation of his new fans did a lot to change JT’s opinion of the Ripe Banana. By the end of the night, he was sashaying around the bar, showing off his full pouch in front and his big, full ass in back. Madame Droulx smirked proudly when she saw him, giving him a rare nod of approval and patting him fondly on the butt.

“You’ve earned yer keep tonight, JT,” she praised, squeezing his ass cheek until it hurt. “Just make sure ya don’t let yer fame make the head between yer shoulders swell even bigger than the one between her legs.”

He grinned. “I won’t ‘cuz that’s not possible. My dick’s too big.”

Madame rolled her heavily mascaraed eyes. For a moment, she dropped her drag persona and became uncharacteristically sober. “I mean it, JT,” she warned. “I know Reeve is yer best bro but be careful around him. Don’t let him talk you into anything yer uncomfortable with and don’t take too many of those drugs he keeps shoving down yer throat. He’ll ruin ya for yer fans. I know ya won’t believe me when I say this but yer big dick and phat ass aren’t the only things that make ya popular with the boyz. It’s yer innocence and ‘boy-next-door’ quality. They eat that shit up.” 

JT nodded, uncertain how to respond. When he hesitated, she surprised him by taking his face in her hands and smiling sadly. He blinked up at her, mesmerized by her full, red lips, long eyelashes, and towering, red wig. “Ya got sumthin’ special, JT,” she murmured, “Don’t fuck it up! I know it’s trite but yer only young once. Yer beauty’ll fade before ya know it, even faster if ya abuse yer body an’ then–Poof!–no one’ll give ya a second look. You’ll be just another tawdry junkie with no prospects. Take my advice and don’t drop outta college. Take care of yer mind. It’s the only thing you’ll have once yer looks’re gone.”

JT eyes had started to glaze over by the last part. He was riding too high on Reeve’s drugs and the adulation of his fans and the last thing he wanted was a lecture. He pulled away from Madame Droulx’s grip, rolling his eyes and saying over his shoulder, “Yeah, whatevs. Save it fer someone who cares. I know what I’m doing and Reeve’d never hurt me. Fuck, he’s already saved my ass a dozen times!”

Madame Droulx watched him saunter away, shaking her head. She hadn’t really expected that JT would listen but she had to try. The truth was that she’d seen a couple hundred of JT’s over the years and they all ended up the same way: Broke-ass, toothless addicts living in the gutter. Sometimes it was enough to make her rethink her enterprise but these qualms disappeared each night when she counted up the club’s receipts.

***

JT found Reeve sitting at the bar, still clad only in a thong and sipping a beer. He glanced up and smiled, asking, “What’d Madame want, bae?”

JT grimaced, settling onto the stool next to him and mumbling, “Just some stupid bullshit ‘bout takin’ care of myself.” He raised his hand and the bartender, a seedy-looking guy with a dangly earring, poured him a beer from the tap. “She kee-razy!”

Reeve took a pull off his beer, looking speculatively over his shoulder at Madame Droulx. He was silent for a long time before he finally reached over and placed a proprietary hand on JT’s leg. The touch sent a shiver down JT’s spine and he felt his big cock awaken in the constricting pouch of his thong. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout nuthin’, bae. Not so long as I’m here lookin’ out fer ya.” He squeezed JT’s thigh, making him moan softly. “Reeve’s yer man now. Just sit back an’ lemme me drive.”

“You boyz ever thought ‘bout doin’ porn?” Both Reeve and JT looked up to find the bartender leaning over the counter. His eyes and the jewel (A black pearl? JT wondered briefly) dangling from his ear glittered in the dim light. “‘Cuz ya could make a fuckin’ killin’ at it!”

JT grimaced with distaste. “No fuckin’ way!” he spat, sitting up straighter on his stool. “That’s disgusting! ‘Sides, I’m making tons of money strippin’. I don’t need nuthin’ else.”

The tender shook his head sadly. “Too bad. Yer really hot and yer in yer prime. Better cash in on that bod before it goes to shit!”

JT bridled, wondering why suddenly everyone felt compelled to lecture him about his body. He was young, hung and hot and would stay that way no matter what Madame Droulx and this stupid bartender thought! Curling his lip, he sneered, “You should talk, you tired, old faggot! Now get the fuck away from me before I fuckin’ kick yer big, saggy butt!”

The bartender’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout something rude back at JT but Reeve intervened, holding up his big hand and soothing, “Don’t listen to my bro, man! He’s stoned off his ass and don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout what comin’ outta his mouth.” 

JT objected to this characterization but Reeve put a heavy arm over his shoulder and steered him away from the bar. JT soon realized resisting his bro wasn’t an option; Reeve was much bigger and stronger and he had no choice but to comply. When they were a safe distance away from the bar, Reeve hissed, “What the fuck is wrong with you, bro? Ya can’t talk to people like that! He was juss bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?! You call that helpful?” JT complained. “Dude wants us to go into porn so he can get off!”

Reeve crossed his beefy arms and looked down at him, scowling. JT wondered why he hadn’t noticed before then how big and imposing his bro was. He’d always sort of thought of Reeve as smaller than he was but now he realized this wasn’t true. Even wearing nothing but a silly, black thong, Reeve exuded an easy dominance and JT was cowed by him. He lowered his head, cheeks burning with shame. He couldn’t stand having his best bro mad at him!

“L-L-Look, Reeve,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

“But ya did, bro. Ya did. It’s not cool.”

JT swallowed, reaching out to take Reeve’s hand. He was inordinately relieved when his bro opened his giant palm and took JT’s much smaller hand in his own. Looking up, he was caught and held by Reeve’s feral brown eyes. His bro was smirking, eying him in a way that made him uncomfortable and turned on at the same time. His big cock stirred, filling up the already very stretched pouch of his thong. When Reeve lifted his hand and kissed his fingertips, JT nearly lost it. A moan escaped his lips before he could catch himself. Why hadn’t he realized how fucking sexy Reeve Conyers was before? He was so tall, broad, tan and stacked with muscle. He made JT weak in the knees.

“Yer my bitch, JT.”

His voice was so deep and authoritative that JT nodded obediently. The truth was he would have agreed to anything; he was aching for Reeve to take him those big, beefy arms and squeeze his hard body against him.

“And ya do what I tell ya.”

JT nodded again, feeling his heart pound in his chest and his giant cock swell to historic proportions. When his fat cockhead popped out of the top of his thong and his long foreskin parted to reveal the glistening pink glans underneath, he thought he would die of embarrassment. If anything, though, Reeve seemed pleased and his smirk widened to a wolfish grin.

“If I tell ya to do gay porn, yer gonna make goddamned gay porn.”

JT looked down at the floor and studied his feet. He really didn’t want to make porn but he knew it was futile to say no to anything Reeve told him. He nodded meekly.

“Good boy,” Reeve said, grinning with pride. “But yer not doin’ any porn til I say yer ready.”

JT exhaled with relief. He’d been really worried that Reeve was going to sign him up to do porn right then and there. He sagged against his big, muscly bro, beaming with happiness when Reeve draped his thick arm over him.

***

The weeks passed and Reeve seemed to forget about his threat to make JT do porn. Instead, he sort of pulled back and allowed JT to do whatever he wanted. Likewise, he refrained from making good on his promise to deflower JT’s hole. Instead, he seemed to delight in getting JT worked up into a frenzy of titillation, making him beg to be fucked…and then turning over and going to sleep. It was incredibly frustrating and JT was left in a perpetual state of horniness with the only relief being his hand.

Even so, he adored Reeve for rescuing him from the streets and inviting him to live in his apartment. He loved being in Reeve’s company, sharing meals, shopping, stripping on stage together, carousing after work and generally living like a couple. The best part was lying down in bed each night and having his big, muscular bro spoon him. When he was curled against the warm hollow of his bud’s firm bod, he felt like he was finally home.

When Reeve announced he’d been accepted into law school, JT became briefly worried. His bro reassured him, though, that nothing would change between them and he wanted JT to continue to live with him. They moved into a slightly larger apartment near campus and slipped into a new rhythm. JT would sleep most of the day while Reeve was in class and then the two of them would head to the gym to lift weights before work at the Ripe Banana. Unfortunately, Reeve couldn’t maintain this routine for long and was forced to stop stripping to stay on top of his classwork. (He’d started falling asleep during class and his grades were hurting.) He still made a point of coming to see JT dance on the weekends, though.

JT adapted. He was proud to support his bro financially while he worked on his degree. The tips and, ahem, other money he received from his activities at the Ripe Banana were sufficient to cover rent and food. Reeve’s side business of selling drugs filled in the rest and the two friends enjoyed a meager but stable existence.