I had only been friends with John for a few weeks, working together at the plant. He had a big house in the middle of nowhere, where he frequently had big parties. I was finally invited to one.
There were at least twenty people here, only a few women dotted amongst a thick flock of men. I didn't know all of them, only John, small Chris, and wannabe badass Sam.
I sat on one side of the back porch with them, other people hanging out on the other side. A guy came out of the sliding glass door of John's house. He was tall with an average body, a backwards hat and big brown eyes, a beer in his hand.
"Ah, who's this?" he asked as he approached. He wasn't drunk yet, but he also wasn't sober. His smile was cute. I wondered if they could tell I was gay, or if John had told them.
"I'm John's new friend Kyle." I nodded to him. "What's up, man?"
"I'm Ferris." He held out a fist for me to bump mine against.
Then, in a shocking turn of events, Ferris sat his 200-something pounds on my lap. His ass emitted a large vibration, a long, muffled sound. He stood, a smell like death, sour stomach, and a gross rest stop restroom rose to hit me in the face.
"Whoa. What the fuck?" I jumped out of the chair after him. "Did you just fart on me?"
Ferris was laughing hard. They all were.
"We like to fuck around here." Ferris's smile was confident, handsome despite the gross thing he'd done to me. "I like to get new people used to it right away."
He held his breath for a second, pushing out a smaller but louder fart. "Oh yeah."
Was he serious? I didn't have any problems with dudes farting, as long as it wasn't too bad or too much. Farting on someone's lap the first time you met them was a little too much.
But I didn't want to look like a prude. I let it go, lightly laughing with them.
An hour later, I followed John and friends into the garage, where beer pong was set up, fifteen cups in a triangle on each end. John and Sam immediately partnered up. Ferris looked to me. He hadn't farted again yet. "Wanna play with me, Kyle? I think we could destroy them."
"Okay, sure." By this point, my buzz was turning into light drunkenness. Ferris had drank a lot, but he wasn't as impaired as I would have been. He'd taken off his shirt, having a pale, soft body with dark hair around the navel, wide brownish nipples, and chest.
The cups were already set up. With filled them with new beer and started playing.
Both teams were pretty great at the game, but John and Sam were more intoxicated than Ferris and I. Ferris sunk the ball in one of their cups, grinning as Sam downed the alcohol. My beer pong partner leaned against the table, level with his belly button.
Ferris farted, three short loud parps in succession. The smell was almost the same as early, made a little worse by the beer. At least it wasn't on my lap and delivered to my face like last time.
"Your turn, Kyle." Ferris stepped back from the table, burping under his breath.
I took his place. I had to stand in the midst of his gas to play. I missed my shot and waited for John to shoot the ball back.
It sunk in one of my cups. I lifted it, chugging down the cool, untasty liquid. Ferris and I traded places.
As soon as he was against the table again, Ferris lifted one foot from the floor, bent his knee, and farted again. This was just one fart of a few seconds, sounding like a fake fart, like one from a movie scene.
A few people were watching on the sidelines. A couple reacted to the fart with laughs. They'd just seen him blast right in front of me.
"I'm right behind you, man." I got the words out, though I was holding my breath. The smell was worse than last time.
"Yeah?" Ferris glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, smirking. "How's it smell?"
He turned back to the game, missing his shot. Sam threw it back, making it into one of Ferris's cups.
We were down to the last cup on both sides, all of us continuing to drink our own beers even as we played. I was drunk now, but not beyond the point of no return. It had gone on too long, and no one was watching anymore.
I stepped back from missing my shot, into a putrid cloud of fart. I gasped and lightly punched Ferris in the chest. "Dude, that's so bad."
He held my fist with both of his meaty hands, his smile bordering on mischievous. "I wish it woulda been louder. It just kept going on and on."
"Why would you wish for that?" I laughed. He was weird, gross, obsessed with his own smelly bodily function. But he was also confident, kind of cute, and he'd basically been holding my hand for well over a minute.
That was the alcohol talking, I told myself.
"Because farts are the only thing I know I'm really good at." Ferris moved one hand to the side of my face, leaving a gentle caress. Both of his paws left me, and his focus locked back onto the game, the final cup.
He threw it and missed. As he stepped back, another fart came out of him, with a gross gurgling noise like a revving engine stuck in wet mud. The smell was the worst yet.
"Okay, we really gotta do this." I pressed the back of my hand over my nose. "You stink."
He laughed with pride. I turned to the table, taking my time with ping pong ball in hand. I let it go. It flew through the air and landed in John and Sam's final cup with a satisfying plastic sound.
"Thank fuck, I gotta piss." Sam hurried out of the garage.
"Finally," I said, feeling accomplished.
"Told ya we'd crush 'em!" Ferris grabbed my head and pulled it forward, leaving an excited kiss on my forehead.
I laughed, realizing how drunk I had become. Ferris looked cuter, even with the stink of his gas permeating the air around us. My hands closed around his sides.
He smiled at me for a long moment, gently. Then he turned around and used my arms to pull me against him. I was shorter than him, and he released a roaring fart against my torso, the strength of the smell matching his last.
"Not again!" I moved my body away from his, pulling my arms from his grasp.
"Always." As amused as ever, Ferris let a loud burp.
"Ferris, are you being nice?" John came up to us from the other side of the table. His smile diminished when he was a foot away, turning to disgust. "Oh my god, Ferris. How many times did you fart over here?"
"Five, I think," I answered, punching Ferris's arm.
"Sweet of you to keep count." Ferris winked at me. Unfortunately, it was super hot.
What was I thinking? We were talking about farts. I was breathing his horrid flatulence. None of this was hot.
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