Dave has to hold back the loudness of his huge farts as he gets an important phone call from work while blasting Tim’s face.
POV: Tim
The cab dropped me a few blocks from my place: finally, a couple of more minutes and I could relax at home. This was a long day. Nothing ground-breaking or anything, as I simply had to meet a client downtown. It went well, no need to go into boring details, but I’m glad I know how to pilot drones and film stuff with them. Believe it or not, working as an editor for Greg’s porn films, of all things, gave me lots of experience. I’m not planning to become a film-maker, but I do like how this stuff works. Plus, and perhaps most importantly, it pays the bills, which is good.
Bills that I’m currently sharing with my bro and roommate Dave anyway. I wonder if he’s home: today he called in sick from work because he had to do some stuff with Dana -something related to them planning to move in together. From what he told me, it’s been a tough month, and often he ended up working overtime, so he really needed this one day to get some stuff done with his girlfriend.
It was evening, around 7:00 PM, the cold breeze scratching my face, with my eyes being spared thanks to my round glasses. I could spot our house: the lights were on. I do hope he is home, or else he’s gonna pay *those* bills by himself this time.
Indeed, I passed by Dave’s car parked on the driveway, still warm, meaning that my friend probably got home mere minutes before me. I quickly put a halt to my detective work and opened the door, stepping into our living room / kitchen, being greeted by the warmth of our apartment, other than a firm “Yo!” from my roommate.
Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack.
“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”
I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.
“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.
I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.
“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.
“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”
He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately.
I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.
As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV.
Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.
“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.
“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”
“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”
Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.
Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.
Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.
I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.
“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.”
“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”
“Yeah the news are wild these days.”
I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.
“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”
There he is, the teasing bastard.
I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.
Which I will always be thankful for.
“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.
Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him.
The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.
“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.
I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.
“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”
Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.
My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.
Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times.
One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.
“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.”
I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.
I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.
“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.
He cackled in response to that.
“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.
“What do you m- oh… of course.”
I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose.
As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.
And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.
After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.
“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.
I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.
“Good times.” he joked back.
My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.
“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”
And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.
“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.
I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.
“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.
I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.
Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.
“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”
A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.
“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.”
I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.
As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.
So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.
“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”
I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.
“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”
As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch.
And those weren’t even on command!
As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.
I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).
This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.
10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.
“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…”
Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.
“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”
Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.
Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.
After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.
“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”
A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.
“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.
I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.
“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.
“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk.
I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.
We’re both weird, no doubts about it.
“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.
If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.
Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart.
How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.
Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.
“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.
“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.
He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.
“I thought you were done!”
In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen.
“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”
I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.
DaveFarts - Episode 34 “Fart Flight” [Episode List]
Dave's stomach gets messy during a flight.
POV: Tim
“This is the last time we do this before dawn.” I said, as we approached the airport entrance.
Dave and I have a flight to catch to meet Dana and our other friends for a long-awaited vacation.
Because of work (and the unreliable airline), we had to cut it down to just today. The consolation is that we’ll spend a good week together instead of the planned 10 days. However, the time (5:00 AM) is really inconvenient... at least for us chronic late sleepers.
Add to that the fact that Dave, although normally a well-organized person... tends to become surprisingly anxious at the airport, because of the check-in, security and, though he won’t admit it, also because of the flight itself.
I don’t mind flying, I know it’s safe. I do agree with my bro when he says that it’s sorcery don’t get me wrong, but I’m able to fall asleep comfortably even at 30.000ft. Dave, on the other hand, while terrified… sometimes he tends to wonder if some random plane noise is gonna kill us all.
“Relax man.” I said. “We’re right on schedule -maybe a bit too much”
“I know I know…”
At least he’s aware of when he’s being unnecessarily anxious. Made funnier by the fact that he’s usually the one who plans this stuff. I can’t blame him: we’re a bunch of travel princesses.
We walked around the airport because, of course, we arrived way too early. However, we managed to check in as planned. Now we have to figure out how to spend the next empty 90 minutes of this hot summer night in the only airport where the air conditioning doesn’t work. It’s not like we weren’t properly dressed (I was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, while Dave a grey one, and black swimming trunks).
Since we departed later than expected, and most people were already enjoying their vacation elsewhere, the airport was quite empty. Of course, we weren’t alone, but sometimes we felt like characters in one of those 28-things-later movies.
The good news is that in the terminal, near our gate, there were plenty of free seats, so we quickly took advantage of them. We put on our earphones, trying to listen to a podcast or some shit like that. However, after just 15 minutes, Dave gave me a gentle nudge to get my attention... as well as to wake me from the nap that was about to claim me.
“I think I’m starving.” he whispered, as he eyed a burger joint not far from us.
I’ve always liked how airports have no rules when it comes to, well, time. It was almost 4:00 AM and yet we could still have a cheeseburger if we wanted to. Well, not me in this case. Don’t get me wrong I love cheeseburgers at any time as much as the next person, but we had a relatively long flight ahead of us, so I’d rather get something to eat (which we paid for by the way) on the plane itself later. Plus, I’m not even hungry.
Without saying much, we simply stood up, put our earphones back in our big backpacks, and walked towards Dave’s coveted food.
We’re not new at eating like pigs in the middle of the night, and Dave’s stomach is remarkably reliable. We sat one some tall stools in front of the counter (it was more of a take-away place) and waited for the guy on the other side to take our orders (well, Dave’s order).
“Fuck I’m sweating.” Dave said, as he checked the burgers on the menu.
“I know right. This airport is a sauna.”
“Which is why I’m asking for an ice-cold coke as well.”
I’ll never be able to drink and eat like this at 4:00 AM, not before a flight at least.
“Are you sure this isn’t stress eating?” I asked, aware of how annoying I may sound sometimes.
Dave just gave me an indeed annoyed look in response. It wasn’t a proper answer, but I took that as “Yes”, even if he probably meant the opposite.
The guy working at the burger joint finished cleaning some glasses then turned to my friend, as if he already knew he was the one actually craving food.
“Hi, good morning, evening, night? I’ll take the Lassen Steak, with your Shasta sauce, thanks.” Dave quickly ordered, handing the menu to the waiter.
The guy wrote a note on his smartphone, rolled his eyes, and then with a boring tone said something he probably said many many times before, without even looking at us.
“I must warn you Sir, both the sauce and the burger you chose are named after Cascade volcanoes, which is a naming convention we use for our spiciest food. If you have a flight to take we highly-“
The guy stopped monologuing, noticing Dave’s own bored expression.
“Whatever. Thanks for choosing us. Enjoy an eruption of flavor etc...”
A rather awkward silence followed.
“I’ll… I’ll just have some water, thanks.” I whispered, fearing the man working surrounded by people on vacation.
—
“This is probably my lack of sleep and poor taste.” Dave said, as he took another big bite of his dinner/breakfast. “But dude this is the best burger I ever had.”
“Truly an eruption of flavor,” I said, sarcastically.
The guy on the other side of the counter immediately blew into a small, noisy party horn, with the most bored and disillusioned expression I had ever seen, then spoke in his monotone voice.
“They pay us more if we do this crap whenever a customer mentions our payoff.”
“Really?” I asked, incredulous.
A moment of silence, a silence broken by a simple, “No.” He then disappeared in the kitchen.
I leaned towards Dave. “I think we’re the only ones who can see him.” I whispered.
“See who?” Dave asked, playing along… hopefully.
—
Finally, after a… I assume delicious meal and some more time spent sleeping to podcasts, the time came to board the plane. Despite being sleep-deprived zombies, we managed to not forget anything back in the terminal, and sat comfortably next to each other near the front of the plane, as planned (with Dave sitting by the window).
“So if we crash-land we’re the first to notice.” I darkly joked, just to mess with Dave.
As I put the backpacks under our seats, I gave a quick look around, noticing that just like the airport, the plane itself was basically almost empty. Man, we truly are late to the vacation party everyone went to, uh?
What I also noticed however is that, unlike the airport, the plane’s AC was working a bit too well: it was freezing, so much so that I quickly took a jacket out of my backpack and put it on, before the plane started moving.
I turned my attention to Dave: him being relatively nervous was oddly cute… and amusing.
“Relax, it’s gonna be fine.” I said.
“It’s not that.” he bluntly answered.
I noticed he was sweating, despite being like the North Pole in here. Before I could ask anything, the plane started moving fast, really fast, and finally we took off, leaving our responsibilities behind… for a couple of days at least.
—
Around 20 minutes in, the flight was going smoothly. I had a book to read, the plane was silent (both people-wise and engineering-wise), way more relaxing than I expected. Maybe we should depart later than everyone every year from now on. I turned to Dave, who was weirdly silent and completely still in his seat.
I noticed he was still sweating. I genuinely worried for a moment. Was he sick?
“Dude… you ok?” I asked.
“No.” Dave muttered, his eyes glued on the bathroom door not far from us.
I connected the dots rather quickly.
“Looks like Mount St. Helens is erupting in there.” I joked, poking at Dave’s belly with my finger.
“First of all, it was a wordplay on Lassen Peak. And the sauce was named after Mount Shasta, the second highest peak in the Cascades.” he said, jokingly looking offended by my lack of knowledge of US geography and geology. “You ignorant swine.”
“That’s why the ghost said it was an eruption of flavor, silly me!” I remarked, sarcastically.
“But yeah, that burger is doing numbers in my stomach.” he admitted.
“And the temperature difference between in here and the airport certainly doesn’t help.” I added.
Dave remained silence for a couple of seconds, then looked at me.
“Thanks, I didn’t even think about that. Now I got one more thing to be nervous about.”
I found that incredibly amusing. I know, I’m a bad friend, and I know how bad this stuff can be… but it’s nothing that a bathroom break couldn’t fix.
“This is the captain speaking. We inform you that the restrooms are currently out of service. We apologize for the inconvenience. We wish you a pleasant flight.”
“Uh… what a on oddly comedic timing.” I commented.
To add salt to the wound, the plane shook a bit (nothing to be worried about), which only made Dave’s situation worse.
“I’ll be 100% honest, because I wanna help, I swear I’m not finding this funny at all.” I lied, about the ‘not finding it funny’ I mean. “Are you going to shit yourself?”
“No bro.” Dave said. “Never.” he kept going. “I can hold it, but I’ll probably need to channel all this energy… in another way.”
Despite suffering, Dave managed to smirk and wink at me, and given what was going on, I instantly realized what he meant. The fact that he’s so chill about it even right now is, well, endearing, but holy shit, we’re flying, please refrain yourself from hot-boxing a fuckin’ plane.
“Not that you mind, right?” he then asked, winking again, which at this point I assumed he was mostly his eye twitching because of the pain.
“Bro please… just resist a bit more.”
“Oh, what happened? Is Tim getting nervous?” he mocked me.
“We’re on a plane. Think of the passengers.”
“We’re literally alone here.” Dave observed.
“No we’re not.”
I turned around, looking at the back to the plane.
“Carl is there. Hi Carl!” I waved at him.
“Hi stranger. I can’t wait to see my wife!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, many rows behind us.
“See?” I turned back to Dave. “Carl is nice. He wants to see his wife.”
“Just admit it.” Dave said, the smirk back on his face. “You can’t wait to hear what they sound like.”
Dave teases me often, but this was a new low… or high, given we’re also flying, even for… whatever’s going on between us since he found out about my fart kink. All I know is that all this teasing made me rock hard, my cargo shorts barely containing the tent I pitched between my legs.
“Just do it.” I simply muttered.
Not because I was that thirsty, believe me, but because my bro, my gassy bro, already made up his mind. Either he turned whatever he had going on in his stomach into gas, or he’d shit himself. I don’t know how he could even trust his farts in his situation. Then again, I know what he’s capable of: his farts are loud, long, proud, but he’s also very good at controlling them, even their pitch. A musician of some sort, with a very peculiar instrument.
Dave’s temporary smug aura wore off quickly. He massaged his belly, who indeed looked a bit bloated, then my seat began to shake, and not because of some turbulence… not one coming from outside the plane at least.
I instinctively stared at my friend’s crotch area, the black shorts hugging it all nicely, barely containing the silent earthquake my friend was producing. I could barely hear the fart being ripped: as I said, Dave was good at controlling them, and he chose to “dilute” the rip to make it longer, but also way less loud. It made a continuous muffled, rumbling sound, one that only I could hear, being so close to the source. I then turned to my friend’s sweaty face: the smug smirk he had moments before disappeared in favor of a very focused facial expression, his eyes closed, carefully planning every single push. You know it’s bad when even Dave is afraid of his own farts.
Then, the smell hit me. My friend wasn’t shitting himself, but given the stench, he may very well be. Possibly the most rancid, disgusting and nauseating stench that my nostrils ever smelt. Dave’s farts are usually smelly of course, but their bark is usually stronger than their bite, which I like given how much I enjoy their loudness. This time, they skewed in the opposite direction, completely: if this was ripped directly into my face, I would have told my friend to stop and let me go; even considering my gross kink, this would have been too much for me to endure.
Dave’s attitude, however, always guarantee a standing ovation from my dick, and his smugness from before did the trick. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the fart, mind you… but I was happy that I wasn’t his seat, to say the least.
I was grateful that the plane was mostly empty, because that would have made things worse for everyone. Still, I heard the very few people sitting around us, a few rows back, muttering something, making comments about a “something smelling weird”.
My friend’s AOE was inescapable.
I wasn’t even keeping track of how long this fart was, but I could tell you it’s been like 2 minutes, and the muffled noise it made basically became part of the ambience at this point.
Dave finally let out a sigh of relief, and carefully adjusted his position, which made some more of the stench trapped under his ass reach my nose. I then looked at him, and he indeed had the face of someone who was feeling better. He gently patted his belly, then turned to me, laughing a bit, trying to keep it quiet.
“Maybe that’s too much even for you.” he said. It’s like he could read my mind.
“And yet, I am the only one in the world brave enough to sit by your side.”
Dave chuckled. “That’s the spirit.” he massaged his belly a bit more. “Hope you’re ready for your next quest, hero.”
This time, Dave leaned a bit, towards the window, so that his shorts-clad ass was just a bit pointed in my direction. He smiled at me, the teasing bastard, and carefully let another blast out. This time started a bit louder than expected, which made him laugh, and quickly corrected the sound and the pitch, once again going for a long and rumbly approach.
And rumbly it was, other than bubbly… dangerously bubbly I might say.
My gassy bro noticed my concern, muttered “Don’t worry, I’m a pro.” and kept pushing the gas out. I don’t know what was going on in his stomach, but fart fetish or not that seemed like an useful trick. Turning your stomach-ache into gas instead of a shitty mess? Is it possible to learn this power?
I got harder, the view of Dave’s shorts-clad ass and his smirking face (with the fart going on as a bgm) was a always sight to behold for my own kinky ass, dammit. If he keeps going like this, I’m the one who’s gonna need a bathroom, you know why.
But I could still tell that my friend was in pain: I could see how focused he truly was, how drops of sweat slowly ran down his forehead. He was acting smug because that’s how he is, but it was also his way to cope with the pain, and teasing me about my kink always amused him, so in a way I was being helpful.
This fart was essentially a long series of muffled, rumbly, wet-ish toots, each renewing the putrid stench that made my nostrils burn. I was enjoying the view, until a flight attendant passed by our seats, walking towards the back of the plane.
Dave abrubtly stopped farting until she was far enough to resume his eruption, and we could tell that the woman walked faster to outrun the invisible AOE of stench my friend was constantly releasing.
“If you keep going, they’re gonna call for an emergency landing.” I half-joked.
Dave laughed. “Anywhere with a restroom is fine for me.”
The final stretch of this second long series of farts was a longer, slightly louder wet toot, which got even Dave startled. He sat back normally, trapping the remaining stench under his ass, and he looked relieved when he realized that no, that risky toot at the end didn’t bring any… extra stuff.
I tried to focus myself on doing something else, but with the turbulence going on next to me, it’s gonna be impossible.
POV: Dave
Fuck, I thought I almost lost the battle with that last toot.
Alright, as gross and disgusting it is, I gotta give it to Tim: he’s enduring those like a pro. He could simply change seat but I know he doesn’t want to leave me alone when suffering like this. Yes, he’s kinky, but he also genuinely cares about me, this stuttering idiot. There’s only one person who can sit next to me right now, and I’m glad it was you, you kinky bastard.
I do this thing that when I’m nervous I can barely hide it, so whenever I can I try to act smug, but I know Tim can read me like an open book. It’s dawn, I can see from outside the window how high we are… a cruel reminder of how much I hate flying. I’m not scared but… come on. Fuck, it’s like someone just punched me in my stomach, that fuckin’ burger: my seat is going full Pompeii under my erupting ass.
I need to fart again, dammit. I can tell this one is gonna be the riskiest one yet. This is my hole’s event horizon: I have to be incredibly careful when pushing this one out, or else I’m gonna, literally, shit myself. But if I don’t do it, my stomach is gonna blow for how bloated I feel. I took a deep breath, then I coughed: this place smells terrible. Sorry, not sorry.
Oh fuck what was that, why did the airplane shake again. Tim didn’t even notice, the flight attendants didn’t care, come on Dave stop acting like this, it’s the fumes in your stomach reaching up to your brain, clouding your judgement.
Alright, here goes nothing; if I shit myself, tell Dana I love her, and tell my friends they’re weirdos. I closed my eyes, I leaned again just a bit to ease the fart (and hopefully only the fart) out. Tim, I apologize if I’m gonna shit on our backpacks, but this is a risk any man should be willing to take at one point in their lives. At one point, we should all trust our farts, even in our darkest moment.
Damn that spicy sauce is burning my asshole, the fart is just too strong I can’t handle it… and it’s louder than I expected. The airplane shook just as I started farting and that’s it, I almost lost it, I could tell I was unwillingly growing a tail, but luckily I clenched by cheeks (and teeth) just in time to avoid any unfortunate accident.
"I have had it with these motherfucking farts on this motherfucking plane!" I muttered, both me and Tim laughing at me quoting an excellent movie.
I’m in so much pain, I don’t know for how long I could literally trick my body into shitting air instead of the actual thing. And it’s freezing in here, which is only making things worse. If I survive this, I shall write a memoir about it, my greatest achievement: not shitting myself at 30.000ft.
Oh dammit it got loud again, and even my own stench is distracting me for focusing on what’s important: deflating myself with style. So I turned to my kinky friend, trying to act cool and smug, and winked at him. He reacted by giving me the middle finger, which made me laugh, almost making me lose control again.
Whatever I do, this is a battle I can’t stop being focused on, so I closed my eyes again, picturing our sunny destination, and let the fart rumble freely, not too loud, not too silent, just the right amount. My anus was burning however, that fuckin’ spicy sauce, what did I do this to myself. It was a good sauce, I just had bad timing.
But yeah it was very good I should buy some once we land.
Another sudden loud toot: thank goodness the plane is mostly empty, or I’m sure they’d ask me to politely open the window next to me -death seems much better than enduring this stench, and I could tell it was bad, not just because I couldn’t stand it, but even Tim was nauseated by it (and I knew he wasn’t faking it).
“Tim…” I muttered. “Tell Dana I love her.” I jokingly said, as I bravely gave one last push, ending this risky rip with a short, loud toot.
I opened my eyes, and luckily Tim was the only one staring at me, his facial expression being a mixture of awkwardness, amusement and, well, the face we men make when we’re horny.
I sat back normally, and patted my friend’s shoulder.
“I think we'll survive this, bro.”
POV: Tim
That last fart, I could tell, was dangerous. Dave trusting his farts in his darkest moment was incredibly heroic.
“I’m fighting the urge to tell you ‘I told you so’” I said. I must love being annoying.
He just looked back at me, with a smirk. “And I’m fighting the urge to pull your head between my legs and let you enjoy the show front row.” he then leaned closer, and whispered. “Which, by the way, the only reason I’m not doing it is because we’re in public.”
Fucking. Teasing. Bastard. My reaction was pre-cum coming out of the tip of my dick almost instantly: I’m the one who almost made a mess this time.
“This is the captain speaking. The restrooms are now back in service. We invite you to use them, especially considering that we have received complaints about strange odors. We wish you a pleasant flight.”
“I can’t see my wife smelling like shit!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, a few other passengers nodding.
We did our best to not laugh like idiots at that.
“I guess that’s my stop babe.” Dave said, him looking the most relieved I’ve ever seen.
Dave stood up and, on his way to the restroom, squeezed past me without paying any attention to my presence, through the narrow space between my legs and the seat in front.
He stopped right in front of me, his butt perfectly aligned to my head.
I know where this is going.
He gave a quick look around, making sure he could do one last thing before finally ending this once and for all.
He quickly leaned his shorts-clad ass back and brushed it all over my face. It was wet, but just for the sweat thank goodness, but not any less smelly. Now that was a risky move to do in public.
Dave then walked towards the restroom, but before going in, he turned around, smiled at me and gave me the middle finger. He mouthed “We did it.”, triumphantly, before finally going into the coveted bathroom, possibly destroying it with whatever his stomach couldn’t hold anymore.
I ignored the stench still coming from Dave’s empty seat, put on some earphones, and managed to listen to some music. The airplane shook a bit again, and I’m sure this time it was caused by my friend winning the final battle in the bathroom.
DaveFarts - Episode 35 “Just Pull It” [Episode List]
Tim and Dave get stuck in what can be considered the “staring contest” equivalent of a fart session... and it's a contest which they both really want to win for some reason.
POV: Tim
Summer gave way to Autumn in a hurry. And since Autumn is a season whose existence is on the brink, this means that it's already, and quite unnaturally, cold, basically.
I was chilling on the couch with my laptop, working from home, still dealing with a very busy day, despite being way past 6:30 PM. My friend and roommate Dave instead got home relatively sooner than usual, quite in a good mood actually. He got inside, slapped the back of my head to greet me, went to the kitchen and got a beer, all without saying a word.
In retrospect, I should at least turn around when I hear someone coming inside, just to be sure it’s Dave and not someone more welcome here like a murderer bent on revenge sneaking up on me from behind.
Jokes aside, I was too focused on solving some work-related issues to even make fun of my bro -something he noticed, because he’s usually the one starting the back-and-forth once he steps inside.
I did notice however him sitting on the other side of the couch, wearing his usual casual attire -a dark brown hoodie, a black t-shirt, a pair of loose dark blue jeans, and sneakers. He took a sip of his beer, rested his denim legs on the small table in front of the couch, took his phone out and scrolled through some stuff.
We remained like this for about 15 minutes, doing our own shit.
This is what true friendship looks like by the way: you can be in the same room, or even on the same couch together, and just passively enjoying each other company without saying a wor-
“So this is what our marriage has become... two people who let silence speak for them.”
There he is, (not) hilarious as usual.
“Well... you're the one who doesn't look at me with the same eyes anymore.” I played along.
Because we’re both very adult, mature men.
Dave closed his eyes, gasping. “So… you noticed.”
“I did… but I don’t blame you…" acting and working, I'm such a multitasker. "Things changed since… the storm…” I said, eyes glued on my screen, but not letting my job get in the way of me committing to this very important role.
“No, Tim…” Dave muttered, getting carried by the story he was making up in his head. “The only storm destroying us… destroying you...” he stretched his right arm towards me, and pointed at my chest. “Is in here.”
He took a deep a breath and closed his eyes, letting that last line sink in.
“And also here by the way.” he then said, in his normal tone, his hand now pointing at his stomach.
I kind of knew this was gonna happen. I always appreciate Dave being chill, open-minded... and gassy, but I had an e-mail to write.
“Of course.” I simply said.
“Please…” Dave’s tone reverted back to… whatever melodramatic tone he was using. “Let’s fix this…” he once again stretched his right arm toward me, with the index finger tickling my face, but he wasn’t pointing at anything this time. “Pull my finger.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his delivery of the silliest sentence known to man. Eyes still focused on my laptop, I gently pushed my friend’s arm away from my personal space.
“Maybe later bro.”
Dave chuckled at my response. “Really?” he asked. “That’s new.”
“Indeed.” I replied. “So yeah, just do your thing.” I then said.
I was expecting the couch to shake under the power of Dave’s ass, a muffled loud rip, one of my bro’s usual incredible displays of flatulence, you all know the drill by now.
And yet… after a few seconds, nothing happened.
I swear it’s not my kink talking: living with Dave, regardless of your fetishes or sexuality, means that you gotta get used to share the apartment with an incredibly skilled and proud farter.
So the fact that we wasn’t farting was actually surprisingly suspicious (…yep, that’s a sentence).
I turned to him, but he was back to his mindless scrolling.
“Now that’s new.” I stated, amused.
A faint smirk appeared on Dave’s face, as my idiot bro knew exactly what I meant.
He remained silent, however.
I shook my head and focused back on my stupid-ass formal e-mail, trying to conjure a series of fancy, well-written words that not-so-subtly meant “Go fuck yourself.”
In the meantime my roommate, still silent, got up and went into his room, I assumed for a bathroom break or to simply slip into something more comfortable.
I kept staring at my screen, until the inspiration came at long last, and I started typing. The e-mail was short and straight to the point, very formal, but very no-bullshit as well. I hate fighting at work, but sometimes you gotta raise your voice, metaphorically in this case.
I sent the insults in disguise and after I was sure they were delivered, I closed the laptop and almost threw it on the table. I sighed in relief, and enjoyed the moment of peace.
After a couple of minutes, Dave came back on the couch, now wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue sweatpants. He sat once again on his side, then laid down, resting part of his legs and feet on my knees as if I was part of the couch.
Tall people having no respect of personal space as usual, duh.
A few minutes of silence, then my friend turned to me, noticing I wasn’t working anymore, hating the concept of me relaxing.
He sat back up, his legs still on my knees, and stretched his right toward me again.
“You can pull my finger now...” he said, with a smirk.
I laughed. With friends like these…
I was gonna pull it, my boner already giving signs of life at the thought of, well, doing something this stupidly hot with Dave.
But then… I decided to be petty for no reason.
“Nah, I don’t think I will.” I simply said, resting my arms on the back of my head. “Keep your secrets.”
My friend laughed, amused. “Yeah sure.” he remarked, sarcastically. “Come on, pull my finger.”
“I said no.”
At this point Dave was starting take my rejection as a challenge, which is exactly what I was expecting.
“Are you sure you don’t want to?” he insisted. “Come on, it’s right here!”
He poked my entire face with his index finger, but I kept my word, and blatantly ignored it.
“Pass.” I said, with a smirk. I’m the one who smirks now.
Dave laughed, finding amusement in this weird, gross game we were playing; and when it comes to games, he can get quite competitive, so while I was expecting this first reaction, I should have also anticipated that he really wanted to “win”… whatever we were doing here.
“Well, if you’re not interested, then it’s absolutely fine if I do this.”
I braced for the fart... but no, once again that was a fake-out.
He instead wrapped his long legs around my body and dragged me down, not without using his arms as well. I found myself lying down, with my face between his legs, my nose inches away from his sweatpants-clad ass. A familiar sight for now, considering how Dave makes sure I pass a lot of time just facing his ass in different positions as he face-farts me.
Speaking of which, now it would be a good time to fart, considering I’m in front of his anus. But again, I got ready for nothing, just silence. And I don’t mean “silent but deadly”, I mean silence. A silence broken by the videos Dave was just casually scrolling through his phone, as he kept my head in front of his ass, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
I’m probably the last person who should say this… but it was getting awkward, so I tried to move. Or rather, dared to. The moment Dave felt I was trying to get away, he held me in my place with the strong grip of his legs. I sighed, annoyed, which my bro laughed at.
One more time, my friend stretched his arm toward me.
“Pull my finger, bro.” he simply said.
“Nope.” I promptly replied.
My bro nodded and adjusted his position a bit. He spread his legs a bit more, my face getting even closer to his ass, my nose being tickled by the surface of his sweatpants.
Believe it or not, spending so much time near Dave’s ass while he wasn’t farting was… weirder than our actual fart sessions. Still, that was an incredible way to spend my evening: yeah, I did the usual stuff ya know... I worked, I wrote an e-email, I relaxed, I got my head planted into my straight friend’s ass, same old, same old.
I then finally heard some noises coming out my friend’s ass.
Or rather, from inside.
Indeed, obviously, he had to fart, or else he wouldn’t have asked me to pull his finger multiple times. The noises I heard tell me that he was brewing a big natural one, one of his usual rips.
And yet, that relative silence was just as thrilling and arousing as an actual fart. The calm before the storm, the anticipation, the fact that I know very well what Dave is capable of and yet he just keeps teasing me.
The fact that Dave was also just… well… ignoring me, minding his own business, somehow made my boner even harder. And yet, I had to “win” this, I wasn’t gonna let him have it.
When he asked me once again to pull his finger, I didn’t even answer.
“You’re missing out.” he said, moving his ass even closer. “I’m brewing a huge one bro.” he whispered.
The teasing bastard reached for my head with one of his hands, and finished making it one with his sweatpants-clad ass. He laughed a bit as he did that.
“Just pull it man...” he then said, going for a flirty tone, as my head got also dangerously close to his crotch. “The finger I mean.” he then corrected himself, trying to not to laugh again.
For a moment I thought I finally got used to my bro being so chill (and hot) about my fart kink, but once again I flew too close to the Sun, with all the blood in my body flowing towards the tent I pitched. What’s funny… is that he wasn’t even farting yet.
And he wasn’t going to, until I pulled his finger.
I felt that damn finger poking me again.
Nope, not gonna happen.
I couldn’t properly see it, because my eyes were too busy being buried into my friend’s ass.
My bro was amused by all of this, I’m sure. And other than being terribly aroused... I too was… but damn if I was sweating now. This was getting hard on all levels.
Dave let my head go, so I adjusted my position a bit accordingly, but he just wouldn’t properly let me go. He kept watching silly videos on his phone, as time passed. How long has he been keeping me like this? 10 minutes?
Felt like ages.
“Ready to pull my finger?” he insisted, out of the blue.
“Pull it yourself.” I dared to reply.
“I may very well do it…” he threatened me… with a good time admittedly.
Alright, since this wasn’t going to end soon because we’re both stupidly competitive about everything, I tried to make myself a bit more comfortable, using Dave’s ass as sort of a pillow even. It’s not like he cared I lied down there, under his legs and in front of his ass, anyway.
I almost wished someone would take a photo of us in that moment: we probably look ridiculous.
There is no heterosexual explanation for this, someone might say when looking at the photo. Well, indeed there isn’t… or more like, 50% of what’s depicted in this photo is clearly not heterosexual.
At this point, perhaps because of my face and hair, Dave’s ass was getting sweaty just like me, which made the place smell… not very pleasantly. My friend wasn’t a dirty person by any means, but no ass smells good when it gets sweaty, and no soap can fix that.
Dave’s ass was powerful even when it was silent: almost 20 minutes and no fart was ripped in my face. And yet, I was struggling. Ironically enough, I was used to my bro farting in my face, but not to him… not farting in my face.
I can’t say I was enjoying it like an actual fart session; the views however, always spot on. Dave is a tall, relatively fit man, so spending time near his ass, regardless of any kink, is pretty much time well-spent for someone like me. And the fact that he’s my bro and he’s just… letting me do it, I don’t know, I’m a mess at this point.
“I can do this all night by the way.” Dave casually stated.
“Nice. Goodnight then.” I replied.
“Alright…” he muttered.
My friend moved, lifting himself just a bit. With a quick, deft leap, he lied down on me, my head now being crushed under the full weight of his ass. I couldn’t see anything now, only feel the warmth of Dave’s ass and body all over me.
Before, he treated me like I was part of the couch.
Now, I am the couch.
And yet I didn’t move nor protest.
I wasn’t gonna pull that finger.
I’m a man of integrity, and I’m not gonna surrender to my bro’s petty machinations. Two can play this game, yes, but I'm the one who's gonna win it.
So I just lied down there, under the weight of my friend’s entire body… and actually relaxed, enjoying the thought of his ass crushing me. The faint scent of sweat got worse however, and I swear even a fart would make the place smell better than this.
I held still, breathing normally as much as my friend’s weight allowed me to. I couldn’t see anything, my glasses dampening and almost breaking under that ass. It was all pitch black and sweaty.
But I didn’t care. I simply closed my eyes and waited, as my friend firmly kept my head under his threatening, but still silent butt, save for some occasional noises, a sign the the fart he was brewing was getting even stronger.
At this point more than 30 minutes passed.
Quality time in my book, to be honest.
Every few minutes my bro would occasionally lift his ass just a bit to let me see the finger I needed to pull, the key to my freedom, but I always refused, so back in the dark ass-jail I go.
I’m not gonna break.
Something that even my gassy friend had to realize, much to his disappointment.
“Fine.” Dave muttered. “I’ll let you have this one...” he admitted defeat.
I laughed -which, from his point of view, it probably looked like either his ass or the couch itself laughed.
My friend let me go for real, spreading his legs wide, resuming the position we had before he decided to crush me (or try to). I did the same, resting my head in front of his ass, ‘cause I knew he was gonna pull me in front of that again anyway.
But no, he has to have the satisfaction to do bullying himself, so he once again reached for my head and properly planted it into his sweaty ass.
“I’m gonna pull it myself, you bastard.” he said.
Judging by the fact that he talked like he was chewing on something, and the fact that his other hand was holding my head still into his ass, I understood that he was pulling his index finger by biting it.
Finally, I felt Dave’s ass muscle move in a more familiar way.
Now I truly had to brace for impact.
And the impact turned out to be… just a small, half-a-second long toot.
What.
A truly awkward silence followed, a silence broken by us laughing like idiots.
“Now that’s new.” I said again, my voice partially muffled as my mouth was planted into my bro’s ass.
“No Tim... it's the storm..." he said, again in that melodramatic one.
I totally fell for the fake-out, like an idiot, as if Dave wasn’t the King of Farts. A storm indeed swept my face away, a fart so loud and airy that anyone hearing it would think it’s a fake stock sound. My head was shaking, and so was the couch, my friend’s hand still keeping me where I deserve to stay.
Where winners deserve to stay… in this particular case at least.
The fart’s smelly air flew nicely through Dave’s sweatpants, completely destroying my nostrils in the process. I could even taste it in some ways. I don’t know if this was one of my bro’s strongest farts, but it definitely was… one the most anticipated.
Damn if it kept me waiting!
Yeah… Dave still won in the end, technically, because he made me wish for it, crave for it. I admit I did wonder the whole time how big the fart was gonna be, the way he teased its size…
But at the same time, I didn’t break, nor pulled that damn finger.
The huge rip stopped as abruptly as it started, after about 18 seconds of thunderous chaos. Three ridiculously loud 3-seconds toots ended the gassy parade, my face getting startled each time (with my boner twitching and dampening more and more) as if it was my first time hearing anyone fart.
Finally, Dave let my sweaty head go, letting me sit back properly.
“Hey... I told ya there was a storm destroying you.” he joked, teasing me with his damn smirk.
It surely was a thunderous storm, but our marriage is stronger than any gust of wind, no matter how smelly it gets.
DaveFarts - Episode 36 “Numbers” [Episode List]
Dave baits Tim into playing a silly game just to showoff his farting skills.
POV: Tim
Welp, I’m tech-savvy enough to know how to fix a damn TV, but I’m also wise enough to admit defeat.
While we were on vacation a storm hit our town and apparently -as Dave jokingly said- Zeus held a grudge against our small house, so much so that, according to our neighbours, it got struck at least 6 times by lightning in the span of a few minutes.
And people say those never strike twice in the same place.
I guess we were lucky we didn’t come back only to find a pile of ashes and rubble.
Truth to be told, there was no actual damage, save for the TV as you may have guessed.
It’s been more than a week (a very busy week, work-wise) since we came back and, save for occasional important sport events and gaming, we’re actually not big TV guys, so it took us a while to notice that the thing was pretty much dead.
For a moment Dave feared that the unlucky victim was the PlayStation, so much so that he screamed my name in genuine terror, promptly making me rush downstairs as his tone was the one of a man fighting for his life.
You think this is the part where I metaphorically roll my eyes at my wAcKy RoMmAte’s shenanigans, but no, I agree with him.
After a long day, especially after so many busy days, one only wants to relax by getting angry at a particularly challenging interactive toy, and as a gamer myself I totally feel my roommate’s pain.
Luckily enough, it wasn't the console.
Well, still an expensive appliance, but we always split the costs for this kind of stuff, so it wasn’t a big deal per se. Dave still went to the store on the off chance it was still open, but given it's around 9:00 PM, he was running on pure hopes and dreams.
In the meantime, I was busy trying to reanimate the artificial corpse: I got the thing open and I could immediately smell burning. I did try to mess a bit with it (I’m no expert but I do know what I’m doing most of the times in those cases), going as far as replacing the broken parts with some spare parts I had in a box in my wardrobe -you know the one, we all have it and no, we will never throw it away, those cables and parts could be useful one day!
This wasn’t the day however, but it was more of Zeus’ fault than anything (one day, I swear!), so I gave up and found comfort in another -and this time working- appliance in the kitchen, the cold one we use to store our goods, and I pulled a beer out of it -then I heard Dave coming home, so I pulled another one.
That’s me being a good roommate.
“Think fast.” I casually said, tossing the can to him.
He nodded and we both walked back into the living room, standing right behind the couch, looking at the tech-themed gory scene that was our TV.
“I did what I could, but I couldn’t save it.”
Dave sighed. “Time of death?”
“Probably the night you got drunk on Margaritas and almost puked on Dana. The storm hit-”
“I wasn’t drunk, Dana was.” he clarified. “I was playing along.”
He totally was drunk by the way.
“Please, keep your kinky roleplays out of my life.” I joked, very hypocritically.
We swung ourselves over the sofa backrest and sat, staring at nothing but tech rubbles.
“I assume the store was closed.” I said.
“Sort of. They slammed the shutter down when they saw me, basically.”
“Told ya that hoodie is terrible.” I commented, his answer being a pillow being thrown at me without even looking, which I dodged perfectly.
Dave was in fact wearing an old shabby dark green hoodie and a casual pair of dark blue loose jeans. I did not think he looked bad by any means (and who am I to judge anyway), I simply occasionally make fun of that old hoodie -he bought that back in College if I recall correctly.
We took a sip of beer and then did what our generation does best: some good old doom-scrolling on our phones. After a couple of minutes of relative silence, I heard some familiar sounds (no, not those sounds).
“I know, I miss them too.” I said, faking a sad tone.
The sounds I recognised were from the videogame he was playing (and me too, on a different savefile), a long JRPG-inspired challenging adventure with tough bosses and memorable characters.
“I will never forget them.” he played along. “Oh come on really?” he then groaned, his phone dying in his hands.
This time, however, it wasn’t a permanent death, just a roommate who forgot to buy a new charger that, you know, actually properly charge things.
“Here… you can have mine.” I said, handing my phone to him.
“Really…?” Dave said, knowing very well I was joking.
“No.”
More minutes of silence passed, Dave simply sitting there sort of alone with his thoughts. He took his sneakers off and rested his long legs on the small table by the couch, scanning the room around us as if he was looking for anything remotely entertaining to do.
Since I’m a kinky idiot, I obviously noticed his loose jeans sagging a bit as he was chilling next to me, on the other side of the couch, the denim of his trousers loosely, but nicely, hugging his very talkative ass.
I love my bro, you all know this, I don't wanna be superficial, but I’m gay-savvy enough to admit that, regardless of any fetish involved, Dave is… quite attractive. You probably wouldn’t consider him the hottest man in the world, but he’s noticeably good-looking, even when chilling so casually on a couch -but I get I may be biased.
He is my friend after all, we always make fun each other’s looks and whatnot, but I’m not embarrassed to admit that he’s attractive, guy-next-door attractive.
Also he’s tall, which I really like, since I’m a basic bitch.
Why am I reminding you this… I don’t know. You probably think I may be crushing on him… I mean, given that I have a fart fetish and how much time I spend with my face literally planted into Dave’s farting ass, it’s easy to assume to yeah, kinky Tim has a crush on his straight gassy bro…
Well, I invoke my right to remain silent.
“Wanna play a game?” Dave suddenly asked.
“What game?”
“It’s not complicated, even you can play it!”
I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “Where’s the catch?”
Dave laughed. “Why are you always so suspicious?”
Because I have all the reasons to be, when your best bro is a playful bastard.
But I’m a clown.
“Alright, I’ll bite.” I put my phone and the beer on the small table in front of me and turned my attention to the obvious trap Dave was setting up. “How does it work? What are the rules?”
My bro smiled, putting his own beer on the table. “It’s nothing, just say a number between… mhhh… 5 and 15, yeah that works.”
I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my glasses. “This… this is about farts, isn’t it?” I bluntly asked.
My roommate laughed at my wild suspicions of him. “What?!”
“What indeed.”
“Tim you’re a such kinky idiot.” he chuckled. “Just say a number from 5 to 15.”
“Nope.”
“Say it.”
“Not gonna say it.”
“Say it!”
I gave him a scolding look. “…are you that bored?”
“Say it…” he insisted.
I sighed and put my glasses next to the phone and the beer on the table, because I just know that my face is gonna get pulled into a certain roaring ass very soon, so better safe than sorry (broken glasses? that’s an expense I can’t split).
“Alright…” I said, Dave smirking at me in anticipation. “Any number?”
“Any number between 5 and 15…” he explained, after thinking about it for a second, totally making sure he was brewing a big one.
I swear it’s not me, it’s him being a teasing asshole.
“Is it one of those games where I have to guess the number you’re thinking right now?” I asked.
“No…” he groaned, impatiently. “Just give me a number within the range.”
“Mmmh… does it have to be a prime number?” I asked, purposely being the most annoying being on Earth.
“Look man, if you don’t wanna play…”
“Alright, I said I’ll bite…”
I pretended to think about it for a bit, as if I was trying to understand the mischievous machinations of this weird game.
Dave does often prank us with by playing those playful mind tricks on us, and obviously it’s never about farts, so there’s the remote possibility (and hope) that this has nothing to do with him being a teasing gassy asshole... the best teasing gassy asshole one could ask for don’t get me wrong, but still…
“What about… 6?”
“Okay…” he said, while adjusting his position a bit. “Less than I expected…”
Of course it was about farts.
He sat normally on the couch, leaning a bit, as he clearly was pushing one out.
He closed his eyes and pointed upwards, as if he was telling me to wait and listen.
The vibrations of that first, loud toot shook the entire couch, the sound partially muffled by the cushion. It was loud and meat-y, but relatively short for Dave’s high standards, merely 1-2 seconds. A standard loud fart, still very Dave-sounding and powerful.
A fart that, after less than 2 seconds of silence, was followed by another one, just as powerful.
Then another one.
A trifecta?
Nope.
It appears there’s a fourth one.
A fifth one, even? This was the loudest one so far.
And finally, after a bit more of anticipation, highlighted by Dave’s iconic smirk appearing on his face, a sixth one, a bit longer than the previous ones, clocking at around, fittingly, 6 seconds.
The smell was there, but still bearable, each fart having released a plume of invisible gas creeping towards my face.
As usual, after Dave reminded me of his ass-skills, I just remained there in silence like an idiot, genuinely admiring my gassy friend’s mastery, while also trying to tame my dick waking up, as each blast made it twitch like a muscle under pressure (which, given my bro’s talent, was exactly what was happening).
Amused by my silent reaction, Dave laughed. “6, really?” he asked. “You know what I’m capable of, go higher!”
Despite my mind being fogged-up by his gas, I understood that he wanted me to choose another number, again in the 5-15 range.
As I was this time genuinely thinking hard about it, Dave got up, hands casually in his pockets, and… stood in front of me, his ass almost perfectly aligned with my head, my view now being obstructed by the back pockets on his denim ass, the small red Levi’s tag almost glowing on the dark blue background of the jeans. The pants were a bit sagging, revealing a glimpse of my friend’s oddly bright yellow underwear.
I looked up, Dave just casually staring down at me with a smirk. “Choose wisely.”
I knew I could just choose 15 and he, for some reason, would proceed to blast my face 15 times… but I’m as petty as I am kinky, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but focusing when your gassy bro is towering in front of you, with his ass pointing at your nostrils, is kind of difficult.
“W-what about 8?” I guess I like even numbers.
Dave could read me like an open book as always, and he knew I chose such a relatively small number just to mess with him… in this very weird thing going on between us. He laughed at my attempt to outsmart him.
“I’m gonna need some help then. Let’s make sure it’s gonna be exactly eight, shall we?”
I didn’t even have to think what we meant because I immediately felt his right arm reaching for my face, his hand firmly grabbing the back of my head and pushing it right into that denim ass, my nose landing on the warm, rough surface of the sagging denim, right below the yellow fabric of his underwear.
Needless to say, the stench of the previous barrage of farts was still there, a faint stench of rotten eggs tickling my nostrils. Still nothing unbearable, but definitely not pleasant either.
Dave’s ass muscles relaxed, and another parade began, starting off with a loud blast that shook my entire skull. This time it was longer, lasting around 4 seconds.
A few moments of silence, followed by Dave ripping another loud toot, 2 seconds long.
Yes, short for my bro’s double-digit standards, but trust me they were as loud as usual, if not louder, even.
Even more impressive considering that those weren’t even on command, all natural.
Not that I mind farts on command (on the contrary!), but my friend’s skills never fail to impress me.
He kept farting, like the masterful farter he is, each blast startling me as if it was my first time hearing those, while my face was still being kept in its front-row seat; and damn what a show it was!
I was dazed, so much so that I lost count, but I could tell he was done with this second series, as I heard him laugh like a jerk, as his sagging ass went silent.
The smell was getting worse, but my trained nostrils were by far used to this.
Dave stared back down at me, but didn't let me go.
“You know… I’m not entirely sure those were eight.”
I was startled, high on my friend’s gas. Didn’t even hear what he was saying.
“So let’s just settle with this.” he then stated, pushing my face further deeper into his ass.
Another fart erupted, loud and proud, definitely gonna be longer than the previous ones, a more standard “Dave rip” one might say, not that the others were bad, just deceptively shorter than usual.
Despite my face being glued to his ass, I did manage to take a good look at it. I thought about that view, and Dave’s smirk as he looked down at me.
Sometimes I forget how fucking lucky I am, to have a friend like him.
A friend who was seriously gonna kill me with his gas if I wasn’t careful.
This time I tried to focus, and the fart indeed stopped at exactly 8 secon- oh, I get it.
After he was done, Dave let me stay there with my face fitting nicely into his sagging ass for a couple of more seconds, then pushed me back on the couch.
He turned around, towering over me, hands back in his pockets.
“Are we done? Did I win? Did you win?” I asked, dizzy, amused.
“Nah, there’s one final level.” he said.
As if I wasn’t there sitting in front of him, Dave walked on the couch, careful to not to trip over me, and sat directly on my head as if I was a stupid-looking stool. He wasn’t planning to stay there like this forever, so he wiggled around to mess with my balance, making sure his body-weight pushed me down, until I forcibly lied on the couch, with him properly sitting over my face, my head being crushed under his weight.
No need to fart again as the stench of the previous rips quickly engulfed me. It all went pitch black, but I could still feel the sagging, rough surface of his jeans and part of the much softer yellow fabric of his underwear, which was getting sweatier and wetter.
“Alright, 20 farts back-to-back… or one long 30 seconds blast from yours truly?” he asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. The tone made me laugh, my dick getting harder.
My face was being crushed, but I still managed to talk.
“20 is enough. Make it quick.”
I heard my bro laughing at me getting desperate to get out of his gas trap, amused as usual by my reaction to his farts, and he didn’t make me wait.
Why do I even take his baits?
A new series of short, quick blasts began, this time much shorter than the others, but not any less loud, probably about 1.5 seconds each, with a less than second pause between each blast. The smell was renewed instantly, my nose brushing against my bro’s underwear as it shook under the power of that gas-shooting machine gun.
I have no idea why he does this with me, for me. And even how.
How is it possible to be this good at farting? What were the odds of me having such a cool, talented friend?
I stopped struggling to breath and simply relaxed. This was weird, this was gross... and I was loving every second of it.
I let my friend’s ass crush me, sinking more and more into the cushion, each fart burying me deeper and deeper into the couch.
Twenty farts, short loud farts, back-to-back.
This time I didn’t lose count, I wanted to make sure to properly witness my bro’s talent.
He laughed as he finished with a final, louder toot. Dave just remained there, sitting on me, as if I was part of the ouch, as to let me enjoy that… and also because he was himself getting a bit tired I’m sure.
“So… who won?” I asked.
That question made my friend laugh again. “I don’t know, you tell me after this one.”
This one?
My bro leaned on one side, clearly to ease another blast out, one leg bent up. This position made the crushing weight a bit more bearable, while also making his ass much more visible as it wasn’t overwhelmingly all over my face anymore -but it was still inches from my nose.
He again pointed upwards, shushing me, silently telling me to listen to what he had to say.
To what his ass had to say.
I just finished saying how impressive my friend’s farting skills, and yet he managed to one-up even my expectations.
Another loud fart erupted from his ass, meat-y, airy, long, loud.
What the fuck did he eat?
What the fuck was that beer?
What the fuck was going on in his body?
I guess one final toot is a good way to close the parad- wait, is it still going? That’s way more 7 seconds already.
I tried to move, but the moment I stopped being still, Dave’s hand arrived like a jailer and held my head where it belonged, the sounds of my friend’s chuckle being barely hearable while being so close at his roaring, thunderous ass.
16 seconds, what the fuck.
How the fuck.
“Dave…” I muttered, but I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear me.
My dick was rock-hard, pre-cum coming out of its tip.
The power of my friend’s farts: he could make me cum without even (technically) touching me.
My nostrils this time failed to endure that stench, my eyes watered, my body admitting defeat in front of the sheer power of my roommate’s anus. The sweaty underwear didn’t help, smell-wise, and the fart and its smell were so powerful that the denim could very well not be there.
23 seconds. Where was he storing all of this gas? He wasn’t even bloated. This isn’t even on command.
And yet, at long last, 30 seconds, and the fart finally stopped, fading out quickly, after its stench engulfed the entire room.
Oh, I get it, again. 30 seconds.
In the end he still wanted to give me the full taste of what I was missing out by choosing the other option I guess.
Fuck… having a friend like Dave is truly a curse and a blessing at the same time.
My friend stood up again, just to move a bit further away and sit on the other side of the couch. I did the same on my side, sitting back up normally, quickly reaching for the pillow he threw at me earlier to hide my twitching, raging boner, even though my bro knew very well what was going on down there.
“I guess I won…?” I managed to say.
“I guess they need to update the Pantheon.” he stated instead, ignoring my question.
He stared at the broken TV in front of us and a proud, immature, playful smirk appeared again on his face.
“The God of Thunder one-upping the God of Lightning. How poetic.” he joked.
Under the pillow, my cock erupted, fully dampening my underwear and even my sweatpants.
I can’t believe it, of all things, this is the thing that broke me: Dave boasting about his skills like an idiot.
I’m done with numbers.
I’m done with Greek Mythology.
...but taking Dave’s obvious baits?
That I’ll never get tired of.
WESTFORK - WHERE KINK HAPPENS
An unnecessarily long, slow-burn fart fetish story that takes too long to get to the point, just like this intro.
I started writing this thing back in June, then stopped for weeks, then finished it in late August.
Meet Jeff, the newest archivist in the renowed study-center known as Westfork.
He's a nice guy, and gets the job done, sometimes a bit too well, so much so that he may even end up having some unexpected kinky good time because of it.
Other than the kink content, make sure to endure the obvious breaks from reality when it comes to job-related story beats and whatnot.
Premise and vibes are similar to my DaveFarts series, but I wanted to experiment with something longer (cue the obvious jokes).
May turn into a proper story series in the future.
Most importantly, hope you enjoy!
----------------------------------------
TUESDAY
The more I walked around this place, the more it felt like I stepped back a couple of years: Westfork operated as a proper University for almost a century before being repurposed as a study center. It retained the picturesque charm of its Georgian-styled brick buildings and courtyards -though a small part of the campus is basically empty and closed due to budget cuts, and it wasn’t all as well-preserved as it may look.
Despite not being a University anymore, Westfork is still a reverenced name in academic environments, and it’s nowdays a renowned study center specializing in history research and education.
For personal reasons I fell behind schedule… a bit, but I managed to get my B.A. History degree, because the idea of being unemployed was amazing to me. Luckily enough (and that’s an euphemism), they needed a bookworm who hates sunlight to sort through a messy bunch of uncatalogued documents and books in their archives, so I just hopped on the next plane and came here.
It’s around 6:00 PM, the warm colors of the sunset highlights the warm autumnal hues of the trees around me. The evening was cold but my jacket was enough to keep me warm. I’m starting this new job tomorrow, but first I’m supposed to meet with an old acquaintance from college, Ted, so he can show me around.
He’s a bit of a… stickler, but he usually means well.
Usually.
It’s also hopefully an excuse to have a quick beer or coffee, which is fine to me.
I sat on a bench just outside of a Cafe, parking my rolling bag in front of me (it’s not much, but I’m planning to leave this weekend to fetch more stuff from home). The atmosphere is great and nostalgic, almost romantic I’d say.
Westfork is pretty lively, despite hosting merely a hundred people compared to the thousands it was originally built for. I saw some guys walking past me, some couples, all around 26 or older (so around my age), people like me who were lucky enough to end up working here at Westie, and maybe their friends/significant others from outside visiting. I’ve been told the institution doesn’t really care who visits, as long as they don’t burn the place down. Plus, we’re basically working adults here, not college students throwing parties (I know because I was one of them -especially the party part, no regrets).
“Jeff Park” I turned around and saw Ted holding a cup of coffee, while adjusting his big round glasses. “I didn’t recognize you without a microphone.”
My parties usually involved karaoke contests.
I stood up and stepped towards him, shaking his hand.
“Good to see you too, Ted.”
Ted and I are not exactly close friends, but we get along just fine. When he found out I was coming here, he surprisingly texted me to offer me a guided tour, which I gladly accepted. This also apparently was some kind of “official” task, as he just handed me the keys to my apartment in the campus.
We got another cup of coffee, for me this time (I paid), and he started showing me around. I tried to listen, though the taste of the coffee was… distracting.
“Westfork may just be a study center nowdays, but as you can see it still has that college soul going.” he commented, looking at some guys jogging. “That building right there, the one with the white dome, is the President’s office basically. The library is right next to it.”
“I assume the library is where you guys also keep your archives?”
“Yeah -well, it’s actually in the building literally behind it, we can’t see it from here though.”
Ted kept describing the place, explaining some bits of history as well, which I found interesting, but I’m biased because of my degree. I truly enjoyed the place so far, both in aesthetics and whatnot.
I then heard a noise coming from behind, the sound of tiny wheels to be more precise, which I recognized to be a group of people skateboarding in our direction. I noticed Ted rolling his eyes in annoyance.
“Here comes the bullies.”
“Here comes the what-now?” I asked.
Indeed, two guys on their skateboards rode past us, one of them casually (and jokingly, I assumed) slapping Ted’s back, clearly to annoy him. As they rode away, they gave one last amused look to my guide, before disappearing behind a brick building.
“…Bullies?” I asked, rather sarcastically.
Ted's acted calm and in oddly overly-refined manners until this moment, when I could see him not just annoyed, but almost disgusted by those guys’ presence.
“That’s the soul I was talking about.” he explained. “The rotten, immature soul of the worst college you can think of.”
I was quite surprised by his reaction. “They were just goofing around.” I tried to calm him down, without success.
“Those are Brad’s goons. They don’t look the part, yet they too work here for some reason.” he said. “They’re basically the bullies around here, immature hogs acting like a toxic fraternity, tarnishing the already tarnished name of Westfork.”
This was turning into a petty monologue pretty fast for my taste.
I know him, I know no one’s tarnishing anything.
“Always bullying hard-workers like us while they fuck around on their stupid skateboards.”
I decided to step in. “I see.” I said. “Any other 90s stereotype I should be concerned about?”
“They’re also homophobes.”
Ok, ouch. “Well that’s the first actually bad thing about them, if it’s true.”
“Just stay away from them. They’re like a disease.”
Ted seemed pretty sure about them; I could tell there was something else going on, but I didn’t want to get my ass involved into some Westie drama before even starting to work. Sure, some comments he made sounded very superficial (skateboarders = bad bullies? in 2025? really?), but I doubt he’d call anyone a homophobe if he wasn’t sure about it -that’s a pretty bad thing to say about anyone.
I didn’t 100% believe everything he said, but I was gonna keep my guard up just in case.
My angry guide and I kept chatting while walking apparently aimlessly, as he was still riled up about those… “bullies”, and even implied that he and his ex girlfriend broke up because of them, though the timing seems far-fetched. Anyway, we ended the tour about 30 minutes later, stopping in front of a big brick building with many windows, clearly a residential one that once hosted students attending the courses here.
“That’s my stop. Sorry, it’s been a long day for me.”
“It’s fine. I’m staying across the street, right?” I said, pointing at what was basically this building’s twin, on the other side of a small square.
“Yep. If you need anything… good luck.”
I let Ted go get some rest while I walked towards the other building. It wasn’t late, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight, plus I was tired for the trip: top priority is unpack some stuff and throw them into place. There’s this history paper I’ve been reading, focusing on the language of architecture in Middle Age Europe (creatively titled “Architecture and Power”), which is porn to my brain. Can’t find any info on the guy who wrote it -some dude called “L. Evans”. I just have a printed copy -hope it didn’t get too wrinkled in my roll- FUCK.
I think I skipped a few metaphorical frames of animation for how fast I turned around and started running. Neither me or Ted noticed that I left my roller back at the bench by the Cafe. I’m the King of idiots, they’re gonna write dozens of papers about Jeff Park, the fooliest among the fools.
I rushed back as fast as I could, but it was too late: my apparently really captivating suitcase was gone. Luckily I have my wallet, ID and the apartment’s keys in my pockets, but I can’t start my job by showing up with the same clothes every day (not because of some innate fashion sense -which I have, thanks for asking, I’m talking about basic hygiene). While I stood there like the idiot I am trying to come up with a solution, I heard some people acknowledging my presence.
“Is that our guy?” someone said.
I turned to the Cafe, noticing three guys -two of them being the skateboarders from before- having either coffee or beer sitting outside, their ‘boards parked by their stools under their feet, one displaying a simple drawing of a lightning.
It’s those… “bullies”. What I also noticed, however, was my rolling bag. Before I could say anything, one of them stood up and walked towards me, with my suitcase in tow.
“Hey is this yours?” the man said, handing me the long handle of the suitcase, as he scratched the small black stud on his left ear.
“Yes… thanks.”
“No problem.” the man simply said, before turning around and walking back to the Cafe. “Yep, that was our guy.” he then said to his friends.
I was going to step closer, maybe pay a round of drinks to thank them, then I heard something that made me remember why Ted said what he said.
“Yeah he looked pretty nervous. They usually do that ya know.”
“They?” I mouthed, in silence.
I’m out of here.
I didn’t even know that being nervous was a gay stereotype. Everyone’s nervous, in this economy! Thanks for keeping my suitcase safe, but no, I’m not getting dragged into this. And for a moment I even thought that the guy who handed me the suitcase was cute; I gotta stop being so basic.
“Slow down with the beer dude, have mercy for our noses.” one of them said, laughing.
I pretended I didn’t hear that.
— — —
Despite my sudden amnesia, I managed to properly unpack my stuff. The dorm-room felt quite nostalgic, though to be fair most rooms here at Westie were recently renovated into small apartments. Nothing huge, but it didn’t cost much, and so far I do like it here, so I got nothing to complain about.
I collapsed on my bed, staring at the so far empty walls, and wondered how I struggled so much with college… only to end up in another college… sort of; by now you know Westfork is not a University per se, but still, Ted wasn’t lying: the vibes are still there, the soul he mentioned still lives on, for better or for worse.
Oh well.
I reached for the L. Evans paper, re-reading some parts I highlighted the other day, a paragraph introducing the concept of the lasting presence of buildings, looming like silent watchers of the History unfolding before them.
“Yeah… I wonder how much sex those walls witnessed.” I thought, looking around me.
— — —
WEDNESDAY
The best thing about this job, skipping the parts you’d find boring at least, is that my morning commute is just a couple of minutes of walking through a beautiful campus. I woke up well-rested, had a relaxing shower, grabbed a small backpack, then went to the Cafe from yesterday to grab a cup of -you guessed it- coffee before heading to the library and its archive. I managed to exchange a few messages with some friends in the process, who for some reason always assume that I got myself into some kind of trouble (…I refused to tell them about the suitcase), which they find hilarious of course.
I also got an e-mail from Westie’s President, welcoming me aboard officially, hoping I enjoy my stay and implying that I should get the job done properly. He didn’t get to the “unless you want to get fired” part, but that was heavily implied anyway.
I left the Cafe… then came back a few seconds later because I obviously forgot my backpack by the counter, then went to my actual workplace, where Ted was waiting for me. It took me a couple of minutes to find him, because he was at the Archives already, in a building behind the library. It’s fine, I’m not even late for once, and Ted seemed almost grateful to see me.
Straight to the point, he guided me through the surprisingly bleak archives, the scaffoldings full of dusty, old, uncatalogued documents, books and manuscripts, some looking very old; it was like Christmas to me, and I honestly couldn’t wait to get started.
“It’s pretty straightforward to be honest.” Ted admitted. “You can start from there, the stuff filed under the letter A, obviously.”
I obeyed, even though Ted wasn’t my boss or anything.
“Remember the archival standards-“
“Yes, no worries, this is like Heaven to me.” I reassured him, perhaps sounding more cocky than I wanted to.
Tracing back to a document’s origin or author is like a murder mystery: you have evidence to arrange, logical steps to follow, deduction, and suspects. However, sadly, you don’t always get to the smoking gun, but you do get closer than anyone else… which is why this paper by L. Evans is lowkey driving me crazy. It was written like… last year, yet I can’t find any info on the author. The Internet has failed me! I’d love to read more of his stuff, if he has written any to begin with. I don’t even know if he’s still alive! Does he even exist? Maybe that’s not his real name?
Nice, it’s my first day and I’m already getting distracted by my train of thoughts, still most of these documents look well-preserved and most importantly clearly signed and with a clear date: good for all of us and for the importance of long-term preservation, bad for the me who was looking for a challenge.
A few hours went by, me and Ted occasionally exchanging opinions or documents based on what we were looking for. I like being social, as my karaoke skills imply, but I do like the atmosphere of an old, dark, dusty archive with no sunlight. And Ted is like… really boring, a perfect teammate for me then, in this context.
More hours flew by, it was late afternoon already; I even forgot to do a lunch break. Not a fan of me forgetting things so much lately, but it’s on me, I was just really into those old files this time. I’m far from being a workaholic, but I do enjoy this stuff.
“Weird.” I said, arranging a couple of old books on the well-lit desk in front of me. “They’re in perfect state, they’ve been catalogued already apparently, but you’re missing one.” I checked the side of the books. “The third one.”
“Well, that’s our job, isn’t it?” Ted replied, not really listening to what I was trying to say.
“Yes, but Westie does own it, it’s been digitized, it’s listed on your website, even.” sometimes work is as simple as that.
“Oh yeah, now I get it.” Ted admitted. “Beyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs, vol. III. I know where it is.”
Ted seemed hesitant, and also annoyed.
“It’s not urgent or anything, but we can simply place this series in the library if we have them all…” this is more of my perfectionist side taking the wheel. The ship’s wheel.
“I think either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon have it, those jerks.”
“Let me guess, they’re the super scary skateboarders from yesterday, right?” I said, with a hint of sarcasm. Just a hint, really.
“Hey, I told you. They’re not worthy of this institution, so you getting the book back from them is basically your duty.”
I rolled my eyes behind his back. I reached for one of the tomes and put it in my backpack.
“And they’re also homophob-“
I cut him off, maybe raising my voice a bit too much at first. “I… I’m going to decide if that’s true, with all due respect.”
Ted scoffed at me. “Why would I make it up?”
“I’m… I’m not saying you made it up, I’m just doing my job, not jumping to conclusions.” even though they did make a weird comment yesterday, after handing me the suitcase.
“Whatever.” he simply said. “It’s past 6:00 PM, they’re probably hanging out at their Frat House not far from here, by the Old Birch.”
“Frat House? Really?”
“I mean it does feel like one you know…” he said, concerned.
“I kind of hope it does now.” I said, amused instead.
The outside greeted me with beautiful warm autumnal colors again, like the evening before. The Sun was still setting, and people leaving work walked around the campus as if it was a lively city. But my work wasn’t done yet, I’m gonna Indiana Jones this shit if I have to.
Once I got familiar with Westfork’s layout I realized that the campus wasn’t nearly as big -or fancy- as it looked -don’t get me wrong, it’s a small town basically, but everything is conveniently close. And that includes the so-called “Frat House” mentioned by Ted, a small red brick building with a… quirky (and rather cheap-looking if you ask me) neoclassical façade, the pediment displaying a big “Ω” in the middle. Yep, once again, the soul’s still there. Unlike the Old Birch, which is only a stump (by the looks of it, it probably got cut down mere days before I got this job -and judging by the damaged roof of the Frat House, I can probably see why).
I walked through the short front-yard and knocked on the red door in front of me, before noticing the door-bell at least. I could hear some muffled rock music coming from the inside (Whispering Ostriches, I kind of like that band), followed by some voices, probably people complaining about someone showing up at their doorstep on a Wednesday evening.
I don’t blame them.
Maybe Ted’s stereotyping wasn’t so off after all, as the person who opened the door was your textbook jock-looking pri- I mean person. Tall, big, fit… kind of intimidating?
Before I could say anything, the guy smiled and went “You’re the rolling bag-guy!”.
I was famous!
“You remembering me tells me that Westfork must be very boring.”
He laughed and let me in. “That’s what all workplaces are.”
“I’m looking for either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon.” straight to the point, more or less.
“Nice to meet you -I’m Brad.” he promptly said.
I followed him into a charming, wood-paneled living room, lots of books, maps and documents scattered around (with a couple of skateboards thrown into the mix). On a table there was also a scale model of an historical US building -it looked like the Old State House in Boston. Westfork’s historical soul was mostly intact here, if you don’t count the empty chips bag.
“And that goblin there is Tyler.” he said, pointing at a guy chilling on an armchair, his face partially hidden under a black hoodie, too focused on reading something on his laptop to notice a guest, yet I could tell he’s the same guy who handed me the suitcase yesterday, in front of the Cafe.
I heard another voice coming from another room, followed by some noises, as if they were setting something up.
“Brad.” another guy showed up. “The game starts in 20 minutes. Did you check the subscription?”
“And that’s Mark.” Brad commented, visibly annoyed -clearly this wasn’t the first time Mark asked this.
Mark quickly nodded at me, acknowledging my existence, before disappearing in the other room again to, I assume, mess with the TV in anticipation of the game. Funny because there was another TV in this room, but I assume it was mostly used for gaming or other stuff.
“If this is a bad time I can-“
“It’s fine.” Brad cut me off. “Whenever the Lobsters play, Mark goes DEFCON 1. YOU’RE GONNA LOSE ANYWAY.”
“Fuck you and your Wasps!” a muffled response from the other room. “What’s wrong with this TV?!”
Brad pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, sort of embarrassed by the situation. “Hard to believe everyone in here is a published historian, huh?”
Honestly, that was hilarious. This is the right mix of “academic environment” and “chill” for me, maybe with a bit less screaming at the TV (but that happens to me when gaming, so I get it).
“Do… do you mind if I help?” I dared to ask, hearing more angry comments. “From what I… barely heard I had a similar problem with my TV last week.”
“Of course. Thanks.” Brad said, eagerly pushing me in the lion’s den. “Be my guest.”
Mark was almost punching the TV, something we’ve all did but rarely works, come on. I simply tapped on his shoulder and silently asked him for the remote.
“I got the same model. They’re like the printers of TVs: they stop working whenever you actually need them.”
I messed with the settings a bit, doing things in a precise order, then turned it OFF and ON again. Now it works, for some magical reason.
“Who are you again?” Mark asked, after taking a good look at the crisp, perfect image on the screen.
“I’m Jeff, I’m the new archivist. I got he-“
“Stop talking, you’ll tell us everything about you tomorrow night. Beer’s on us.” he said, with a firm handshake.
“Gladly.” I simply said. “I mean I didn’t do mu-“.
“If you don’t wanna come, don’t. If you want, there’s only one Cafe in this husk of a University, so you’ll know where to find us.”
Ted’s words echoed in my head as these guys kept being just casually… nice.
Again, not jumping to conclusions.
I thanked Mark for the invitation and walked back to the main living room, but I slowed down once I heard a rather animated conversation between Brad and Tyler.
“The President won’t kick you out, Tyler. You’re the most valid asset in our team.”
“Read the e-mail. If it happens again, I’m out. I fucked up too many times.”
“You had a couple of beers…”
“I was drunk, passed out, and he was the one who found me — right in the middle of the night, in the middle of the campus, during one of his late-night jogging sessions.”
“…no one got hurt?”
“He literally tripped over me!”
I decided to step in, hopefully not making things too awkward or embarrassing, pretending I didn’t hear a thing.
“The TV is fixed.”
“Awesome dude.” Brad said.
“Who’s the IT guy?” Tyler said, before correcting himself (and rushing to change the subject). “Oh right, you’re the rolling bag-guy!”
“My reputation precedes me I see.”
Tyler was too focused on reading that e-mail to notice me earlier, and given what I’ve heard, I don’t blame him. Hope things get better for him.
“Look, Brad.” I said. “Seriously, I can come back anoth-“
“No no, sorry about Mark. What do you need?” he asked.
“Alright… I’ve been told you guys have the third volum-“
“Beyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs.” Tyler cut me off. “It’s somewhere in my room, follow me.”
“I thought you’d returned it.” Brad commented.
“I was going to.” Tyler replied, almost clenching his teeth. “Then… something happened.” clearly he didn’t want to address the jogging accident in front of me, understandably.
Brad mockingly clapped his hands once, as if he was so done with his friend and co-worker’s shenanigans. Tyler shook his head, then resumed talking.
“Let’s just be quick.” he jokingly smiled. “You know they can get all… you know.” he then did some weird panicked gestures or something that looked like that.
“They?” I asked, my tone getting a bit more defensive. The two guys noticed my tonal shift, but still looked pretty relaxed. “What do you mean with they, exactly?”
A few seconds of awkward -for me- silence, then all three of them said “Westie archivists.” at the same time, even Mark from the other room.
“Of course.” I said, realizing I’m an idiot.
“I smell Ted.” Brad said, the other two echoing his words.
They didn’t look angry or offended, just amused. I have the feeling this is not the first time this happens, in a way or another.
“Jeff, right?” Brad spoke first. “Ted’s not a bad person, but he’s a bit of a… you know… sort of a classist, I might say?” he indeed said, Tyler nodding.
I’d lie if I say that Ted didn’t sometimes act… “weird”, to put it charitably, but that’s why I don’t consider him a close friend. I’m glad he’s been my guide here, but he’s not exactly my cup of tea.
“You don’t get to nod.” Brad turned to Tyler, trying not to laugh. “He does have a valid reason to dislike you.”
“Is it because of my long, flowing golden locks?” he said, pulling his hood back, revealing a shaved head with very short dark hair.
“No that’s becau-“ Brad turned to me. “It’s nothing. They have a history. Tyler messed up, but yeah Ted was a bit too spiteful.”
“If we were like half of the bad things he says about us we’d be in jail.” Tyler said. “And also if we were homophobes we’d have to kick this hot beefcake out.” Tyler patted his bigger friend’s back, who was very annoyed by him talking too much.
“I’m bi.” Brad simply said, after taking a deep breath.
“And the B stands for BOOOORING!” Tyler kept making fun of him.
That jab clearly had nothing to do with Brad’s sexuality, but rather him being the most serious one of the trio so far. Those guys are not homophobes in the slightest -they actually seem all super chill with each other, and with me.
As Tyler maturely kept making fun of his friend for being, ironically enough, the so-called “straight man”, Brad just looked at me with a tired expression, reading me like an open book, fully knowing that I’m gay, hoping to find some support.
“Do you have any straight friends?” he asked, sarcastically.
“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” I simply replied, amused by this whole situation.
— — —
Tyler’s bedroom was upstairs, a modest room, and a messy one nonetheless. Not judging, plus I’m a mess myself. Like the living room, there were documents, books and papers scattered around the floor, and another -smaller- scale model on a desk, this time of the Independence Hall from Philadelphia. I turned to the owner of all that, Tyler, this tall guy, shaved head, wearing a black hoodie, shabby grey sweatpants, and a pair of… random pink flip-flops.
Yeah, those guys are cool, I don’t care.
I put my backpack on a surprisingly empty chair so I could take the book out and show it to him, even though he already knew what we were looking for.
“Like I told Brad, if you have to watch the game, I can come back tomorrow.” I insisted, rummaging through my backpack.
“It’s fine, we got a couple of minutes.” Tyler stated, as he started looking. “Though a couple of seconds will do.”
I didn’t even have the time to take the book out that he already handed me the third volume. That was fast.
“Thanks.” I said, reaching for the tome, letting my backpack fall on the floor in the process, because that’s what I do apparently.
The moment it touched the floor, the backpack belched out the book I wanted to show him, a couple of snacks, an empty water bottle, an old keychain, the country of Germany, and the L. Evans paper I’m re-reading.
“Sorry. Let me grab all of this real quick.” I said, as Tyler crouched to help.
“Architecture and Power.” he reached for the paper first, intrigued. “Hope it’s a good read.” he snorted, as he handed it to me.
“It’s a really interesting take on Middle Age Europe. Very creative, very informative, a bit verbose at times, and uses ‘literally’ a bit too much.” I explained, half serious.
“I literally told the editor but he didn’t care.” Tyler stated.
“Yeah.” it took me a few seconds to fully realize what he said. “What the fuck.” I turned to him as if I saw a ghost. “Are you L. Evans?”
“Nope. I’m Tyler Landoon Evans.” he said, spelling his full name loud and clear. “For SOME reason they thought my name was Landon and… well, you know the rest… or rather, you don’t. I’m basically a ghost.”
“This can’t be real.” I said. “Who’d make such a stupid mistake?”
“It just happens. That’s fine. I like living in the shadows.” he chuckled.
“No no, you don’t understand. This is my job.” I insisted. “This is what I do. I can fix this.”
“It’s okay dude. You don’t wanna get involved into this.”
I’m totally going to get involved into this.
I said I was gonna Indiana Jones this shit, that’s what I’m still planning to do.
“Well, either way… big fan of your work.”
“Thanks man.” he then gave a quick look to my black and yellow backpack. “Big fan of your Wasp bag there.”
“Don’t tell Mark.” I quickly replied.
Brad stepped into the room to tell us that the game was starting and even went as far as inviting me to stay, if I wanted to watch the first half of the game, but I had to be somewhere else.
“Say ‘hi’ to Ted for us.” Brad joked, walking me to the door.
“I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
This is why I don’t jump to conclusions.
I left the place with a heavier backpack and more info that I could ever imagine. I met the elusive author out of nowhere, in the last place a Ted would have told me to look.
So far so good, but damn, Westfork is… weird, yet I wanna help. Just today I met people who were mislabeled: fixing Tyler’s paper will be a piece of cake.
— — —
THURSDAY
The moment I woke up I was greeted with good news: my flight for the weekend (Saturday afternoon) was cancelled. I got mad at first, because money… but it’s ok, there was no rush to fill my wardrobe here, I got enough clothes and underwear to survive a full month, as long as the washing machine keeps working and Summer doesn’t decide to come back for revenge without warning.
Just like the day before, I had my morning routine, and even managed to exercise a bit, then went to the Archives after a quick cup of coffee, Ted waiting for me outside, his big round glasses looking like two headlights.
“I see you survived the encounter.” he said, as he walked me inside. “Do they eat raw meat? Did the concept of fire reach them? Should we be the ones teaching them?”
“Calm down, Prometheus.” I replied. “They’re fine.”
“Fine?” he seemed genuinely incredulous. “They’re hogs, Jeff.”
“Okay, you can turn your 90s stereotype goggles OFF for a second. And those are pretty big goggles. I said they’re fine.”
“Did you get the book?” he bluntly asked.
“It’s in my backpack.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll do a great job without my supervision.”
I didn’t like his tone. “First of all, you’re not my supervisor.” he narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “Second, you’re leaving?”
We reached our workstation, the dark, dusty room full of wonders to discover and cry over when we can’t find any cross-reference.
“This archive is not really my department, so to speak. I mostly work really close to the higher-ups you know. I was tasked to literally guide you.”
“Thanks for being my guiding moonlight.” I said, half-serious.
“Not to brag, but the President really appreciates my work. Sometimes I even get to review graduates’ papers and…”
Oh come on, this can’t be going where I think it’s going. Ignoring my “jumping to conclusions” rule for a moment, I reached for Tyler’s paper in my backpack and almost shoved it in Ted’s face.
“Do you recognize this, by any chance?”
Ted remained silent.
That was a rhetorical question.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“That was a weirdly high-pitched response from you.”
“I don’t know who this L. Evans is.”
“I never told you the author’s name.”
Ted scoffed in frustration, as I pointed one of the lights to his face. Sorry Indy, looks like I’m going full Colombo for this stupid ass case instead.
“You know, until this morning I thought that an editor getting an author’s name wrong was a silly mistake… except that you guys don’t make mistakes like this. In fact, you correct mistakes like this… which means that you… did this on purpose.”
“This is literally insane.” Ted commented, adding more smoke to the already smoking gun.
“Pettiness aside, this could get you fired, man.”
“No one cares about this paper, why would anyone. It’s a piece of trash, I could write this blindfolded.”
Looks like I’m not getting any actual work done for a couple of more minutes.
“Why do you hate this guy so much?”
“Why do you care so much?” Ted replied, a smirk appearing on his face. “Got a little crush on Tyler, perhaps?”
I took a deep breath, ignoring the obvious taunt, then handed a copy of the paper to him, making sure to shove it on his chest as hard as I could without starting an actual fight.
“Fix this.”
“♫ He’s never gonna love you. ♫” he mocked me.
“I’m just doing my job. Fix this. Talk to the higher-ups or whatever you do, and give Tyler the credit he deserves.”
Ted’s eyes behind his big round glasses inspected the paper, without really reading it. In fact, he almost seemed disgusted he was even holding it.
“What’s in there for me?” he then asked.
“I won’t tell anyone that you’re a petty jerk.”
“Not helping.” Ted insisted.
“I won’t tell anyone that you’re a classist petty jerk, is that better?”
He slammed the paper on the desk, visibly offended by that last statement. “I’m not any -ist you stupid know-it-all. I studied hard and I’m working hard, and you can’t blame me for disliking someone who GPT-ed his way up here.”
Clearly this was escalating into an actual, animated, verbal fight, but to be honest I did want to hear Ted’s side of the story… blind accusations aside.
“Do you have any proof that those guys GPT-ed their way up to the top?”
“No.” he admitted. “But I do have proof that Tyler flirted with my girlfriend last year.”
This seems like a big accusation, and it would be, but there’s a small detail that Ted is omitting, and if his “attack pattern” is always the same, I simply need one question to get to the truth.
“Ted, did this happen before or after you two broke up?”
Lucky for me, Ted is a bad liar, so he remained silent.
“I can’t believe it. You were doing this again. You were gaslighting me, you prick!”
“I dislike those guys, OK?! I didn’t know it was illegal!”
“No one said you have to like them. Feel free to burn with hatred for the rest of your life.” I was tired of this conversation. I reached for the paper on the desk and handed them to him again. “I just want us to do our fucking job without being petty bastards, is that clear?”
Ted took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I simply said.
“But you take the credit. I don’t want that hog to get any close to me.”
“OK… fine?”
“Literally fine. See you tomorrow night then, if you’re still up for it.” he put Tyler’s paper under his coat and buttoned it up. “Have a good day.”
“You too. And yeah, see you tomorrow.” I said, finally getting to work for real.
And just like that, I was alone at last in that dusty old place, surrounded by more nameless History waiting to be recognized.
— — —
Sunlight again, the thing I pretend to hate to act dark and mysterious. I worked a bit more than I had to, as I got lost reading an old legal document.
Another day went by, another autumnal evening greeting me as I stepped out of the Archives. I’d like to go to my apartment to rest a bit, maybe get rid of this dusty checkered shirt, but yesterday Mark invited me for a beer. Since I’m passing by anyway, I’ll check if the so-called “bullies” are at the Cafe already.
As I got there, I looked for them from a distance, only to get ambushed from behind before I could even recognize the sound of their skateboards -Mark’s and Tyler’s at least; Brad was right behind them, walking. He’s the biggest of the three, didn’t even need to run to keep the pace.
They greeted me as if I was an old friend and then walked together towards the Cafe, sitting on some stools by a sunset-lit table outside.
“I had to convince them of course.” Mark said, jokingly, talking about me joining them for a beer.
“Yeah, because we hate gay people apparently.” Brad added.
“No worries, you’ll learn to hate me for who I am, not because of my sexuality.” I played along.
We ordered a round of beers and, as promised, Mark paid for them -but I decided I was gonna pay the second round, no matter what. Those are very easygoing dudes; they actually remind me of my buds back home.
We started chatting about our backgrounds and how we got into this study center, discovering surprisingly common experiences in our stories, such as having been behind schedule.
“We’ve been here since last year. This place is more in shambles than it looks, but it pays the bills.” Brad explained.
“Well the Archives are holding up, I can tell you that.” I said. “They’re a bit dusty and dark, but hey, it’s the Archives. I’d be disappointed if they didn’t seem haunted.”
“Only thing missing in this husk of a campus is a poison swamp.” Tyler joked.
“We’re historical geographers by the way. Tyler’s a specialised architectural historian instead.” Brad said.
“I could tell, I’ve read his paper.”
“Yeah he’s actually one of the 4 people who did.” Tyler joked. “Including us of course.”
“You’re way too hard on yourself.” Brad stated. “You got skills, man.”
“Pull my finger and I’ll show you how skilled I am.” he kept joking.
That earned some immature laughs from us.
I do wonder if Ted is actually gonna fix it…
“Once again…” Brad turned to me. “I can assure you we’re all published historians here.”
Tyler pinched the small black stud glinted on his left ear -something that I’ve just noticed he does often apparently- and just stared funny at Brad in response to his sarcastic remark.
“Just Wasps acting like the smartasses they think they are.” Mark commented.
“Still mad about yesterday I see.” I observed.
“Don’t you dare.” he pointed at me. “Beers are on me as promised, but I know you’re one of… them.” he said, giving Tyler and Brad a disappointed glare. “That’s the only reason a gay man would every buy an ugly-ass backpack like that.” he added, referring to my Wasp-branded bag.
I laughed… it is kind of ugly. “Hey, we won fair and square.” I replied, knowing very well how annoying that will sound to certain supporters.
“Ohhh he’s going there.” Tyler whispered, taking a sip of his beer, noticing Mark playing along, but becoming visibly annoyed, not by me, but rather by the Lobsters getting their ass kicked the day before.
I didn’t want to get too bold so soon though.
As the evening slowly turned into a night, we ordered a second round of beers and kept chatting about our jobs and backgrounds. While Brad is very sporty (he truly is a jock), he’s as of now almost completely focusing on his academic life. Mark and Tyler are kinda the same when it comes to research, but also occasionally still compete in skate contests.
“I’m the best one.” Mark bragged.
“I can totally kick your ass.” Tyler said.
“Oh you got the best tricks, huh?”
“Sigh Pull my finger and I’ll show you my best trick.” Tyler said, repeating that same silly joke from before with a concerning amount of self-awareness.
“Slow down, Thunder Tyler, we have guests.” Brad said.
“Well you gotta show us some tricks then.” I commented. “With the skateboard I mean.” I quickly added.
“Are you sure?” Tyler asked. “Because… I feel a big one coming…” he pulled a face, pretending to push one out, bending sideways on his stool, before his friends stopped him.
More immature laughs. “You’re desecrating this great institution.” Brad cried.
And here I feared that I was getting too bold.
More beers arrived, in the meantime.
“I just realized…” I said, as I took a sip. “Is it just me… or does this beer suck?”
They laughed, as if they were waiting for me to finally notice it.
“Westfork is in shambles my dude.” Mark said.
“This place’s unofficial motto is basically Count Your Blessings.” Tyler remarked.
“Yeah that’s why we’re gonna fly South for the weekend.” Brad said.
I got curious. “Huh, where are you three going?”
“Oh no, better dead than having those idiots at my place.” Mark said, referring to his two friends and co-workers here at the table.
“We’re going home for the weekend.” Brad clarified. “Tyler’s staying because he’s got a date, for reasons no one can fathom.”
“Westfork sucks ass but you can still find someone throwing a decent party on Fridays.” he explained.
As he said that, his phone on the table notified a couple of messages.
“Let me guess, Grace? The archeologist?” Mark asked.
Tyler simply snapped his fingers and nodded in response, eyes glued on his phone.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” Brad said, with a defeated tone.
A couple of more hours and beers went by, and I ended up paying -gladly- all the rounds except the first one, much to those “bullies”’ dismay, who swore they’ll never make me pay for anything else for the next month -should we keep hanging out.
We parted ways, not before them telling me to say ‘Hi’ to Ted on their behalf. 1:00 AM, I forgot it was still Thursday, I gotta work tomorrow morning. I rushed back, well, home, exhausted, slipped into something more comfortable, before finally collapsing on my bed.
A party, huh?
I guess the soul is still going strong then.
— — —
FRIDAY
I was alone in the Archive today, closely inspecting some mislabelled books from the 1800s. It’s like the guy who worked here before me didn’t even try. It’s English, goddammit!
The otherwise silent (and peaceful) day was interrupted by my phone getting a couple of messages from Ted, reminding me that we have to attend to an aperitif tonight, at the Conference Hall. I don’t mind this kind of formal events from time to time, and even though I sort of had a fight with Ted… he can be… decent I guess… sometimes… rarely? I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.
As I wrote a few texts back, with my other hand I tried to reach for another book without looking… only to have it handed to me.
The scream I let out was remarkably high-pitched, not proud of it, and my racing heart almost got stuck into my own throat. It took me a few blurry seconds to recognize the tall silhouette of the man visiting my dark lair.
“Whoa. Whoa!” Tyler laughed, understandably amused by my reaction, stretching his arms forward. “Are you ok?”
I stared at him, his face half-hidden in the shadows, while I patted my own chest as if I wanted to make sure my heart was still there.
“No.” an answer that promptly made him laugh more.
“Well Jeff, if you die in front of me right now, I’ll make sure to get you the best flowers.” he stated. “What the fuck did you do, man?” he then asked, visibly excited, happy even.
I guess Ted kept the promise.
“It’s nothing, really. I just talked with-“ but he cut me off.
“I already got like a dozen of emails of people praising my paper. Dude… this is awesome.”
“Ted did most of the work. You should thank him.” I explained.
He snorted. “Pfft, he’d rather drink bleach than talk to me… so I guess you’re getting a double-sized thank you.”
Well, Ted did say that he didn’t want to take any credit, so I’m not gonna insist, and by doing this I’m keeping my promise instead.
“I… I literally don’t know what to say, really.” Tyler sounded extremely grateful, but also a bit confused, considering that we basically just met.
“Let’s just say… you owe me a beer, and we’re even.”
“Not Westie’s disgusting piss-beer that’s for sure.” he replied.
He stared at his phone, pinching the black stud on his left ear, as he -I assume- read another e-mail regarding his paper -I could tell he was smiling despite being so dark.
“Why did you help me…?” he asked, eyes still on the phone.
“Oh… you know, just because.” I simply said.
“Pfft. Weirdo.” he replied. I deserved that.
My heart was still racing fast… but not because I got startled, not anymore.
“I… I gotta get back to work.” I then stated. “And you’re not allowed to be here.” trying to sound as polite as possible.
“Oh yeah of course.” Tyler said. “I know you archivists get all… ya know.” he then proceeded to do an impression of my manly scream.
“It’s like looking into a much taller mirror.” I replied, unimpressed.
“Thanks again, Jeff. I’ll see you around.” he said, as he disappeared into the darkness of the Archive -the sound of a door opening confirming that he managed to find the exit.
Well, that’s one case closed I guess.
Back to work, back to cursing my predecessor.
— — —
“I’m surprised he came to say thanks.”
Unsurprisingly, Ted wasn’t exactly cheering at the idea of having helped Tyler, but he was taking it much better than I expected. At least he wasn’t monologuing about him and his friends being hogs or bullies this time.
“He was happy, if that makes you feel better. Which it won’t, which in turn amuses me.”
He rolled his eyes, unamused.
The aperitif went well, I got to meet some of the so-called higher ups, and some of them seemed already quite happy with how I’m handling things at the Archive -but nothing screams “promotion” yet, it’s been barely 3 days, after all.
Ass-kissing aside, the night was going well, with the event ending at around 1:00 AM, which was honestly good for my social batteries.
Ted and I were taking a walk around campus, just randomly chatting about work and the people we met tonight -and the disgusting wine they served us (when it comes to beverage in Westfork, this seems to be the norm). It was very cold and dark tonight, the lamps in this part of the campus not working properly, but we could tell we were close to our residential buildings -which are in front of each other.
“Well, Ted. It sure was nice hanging out with you as if you were a human being for once.” I joked.
“Don’t get too used to it.” he replied.
I was gonna make fun of him a bit more, but we both tripped over something.
While Ted grumbled around, slowly getting back up, I quickly extracted my phone and turned the flashlight ON, so I could properly see what (…or who) made us fall.
“I guess the party went well.” I commented, Tyler’s shaved head reflecting back much of the light coming out of my phone’s flashlight.
I stood up, staring down at him; he was only wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, snoring loudly, occasionally mumbling something. Yeah, he’s totally drunk, full hangover.
Good thing we weren’t jogging.
“Heh!” Ted said, gleefully enjoying Tyler being wasted. “Now this makes me feel better.”
“Come on.” I stated. “Give me a hand. We can’t leave him here.”
“Yes we can.”
“No we can’t.” I snapped back, getting riled up, as I tried to haul him up by myself, rather unsuccessfully.
Reluctantly, but still showing some surprising glimpses of humanity, Ted gave me a hand.
“Just to be clear: I’m only doing this because I find Tyler being a waste of oxygen rather amusing.” he said.
“How generous.” I replied. “Where do we park him?”
“Well, the city dump is not far from Westfork.”
“Ted.”
Tyler was by now sleeping while standing, muttering something intelligible from time to time, if not communicating with a mix of sounds and belches, the idea of collaborating completely out of what-was-left of his mind.
We slowly made it to the front door of Ted’s building, an impressive feat considering we were basically dragging a human-sized heavy sack of potatoes.
“Can’t we just call his hog-friends?”
“They’re out for the weekend.” I explained, breathing heavily. “Let him crash at your place for tonight.”
“Absolutely not.” Ted yelled, letting Tyler drop on the floor -the sudden weight almost making me fall with him.
I ignored the loud thud he made, completely unfazed, as he heavily face-planted the floor, focusing on Ted instead.
“We’re literally in front of your house.” I whispered in frustration -I didn’t want to draw attention to us.
“First you want me to like him… then you want me to help him… and now you want me to sleep with him?!” he hissed.
“Of course, Ted. Make sure to send me pictures once you’re done, hashtag #aftersex, ok?” I said, then slapped his chest. “Stop acting like a bitch and help me drag him inside! My ass is freezing!”
“Oh I’ll drag him alright, but not into my house.”
Ted displayed an impressive amount of strength as he hauled Tyler up on his own (before letting me help), powered by the sheer force of anger and spite alone.
Very slowly, we took the longer route, as we had to reach the other residential building across the small square, where my apartment was instead.
“This guy’s your problem, not mine.” he muttered, as we got to the front door.
“Yes yes, thanks Ted. I’ll send you some flowers.” I hastily said, reaching for the keys in my pocket, Tyler’s weight getting worse somehow.
Once we got inside, we managed to climb a couple of flight of stairs, almost doing an impression of Sisyphus, before finally getting to my apartment on the 2nd floor. Westfork being mostly empty was a blessing, since we were just the three of us messing around in the middle of the night -which, considering the situation, is a great thing. Basically, no witnesses.
We dropped Tyler rather unceremoniously on a small couch near the entrance, in what was essentially my living room with a small kitchen area in a corner. Ted called it a day.
“Well, I got my hands dirty enough for tonight.”
He was remarkably annoying… but in the end he did help me all the way up here. “Sure, thanks.”
“Normally I’d say no problem, but I hate this guy, so fuck you.”
I just casually patted his shoulder in response. “Whatever you say man.”
“See you tomorrow.” Ted said, adjusting his glasses, before walking out of my apartment, closing the door behind him.
And there I was, alone, staring down at this messy, snoring guy who barely fits into this small couch, his legs hanging off the edge. I wondered whether I should wake him up to explain what the fuck was going on… but I was exhausted, so I too called it a day.
“Whatever.” I scoffed, and went to my bedroom.
— — —
SATURDAY
My alarm-clock did its job a bit too well by waking me up… after a couple of snoozes, at around 9:00 AM. I can handle beer, but there was something in that wine last night that made me dizzy quite fast, though those hours of sleep made me anew, and the light stomach-ache I feel could very well be related to the fact that I’m starving -Aperitif are terrible if you want to have a proper dinner.
Still lying in bed, wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of shorts, I silenced my phone to check some messages and e-mail, though I don’t have to work neither today nor tomorrow. I was supposed to be at home for the weekend, but seeing what’s Westfork is up to on my first weekend kinda made me curious. Whether it was parties or some cultural conventions, I was up to it. Or you know, even just resting seems fine, considering I’m a lazy ass.
I kept lying in bed, relaxing while listening to the muffled chill lo-fi music coming from the living roo- why is there music coming from the living room?
It then hit me like a train: I have a guest.
I wish I could blame the wine for me not remembering this, but you know I just woke up, please understand.
Tyler probably made himself at home, as I heard some noises of him probably messing around the kitchen, and indeed a faint smell of fried eggs reached my nostrils. Is he cooking breakfast?
I got up, held my head in its place, then went to the other room. As I opened my bedroom’s door, the music got louder and I indeed saw Tyler cooking, the pleasant smell greeting me first. Kind of like me, my temporary roommate was only wearing a blue t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which I then realized those were a pair of boxer briefs sporting a peculiar star-themed pattern: his grey sweater and blue jeans were dumped on the couch he slept on.
“Morning.” Tyler turned to me, hands still focusing on the meal.
“Morning.” I mumbled, as my brain took his time to properly boot up.
“Hope you don’t mind the music. I used your laptop by the way, checked for some e-mails.” he casually said, pointing at small table in the middle of the room, where my laptop was.
I rushed to it, since me forgetting things is the norm lately, making sure I didn’t leave any… weird tab open in the last few days, but luckily there was nothing. Besides this, I didn’t mind at all, and the playlist he chose was, well, chill.
“It’s fine.” I finally said, sounding a bit more… alive.
As my brain finally booted up completely, I sat by the table, pushing my laptop aside.
“Are you actually cooking breakfast?” I asked, as if I’ve been blind the whole time.
“Oh yeah. Least I can do, Jeff.” Tyler simply answered.
The guy seemed much more lively and upbeat than I expected.
“How are you… you know… doing things?” I asked, in the most confusing way possible. Luckily, he got the point.
“My head and stomach are a mess, thanks for asking.” he laughed. “But I got some more feedbacks for my paper, I don’t have time to suffer.”
He put two plates on the table, each containing a… very well-made croque-monsieur. He sat on the other side of the table and started by cutting it in half, letting the scorching inside get some air.
“I mean I kind of suffered -not telling from which end- in your bathroom like 1 hour ago. I’d stay away if I was you.” he joked.
“Exactly what I wanted to hear while eating breakfast, thanks.” I played along.
We took a couple of bites of our food, enjoying the meal.
“I was a mess, wasn’t I?” Tyler asked, with a smile that was a mix of embarrassment and pride.
“I’ve seen worse.” I said. “Ted and I were walk-“
“Ted?” Tyler replied.
“Yeah, he’s petty but he’s not a villain.”
“I did hear that you were the one insisting though.” Tyler said.
“It’s fine, don’t mention it.” I brushed it off.
“You heard me and Brad talking about the jogging accident, didn’t you?”
I did, but I wasn’t eavesdropping.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” I tried, very clumsily, to act smooth. Tyler chuckled and shook his head in response.
“Well, either way, thank you.” he let me have this one.
“This thing’s delicious by the way.” I said, my mouth stuffed.
Tyler laughed. “Can you tell that to Mark and Brad, please?”
“I’d rather not get involved.”
“Too late bro, you dragged me to your place while I was wasted, you’re in the team now.” he said. “Also, I owe you a big one.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“No.” Tyler, suddenly turning somewhat a bit more serious. “You’ve known me for like 2 days and you helped me so much. I gotta do something in return.”
“Believe me, it’s fine. Plus, this breakfast is enough already.” I legit was really enjoying it.
“Are you really sure there’s nothing I could do for you?” Tyler insisted.
“Look.” I said. “Normally, I’d put here sexual joke, but I don’t wanna get too bold with someone I just met.” I joked.
“So, no sex? Bummer.” he played along. “Which is basically what happened with Grace last night by the way.”
I admit my gossip-loving ass was dying to know what happened exactly, yet I didn’t want to be, you know, nosy.
“It’s none of my business.” I’m such a fake bitch.
Tyler instead kept talking about the night before, much to my pleasure. Apparently, they were in the middle of a conversation (which he misinterpreted as reciprocal flirting), then she just casually introduced his boyfriend to him.
“Ouch.” I very deeply commented.
“Nah… it’s all my fault.” he admitted. “I totally misinterpreted how she acted around me. Turns out she’s just a really social person.” he took another bite of his breakfast. “She’s cool. She’s smart. We had fun. She didn’t stop being an interesting person because of this.”
“She’s an Archeologist if I recall correctly.”
“Yeah, pretty cool stuff.”
“I guess she’d like you more if you were a fossil.” I suggested.
Tyler chuckled. “I’m no fossil, but I’m certainly History to her. I guess I’m more of your type instead.”
How did I not blush to that remains a mystery to this day.
I didn’t want to ask for more details, so naturally I bluntly asked if this was the reason he got drunk, because I’m a clown. Tyler didn’t seem to mind and smiled politely.
“Nah, I got wasted because I’m an idiot, that’s it.”
“I’ve been an idiot multiple times myself, so no worries about it.”
“You basically saved me.” he said, then laughed. “I will find a way to return the favour. Trust me.” it almost sounded like a fun challenge to him.
I smiled and nodded at him. Seriously, I didn’t want anything in return, not because I have to act like some kind of Saint or anything -I’m sure lots of people would have done the same, I’m not special.
My temporary roommate finished his meal and stood up. “Coffee?” he asked.
I was in the mood for a coffee, but I didn’t even take a shower yet. Tyler sort of read my mind.
“And yes, I know I seriously need a shower, that’s why I’m leaving you alone after that.”
I just looked at him, this tall, slim guy acting like he made a blood oath to please my needs.
“A coffee’s fine. Let me put some actual clothes on.” I said.
“Same. I need to take a quick piss first, if you excuse me.” he replied, cautiously walking towards the bathroom, as if he was expecting my actual permission, which wasn’t needed of course.
On his way he also took his clothes off the couch.
In the meantime I went back into my bedroom to prepare myself -didn’t take long. As I stepped back into the living-room/kitchen, Tyler was still in the bathroom, door closed, but I could hear him, well, taking a piss (those thin doors aren’t exactly noise-canceling…). I silently waited, lo-fi chill music still softly playing, while I mindlessly browsed the web on my laptop. Then, among the various noises a man can make while using a restroom, I heard it loud and clear, despite being supposedly muffled: it was unmistakably a long, rumbly, deep-sounding fart, so loud, so distinctive, that it almost sounded like a fake stock sound you’d hear in comedies, its power easily surpassing the music playing from the laptop in front of me. I couldn’t ignore it, even if I wanted to -Tyler wasn’t kidding when he implied that he almost destroyed the place.
I tried to focus back on my inbox but the fart just wouldn’t stop, it was hard to not listen to. How long has it been? 15 seconds? 20 seconds? Why am I like this? But finally, after reaching a high note, it just stopped. Kinks aside, I almost bursted into laughter: that was insanely good.
A few moments later Tyler showed up in the living room, just casually glancing at me as to say that he was ready to leave whenever, as he pinched his left ear, where the small black stud is. Was he aware that I heard all of that? Or am I thinking too hard about this because I have this weird-ass kink? Let’s face it: it’s definitely the latter, so I just ignored it as much as he did.
— — —
Outside, Tyler and I were greeted by a pleasing, cold-ish breeze. We decided to have a coffee at the one and only Cafe this place has to offer (you love hating it!). I was surprised by how much more lively Westie was this morning: despite many people leaving for the weekend, it seemed much more crowded than the other days. We kept walking, Tyler occasionally greeting some acquaintances, and also kept chatting about what we do.
“Yeah that’s how it is for me.” the so-called “bully” explained. “The more I learn about the Past, the more I realize how trivial some of the shit you see today is.”
“We never truly changed.”
“Yes and no. We’re the same, we also got better, yet some things are never going away, don’t they? I mean, fucked up things aside, it’s all so tirin- hey dude!” Tyler casually bump-fisted a guy passing by, then resumed talking. “I hate sounding preachy, I myself hate people when they’re preachy, but come on, it’s 2025.”
Basically, Tyler seemed like a very open-minded guy who just doesn’t care.
“Take kinks, for example.” he suddenly said. I got startled for a millisecond. “They’re super weird, but that’s part of the fun. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The question kind of caught me off guard. “Sure. To each their own I guess.”
“Exactly. There are tons of kinky historical figures. Even Napoleon could get kinky, so why should you care.”
I know this is actually about History, but those things seemed a bit too… specific. I know I’m not the main character of the Universe, and I’m sure I’m reading too much into it, but still…
We finally reached the Cafe, not as crowded despite the rest of Westie having lots of people strolling around -further proof that his place probably served piss- and sat on a couple of stools outside. After we ordered some coffee, Tyler pulled out a tobacco pouch and put it on the table.
“I like elbows for example ahah.” he confessed, while rolling himself a cigarette. “It’s super weird, not obsessed or anything, but you’d agree it’s not something you’d normally look for in a woman.” he admitted.
“Who am I to judge?” I stated. No, seriously.
Tyler cackled at my response. “Elbow kink, not exactly the topic you’d expect a published historian to talk about, huh?”
“It’s fine, just don’t make fun of my scrawny elbows.” I joked.
“No worries, you’re not my type.” he finished rolling and casually handed me the cigarette.
“Thanks.” I said, gladly accepting the offer. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I'm just trying to return the favor in small doses. Throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks.” he explained. “Good thing you accepted it -that means I don’t have to unleash any crazy backup plan for now.”
“It’s fine Tyler.” I said, not addressing him mentioning a ‘backup plan’ at all. “I’m happy I could help, plus it was basically my job.”
“Oh so you always drag people around at night?”
“Only if Ted hates them.” I joked.
“Good luck dragging 8 billions of people around then.”
Two cup of coffees were placed in front of us -by the smell, I could tell it was going to be the worst one I had in years… but the company made it worth it. A fair trade I guess. Tyler seemed to think the same, about the beverage at least, judging by his facial expression after he took a scorching sip.
“I can’t believe my body ran on this shit last year -but that paper wouldn’t have written itself.”
“Sacrificing your stomach for the greater good. I’m sure it was worth it.”
He took a quick puff of his cigarette before speaking, and smiled at me. “Oh, it is now.”
“Are you planning to write anything else?” I was curious about this: I genuinely really liked his paper and take on the subject he chose.
“Probably. I’d like to delve deeper into Spain’s architecture over the centuries. It’s a fascinating mix of styles. It gets weird. I like weird.”
“Well, I’m hyped.” I said. “I’ll talk with Ted -might as well start warning him now.”
Tyler chuckled in response. “I already owe you enough.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
We eventually had to finish our disgusting coffee, so we got done with it in one big sip, right after taking one last puff of my cigarette.
“Well, that sucked.” I heard Tyler commenting, before he could even realize that I went inside to pay.
When I got back to the table, he almost looked mad. “Are you doing this on purpose? Do you enjoy making me mad?” he asked, sarcastically.
“It’s just coffee.” I simply said.
“By the way.” he said, changing the subject, as we walked away from the Cafe. “I got nothing to do today. Feel free to crash by the Old Birch later. I got beers -and not Westie’s piss-flavoured ones.”
“Sure, why not.” I accepted the invite. “If that’s okay of course.”
“No, I invited you because I expected you to refuse, obviously.” he amicably patted my shoulder then went on his way. “See you later, Jeff.”
I stood there for a couple of seconds, my eyes following him as he walked away, until he disappeared behind a building. Ted only said this to make fun of me, but he wasn’t wrong: I’m totally crushing on this guy, for fuck’s sake. He’s as cultured as he’s attractive, a deadly mix. But he’s straight, so I’m gonna respect the obvious boundaries while enjoying a good beer with him later.
I went back home, to my new home, and finally took a long overdue shower, and then spent the morning reading and resting like the sloth I aspire to be. So far so good I’d say, if I had to rate this first weekend at West-
I can’t stop thinking about Tyler, dammit.
Despite my best efforts at staring at the very interesting empty ceiling above me, my mind kept being elsewhere.
How hypocrite of me, to make fun of Ted’s 90s goggles, only to fall for the most basic tropes in the book: a tall, snarky, good-hearted, open-minded, bad boy-looking cultured man? Wow, my tastes are so out of this world.
He’s straight, I keep repeating over and over in my mind; not because I need to stop myself from doing anything weird or stupid, but just a reminder for my heart to not get disappointed by something I already know.
The guy’s cool, no doubts about it, and so are his “bully” friends. And he’s also the author of this paper you really like. No need to overthink: let’s hang out, you don’t have to prove anything.
It’s not like you never had a boyfriend anyway, you know how to handle those feelings. There’s nothing wrong about having feelings anyway, so you better put some clothes on, go to the Old Birch, and have a beer with your newest pal.
Stop being weird.
But he likes weird!
Just stop being stupid then.
Feelings are good, feelings make us human.
Hang out, have fun.
OK, but…
What if he finds out? He won’t.
What if he suspects it? Why would he?
I just know I left a tab open the other night on my laptop, curse me for forgetting things so easily lately. Of course he found about my kink.
No he didn’t. Yes he did.
He was just being nice to the weirdo who brought him somewhere safe while he was drunk. He probably doesn’t even want me by the Old Birch, once again he was just being nice.
Or maybe he is nice because you’ve been nice to him? People seem to get along when they’re nice to each other, what a concept.
Alright, enough overthinking for today.
I’m greatly making this far more complicated than it is.
Let’s have a beer.
— — —
I got to Old Birch (or what’s left of the stump, at least) around 6:30 PM, a fairly decent time. But first I stopped at a bar just outside Westfork to grab a few bottles of beer (didn’t take long, and anything beats the piss they serve in here). Tyler invited me with the promise of a few beers, so the least I can do is bring some myself.
Meanwhile, a cool autumn breeze picked up. I spotted dark clouds on the horizon let’s hope the weather doesn’t get worse. Either way, beers in hand, I walk up to the Frat House door and knock. Same as last time, I hear muffled rock music, low volume, but still audible from outside: Screaming Eagles, I know this band. Nice one, Tyler, good taste!
And Tyler himself didn’t take long to open up, greeting me quickly with a nod and silently waving me in, like I was an old friend he’d known forever.
“Make yourself at home” he said as I followed him into the living room, the same one where I’d first met Brad and Mark.
He seemed distant, if not cold, but then I noticed he had earbuds in -maybe listening to a podcast or a phone call. He motioned toward the couch, the part not buried under papers and chip bags at least, and I sat down. I pulled the beers out of my infamous, Wasp-themed backpack and set them on a low table in front of me. Beyond it, on the floor, sat a big TV with an old PlayStation 4 running (the console’s main menu on the screen). If he wants to play some Trekken, I’m ready to kick his ass.
“Hey.”
Tyler appeared in front of me, pulling out his earbuds and tossing them onto the couch. He absentmindedly moved some papers aside and sat down too, on the other end—not right next to me. He was wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans. No shoes, just some goofy socks with stars on them. He’s into star patterns I guess.
“You brought beer?!” he said, noticing after a few seconds. “Man, you’re just trying to bury me in debts with you!” he joked.
“Well, you got me: I’m the etiquette loan shark,” I joked.
I opened two bottles of stout (luckily I carry a little ring that doubles as a bottle opener) and of course handed him one. Tyler seemed to particularly enjoy the flavor I’d picked.
“Fan of stouts?”
“I prefer blonde light ones, but on the weekends I’m kind of a rascal.”
Against all odds, Tyler chuckled at my cheap humor, while absentmindedly moving his earbuds from the couch to the table.
“What were you listening to?” I asked, while the Screaming Eagles kept playing softly in the background.
“A podcast on architecture, obviously. Looking for ideas for my next paper.”
“No Spain?”
“Sì Spain, the podcast is in Spanish.”
I smiled at the twist. “You speak Spanish?”
“Unfortunately less than I’d like. But I can tell you, without a doubt, that contrafuerte is buttress.”
It was my turn to chuckle at something stupid.
“Ah yes, buttress, the most important term in the history of architecture.”
“I’m more of a boobtress guy.” Tyler casually commented, as he took a sip of beer. “But butts are fine too.”
“Already past your elbow phase?”
Tyler laughed at my daring joke. “Dude, kinkshaming, really? From you? Of all people?”
“That was a fair question.” I kept going.
“I’d rather answer questions about my next paper.” he said.
That was actually very interesting: mere days ago I had no idea of wrote that paper, and now I could ask for spoilers to the author himself.
“Well, in that case, are you gonna focus on Spain as a whole or just, for example, Andalusia?”
The so-called “bully” took another sip of his beer, eyes glued on me, smirking and studying me as if I was a flying buttress.
“I don’t wanna bore you with the details.”
“No!” I stated. “Please, bore me to death! Make me regret I came here!”
He laughed, but immediately kept his promise, diving straight into highly detailed discussions on the currents that influenced Iberian architecture, moving on to an analysis of the huge amount of ornamentation that defines churrigueresque buildings.
At first, as usual, I thought he was just being polite, but it didn’t take long to realize he genuinely loved talking about this stuff and was very proud of his studies. I haven’t known him long, yet I noticed his recurring gesture of scratching the small black stud on his left ear, a tic that, being a mess myself, I almost started finding endearing. Still, I didn’t indulge in interpretations -did he do it when was he nervous? happy? bored? or maybe the piercing simply itched, it happens.
Tyler overall gave me the impression of being one of those people who might seem a bit cold at first but, once they open up, they’re hard to close. And, I want to be clear, it’s a trait I really appreciate, as much as I appreciate his open mind, his chill vibes, and, of course, how cultured he is.
We continued sipping beer, commenting (sometimes jokingly) particularly divisive architectural styles, and we both agreed that yes, the neoclassical façade of the Frat House was nothing special.
“I thought we’d bond over, like, Screaming Eagles, not… spires!” Tyler remarked, noting that the Eagles playlist was still going.
I took another sip of beer, savoring the strong flavor. “No worries, once I kick your ass in Trekken, you’ll hate me like Ted hoped.”
“Dude, you’re challenging me to Trekken… seriously?”
Tyler didn’t need to be told twice, and, I swear, almost like a Jedi summoning a lightsaber, a gamepad appeared in his hand.
Our cultured discussion on Iberian architecture was followed by a fast, intense, and competitive fighting game session. I don’t brag about many things, and I’m not a pro-gamer by any means, but when it comes to Trekken, I’m the master. Back in college it was my comfort food basically, a great way to vent after a long day of studying (and my roommate still hates me for how much I wiped the floor with his in-game body).
That said, I have to admit, Tyler gave me a run for my money: sometimes I kicked his ass, other times he kicked mine, and we both seemed to enjoy having found a worthy opponent.
Final round of the tiebreaker, we open another beer, tension at its peak, while outside starts to rain (those clouds from before weren’t kidding). A kick, a punch, an easy block, I do my best, but the skater next to me has tricks I hadn’t expected.
I’d love to say that I let him win, but no, he won, fair and square, with a combo I never learned to block even back in prime days.
“Wooooo.” Tyler jumped up, cheering -I’d never seen him that energized.
“Fuck!” I simply remarked.
Brad’s words came to mind: this is a place of published historians, and yet we’re very maturely insulting each other over what is essentially a toy (worth every second).
He theatrically brought a hand near his ear (not to scratch it this time), as if eavesdropping on something; just a way to call me out on what I said moments before about me owning him.
“What was that, Jeff? I thought you were a pro…?” he said, standing near the TV. “And yet… I can’t hear anything now. Nothing. What happened? Too much archive dust on your tongue?”
Credits where its due. He was good, I accept my defeat, but not without a touch of my usual pettiness on my part. I stood up, rolling up my shirt sleeves.
“Alright, alright, I’ll let you admire my elbows, as promised.”
Tyler smirked and silently accepted my tease this time, no response.
Did I go too far? Did I hit too close to home? It wasn’t obviously my intention to embarrass him over something like this… I’m no pot and he’s no kettle.
He just stared at me for a few seconds, his tall figure easily towering over me.
“Are you familiar with glass architecture?” he casually asked, but I could tell there was a catch in that question.
“I don’t think I am…” I admitted.
Tyler stepped back to the couch and sat in his spot like before, reaching for the beer on the small table. After he took a sip, he resumed talking. I sat down again as well.
“Well you should be.” he stated. “Since you seem to live in a glass house.”
I pretended to have no idea where he was heading with this.
Maybe my overthinking side was onto something after all…
“And yet here you are, throwing stones as if your walls are made of concrete.”
The beer stopped having any taste, ‘cause my mouth got dried up. Needless to say, Tyler’s words made me very nervous. With the exception of like-minded people, no one knows about my kink, no one in my friend circle does. They all know I’m gay and I’m happy to share funny or weird stories about my experiences, and they’re all more than willing to listen, but this kink, like many other kinks… it’s just weird, gross, maybe hilarious to some people, but still something very personal.
The fact that a guy I just met was obviously teasing me about it was messing with my guts: I wanted to leave… and yet… Tyler didn’t look mad or weirded out, for now at least.
“What did you see on my laptop this morning…?” I sighed, no need to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
The skater laughed a bit. “I only saw a few frames but I believe it was a this big, tall stud destroying someone’s face with his farts in some kind of office.”
Yep, that’s the one. What’s funny is that I didn’t even cum to that fart video that night (another classic porn did the trick): I simply forgot I had that other video paused in another tab.
I never trained for this kind of scenario: a friend (at least, I assume I can call him a ‘friend’) just found out about my fart fetish, and he seems oddly chill about it. My heart was racing fast, I was terrified, but I didn’t feel in danger or anything like that. I turned red however, ‘cause the embarrassment was off the charts -something that Tyler noticed.
“Hey, you can relax.” he said. “I basically told you I don’t give a shit this morning, right before coffee.”
“So you were talking about me when you said something about Napoleon’s being kinky.”
“Sort of. I wasn’t playing the part, I truly believe everything I said, so you can stop holding your breathe and relax.”
“And yet I feel like you want me to leave.” I had to make sure.
“Trust me: if I wanted you to leave, you’d have known.”
A few moments of silence followed, only broken by Screaming Eagles, well, screaming something about perseverance and determination… I don’t know this is one of their newer songs, which I’m not a big fan of to be honest.
We kept drinking a bit more, the silence leaving me alone with my thoughts: there has to be something fishy going on here. Tyler seems cool but I can’t expect a straight guy, or any guy I just met to be honest, to be just so casually chill about this.
“Look man…” I said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Tyler looked a me, amused and puzzled. “What’s that supposed to me-“
I cut him off. “I can let you into the Archives, if there’s something you need for your paper. Just, please, don’t tell anyone…”
He laughed, mockingly. “What… what’s going on here… you think I’m blackmailing you?” he stood up, looking confused by what I just said. “Do you think I am some kind of creep?”
“What?! No!” I immediately responded, noticing his tone getting more serious. He almost sounded offended, even. “It’s just that… come on Tyler. No one’s that open minded.”
He took a sip of his beer, staring down at me. “So you think I’m like the King of open minded people simply because I didn’t kick you out of the house? Is the bar that low?”
The so-called “bully” seemed more puzzled than anything else.
“I do think it’s really gross and weird, if that makes you feel better, ok?” he said, but didn’t sound mean spirited. “But hey, I like weird, weird is fun, maybe not my kind of fun all the times… but what do I know, I’m just the elbow guy.” he joked.
I didn’t want my overthinking side to take the wheel, but I couldn’t stop being mildly suspicious. What if Ted… wasn’t right but… was onto something at least? No, this can’t be, Tyler has no reason to keep me guessing, he seems very direct when it comes to this stuff; then again I just met him basically, so perhaps he’s actually very different. Dammit, my head is exploding, I didn’t know I’d find myself in a situation like this… in Westfork of all places.
“So… that’s it? You just don’t care?” I simply asked.
“Are you disappointed that I don’t?” he laughed. “Come on Jeff, it’s 2025, open your mind.”
Something in me sparked a chain reaction that made me actually angry. I couldn’t help but thinking this guy was toying with me.
“And you-“ I stood up and stepped in front of him, with the intention of speaking face-to-face (literally). That was the intention at least. “-are a bit taller than I remember.”
Tyler was unfazed. I sat back down, no need to get aggressive. I didn’t drink much, but being nervous didn’t help to focus. The so-called bully was just smiling at me being awkward I guess, and sat on the couch again, this time a bit closer to me.
“Maybe another losing session in Trekken will clear your mind.” he teased.
I took a deep breath. Ironically enough, I was the only one in that room not accepting the situation, so I stopped overthinking things and just accepted that Tyler was just teasing me like any friend would do, no ulterior motives.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of mad at you.” I joked. “And I’m gonna channel that into my gaming skills.”
We resumed playing. Admittedly, this time it was a bit more awkward for me, I was distracted, but I was still holding my ground nicely, winning even easily sometimes. We kept chatting about our studies while throwing kicks and punches, or commenting at some obviously illegal move that the other pulled off.
“By the way…” Tyler said. “Told ya I’d find a way to return the favor…”
I was too focused on the screen and Jin getting his ass kicked to properly realize what he meant by that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean slightly forward, without stopping the game. At first I assumed he was simply doing that to focus more efficiently on the match, but the couch shaking told a different story.
Tyler was farting.
He was, without a doubt, ripping a big one.
At first I didn’t even hear it, due to the Eagles and the game especially being louder. However, the sound coming out of his ass soon took the stage over, despite being muffled.
The fart was long, meat-y, manly, rumbling nicely on the couch through his loose sagging denim. Needless to say, that totally distracted me from the game, and Tyler, while still roaring from his ass, took that to his advantage to deal the final, winning blow. As the match ended, so did his farts: he then turned to me, with a mischievous smile, knowing very well what just happened.
How long did that last? I believe around 13 seconds, an impressive feat. My pants efficiently hid my boner, but it wasn’t just the fart that made me hard: it was the the whole package. I loved Tyler’s chill, cocky, yet friendly attitude. He was pushing all the right buttons without even trying: I already found him attractive for many reasons, but this was basically the icing on the cake.
It’s not like I find any fart in any situation to be hot: yes I have a fart kink but it’s not always “active”, so to speak.
I couldn’t believe what just happened, to put it simply.
Not even in my wildest, gross fantasies I could imagine this happening.
“What the fuck.” I muttered.
Too much noise going on in my brain, this was the only sentence I managed to produce in the span of around 30 seconds of awkward silence. Once again, Tyler was unfazed, he truly didn’t seem to care.
“You have weird ways of returning a favor.” I observed.
“Says the fart fetishist.” he remarked. Once again, he didn’t see mean-spirited as he may sound.
“Touchè…”
We put our gamepads on the small table and opened two more beers, silently toasting to whatever the fuck was happening in that room.
“Then again… I told you, you don’t owe me anything, let alone this.”
Tyler was unaffected by my words, just a guy chilling on the couch, his eyes glued on me as he had his beer. A few moments of silence, then it was his turn to speak.
“Why did you help me?” he bluntly asked, again.
“Which time?” I smiled.
He smiled back. “Both.”
A few hours ago I probably would’ve just said, “Because it was the right thing to do.” Kind of cliché, yeah, but as true now as it was then. Still, I can’t really pretend that’s the whole story, or that I’m some kind of Saint.
“I really liked your paper. Fixing screw-ups like the one you ran into is literally my job, and hey, it gave me a solid excuse to mess with Ted.”
The skater snorted at that last remark, his beer almost shooting out of his nose.
“The second time it was more serendipity I guess. You seem cool, you got cool ideas…” Tyler was looking at me amused, fully aware that I was still omitting some details. “And since you already know my deep, dark, gross secret anyway, I suppose that telling you that I find you attractive is the least weird thing you’re gonna hear from me.”
Yeah I don’t care anymore either.
I don’t even feel embarrassed.
Tyler laughed. “Fuck off, man.”
“Excuse me?”
"Now I owe Mark and Brad ten bucks each!"
Okay, now I was confused.
What game are we even playing here?
"All this mess… just for a bet?" I asked, my tone turning more serious.
Tyler looked caught off guard, and for a moment he got serious too, realizing he may have made me upset.
"Oh no no, that’s just me being socially inept…” he explained, then smiled at me. "But yeah, Mark and Brad thought you might like me. I didn’t. Thanks for making me lose the bet."
I’m not a fan of messing with people’s feelings… but that wasn’t exactly what was happening here. It was clear this was more of a lighthearted bet, and the way Tyler reacted just now showed that the idea of making me unsettled made him just as uncomfortable.
"Don’t think badly of them…” he went on. "Brad and Mark are the best bros anyone could ask for. They already adore you, by the way," he added, laughing again. "If anything, blame me: first Grace, now you… I guess I’m just terrible at figuring out if someone’s into me or not!"
I stared at him for a few seconds, then I couldn’t help but laugh. This guy is weird, and I know that’s bold coming from me. And sadly, I too like weird. Of course he’ll never like me the way I like him, but to be honest, who cares? This has been such a rollercoaster for me so far, considering that he’s aware of my kink, that I almost forgot that just being, you know, friends, was even an option.
Tyler took a long sip of his beer, fully aware that he deserved to be laughed at.
“I’m glad you’re having fun.” he said, the sarcasm so sharp it could cut through the air.
“I’m sorry man. Weird is fun, you said that.” I recalled, wiping some tears off my eyes for how much that made me laugh.
“That’s bold coming from you.” he teased. Yep, that’s also what I thought.
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He scratched his left ear one more time, then smiled. He put the beer bottle down on the table and slowly stood up.
"Well then, from one weirdo to another…”
He just stood there, his eyes narrowing a bit. He pointed up to shush me before I could say anything. And just like that, a sudden thunderous fart echoed in the room, raw and manly just like the one before, incredibly loud and powerful. And long. As the fart kept going, his comically relieved face turned into a smirk, and then stared down at me, fully aware that the whole situation was doing numbers between my legs.
After 11 seconds, silence again (even the Screaming Eagles playlist got shush’d).
That was unironically one of the best farts I ever heard. It sounded… juicy, and given who the farter was, I’m surprised I wasn’t going crazy.
Tyler nodded at me after he was done, as if he just finished saying something very important (which was true, in a very gross way). The smell slowly reached my nose, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected.
“Still convinced you have to return the favor… like this?” I said.
“You’re absolutely right.” Tyler remarked… then stepped closer to me. “After what you did for me in the last few days, the least I could do is this.”
With a deft movement he grabbed my head and, as he turned around, he pulled it into his denim sagging ass. He lifted his left leg a bit, and another fart erupted.
What the fuck.
Of all the things I was expecting to happen in Westfork, this wasn’t even on my spare bingo card. I don’t think this would be on anyone’s bingo card, really.
How did I end up being face-farted by this man? By the author of my favorite paper? We were talking about spires and playing Trekken, and about 1 hour later I’m getting my nostrils destroyed by one of the loudest farts I ever heard -being so close to the source certainly helps.
Tyler was a skilled farter, no doubts about this, not anymore.
He just finished ripping a huge one, and mere seconds later here he is, roaring again, this time in my face, unleashing a fart that was just as powerful (if not more) as the previous one. I didn’t even oppose to him grabbing my head like that, and just enjoyed the show.
If I took this whole “returning the favor” thing as seriously as he did, then after this fart I’d be the one in debt. Beyond my wildest kinky dreams.
And.
It.
Was.
Still.
Going!
16 seconds perhaps?
And it’s not like it lost some power or anything like that: it was a continuous loud stream of gas, with Tyler stretching his left leg more and more to ease the fart out. Despite my face being glued to that ass, I managed to take a good look at the rough denim ticking my face, and the sagging black underwear which, funnily enough, displayed the same patterns of his socks. Great fashion sense!
Now the stench was up close and personal and I take back what I said before: it was raunchy. My nostrils were burning, my eyes watering again.
The tent I pitched between my legs got even sturdier.
I totally gotta update my mental bingo cards after this.
Finally, after 21 seconds (21!), the fart stopped.
Tyler pushed me away from his ass and, as if nothing happened, collapsed on the other side of the couch, smiling satisfied, amused by the whole situation, eyes glued on me, waiting for my reaction.
"Am I special, or is that how you welcome all archivists?"
That earned a good laugh from him.
“Can you imagine if I said yes?” he joked.
I didn’t need to imagine anything.
Not anymore.
— — —
We briefly thought about leaving Westfork and going somewhere else for the night, but the bad weather (and a certain laziness) quickly made us change plans. The earlier rain had turned into a full-blown storm, so we opted to just chill on that couch, talking. We both had no personal plans either, so we simply decided to spend the evening together, doing nothing.
I lost count of how many beers we drank (Tyler even brought out some of his own stouts).
Regardless of any feelings on my part, there was a certain understanding between the two of us (no I’m not biased). I enjoyed Tyler’s company, but Tyler himself, despite everything, seemed to genuinely enjoy mine too, even in silence.
I took a drag from the cigarette kindly offered by the bro chilling on the other side of the couch, his legs extended toward me, letting me admire the star pattern on his socks. He was rolling a cigarette for himself, the only background noise the rain outside.
And a thunder.
“Wasn’t me this time.” Tyler promptly joked, focusing on the rolling.
I coughed some smoke out because of that.
“Thunder Tyler… a well-deserved nickname.” I commented.
That’s the name I heard Brad use the other day at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if that sparked from his farting skills, but I’m sure there’s more about it.
“Not the whole story.” Tyler chuckled, lighting the fresh-made cigarette.
I adjusted my position on the couch, so I was sitting facing him now, ready to listen to his tragic backstory.
“Some years ago me and Mark were skating in a crowded park, we were just messing around, then all of the sudden I landed a trick by slamming the board hard on the asphalt, causing a loud boom that echoed for several seconds. I didn’t even do it on purpose, don’t even know how it happened, but the nickname stuck as you can tell.”
“Fascinating.” I commented, finishing my cig.
“But yeah, those idiots quickly found other uses for it.”
A quick, loud toot took over the silence, around 3 seconds long. Tyler pulled a face as he ripped it, and the sound, while not being wet, wasn’t pretty either.
“Fuck.” he whispered.
“That sounded painful.” I said. And the smell didn’t help.
The smell of tobacco mixed with the gas lingering in the room, creating a deadly combo for my lungs.
“Westie’s shitty coffee having unpredictable effects even hours later. You’d have loved hanging out with me when I was pulling all-nighters for my paper ahah.”
He also got wasted last night, can’t ignore that either.
I took a poof of my cigarette, bewildered by how chill Tyler was being about my kink. I didn’t feel derided or anything, quite the opposite actually. Plus, he was a human fart machine, each rip being loud and proud: can’t get any better than this.
“Did you ever have any experience with your kink?”
Tyler’s question was oddly more serious than it sounded, but I couldn’t blame him for being curious. He likes weird, and the person on his couch has a weird kink. I was more than happy to answer.
“A couple of times, yes. Last time with my ex, pretty chill guy.”
“So this is literally your first time with a straight guy.” he observed. “Scandalous.”
I laughed. “What about your kink instead?”
“No comment.” he said, finishing his cigarette, smoke surrounding his face.
“Hey, I answered your question!”
“No one forced you to answer.” he remarked.
“Fair point.” I admitted.
Tyler adjusted his position, pulling himself closer to me, repositioning his legs in the process. His left leg was now resting on the couch backseat, fully exposing sagging ass, the loose jeans almost looking like a wall of denim, dangerously close, and pointed towards me. Clearly he was going to fart again in a bit, and the fact that he did all of that so nonchalantly renewed my boner.
“But yeah, some girls thought it was odd, nothing to write home about.” he explained. “Your kink is much more peculiar.”
That last sentence was followed by a loud fart exploding inches from me. I got startled, even though I was expecting it. By the sound of it, I could tell this was gonna be one of the long ones. Tyler’s face was relaxed, eyes half closed, visibly pushing the gas out.
I wanted to bury my face in there as the fart erupted. I was so close to doing it, and considering that he already farted in my face anyway, he was probably expecting me to voluntarily glue my face to his ass… but I didn’t. As silly as it may sound, given the context, I didn’t want to cross any boundary… but the temptation was strong.
He’s such a hot man. Rough-looking, but extremely kind and gentle. Cultured, playful, open-minded. Hold on a second, I’m gonna put my clown make-up on for the next one: tall. As I said, the fact that he’s the fart master is a welcome addition to an already wonderful package. And do I love such addition.
This one fart lasted 12 seconds, the smell completely engulfing my side of the couch. That made me cough, which Tyler found amusing, so he didn’t move, letting the stench coming out of his ass torture me a bit more.
“I guess I should say ‘thanks’?” I asked.
“How polite.” he played along.
Another fart suddenly erupted, loud, proud, a bit more high-pitched than the previous deeper ones, and shorter, about 3 seconds.
“Unlike me.” he snorted.
I’m gonna plant my face down there, yep, I’m gonna do it. I can’t take it anymore. That ass is way too tempting.
No, I will respect boundaries, doesn’t matter how weird it gets.
Tyler seemed to read my mind however, not that he needed to given my idiotic facial expression as I stared at his ass; I felt his left leg push me down, using his foot to keep my face close to his sagging ass.
He wasn’t kidding when he said that he was gonna return the favor in small doses, ‘cause this time the fart was not a huge thunder, but rather a series of short, loud toots. He didn’t say a word as this happened, letting his ass do the talking apparently, and how talky it was being! That sounded more like a huge, long fart with many interruptions which, considering what Tyler is capable of, was probably exactly that.
At this point the stench reminded me of Westfork’s coffee, which indeed smelt as terrible as it tasted. But the real star of the show (besides the ones on his socks and underwear) was the sound, always roaring, always thunderous, always pleasing to my ears.
Both of his feet now kept my head in its place, as I endured all the farts being fired back-to-back like a pro. My glasses dampened for how hot, both literally and figuratively, that was. Just two bros spending some quality time together, nothing to see here.
What I assumed was the final toot of that series (the 16th one if I didn’t lost count) turned out to be a more “classic” fart, long and meat-y, lasting about 9 seconds and ending the parade.
Finally, I heard Tyler laugh a bit, his feet letting my head move again, so I sat back normally, even though there was nothing normal about this… and I was loving it.
Now that I could see him properly again, not just his ass, I noticed he was rolling himself another cigarette: did he face-fart me while he was doing that? I gotta say, pretty impressive multi-tasking.
And yet… I didn’t want him to be like my fart-dispenser. Yeah, kinky fun, but the idea of him feeling forced to do something as weird as this, not a fan of.
“Alright, even though you didn’t owe me anything, let alone this.”
“You mean this?”
Yet another quick, short toot.
Is there something in Westfork’s water?
No, we just said it was the coffee.
Though I’m sure this guy got talent either way.
“As I was saying.” I remarked, after his ass stopped interrupting me. “I hereby declare that we’re even, ok?”
Tyler was unfazed by my words and kept working on his cigarette.
“No, we’re not even, not yet.” he said, the most serious he ever looked. “Unless you want me to stop of course.”
Please don’t let me take such decisions: I was living in a dream, a dream which I never wanted to end, but everything has to end eventually, even gross, kinky dreams.
“Don’t tease me with a good time.”
Wait, did I say the quiet part out loud?
Judging by Tyler’s smirk, I guess so.
He put his cig on the small table and stood up, easily towering over me.
Didn’t say anything, and walked towards me.
Once again he reached for my head and gently planted it into his sagging ass, the smell from his previous rips greeting my nostrils as expected.
“Why are you doing this…” I quietly asked, expecting a different answer for some reason.
“Oh you know… just because.” he answered. “Also, I’m a bully I guess.”
I felt his buttcheeks relax and mere moments later yet another loud fart began. They were getting a bit more high-pitched, but otherwise it was still deep-sounding. If this was video, I would have said that the fart sounds were clearly fake, stock-sounding, but no, they were all real, all comically loud and chainsaw-sounding. Other than hot as fuck, of course. His firm grasp on my head made the whole thing even hotter: I’m not even that into dominant guys, but Tyler walking the thin line between being a bully and a good friend was driving me crazy, a farter that could bite as loud as he barked -this sentence was probably never meant to be said, but here we are.
The fart was still going, unsurprisingly. My nose was being forcibly rubbed between his jeans and his sagging underwear, meaning that most of the time the only thing between me and this man’s anus was a thin layer of starry cloth.
As he did before, he lifted his left leg up to ease the fart out, a simple movement that almost dampened the tent between my legs.
If like 3 days ago you told me that not only I was gonna find out who the author of my favorite paper was, but that this same guy was gonna also face-fart me, I would have wondered what kind of mushrooms were you on ‘cause you were not making any sense and also how do you know my secret fart kink, you weirdo? And now here I am, my face planted into this guy’s ass as he’s masterfully ripping a fart so loud, and so long, I’m surprised I didn’t go deaf yet.
Or cum on the spot.
Not only the farts were huge, but they were frequent.
Brad and Mark were probably used to him by far, and ironically enough it was me, the actual fart fetishist, that was beginning to struggle to keep up with this guy’s talent.
Where did he even store all this gas?
15 seconds, just a random fart from Tyler Landoon Evans, move along everyone.
And all of this because I, fundamentally speaking, did my job as an Archivist.
Can I ask my boss to get paid like this? With Tyler making sure I get paid?
Am I getting too thirsty?
No words from Tyler, as he kept my head planted into his ass even after the fart was over. At this point anything could happen in my book, so I just enjoyed the moment, didn’t ask any question, nor started to overthink everything.
I felt his asscheeks relax again, and another fart erupted.
Or rather, a new series of farts, a bit more deep sounding unlike the ones before. Another casual fart parade, as if it was perfectly normal to fart like this.
And in someone’s face.
Loud, 2-4 seconds toots, all ripped back-to-back.
And yet the idea that this was once again a huge, long fart disguised as a series of rips didn’t leave my mind.
Tyler pushed me deeper into his ass with each fart ripped.
I wondered if he was ever going to run out of gas at that point.
I’ve never seen anyone IRL blasting farts like this.
My glasses almost got crushed by his powerful ass, as my nose inched even deeper between his sagging cheeks, the scent of the farts now mixed not only with smoke, but with the musky, sweaty interior of his ass.
We smoked, and yet I was high on farts.
I lost count of how many times he was farting this time.
We’re way past 10, that’s for sure, and I forgot what clean air feels and tastes like. Didn’t miss it.
Oh, there it is again, the parade-closing longer fart.
I could tell those were getting harder to rip, and yet Tyler was pushing them out… just for me? Weirdo.
What a peculiar way to express gratitude.
In a twisted way, farts have been once again a great ice-breaker, regardless of any kink. I admit I was nervous before coming here, because of my attraction to Tyler… but as soon as he started farting I was like OK, we’re both weirdos I guess.
Couldn’t be happier.
The fart stopped after 17 seconds, followed by Tyler’s sigh of relief.
He pushed me away from his ass, put his hands in his pockets and turned around to stare down at his smelly victim. As soon as his eyes met my startled expression, he laughed.
“Are we even now?” I asked, one more time.
He smirked. “We’ll see in a bit. I’m brewing a big one.”
“A big one?” I asked. “Sure, because those were so sma-.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” he cut me off, whispering.
The stench lingered all around me. Well, us.
But I was so used to it I didn’t mind anymore, kink or not.
We had an undeclared staring contest in silence, complete silence, as the storm (the one outside I mean) stopped throwing a tantrum and gave room to what looked like a calm, cold night.
“Lay down.” he then commanded. “One final trick.”
He was being assertive, though it was clearly part of the “show”.
So I obeyed -or rather, played along.
The idea of him sitting full-weight on my face (which I assume is what he was planning to do) made my boner twitch dangerously: I was gonna explode.
And apparently, so was Tyler, in a different way.
I removed my glasses, putting them somewhere safer, and laid down on my back, a cue for him to step closer and just straight-up sit on my face, the view of his sagging jeans and underwear preceding complete darkness. Tyler was tall, quite slim, but still quite heavy. My face was being crushed under that smelly, warm ass, and now that I was one with his anus I almost feared for what was coming next.
“Thanks for everything, Jeff. I’m gonna miss you.” he laughed.
Yeah, this was going to be hard to endure.
And indeed it was already: the fart started loud and proud, nothing new so far (but not any less hot), but it immediately felt raunchier than the previous ones, if not a bit wet. My whole face, and probably the entire couch, was vibrating due to the sheer power of that incredible display of flatulence. Tyler adjusted his position as he farted, as if I was part of the cushion, the pitch changing accordingly as well.
My cock was reaching the event horizon: I couldn’t resist anymore.
I was gonna cum on the spot if I wasn’t careful, but feeling the fart-quake all over my body didn’t help.
10 seconds, the fart gave no signs of easing out. Instead, it got even louder and raunchier. What’s up with Tyler’s stomach. What’s going on in his guts. This is not just coffee, this is a man with incredible skills. And like coffee it smelt by the way, rancid, rotten coffee. For a moment I feared that… extra stuff was coming out but nope, just a raunchy anus doing its job perfectly, only pure, putrid gas.
Surprisingly enough, after around 8 more seconds, the sound got deeper and even more vibrating. I heard Tyler grunting, though it was hard to hear anything over that blast destroying my nostrils. The thunderstorm didn’t stop: it just moved into my new bro’s ass to assert dominance.
I laid down there, getting a face-full.
I once again wondered how I even got there.
How it was possible to fart like this.
How it was possible to be this chill and open-minded.
There was no way he did it “just because”.
And yet here I am, enjoying the most incredible fart session I ever experienced.
With a chill, no-strings-attached, straight man, of all things.
But most importantly, with a friend.
A friend who was going to murder me with his farts, but still a friend sure.
Though after 30 seconds of uninterrupted gas one has to wonder if the farter was indeed trying to kill me.
I felt dizzy, and not just for the gallons of beer we chugged.
The gas was inebriating, it made me high almost.
I closed my eyes and let Tyler “return the favor” as long as he wished.
He didn’t have to do it, but I’m glad he did.
I almost passed out, totally losing the grasp of how long this fart was lasting. 50 seconds? 60 seconds? This is my life now, bury me under this ass, it’s not like I’m going anywhere soon. My eardrums were being tested just as hard as my eyes and my nostrils, my poor, defenceless, burning nostrils.
Tyler moved a bit more, this time leaning forward, and the fart got even stronger with what was probably its last, roaring gasp. And after reaching 70 seconds in total, it stopped, silence again, a silence broken by Tyler snickering like a jerk.
The skater stood up and moved on the other side of the couch, finally letting me breathe in some fresh air… well, fresh air compared to that. The entire room smelt like smoke and ass anyway, but trust me it was an improvement.
I too sat back normally, and just looked at him, I didn’t even need to ask the question.
“Yeah, now we’re even I guess.” he simply said, scratching his left ear. “Even though, let’s face it, it will never be enough.”
“Dude.” I said. “I just did my job.”
“Whether you like it or not, I’ll always owe you one.”
“My pleasure.” poor choice of words, given my boner, but you get what I meant.
And luckily, so did Tyler.
“Okay, I hope you don’t mind but I gotta open the windows now.”
Can’t blame him. Even I was gasping to get some fresh air.
I can’t even imagine how it must feel for him: the living room was gas chamber.
“Oh not at all!” I replied. “I was gonna do the same believe me.”
Some actual, real, fresh, cold air got inside, and I remembered what autumn felt like. The calm after the storm.
“Pizza?” Tyler casually asked, as he opened another window.
I was so focused into not letting my cock blow up that I completely forgot that, as human beings, we’re supposed to eat something for dinner. Totally lost the track of time.
“How could you possibly want to eat after all of this? Also, your stomach is a mess!”
“I’m hungry.” he shrugged.
“Ok.” that was enough for me. Plus, I’d never say ‘no’ to pizza.
“Deal. There’s a place just outside Westie that makes very good pizza. Let’s go.”
I can’t leave the Old Birch like this. I’m rock hard and smell, well, like shit. You don’t get to smell nice after you got showered in farts by a talented man like him.
“There’s something I have to deal with first.”
Tyler smirked, knowingly. “Down on the right.”
I didn’t even say thanks and sprinted towards the bathroom.
He was totally aware of what I was gonna do, other than washing my face and drown in deodorant of course.
Truth to be told… I didn’t care.
He sure doesn’t, why should I?
The bathroom was surprisingly clean, considering how messy the rest of the house was, but I didn’t have time to properly admire the colorful tiles. I locked the door behind me, as I heard the muffled Screaming Eagles start singing again, and did what was long overdue.
I sat on the toilet, pulled my hard cock out… and I didn’t even need to touch it. It just exploded, believe me. It was like I was pissing cum. My eyes rolled back for the enjoyment. I felt dirty, I felt kinky. I felt good. That was an orgasm, a silent one fortunately, but holy shit, I couldn’t take it anymore I swear.
That guy in the living room listening to the Eagles while waiting for me is the whole package; a fantastic, cultured stud that could bully me with his farts forever.
But no, that wasn’t going to happen.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how nice he is, how kinky or weird things get: Tyler is not into me like that.
No need to overthink any of this.
The boundaries are there, and I’m gonna respect them.
A friend, however? Be my guest!
Kink or not, I’m glad I met him.
Well, them.
I splashed my face with water, the cold helping a lot to clear my head and make sense of what had just happened. I stared myself into the mirror, the image a bit blurry ‘cause I left my glasses into the other room, yet everything was clear, everything was good.
— — —
Didn’t take us long to reach Westfork gates.
It was around 10:00 PM, the post-storm humidity was cool and pleasant, and the clouds had cleared, leaving patches of starry sky. On the short walk on the wet, sometimes flooded streets, Tyler told me about the time Mark got his foot stuck in a manhole, ‘cause it felt relevant.
I spotted the pizzeria sign just across the street (good, that means I hadn’t forgotten my glasses at the Old Birch!), right across from one of the main entrances to our study center, perfectly visible from inside the campus.
“You weren’t kidding. It’s really close.”
“Yeah, the locals figured out Westies’s got awful products, so they all set up shop nearby.”
Flawless business logic.
“Pizza’s on me, by the way,” I said, picking up the pace.
Tyler smirked. “Trying to get me in your debt again?”
I turned towards him, walking backwards.
“And I haven’t even told you yet: Monday at lunch break I’ll be waiting for you at the Archives.” I added. “All the sources you need, right at your fingertips.”
I don’t know why I was doing this.
Maybe, unconsciously, I was matching Tyler’s whole “returning the favor” thing to the hot good time I had today. Or it was my turn to return the favor.
Or maybe -it can many things at once admittedly- this was just what a friend would do, right?
Tyler smiled at me, appreciating the gesture.
“Alright, Jeff. I’ll let you help, no strings attached.” He gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “But this pizza’s on me.”
He sped up too, passing me with ease.
Okay, now it had turned into a race… a very mature race.
I swear we’re all published historians here!
Not bad for my first few days on the job, huh.
And I’ll admit it, if Ted hadn’t helped me haul this huge weirdo into my apartment last night, none of this would’ve happened.
Who’d have thought… I actually owe him one!
The never-ending circle of debts keeps going!
And yeah, I guess Ted was right about at least one thing: maybe it’s a stereotype, maybe it’s not, but despite not being a proper University anymore, the college soul of this place was still alive and kicking, from the picturesque charm of its Georgian-styled brick buildings and libraries… to the immature, sometimes gross shit guys can do each other.
Welcome to Westfork, I guess.
Shit, I forgot my backpack.
The End
The story includes some AI-generated slop images. They're just for show, and any similarities to real life are purely coincidental.
Writing is all mine.
DaveFarts - Episode 37 “Smelly Flowers” [Episode List]
Tim, Dave and Dana are at a friend’s wedding. The reception is going well, but some specific food choices can lead to unpredictable effects.
POV: Tim
It had been a demanding dinner, but somehow Dave, Dana and I pulled off the dubious mission of enjoying every single course. So much seafood, which we adore, and just as much wine, which we hate to admit we adore. We’d been seated with a couple of strangers who, by the end of the meal, felt like lifelong friends. Classic wedding reception vibes, all wrapped in a particularly fancy setting -a neo-renaissance villa (a bit kitschy…) lost in the Californian countryside, not too far from the ocean. Janet and Ron hadn’t been joking years ago when they said they’d pick “a place where no one can hear you scream”: we were far from everything, it felt like the opening scene of a murder mystery. Luckily, some of us had booked rooms in a small building next to the villa, so we didn’t have to worry alcohol (and murderers, hopefully).
Obviously, we were all well-dressed for the occasion, us men all wearing tuxes of various colors, mostly darker ones as it usually happens, with Dave wearing a dark blue one, paired with a red tie. I was dressed pretty much the same, though my tie was blue instead.
“Ohhh… now comes the good part…” said Dave, rubbing his hands, his eyes following the waiters setting up a massive dessert buffet across the hall. “Come on babe, before the crowd catches the sugar scent.” He stood up, pulling Dana by the hand.
“Wait.” Dana resisted and made him sit down again. She took one last sip of wine, then spoke. “Remember what happened on the plane.”
I laughed, the memory still far too vivid.
“Babe, how was I supposed to know that people make hot sauce with… fruit?”
“It’s literally the only thing you’re intolerant to.”
I wouldn’t even call it intolerance. Dave’s stomach just… processes everything in its own way, even food that should knock him down.
“Your friend here…” Dana said, turning to me. “He can’t digest hibiscus.” She turned back towards Dave, half serious, half playful. “Which, by the way, is a flower, not a fruit.”
Dave kept his eyes glued to the buffet and took a sip of wine. “Alright, relax. I’ll be careful.”
He was lying, obviously.
Never stand between Dave and his sugar.
“Okay, I’m stepping away for a sec. Emma’s waving at me and I accidentally made eye contact… damn it. Don’t wait for me.”
Dana stood up quickly, careful not to trip on her own dress, and darted off toward her frenemy. Dave slid into her empty chair next to me.
“I’m going now...” he whispered. “We’re in a shark tank. One second of distraction and that buffet will be torn apart without mercy.”
“Your strategy is flawless,” I said, sipping my drink. “Keep me posted from the front line. You’ll find me on the terrace.”
“What?” Dave blinked, oddly offended. “My brother-in-arms is abandoning me like this?”
“I’ve got… stuff to do.” I explained, nodding towards one of the guys from our table, who was also getting up and heading to the terrace.
“Ohhhh… I see.” Dave grinned. “Leaving your bro hanging like that. For just a bit of cock. Fine. I’ll remember this.”
“You’re such an idiot…” I teased, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
I walked away from the table, leaving my bro to contemplate the dessert, as I nodded to Todd, the guy I was referring to, the guy I’m gonna make out with on the terrace. Todd is nice, he’s into video-editing and cocks.
We have so much in common!
—
POV: Dave
Screw this human swarm of locusts. I always end up empty-handed at weddings, but this time I’ll make the first move. I planted myself right in front of the buffet while the waiter was still setting down the last cupcakes, glazed with a luscious magenta cream (they’re gonna be mine).
Am I overdoing this? Am I being immature?
I’d like to see you in my place, a man repeatedly robbed of sugar’s simple joy because he makes the mistake of trusting in the crowd’s so-called manners. Of course they’ll leave me something, sure, absolute fucking bullshit, that’s what they’ll leave me, not even the crumbs.
I gave Dana a little nod from across the room, still tangled up with Emma. Dana worries about me, but she’d be the first one here, right next to me, hoarding desserts if she could. I’m the man on the front line, the scout, the manly man who will have his delicious, well-earned pink cupcake.
—
POV: Tim
The terrace was big and overlooked the garden surrounding the villa. We truly were in the middle of nowhere.
“So… they’re setting up the buffet huh.” I said, trying to have a casual conversation.
“Yeah, I heard they have some delicious cupcakes. I’m friend with the chef -I think they used some kind of fruit to give it a particular exotic taste.” Todd explained.
“As long as it’s not flowers.”
We didn’t even admire the beautiful sunset and the rural landscape because our tongues reached for each other as if they were magnets. We made sure to sort of hide behind a bush, near a small staircase leading to the garden properly, far from prying eyes. I honestly don’t care anymore about my closet, but I don’t know about Todd, so we silently decided to hide just to be sure -to be honest, we would have done the same even if we were straight, because things are getting… kind of intense ya know.
“What’s your codec of choice?” he panted.
“MPEG.” I replied, as I felt his hand reaching for my crotch.
“MPEG me…” he moaned, as I did the same to him.
We both almost laughed at that, but kept going regardless, ignoring the cold autumnal breeze because things were heating up and fast. I massaged Todd’s crotch as we kissed and made out like no one was watching (and hopefully that was the case). We were massaging each other, and I felt Todd’s pitching a tent in the palm of my hand. I didn’t care and went for it, he moaned again, as I strangled the cock hidden under his tux pants. He bit my neck and I returned the favor to his ear, which apparently did the trick.
I felt my hand getting warmer fast, and I noticed Todd slowing down, breathing heavily and deeply.
“Sorry.” he whispered, smiling.
“Don’t even say that.” I reassured him.
He clearly wanted to stop, so I just leaned against the railing, smiling like an idiot. Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing glasses (contact lenses this time), I’m sure I would have lost them.
“I need to change. Believe it or not I got a backup tux.” he explained.
“You never know, you know.” I said, with a smirk.
“I’ll be in my room.” he smiled and handed me a small piece of napkin with a number written on it. “I’ll be back soon, but maybe, after this is over… feel free to join me. I gotta… return the favor.” he said, gently patting my crotch.
“Don’t mention it.” I said. He laughed.
This guy must really be into me because I’m terrible at this.
I watched him as he went back into the hall, walking faster and faster so he wouldn’t have to stop for anyone. Todd is cool. He seems to have some social anxieties just like me. Another win for awkward people like us I guess!
I enjoyed the breeze a bit more, before I decided to go back inside. It was getting dark, the fancy villa’s big windows being the main source of light while small lanterns lit up in the garden. I adjusted my tie and hair (the latter unsuccessfully) but as I got closer to the door, I saw a tall man running outside and towards me, his red tie almost glowing in the dark.
“What did you do?” I said, scolding him.
“Tim shut up for a sec.” Dave replied. “Let’s just have a quick, calm walk.”
I wasn’t impressed. “What did you do?” I insisted.
Dave put a hand on my shoulder and we hurried down into the garden -empty, quiet, and far from the buzz of the villa. I’m no detective, but I was pretty sure Dave didn’t have the same intentions as Todd.
“Those damn cupcakes,” he muttered. “The waiter said they were fruit-flavored, but nope, judging by my stomach, it was hibiscus! And trust me, bro, I know my stomach.”
“Why does everyone keep confusing that flower with a fruit…” I mused, remembering how Todd had done the same thing earlier.
“I DON’T KNOW, MAN!” Dave burst out, then doubled over in pain. “Let’s walk. I need to… work this off. And you know what that means.”
Unfortunately, I do. And I was terrified of what Dave might unleash.
—————
After walking for a couple of minutes, Dave wanted to seat on a stone bench, because he needed to a few moments to focus -that’s what he said at least. I sat next to him, noticing how he was sweating. He was indeed feeling like shit, not so different from what happened on the plane some weeks ago.
“I didn’t drag you out here because of your kink by the way.”
What. Where did that come from?
“I just needed my brother-in-arms.” he then said.
I was almost startled. I mean, ok, I know we have this weird thing going on between us, but Dave always goes the extra mile to assure me that he doesn’t see me any differently, even considering my gross kink.
“So this is not one of your kinky games then.” I bluntly remarked.
“My kinky games?” he replied. “You’re the one craving my farts!” he laughed.
I felt attacked, even though I had no reason. “I never craved your farts.”
Are we seriously having a conversation about this? Are those real sentences?
“Then why did you tell me about your kink?”
“I never told you, you found out. You did… you know… the rest!”
Dave was visibly trying to endure the pain, and this funny back-and-forth was also a way to distract himself from his stomach getting messy.
“Come on… admit it.” he said, in a weirdly flirty tone. “We had to share a room for a few weeks back in college. Don’t tell me you didn’t crave a piece of your friend Dave back then.”
The fact that he was so chill about all of this will never stop being incredible to me. Least I can do is playing along. Don’t get me wrong, I was super embarrassed by where this conversation was heading all of the sudden.
And my Todd-related boner wasn’t helping, because now my cock was confused. It’s like it was saying “What am I even hard for now?!”
“Come on… admit it.” he said, playfully leaning towards me. “Admit you love this.”
Oh, that’s the real reason he was leaning.
The sound was loud and proud, echoing all over the empty garden. The fart was gigantic, surprisingly dry despite my friend’s stomach fighting those damn flowers, flowers that ironically produced the stinkiest rip I’ve ever heard Dave rip (despite being outside, the breeze made some of that gas reach my nostrils, and it smelled horribly). The stone bench shook for how powerful and vibrating that was.
It lasted around 8 seconds.
This is not like the plane: up there, Dave had to hold back the loudness of his farts because of social norms. Here, it’s just him and me, and he can make his ass speak as loud as he wishes -and his ass does love to scream. On the plane, he was fighting demons. In this garden, he can shamelessly unleash them.
After he was done, he simply stared at me with his usual smirk, amused by my never-ending awkwardness.
“Yes, Dave. I’ve always liked you.” I admitted.
Or rather, confessed.
Because I wasn’t talking about his farts.
Luckily, my bro didn’t seem to notice my choice of words, and simply laughed at my kinky ass.
He wrapped his arm around me, acting all wise and proud (of himself).
“I can’t blame you. I’m the whole package.” he said, ripping a short, quick blast.
“So this is one of your kinky games…” I remarked.
Dave laughed. “No bro, I just don’t want Dana to see me shitting myself.”
“Ah so you’re just hiding.”
“Pretty much.” he replied. “And no, for the last time, this is not one of my kinky games. I don’t even know what you mean by this!”
He then leaped over me and sat on my lap, full weight, almost crushing my legs.
“Unless you want it to be…” he said, again in that fake flirty tone.
He closed his eyes, and proceeded to rip an enormous fart on my lap, making my hard crotch shake. The fart was this time a bit more wet, but no… extra stuff was coming out. It was disgusting, it was loud, it was incredible. The warm gas probably stained my tux pants forever, but it was nothing compared to what my friend’s pants had to endure. The contrast between his formal, elegant attire and the rude manliness of his farts was admittedly driving me crazy, with Dave just casually being the teasing bastard that he is.
After 12 seconds, the fart was over; my bro wiggled his ass a bit, making sure my clothes were soaking in his gas, then sat back next to me. Now I wish I had a backup tux.
The smell emanating from my lap and pants was terrible: Dave basically poisoned my clothes. The idiot laughed at me basically smelling like one of his farts forever… well, for a couple of minutes at least. That fart was malicious I swear.
“Fuck, I hope Todd won’t notice the smell.” I joked, comically trying to dust the smell off of me.
“Todd? Who’s Todd?” Dave asked, puzzled.
“The guy from our table?” I explained.
“Ah yes. He seems cool.” he took a couple of more seconds to connect the dots. “Holy shit. Did you guys…”
“Kind of.” I simply said. “We’re planning the rest for later I guess.”
“Awesome bro.” he said, patting my shoulder. “Is he also into…”
“Not that I know of.” I cut him off. “Doesn’t matter.”
We remained there, sitting on that bench, in silence. A few seconds passed, the only sound being the breeze brushing the leaves around us, until a different kind of breeze broke the silence. A thunderstorm, to be more precise. A quick, 5 seconds thunderstorm, followed by my friend sighing in relief.
“That one hurt a bit.” he commented.
“As long as you don’t shit yourself…” I observed.
“You know I’m a pro.”
Another moment of silence, this time interrupted my friend speaking from his mouth like a normal person.
“When you said that you always liked me… that wasn’t about your fetish, wasn’t it?”
My heart stopped for a moment, even though I had nothing to be afraid of.
Still, I know it’s bad when I wish he’d simply make fun of my kink.
I turned to him and, as usual, he was just nice and calm, genuinely curious about my awkward self.
I decided to level with him, one more time.
“It comes and goes.” I admitted. “You won’t get another word out of me.”
He laughed. For a moment, he seemed the awkward one.
“You have such a horrible taste in men, bro.” he joked. “But maybe that Todd guy can fix that.”
“How romantic of you.” I dryly said.
“Very. I even brought you flowers.” a loud blast shook the bench, a quick 4 seconds tip. “Technically.”
“You’re such an idiot I swear.”
“Told ya I’m the whole package.” he elbowed me. “I’m flattered that you’re crushing on me.”
“I’m not crushing on you.” I quickly remarked.
“Of course you’re not.” he said, getting up, gently massaging his stomach.
I got up too, and we started walking again, this time towards the villa. This doesn’t mean that Dave was done, and as a quick reminder he ripped a series of short loud toots in sync with each step he made. A nice series of 6-7 farts, back-to-back, each sounding a bit more dangerously wet than the last.
“And here I thought you were feeling better.”
“I am.” my bro said. “Just tying up some loose ends.”
And one of those loose end was a long, loud, high-pitched fart. Dave had to stop again to properly rip this one, his eyes narrowing, focus on the fart as if he was defusing a bomb. It wasn’t wet, but trusting a fart when your stomach hurts is a gamble, and a fart master like my bro certainly knew that.
The blast was long and proud, the pitch going up and down repeatedly in the span of a couple of seconds -as funny as it was hot for me. It got noticeably deeper towards the end, which made my bro confident enough to properly push it out, ending it with a bang.
“You would have loved this one.” he casually said, walking past me.
I got red instantly, and resumed walking.
I did love that, even if it wasn’t on my face.
My boner, now less confused, totally agreed.
As we got back on the terrace, Dana greeted us.
“I’ve been looking for you for like 30 minutes! These human locusts have devoured everything!”
“I’m fine, honestly…” Dave said, trying to sound casual.
But yeah… Dana could read him like an open book.
“You ate the hibiscus cupcakes.” she said, firmly.
Dave didn’t even try to lie his way out.
“Babe, who the hell puts a damn flower in a damn cupcake? It’s a flower! How do you even…”
“You’re such an idiot…” Dana said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Come on, maybe there’s still something edible left. I even saw some strawberries, Tim.”
“Thanks, Dana. As much as I love strawberries though… I need to do something.”
“Ohhhh…” she said “Keep us posted. We’ll se you late-“ the sight of Emma stealing the last slice of apple pie got her attention, cutting her off. “Oh no she won’t.”
Dana sprinted inside, leaving me and Dave on the terrace.
“Say ‘hi’ to Todd for me.” he joked. “Are you sure he won’t get jealous because of me though?”
“Very funny.” I said, as I reached for the napkin Todd gave me earlier.
“Hey, show a little gratitude… I got you riled up.” Dave said, patting my hard boner.
I can’t believe he just did that.
Why is he like this.
Sometimes he’s way too chill.
“That’s disgust- that’s… fuck off!” I stuttered, sprinting inside, as he laughed at my awkwardness.
Fuck him and his kinky games.
Those fucking games I hate to love.
I find this so hot 🥵 his naked top half, his big, beefy ass, the fact he is wearing sweat pants (a favourite of mine), and the fact he is playing video games, all adds up to being a cum inducing video.
His gas is amazing!! What I’d give to be buried nose first in that bubbly, gassy butt. Inhaling his massive, stinking farts 🍑💨🥵
Nick Offerman was a very handsome man when he was young. For me he remains attractive even if he is older. His round, hairy belly makes him sexy, but also his charisma makes him a male worth worshipping.
Since he's married to a woman, I imagined him being worshiped by a muscular faggot whose age isn't specified so you can imagine yourself in the place of the slave.
- BEING THE SLAVE OF A DADDY BEAR -
Nick Offerman, 52-year-old American actor, loved his life. Actor and carpenter, he was busy. But he had no children from his actress wife Megan Mullally. He longed to come home and be worshipped. But he loved his wife with too powerful and sincere a love to enslave her.
On the other hand, he would have liked a weak person to submit to him, to treat him as a true King. His mature age and hairy belly made him attractive to young gay men. By registering on a gay dating site, he did not expect to receive so many messages from obedient young boys. When he published a photo of his feet, the messages multiplied by 10! The boys of old taste begged to take them as a lover or as a slave!
Happy to still be so attractive at his age, he decided to choose a young man who was slightly muscular but above all who was ready to leave everything to be a man's slave. Lewis wanted his master to be older than him because he considered old people more attractive and superior to young men. Disappointed with boys his own age, Lewis dreamed of belonging to a daddy-like man. Yet Nick Offerman is a proud heterosexual white male raised to believe in the natural inferiority of gays, or rather faggots.
The slave and the actor met at a bar after Nick Offerman gave a concert. He had taken off his T-shirt, and had thrown it in the crowd, which had caused a general fight because many were the fags who wanted to sniff his stinking sweat! Lewis, who had watched the concert, had been impressed by Nick's hairy bump and had an erection imagining himself licking and sniffing his hairy armpits, or even his sweaty socks.
Nick Offerman ordered several chicken wings from the bar, and Lewis had the audacity to reach for his hands to clean the sauce off his fingers. For that, he sucked the actor's fingers. Nick knew from then on that he was facing a real fag who worships daddy bears.
He took advantage of the noise from the bar to approach his face to his pretending to want to kiss him on the mouth, so Lewis closed his eyes and didn't see that Nick only opened his mouth to burp in his face!!
BRRRRRRRPTTT!!!!!!
Then, in the face of Lewis' surprise, he continued to burp in his face.
BBBRRRRTTTTTT!!!!!
NICK OFFERMAN: "You like it, huh, faggot?!"
LEWIS: "Oh yes Master your burps are divine."
After the two men had a drink, Nick Offerman suggested that Lewis come to his house. Lewis didn't hesitate for a second. They rode for a long time, so much so that Nick ordered Lewis to suck his long daddy's cock. Lewis was honored to do this. When he had to pee, Nick held Lewis's head down on his cock to force him to swallow his piss.
They were in the countryside, and Nick Offerman took advantage of the fact that he was on the ground between his thighs sucking his cock, because he couldn't see the way. It would be impossible for him to find the road, because the house was hidden in a huge forest far from the main roads.
When they arrived, Nick hugged the young man, who, although he was muscular, liked being held by an older man. Arriving in the house, Nick Offerman ripped off his clothes. Now naked, kneeling in front of his master, Nick ordered him to come to him, at his feet.
NICK OFFERMAN: "Lick my boots, faggot."
The young man licked the master's boots, and he appreciated being treated as a King.
Then, Nick Offerman moved in and tied Lewis to a wooden cross. There, he whipped him for a long time, and even if the cries of pain were music to his ears, he ended up removing his socks. He hadn't taken them off since he had made an appointment with Lewis. For a week without washing his feet and changing his socks, he had to endure his wife's remarks, but she loved him too much to resent him for making his own choices. She didn't know the real reason for her husband's stinky socks.
He had kept them on his feet so he could put one in Lewis's mouth and the other strapped to his nose. Thanks to this, he no longer heard Lewis' cries of pain.
NICK OFFERMAN: "Yes, take that you faggot! You fucking disgust me you faggot! Yes you like that straight man's stinky feet!"
Lewis was very excited by the stench of the master's socks, but he was also in pain. Nick Offerman whipped him for a long time before coming back to untie him to cuddle him, pressing his stinking, hairy round body against the young man's muscular body. He enjoyed caressing his pretty muscled ass.
NICK OFFERMAN: "You've earned your reward. You're going to lick my feet, faggot."
Lewis wept with joy at the thought of spending the night licking the stinky feet of a man who hadn't washed his feet for more than a week. With his bathrobe around him, Nick saw the slave approach him like a doggie.
NICK OFFERMAN: "You belong at my feet. I'm happy to have you with me."
He went to sleep in his big comfortable bed in this abandoned house. It was there that he spent the night having his feet licked by Lewis. Big, stinky, masculine feet, covered in grime and accumulated dirt.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Yes, I'm eating in bed while you are sucking my toes, faggot!!! How does my feet smell? Stinky, aren't they!? Yes, but I'm sure you like them like that, fag, it's are real straight white man's feet odor!"
He let his feet stick out of the bed so Lewis could lick and suck on them more easily. His toes were delicious.
The next day, Nick enjoyed being awakened by a licking of his feet. He then untied the leash that dangled from Lewis's slave collar, which he hung on the bed, and took the leash to pull his kneeling slave to him. In the living room, he drank his coffee while having his feet licked. It lasted over an hour.
Lewis pressed his face against his master's large, warm feet and inhaled their warm, masculine scent.
He was not unhappy to have come across a homophobe, because like a good fag submissive to straight men, he worshiped this man who found him inferior.
NICK OFFERMAN: "Come here faggot."
Nick Offerman ordered Lewis over to the couch, where he put his big smelly ass on his face. Although muscular, Lewis was not strong and could not resist the weight of Nick's ass. He started farting on Lewis's head, who was trying to hold his breath.
PPPRRRTTTTT PRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!!
NICK OFFERMAN : "Sniff my farts, faggot !"
Lewis was forced to sniff out the stinking farts, which were growing on him. Nick Offerman addressed Lewis, who was struggling under the ass and his farts's smell.
NICK OFFERMAN: "I will keep you with me, you will be my sex slave, and I will never wash my feet again. I will come as often as possible, but otherwise I will send trusted friends to serve you. They will Train yourself to be a slave. You wanted to lick feet, you'll be served. My friends are all homophobes who don't wash their feet and ass. Welcome to paradise, faggot, my feet and ass are your new home : you will lick them forever now."
Nick Offerman never washed his feet himself again, as Lewis was his foot licker.
Lewis never came home, he kept being whipped by fat, stinky old homophobes who shoved their dirty socks into his mouth and put their dirty underpants in his face. And Lewis had never been happier than when he was caged with stinky socks in his mouth or licking Nick Offerman's long feet.
And he had finally found his outlet. Nothing relaxed him more than banging a fag.
END OF THE STORY
👣🧦👣🥾👣🧦👣🥾👣🧦👣🥾👣🧦👣🥾
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
🇫🇷 FRANÇAIS / FRENCH 🇫🇷
HISTOIRE FICTIVE PERSONNELLE
HUMILIÉ PAR UNE CÉLÉBRITÉ #36 :
NICK OFFERMAN, acteur américain
Nick Offerman était un très bel homme quand il était jeune. Pour moi il reste attirant même s'il est plus vieux. Son ventre rond et poilu font qu'il est sexy, mais aussi son charisme font de lui un mâle qui mérite d'être vénéré. Comme il est marié à une femme, je l'ai imaginé être vénéré par un pédé musclé dont l'âge n'est pas précisé afin que vous puissiez vous imaginer à la place de l'esclave.
- L'ESCLAVE D'UN VRAI MÂLE POILU -
Nick Offerman, acteur américain de 52 ans, aimait sa vie. Acteur et menuisier, il était occupé. Mais il n'avait pas eu d'enfants de son épouse l'actrice Megan Mullally. Il avait envie de rentrer à la maison et d'être vénéré. Mais il aimait son épouse d'un amour trop puissant et sincère pour vouloir l'esclavager.
En revanche, il aurait aimé qu'une personne faible se soumette à lui, le traite en vrai Roi. Son âge mûr et son ventre poilu le rendaient attirants aux yeux des jeunes homos. En s'inscrivant sur un site de rencontres gay, il ne s'attendait pas à recevoir autant de messages de jeunes garçons obéissants.
Lorsqu'il publia une photo de ses pieds, les messages se sont multipliés par 10 ! Les garçons de goût age suppliaient de les prendre comme amant ou comme esclave !
Heureux d'être toujours aussi attirant à son âge, il décida de choisir un jeune homme légèrement musclé mais surtout qui était prêt à tout quitter pour être l'esclave d'un homme. Lewis voulait que son maître sois plus vieux que lui car il considère les vieux plus attirants et supérieurs aux jeunes hommes. Déçus des garçons de son âge, Lewis rêvait d'appartenir à un homme ressemblant à un papa. Pourtant, Nick Offerman est un fier mâle blanc hétérosexuel élevé dans la croyance de l'infériorité naturelle des homos, ou plutôt des pédés.
L'esclave et l'acteur se sont rencontrés dans un bar après que Nick Offerman ait donné un concert. Il avait retiré son tee-shirt, et l'avait jeté dans la foule, ce qui avait provoqué une bagarre générale car nombreux étaient les pédés qui voulaient renifler sa sueur puante ! Lewis, qui avait regardé le concert, avait été impressionné par le ventre rond poilu de Nick et avait eu une érection en s'imaginant en train de lécher et renifler ses aisselles poilues, ou encore ses chaussettes suantes.
Nick Offerman commanda au bar plusieurs ailes de poulets, et Lewis eut l'audace de prendre ses mains pour nettoyer la sauce sur ses doigts. Pour cela, il suca les doigts de l'acteur. Nick savait dès lors qu'il était face à un vrai pédé qui vénére les papa ours.
Il profita du bruit du bar pour approcher son visage du sien en faisant semblant de vouloir l'embrasser sur la bouche, alors Lewis ferma les yeux et ne vit pas que Nick n'a ouvert la bouche que pour lui roter en plein visage !!
BRRRRRRPTTT !!!!!!
Puis, face à la surprise de Lewis, il continua à lui roter au visage.
BBBRRRRTTTTTT !!!!!
NICK OFFERMAN : "T'aimes ça, hein, pédé ?!"
LEWIS : "Oh oui Maître vos rots sont divins."
Après que les deux hommes aient pris un verre, Nick Offerman proposa à Lewis de venir chez lui. Lewis n'hésita pas une seconde.
Ils ont roulés longuement, à tel point que Nick a ordonné à Lewis de sucer sa longue bite de papa. Lewis était honoré de faire cela. Lorsqu'il eut envie de pisser, Nick a maintenu la tête de Lewis sur sa bite pour l'obliger à avaler sa pisse.
Ils étaient en pleine campagne, et Nick Offerman a profité du fait que celui-ci était au sol entre ses cuisses occupé à sucer sa bite, car il n'a pas pu voir le chemin. Il serait impossible pour lui de retrouver la route, car la maison était cachée dans une immense forêt éloignée des routes principales.
Lorsqu'ils sont arrivés, Nick a pris le jeune homme dans ses bras, qui, même s'il était musclé, aimait être tenu par un homme âgé.
Arrivé dans la maison, Nick Offerman lui arracha ses vêtements. Désormais nu, agenouillé face à son maître, Nick lui ordonna de venir vers lui, à ses pieds.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Lèche mes bottes, pédé."
Le jeune homme lécha les bottes du maître, et celui-ci apprecia d'être traité en vrai Roi.
Puis, Nick Offerman se déplacea et attacha Lewis sur une croix en bois. Là, il le fouetta longuement, et même si les cris de souffrance était de la musique à ses oreilles, il finit par retirer ses chausettes.
Il ne les avait pas retiré depuis qu'il avait fixé rendez-vous à Lewis. Pendant une semaine sans se laver les pieds et changer de chaussettes, il avait dû subir les remarques de son épouse, mais elle l'aimait trop pour lui en vouloir de faire ses propres choix. Elle ignorait tout de la véritable raison des chausettes puantes de son mari.
Il les avait gardé afin qu'il puisse en mettre une dans la bouche de Lewis et l'autre attaché sur son nez. Grâce à cela, il n'entendait plus les cris de douleur de Lewis.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Oui, prends ça sale pédé! Putain tu me dégoute sale pédé ! Oui T'aimes ça les pieds puants d'un homme!"
Lewis était très excité par la puanteur des chaussettes du maître, mais il souffrait aussi. Nick le fouetta longuement avant de revenir le détacher pour le câliner, coller son corps rond puant et poilu contre le corps musclé du jeune homme. Il aima caresser son joli cul.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Tu as gagné ta récompense. Tu vas lécher mes pieds, pédé."
Lewis pleura de joie à l'idée de passer la nuit à lécher les pieds puants d'un homme qui ne s'était pas lavé les pieds plus d'une semaine.
Avec son peignoir autour de lui, Nick vit l'esclave s'approcher de lui tel un toutou.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Ta place est à mes pieds. Je suis heureux de t'avoir à moi."
Il alla dormir dans son grand lit confortable dans cette maison abandonnée. C'est là qu'il passa la nuit à se faire lécher les pieds par Lewis. De grands pieds puants et masculins, couverts de crasse et de saleté accumulée.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Voilà, moi je mange au lit et toi tu avale la crasse de mes pieds. Mes pieds sont comment, pédé ? Puants, hein ? Mais c'est l'odeur des pieds d'un vrai mâle blanc hétéro, je suis sûr que tu aime ça !"
Il laissa ses pieds dépasser du lit pour que Lewis puisse les lécher et les sucer plus facilement. Ses orteils étaient délicieux.
Le lendemain, Nick prit plaisir à être réveillé par un lèchage des pieds. Il détacha ensuite la laisse qui pendait au collier d'esclave de Lewis, qu'il accroché au lit, et prit la laisse pour tirer son esclave à genoux jusqu'à lui. Dans la salon, il prit son café en se faisant lécher les pieds. Cela dura plus d'une heure.
Lewis pressa son visage contre les grands pieds chauds de son maître et inspirait leur odeur masculine et chaude. Il n'était l'as mécontent d'être tombé sur un homophobe, car en bon pédé soumis aux hétéros, il vénérait cet homme qui le trouvait inférieur.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Viens ici pédé."
Nick Offerman ordonna à Lewis de venir sur le canapé, où il posa son gros cul puant sur son visage. Bien que musclé, Lewis n'était pas fort et ne résista pas au poid du cul de Nick. Il commença à péter sur la tête de Lewis, qui tentait de retenir sa respiration.
PPPRRRTTTTT PRRRRTTTTTTTTT !!!!!
NICK OFFERMAN : "Renifle mes pets, pédé."
Lewis fut bien obligé de renifler les pets puants, de plus en plus nombreux sur lui.
Nick s'adressa à Lewis, qui luttait sous le cul.
NICK OFFERMAN : "Je vais te garder avec moi, tu seras mon esclave sexuel, et je ne laverais plus jamais mes pieds. Je viendrais aussi souvent que possible, mais j'enverrai sinon des amis de confiance pour que tu les serves. Ils vont te former à être un esclave. Tu voulais lécher des pieds, tu seras servi. Mes amis sont tous des homophobes qui ne lavent pas leur pieds. Bienvenue au paradis."
Nick Offerman n'a plus jamais lavé ses pieds lui-même, car Lewis était son lécheur de pieds. Lewis n'est jamais rentré chez lui, il a continué à être fouetté par de vieux homophobes gros et puants qui lui enfoncaient leurs chaussettes sales dans la bouche et mettaient leurs caleçons sales sur son visage. Et Lewis n'avais jamais été aussi heureux que lorsqu'il était encagé avec des chaussettes puantes en bouche ou lorsqu'il léchait les longs pieds de Nick Offerman.
Celui-ci avait enfin trouvé son defouloir. Rien ne le détendait plus que de taper un pédé.
DaveFarts - Episode 32 “A Worthy Opponent” [Episode List]
Dave is back at the warehouse and filming another short “fart porn” clip for Greg. As he keeps blasting Tom, his co-worker and fart sniffer, a masked man steps into the set…
Greatly influenced by this suggestion.
Reminder: Tom was introduced in Episode 14.
POV: Dave
Alright, just like I did last time, it’s all good.
Getting paid to fart in someone’s face? Easiest money I’ll ever make in my life.
My friend Greg, the wannabe movie director, wanted me for another fart porn film.
Yes, that’s an actual thing, this is my life now… a small part of it at least.
You know me, I’m a chill dude, though before accepting such task some months ago I wanted to make sure there were some lines that we shouldn’t cross. To be honest, however, the more I worked with Greg, the more I got used to all of this gross kinky stuff.
I mean, that sounds hypocrite, I’m aware: I’m an incredibly skilled straight farter who continuously face-farts his friend and roommate, fully knowing the he has a fart fetish, and even before that I’ve always been a proud farter, and rightfully so.
Also, I spend too much time on the Internet, so I’m well-versed in gross stuff.
With Tim, however, it’s different.
Here there are cameras, people telling me how I need to fart (seriously!), people I barely know but, truth to be told, who gives a shit? It’s just business, a business that revolves about farting, so you could say that my ass shits gold, almost literally.
Plus, I already got a Tim in my fart-victim collection: a Tom always sounded like the next logical step, the next Infinity Sniffer. You can starting calling me Thanus at this point.
So here I am, back at the warehouse, in this fake living room, wearing a pair of shabby grey sweatpants, cautiously sitting on Tom’s face.
Tom, my co-worker and professional fart sniffer.
He was lying on this couch in the middle of the set, face up, his nose perfectly aligned with my asscheeks already.
He didn’t say a word or move a muscle: this guy is a pro for real. I still don’t know if he actually has a fart kink or not. What I do know is that I did blast him even when we weren’t working once.
What can I say? My farts are too good to be wasted!
As of now, I sat on him and adjusted my position, spreading my legs wide, to ease the next fart out and, according to the script, “to showoff my manly bulge”. Thanks, I guess?
I lean just a bit and I effortlessly rip the first fart of the session, a natural blast I’ve been brewing for a couple of minutes. The warm gas passed through the fabric of my sweatpants and soon Tom’s face was imbued with my poisonous flatulence.
“Fuck yeah.” I said, as the loud blast kept going. “Don’t choke on that you fag.”
Hey, I didn’t write the script!
I could feel and hear Tom taking deep whiffs of that fart. I wiggled my ass in response, an improv which he seemed to enjoy, both professionally and… kinkly?
This blast lasted around 6 seconds. A good one don’t get me wrong… but you know what I’m truly capable of…
I noticed Greg from behind the camera giving me a thumbs up, mouthing my next line.
“Alright you filthy slave, you better open up.”
Tom obeyed. I leaned once again and spread my legs even wider, my anus aligning with my co-worker’s mouth.
Another home-run, another loud fart, I didn’t even need to push that much. I’m ridiculously good at this, I swear. It feels stupid to brag about farting skills but trust me, as soon as I finish ripping one of my huge farts, my body is already brewing the next one. I got a quick reload.
Tom’s face was shaking and this time, for real, he almost choked on my gas, as I felt him move. And when even Tom, who’s usually stone-cold while working, flinches, I know I did a good job.
I saw Greg talking to his assistant: he seemed angry. In that moment, behind me, the fake door of the fake living room opened without warning. Was this an unscripted moment?
I stopped farting and turned around, kind of forgetting that I was sitting on Tom’s face.
Someone stepped into the set, another man, around my age, tall and skinny. I couldn’t see his face as he was wearing some kind of black ski mask. His clothes were as casual as mine (a red t-shirt and a pair of blue skinny jeans).
He didn’t look friendly, yet the moment he saw me, he kind of froze on the spot for a few moments.
Is Greg making a farter-slasher movie all of the sudden? Not that I’d complain! Sounds camp-y enough to me.
I gave an inquisitive look to my director-friend, who promptly stopped filming.
“C-cut!” he yelled. “Alright, we got our first farts.” he said, as he walked towards me. “N-now, make room for the other farter of this session.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Other farter?”
“Duh!” Greg replied, as he pulled me out of the set, impatiently. “You thought you were the only person capable of ripping ass?”
Honestly, kind of?
I mean, I don’t think about farts 24/7, but I do know that I’m pretty good at it. Ask Tim.
“Are you replacing me?” I bluntly asked.
Not gonna have a fight over… farting, that’s for sure. And I’m not even mad, I was just taking those extra bucks for granted.
“Don’t be jealous.” he replied, as he let me sit next to him, next to the director himself, as if I was one of the crew.
I watched as this masked guy stepped on the couch and squatted over Tom’s head, just as the poor guy was getting used to fresh air again. I guess this is his lucky day, assuming that he does have the kink.
“Action!” I almost went deaf when Greg screamed that.
The masked guy was basically another master and he acted accordingly.
“Here you go, fag. Got something for you to taste…”
The fart that followed was very loud and echoed in the whole warehouse. On one hand, when I’m not the one torturing a poor soul with farts, yeah, it’s pretty gross. On the other, as a man, I gotta tip my imaginary hat to a fellow talented farter. The blast was nowhere as long as mine, but holy shit.
This other “master” was way more dominant than I was, way more natural I’d say.
“If you wanted a master, you could just ask…” I whispered into Greg's ear, sounding way more flirty than I intended to be, which almost made me laugh.
“You can’t be a master like him.” he firmly replied. “You’re too nice.”
Should I be offended? I really don’t know anything anymore at this point.
“Fire in the hole!” the masked master yelled, just as he ripped another loud fart down Tom’s throat.
I admit this guy’s voice sounded quite familiar, despite his best effort at trying to sound much deeper.
“Do we know this guy?” I asked Greg. The question almost startled him.
“Uhm. No idea.”
Ok, liar ahead.
Clearly we know this guy then.
I will get to the bottom of this… after I put this masked guy to his place.
POV: Tom
Fuck.
Dave’s farts were already impressive, but this masked guy’s blasts are really hard to endure, really pushing the limits of my kink. Those farts sound utterly gross, almost wet, and they smell horribly. I like working with Dave because, among other things, his roaring ass is loud but when it comes to stench, I can easily inhale those.
This guy… I have no idea who he is, Greg refused to introduce us for some reason, but I decided to trust him: I think I made a mistake. The rough surface of his skinny jeans is almost scraping my face.
Another fart erupted right into my nostrils, renewing the already terrible stench. It smells like… spoiled milk? I don’t know, it’s nauseating, I feel like I’m drowning in a sewer. I’m always very calm and composed when I’m… working, but I wasn’t ready for this I admit it.
“You’re such a bitch, I knew you couldn’t handle it.” the man said, ripping another loud, short rip.
If this guy doesn’t get up soon, I’m probably gonna choke in my own puke.
“Alright, that’s enough, get the fuck out of here.”
I heard Dave say, walking towards us, and I was relieved.
The masked man got up, my eyes adjusting to the spotlight shining over the set. I took a deep breathe of (relatively) fresh air, but anything was better than that.
I managed to recognize Dave’s silhouette, towering over me.
“That was cute. Now let me show how a pro does it.”
Great. I’m basically the city you see in the background of kaijū movies while the monsters fight each other. You know the city, right? The city that usually gets completely leveled by the huge creatures?
I guess that’s my role for today.
Let’s get it over with.
As I said, Dave’s farts are huge but I’d take anything over that other guy’s gas.
I quickly took more deep breaths… before letting Dave sit on me again.
POV: Dave
“That was cute. Now let me show how a pro does it.”
I don’t know who this guy is, but if he really wants to do this, a fuckin’ fart challenge, then he’s gonna get blown away.
Well, not him, rather, my good pal right here on the couch.
“Alright…” I whispered to Tom. “Get ready bro. I’m gonna rip some huge ones and act like an asshole for a bit.”
I earned a puzzled look from him. “An asshole?” he paused for a moment. “But… you’re too nice.”
Oh great, now the sub tells me how lovey-dovey I am, perfect!
I stepped on the couch, not caring how my feet was crushing Tom’s chest, and squatted over his face, my fabric-clad anus tickling the tip of his nose. As I said, I’m always brewing a big one, and having a quick cheeseburger before coming here surely helped.
Once again, effortlessly, my ass started roaring, loud and unstoppable. As I kept pushing this one out, I maintained eye-contact with the mysterious masked challenger, who could only watch haplessly as I showed him what real talent looks like.
“Open wide, fag. This is far from over.”
Tom took it like a champ, inhaling deeply for the camera -I don’t even know if we started filming again.
All I know is that my farting skills are a sight to behold… and to sniff, in Tom and Tim’s case at least.
Ahah… I’ll never understand this gross kink, but I gotta admit, if I had this fetish, and my best bro and roommate was, well, me, I’d probably be as thirsty as Tim is. So yeah, in a disgusting way… I get it.
And just like that, 12 seconds passed. Long, but not as long as my best ones, I can do even better than this… but I play fair so, after brushing my sweaty sweatpants ass on Tom’s face, I stood up and crossed my arms, eyes glued on my rival.
“Your move, beanpole.”
It’s ridiculous how seriously I’m taking all of this, but I can get quite competitive.
The masked master laughed and… lied on the floor. He held one leg up… that’s a position I’m quite familiar with. Surprisingly enough, he started sucking air in, right through his jeans. That’s a great talent I gotta say, I thought I was the only one who could fart on command so easily.
A worthy opponent, at long last!
After a few seconds, the man stood up, proud and tall and, just like I did earlier, treated Tom as if he was part of the couch, and sat on his face. His eyes glued on me, I could tell there was a smug mile making fun of me under that ski mask.
The fart that followed was quite impressive and loud, but still not as massive as the ones I’m able to produce. This guy was good, no doubts about it. I’m pretty sure Tim would fall in love with him (the thought of that made me visibly laugh, putting a dent in the menacing aura I was trying to convey).
You know what, fuck this. It’s not worth it.
But since I’m already here, and I’m able to rip huge farts both naturally and on command, I guess I could simply… well… join the fun, you might say.
I’m sure Tom will understand.
POV: Tom
The masked guy’s fart, despite being on command, was as foul as the one before. Dave’s blasts weren’t a cakewalk by any means, and they’re still much louder, deeper and stronger overall, but whatever this guy ate was doing numbers in his stomach. He was wearing a pair of skinny jeans but he could very well be naked for how much my nostrils were burning.
The stench of Dave’s previous farts mixed with the rotten eggs-flavored gas this guy’s anus was blowing in my face and, truly, I started to think that this was a big test that Greg set up just for me, for some insane reason. If I survive this, I’m gonna kick his ass.
After around 9 seconds, the flatulence’s loudness faded out, essentially turning into a classic silent-but-deadly.
The man raised his ass just a bit, to make sure I could breath a bit of fresh air before the next one.
I turned my head and I could see Dave approaching the couch again.
Okay, it’s the other kaijū’s turn I assume.
Funnily enough, this is actually good ne-
...
Wait.
Why isn’t the other guy stepping aside?
“If it’s a show you want, Greg, a show you’ll get.” Dave boasted.
The farter above me finally moved, but just a bit, his ass still covering half of my face, hovering over my mouth.
The reason he moved, however, wasn’t altruistic by any means: instead, he had to make room for Dave’s ass, which ended up being planted directly onto my eyes instead.
Just... just fuckin’ do it you gassy bastards.
“Hey fag, it’s your lucky day.” the masked guy said.
“Good thing you have two nostrils: one of each anus.” Dave said.
Whether they were improvising or not wasn’t important, because their asses certainly weren’t.
Dave’s ass started speaking first, erupting his deep warm gas into my eyes. Mere seconds later, the other ass started talking as well, its fart being more high pitched. The sounds mixed together like a symphony and after a few moments I couldn’t tell which anus was being louder, ‘cause they both were.
I became part of the couch as those two asses kept crushing me, farting loudly. My face couldn’t endure that barrage of farts any longer, as the farters kept cycling between either loud series of farts, or single long ones. The stench... I felt like they were taking a shit on me, I could taste that thick gas and even guess what they ate for lunch.
It was getting hot, too hot, and I started breathing more heavily, which only meant I got to ingest more of that poisonous gas.
And yet, my massive boner betrayed my disgust.
While my eardrums were getting crushed by those farts, I could still manage to recognize Dave’s fart being the loudest: the man found a worthy opponent, sure, but he still owns the crown, no doubts about it.
“And for the big finale…” I heard the King say.
Dave lowered his sweatpants, exposing his sweaty bare ass (the masked farter kept his jeans on instead), and ripped a short, yet very loud toot, drops of sweat being blown onto my face and teary eyes (for the smell).
The two remained there for a few seconds, finally in silence from both ends, letting me inhale those last particles of gas, even though I’m pretty sure my skin merged with their farts on sub-atomic level, then they finally got up and shared a high-five.
Much to my surprise, the two men then turned back to me and helped me sit down, and they both high-fived me as well.
I guess a fart master is nothing without someone willing to sniff it all.
I appreciate the respect.
The mutual respect.
POV: Dave
After taking a much-needed shower and putting my civilian clothes back on (my usual dark brown hoodie and a pair of loose jeans), I cleared things up with Greg.
He admitted he messed up things up with the schedule, and that indeed there was another “master” audition today, but he really enjoyed our improv and filmed everything, and thus the editors are pretty satisfied with what we managed to film today.
He also told me that, indeed, the mysterious farter is “a common friend” who didn’t want to be recognized.
No hard feelings with Tom either, obviously.
Now, time to tie up one last loose end.
I went outside, on the back of the warehouse, where I knew I could find my masked rival. He was checking his phone sitting on a shabby couch, an old prop that the crew moved here after they bought a new one for the set.
Basically, glorified comfy garbage.
“Hey, fire-in-the-hole-guy! I knew I’d find you here… that’s there they put the trash after all.” I said, with a smug smile.
The man shook his head and laughed. “Greg told you?” he asked.
I walked towards the couch and sat next to him, wrapping my right arm around his shoulder.
“You thought I woudn’t recognize your beautiful eyes, Adam?” I joked, acting all flirty (and hopefully annoying).
He punched my shoulder and took his mask off.
Indeed, it was Adam all along.
He laughed a bit more.
“I didn’t know you were working with Greg.” he said. “Finally, you can make money from the one thing you're good at!"
“Very good at.” I corrected him.
I was going to fart to prove my point, but Adam seemed worried about something.
“I kind of needed those extra bucks you know...”
“Why is everything gravitating towards farts lately…” I thought out loud.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing, forget about it.” I quickly said. “Extra bucks you said?”
“Yeah, as gross as it sounds, I thought I could make some quick money out of… whatever Greg’s doing here.”
“Hey, not judging bro!” I reassured him. “I mean, I’ve been doing this for a couple of months.”
“Does Dana know?” he asked.
“Nah, I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Tim, he’d probably be jeal-“
I bit my tongue just in time, even though I didn’t really think he’d get jealous. I was just trying to make a joke I swear!
“Jealous?” my friend inquired. “Jealous of what?”
“…Uhh… jealous of my success, obviously!”
Adam didn’t seem too interested in the conversation anyway, luckily enough, so he didn’t find anything suspicious about my not-so-harmless joke about my roommate.
“That’s envy, not jealousy, you idiot.” he observed.
Never mind.
A few dozens of seconds of silence followed. Adam wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, and he does have a job and all, but if he needs extra bucks, maybe I could help.
“I’m sure we can arrange something with Greg.” I stated.
“Mh?”
“Yeah, you can fart on Tom on Tuesdays, while I can do it on Wednesdays.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.
“I can’t believe we’re talking about this.” Adam admitted.
“Yeah.” I patted his shoulder. “From great farts, come great responsibility.”
We remained there, on that smelly (not because of us) couch, for a few more minutes, as if all that fart-talk was the most mundane thing in the world.
“Doing something tonight?” Adam asked.
“Dana and Tim are out of town, so probably nothing. You?”
“There’s a good pub a few blocks from here. Care for a beer?”
“Always.” I simply said, as we both stood up, and started marching towards our new destination.
“Easy bro.” Adam said. “I’m not gonna drag your drunk ass back home.”
“I can handle way more beer than you, pal!” I said.
“Yeah, in your dreams maybe.” he replied.
“Alright. Ready to lose against me for the second time today?” I threatened him.
“Lose?” he scoffed. “It was literally just far-“
I cut him off by ripping a huge, natural blast, staring at him with a smug grin. The fart easily echoed in the alley and I’m pretty sure they heard it downtown. It was short and sweet, you might say.
4 loud, proud seconds.
“I’m sorry.” I said. “You were saying?”
Adam laughed in response. “Fine, you won whatever that was back in the warehouse.” he admitted. “But I’m still not gonna drag your sorry drunk ass back home later.”
You know me, I’m a chill guy, but if you tease me, I can get very competitive.
I again wrapped my arm around his shoulder: “If it’s a show you want, Adam, a show you’ll get.”
Dave has to hold back the loudness of his huge farts as he gets an important phone call from work while blasting Tim’s face.
POV: Tim
The cab dropped me a few blocks from my place: finally, a couple of more minutes and I could relax at home. This was a long day. Nothing ground-breaking or anything, as I simply had to meet a client downtown. It went well, no need to go into boring details, but I’m glad I know how to pilot drones and film stuff with them. Believe it or not, working as an editor for Greg’s porn films, of all things, gave me lots of experience. I’m not planning to become a film-maker, but I do like how this stuff works. Plus, and perhaps most importantly, it pays the bills, which is good.
Bills that I’m currently sharing with my bro and roommate Dave anyway. I wonder if he’s home: today he called in sick from work because he had to do some stuff with Dana -something related to them planning to move in together. From what he told me, it’s been a tough month, and often he ended up working overtime, so he really needed this one day to get some stuff done with his girlfriend.
It was evening, around 7:00 PM, the cold breeze scratching my face, with my eyes being spared thanks to my round glasses. I could spot our house: the lights were on. I do hope he is home, or else he’s gonna pay *those* bills by himself this time.
Indeed, I passed by Dave’s car parked on the driveway, still warm, meaning that my friend probably got home mere minutes before me. I quickly put a halt to my detective work and opened the door, stepping into our living room / kitchen, being greeted by the warmth of our apartment, other than a firm “Yo!” from my roommate.
Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack.
“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”
I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.
“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.
I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.
“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.
“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”
He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately.
I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.
As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV.
Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.
“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.
“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”
“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”
Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.
Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.
Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.
I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.
“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.”
“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”
“Yeah the news are wild these days.”
I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.
“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”
There he is, the teasing bastard.
I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.
Which I will always be thankful for.
“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.
Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him.
The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.
“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.
I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.
“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”
Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.
My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.
Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times.
One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.
“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.”
I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.
I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.
“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.
He cackled in response to that.
“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.
“What do you m- oh… of course.”
I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose.
As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.
And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.
After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.
“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.
I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.
“Good times.” he joked back.
My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.
“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”
And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.
“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.
I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.
“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.
I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.
Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.
“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”
A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.
“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.”
I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.
As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.
So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.
“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”
I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.
“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”
As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch.
And those weren’t even on command!
As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.
I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).
This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.
10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.
“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…”
Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.
“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”
Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.
Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.
After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.
“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”
A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.
“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.
I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.
“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.
“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk.
I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.
We’re both weird, no doubts about it.
“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.
If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.
Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart.
How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.
Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.
“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.
“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.
He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.
“I thought you were done!”
In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen.
“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”
I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.
Men are entitled to use faggots as a source of pleasure, entertainment and service. It’s a basic law of nature. And yet, some Men are not fully enlightened about the ways in which fags can be utilized and leveraged. To assist them in their exploitation of faggots, therefore, i have compiled a list of 115 ways for Tops, Alphas, Doms, Superiors, Masters and Sirs to use and abuse faggots, bottoms, betas, omegas, pigs, slaves, sluts, pups, subs and all other variety of inferiors:
Sit back and make him suck your dick, nice and slow.
Train him to deepthroat your cock.
Fuck his face, balls-deep, like it’s a pussy.
Cock slap him.
Make him lick your sweaty balls.
Straddle his face and teabag him.
Spit on him.
Make him clean your sweaty ass after you work out.
Make him clean your dirty hole when you haven’t showered.
Piss on him.
Piss down his throat.
Piss in his ass.
Make him drink your piss from a glass.
Piss on a pair of underwear, or a jock strap, then wring it out over his face.
Finger his hole.
Fuck his ass.
Spank him.
Paddle him or whip him.
Fuck him with a dildo.
Make him clean a dildo after it’s been in his ass, your ass or another faggot’s ass.
Tie him up and use his holes.
Smack or slap his face.
Call him names.
Tag team him with a buddy.
Gangbang him with a group of friends or strangers.
Whore him out to friends or strangers.
Make him sniff and lick your piss-, shit- and/or cum-stained underwear.
Gag him with your dirty underwear, jockstrap or cum rag when you’re fucking him.
Cum on his face.
Cum on his face and make him wear the load out in public.
Cum on his ass.
Cum directly down his throat.
Cum in your hand, and make him eat it from your hand like a dog.
Organize a bukkake and cover his face with multiple cum loads.
Make him eat your cum off your buddy’s cock.
Cum on the floor or a table and make him lick it up.
Make him drink your load(s) from a shot glass.
Cum on food and make him eat it.
Save your loads on a cum rag, jockstrap or pair of underwear when you jerk off; when the cum rag is rank and full, make him suck the cum crust out of it.
Double-penetrate him with another Top or with a dildo.
Make him suck your cock while you’re taking a shit (i.e., give you a blumpkin).
Use his tongue as toilet paper after you take a dump.
Make him eat your shit.
Make him eat his own shit.
Make him jerk off with shit.
Make him smear his body with shit.
Flick or twist his nipples.
Write names (e.g., faggot, bitch, pig, slut), pictures (e.g., a cock and balls, a pig face, a toilet) or phrases (e.g., insert cock here, with an arrow pointing to its holes) on his body.
Make him lick your dirty toilet, or a public toilet, clean.
Make him wear a butt plug out in public (e.g., to the bar, to the gym, to the grocery store).
Piss on his underwear, or take a dump in his underwear, then make him wear them home.
Fart in his faggot face.
Tie him to your toilet when you have guys over, and tell them to use him instead of the toilet.
Fuck his face until he vomits, then make him clean the puke off your cock.
Don’t let him cum.
Make him ask your permission to jerk off or cum.
Make him eat his own cum.
Make him jerk off or finger himself while you and/or your friends watch.
Make him watch while you fuck another faggot.
Position him beneath you while you’re fucking another faggot and make him lick your cock as it goes in and out of the faggot’s hole.
Make him eat your ass while you’re fucking another faggot.
Make him clean your cock off after you fuck him.
Make him clean your cock off after you fuck another faggot.
Make him eat your load out of another faggot’s ass.
Make him clean out another faggot’s ass after you’ve fucked it.
Take photos and/or videos of him servicing your cock.
Finger your ass, then make him sniff and/or suck your stink finger.
Tie his cock and balls with a shoelace.
Blindfold him when you use him.
Fist his hole.
Fuck him with a condom and make him drink the cum out of it.
Make him drink the cum out of used condoms (e.g., at a party, at the bathhouse, at the park).
Cum in his ass.
Make him fuck another faggot, or get fucked by another faggot, while you watch.
Make him and another faggot fuck themselves on a double-ended dildo while you watch.
Make him lick your feet.
Use him as a footrest.
Make him give you a massage or footrub.
Hock a loogie in his face or down his throat.
Blow your nose on him.
Shoot a snot rocket in his mouth.
Take him to a bar; when his beer’s empty, refill the glass or bottle with your piss and make him drink it in public.
Make him pee at the urinal (e.g., at the movies, at the gym, at the bar) with his pants around his ankles so everyone knows he’s a faggot.
Shave his body.
Shave his head.
Save your piss in a bucket, and make him bathe with it.
Keep him in chastity.
Decide what he wears.
Make him wear a collar and leash.
Keep him in a cage.
Make him do domestic chores for you (e.g., laundry, cleaning, shopping).
Make him sniff poppers, then use him.
If you’re uncut, make him clean and eat the smegma from your cock.
Make him wear a ball gag.
Make him crawl in your presence, like a dog.
Make him eat his meals out of a dog dish.
Torture him with hot wax.
Make him give himself an enema — with water, or perhaps your piss — while you watch.
Give yourself an enema, then release it all over his face or body.
Make him service anonymous cock at a gloryhole.
Engage him in forced workouts.
Fuck him with found objects around your home (e.g., a broom handle, a beer bottle, a carrot, a cucumber, a wooden spoon).
Make him beg for your cock.
Feed him your pre-cum.
Make him lick your sweaty pits.
Make him call you “Master” or “Sir.”
Make him wear a hood while you use him so that the only sensation he has is the feeling of your cock in his hole.
Cum in his ass, then make him fart your cum into his hand and eat it.
Felch your cum out of his ass, then feed it to him.
Make him lick you head to toe.
Make him pick your pubes out of your underwear or off your toilet and eat them.
Make him wear a puppy tail in his ass.
Make him lick your boots.
Make him do a strip tease for you.
Make him service you in a public place (e.g., a restroom, a park, your car).
Of course, there are hundreds more ways to use and abuse a faggot. It’s my hope that this list stimulates imaginations and facilitates more Men putting faggots to use servicing Them as nature intended!
I reblog just as a reminder. And maybe a Straight masculine Man will stumble across this and learn that faggots are born to serve STRAIGHT MEN in any way he commands. You don’t have to ask. Or say please or thank you. You simply state what you need want a faggot to do and the faggot says Yes Sir and will comply. It’s really that simple. Use a faggit and as a faggot should be used and he will crave to be owned by you
Would love a story about an Alpha male putting a gay sub under his socked feet while he fucks a woman and says this is what an Alpha male does and this is where a gay foot sub belongs with an Alpha male 👍 no offense please 🙏
Hey bro. I can be a bit thick at times, so I hope I got your request alright though :)
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The last thing Dan wanted after spending a whole afternoon in football practice was to deal with his roommate. But, as soon as he opened the dorm door, he was the first thing popping out in his peripheral vision.
"Dan? We need to talk," he says in his nasalized voice, leaning on the doorway.
"Not now, Matt," Dan replies, dropping his bag on the floor, and stretching his muscles. He knows Matt will be silent for a few seconds when he puts on a little show. Matt is about to talk when Dan takes off his shirt, letting his eyes bash on a fit and sweaty torso. "Not now buddy."
Dan goes into his room and smiles reading the text his friend with benefits just sent, saying she wouldn't be long. "Sweet," and he starts to get a chub between his legs in anticipation. "Gotta get this mess sorted," he says out loud.
"Dan? I'm serious!"
Dan is so immersed in thinking about the pussy he's about to get that the sound of Matt's voice makes him jump. "Go away!" he shouts, taking off his cleats. Matt looks at Dan, places one hand on his hip, and points his finger.
"This!" he says, "you keep messing up the dorm, Dan. I told you before, that you need to take off your shoes at the entrance. You leave stuff everywhere."
"Bro, I don't care. This ain't my home bruh. And I like the smell, don't you?" Dan says, wiggling his toes in moist warm socks.
Matt's face goes red, and his eyes shine. "It's disgusting, Dan," he says, his eyes going from the pecs to his socks. "You could at least -"
"Matt, I have someone coming over pretty soon."
"Someone?"
"Some pussy bruh. So unless you have something important to say, you better fuck off."
"Don't be rude!"
Dan takes a deep breath and lets his shorts fall down to his ankles, just keeping his socks and jockstrap on. After scratching his balls vigorously, for longer than necessary, he watches Matt getting out of breath.
"You can clean my room if that's bothering you so much. And my gym bag is full of my dirty underwear and shit."
"I'm not going to -"
"And why not? Bruh, it's the perfect deal. You stop bitching around and make me a happy man."
Matt looks back at Dan. The scent of this man reaches him, like so many times before. When he smiles, dimples show on the corners of his perfect lips, and he wonders what must he be like when fucking.
"I'm not cleaning up after you, I'm not your maid."
"But you might like it though. Dude, I know already how my socks mysteriously disappear from time to time, do you think I'm dumb? I know I got the muscles, but I can add one plus one bruh. And I know you're a little cocksucker too, Brian told me all about your suck session the other day."
"No, he didn't -"
"Oh yes, he did. You swallowed every fucking drop, even milked him for more. So, I'm not in the mood to be nagged today. Diana is coming here soon, and I better be ready. I know you like to listen to a real man fucking, so I can leave the door open."
Dan lets his jockstrap fall to his ankles and looks back at Matt. "So... bruh... are you going to pick that up?"
Matt's blood froze. A drop of sweat forms on his forehead, looking at Dan, as he grabs his cock. "Do you... want me to..." and Dan nods. "Pick it up, buddy. That way, I won't leave all my shit everywhere." And just as Matt is about to reach out for the jockstrap, Dan stops him. "No, on your knees. Pick it up with your face, Matt."
"I'm not -" but Matt lifts Dan's chin, placing a thumb on his mouth, "yes you will. Pick. It. Up."
As Matt kneels, the scent from Dan reaches up to his nostrils, and an urge to taste him gets stronger with each passing second. As if Matt is becoming a different person.
"Don't waste time, take a whiff at a real man, bruh." And Dan uses his left foot to press Matt's head against his other one, and he can see the changes in his roommate. His body shivers as he opens his mouth, bathing in the fabric of his used socks. He doesn't stop to breathe and doesn't take a break. Dan smiles as Matt grabs his own junk over his shorts and jerks it off violently. Matt sits down on top of an end table, "that's your place, Matt, on the floor, sniffing me. How do you like that?"
"Make me stop, oh my god, what's wrong with me?" he says, opening his mouth, kissing, and licking Dan's feet. His face's covered in the other man's scent and his cock is almost bursting with the intensity.
"You can stop yourself, as for me, I'm enjoying my size 15 worshipped. You make it so easy bro."
And it takes no time for Matt to lay on the floor, Dan's big feet all over his face, as he continues to worship him. "Yeah bro, I've been waiting to do this for a while now, I knew you'd come around. Finally, my first gay sub to own."
"I can't stop, why?" Matt says, letting Dan's feet enter his mouth, penetrating him, stretching his lips around his used socks.
"Because you want it. Look at your cock buddy, all hard and happy. That's your place, right there, under a real man's feet."
Matt grabs your foot with both hands, making it fuck his mouth harder. Dan can feel his tongue working the soles and fingers, and he smiles at his own self-control. His cock is hard and leaking, and he lets his ooze fall inside Matt's mouth, he doesn't even realize what's going on.
Dan looks up and see's Diana, in the doorway. "Hey girl," he says.
"What... the fuck Dan? What's going on - wait, is that Matt?" her face changed a few times during the same sentence.
"Babe, this is exactly what you think it is. Come here," Dan says, while Matt continues to inhale his scent.
"Er... wait, do you expect me to stay here with... this?" her finger circles the air a couple of times until it points out straight at Matt.
"Oh, this? He's just proving to me how useful he can be. Isn't that right, Matt?"
"Fuck, yes, yes it is. Oh my god, why can't I stop?"
"Because you finally understand what a real man is."
"Yes, yes, you're right. Oh fuck, Sir, this is too good, I'm so sorry."
He looks up at Diana, "see? a real man needs this from time to time. Now, come here, love, I need to feel those tits."
Diana looks down on Matt and bites her lip. If it was any other man, she knows she'd leave but Dan has what she wants: a cock so perfect that fits in her pussy like a very naughty glove.
"Do you think he can maybe go to another room?"
Dan opens his arms to greet Diana, and kisses her mouth like he means to. "I have him where I want. He needs to know what its like when real men fuck."
Matt follows Dan's feet as he lays on the bed, with Diana on top of him, and keeps worshipping even as he's fucking her. He can listen to every single moan coming out of that woman's mouth.
"I bet you're loving every second, Matt," Dan says, checking on his roommate.
"Yes Sir, I... irresistible." It's like Matt's brain getting slower with each sniff. Dan can tell his socks are wet from Matt's saliva, and that makes him even harder, pounding Diana away. Diana goes on top, riding his cock, and Dan is able to still dominate Matt, stuffing one foot inside his mouth and using the other to press his head further against it. He can hear him gag, while he increases the speed.
"Yes Sir," he hears Matt say on a short break, just to open his mouth again to receive him. Diana is screaming with the intensity of the fuck, and Dan keeps reminding Matt of his place.
"You're good enough to suck my feet, and that's it, boy. I'm about to cum, oh fuck, hold tight Diana," and with his face in her breasts, he cums so hard inside his friend that even Matt can feel his strong pungent scent, making him cum in his shorts as he holds on to both feet.
Dan holds Diana, regaining his breath. He sucks her tits, and after a few moments, he notices that Matt has stopped.
"Hey Matt, what the fuck? You stopped?"
"I... did Sir."
Dan stands up, holding Diana, and resuming the fuck. "Well, you stop when I stop. Look up at me," and Matt obeys, "maybe you're lucky enough for my cum to drip from her. Now, take your place at my feet, and watch how a real man fucks."
Matt watched and licked as Dan got Diana a second load, while his cum dripped over his socks.
"You were such a good roommate, Matt, that you can have a reward."
"Your feet were my reward, Sir."
"And what's all that with the 'Sir' thing?"
"It's how I show respect, Sir. Men like you need to be treated with respect."
Dan smiles and leans backward on his bed. "Go on then, I got your reward right here buddy. Come and take your place."
——————–
This story is a work of fiction and intended for readers 18 and above. All characters are consenting adults. In no way does the content of the story relates to the person in the picture.
Was not the most inspired writer today. Any feedback is appreciated. Take care.
Warnings/Tags: Gay Face Farting, Forced Face Farting, Face Farting, Fart Torture, Multiple uses of the F slur, Asphyxiation by Farts, Passing out from Farts, Eproctophilia, Face humping, Bully cums, Pisses self
Last Monday I opened my locker to find a note waiting for me. It falls to the ground and I quickly squat down to grab the note. When I pick up the note, I see that there’s a lipstick mark and just a phone number. I’m a bit confused, but I text the number anyway.
Hey? Got ur note… Who dis?
Hi cutie xx… Jalissa
Hell yeah, Jalissa is awesome. We went to high school together and I knew we were going to the same college but haven’t run into her yet. I briefly found it weird that she approached me this way but I don’t think too much of it.
We end up talking for like a week before deciding to meet up. She wanted to meet up at the gymnasium at 9:00 PM when it’s close. She has a key to the gym since she works there and I’m game.
However, when I get there, the gymnasium is quiet and the lights are dimmed.
“Hello?” I call out as I walk towards the center of the gym. “Jalissa?” When I reach about half court, all the lights flip on.
I hear footsteps and turn around expecting Jalissa but end up seeing someone else. “Tristen? Tristen Moretti? What are you doing here?” I look around, maybe he had the same idea as Jalissa.
“Heard you were talking shit.” This moves my attention back to Tristen and I watch as he saunters closer to me.
“What?” He’s at arms length now. “I don’t know-” He gives me a firm push and I trip slightly backwards but stay on my feet.
“Called the whole wrestling team a bunch of fags.”
“I mean, the whole sport is a bit faggy.” I comment back. “The whole tight singlet and holding another man and rolling around on the mat. It’s all a bit…faggy.”
He pushes me harder, this time I lose my balance. “The only fag I see around here is you.”
“Fuck off!” I go to get back up, but Tristen quickly pins me down against the floor. He does some maneuvering and I’m unable to get a good grip on him. The echoes of me and him struggling in the gymnasium is the only sound I can hear until he has my face pinned against his ass.
“I’ll fucking show you faggot.”
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFBBRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTT
A rumbling six second fart hits my face. It’s rotten, smelling of garbage and eggs. I start to struggle again, but he pins my arms down to my sides and grinds his sweatpant clad ass against my face. “Eat my fucking gas, faggot!” I try to move my face away from his ass but I have nowhere to go.
PFFFFFFFFBRBRBFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFF
More vile gas hits my face and I do my best to hold my breath. Even with doing that, it’s not enough, fumes are still invading my nose.
“Bro, get off!” I grab his hips and try to buck him off, but he uses the opportunity to switch his position. He gets me into a scissor lock and uses his heels to push my head into his ass.
PFFFFFFFFFFBBRFFFFFFFFFFFF
“Fuck!” I yell out as my nose is pressed firmly against his ass. I can’t help the dry cough that escapes my lips. The rotten smell has burned its way into my sinuses and I’m starting to worry.
PBRBRBRBRBBRRRRRR
“Fuck, that was fucking wet.” He comments above me. “How’s that smell faggot?” He releases the pressure of his heels against my head, only to slam my head against his ass over and over again. “Smell it faggot! Smell my fucking ass.”
PFFFFFFFFF PFFFFF PFFFFBBRFFFFFTTT PFFFFF
He slams my face hitting his ass with each fart bomb hitting my face. My eyes are watering and I don’t know if I’m breathing correctly. My nose hurts from the repeated slamming and the toxic fumes that I’m being exposed to.
“Not happening dude.” PFFFFFFFBBRBRFFFFFFFFTTT “This is what happens when you fuck with the wrestling team.”
PFFFFFFBBRRFFFFFFFFFTTTTTT
I feel so physically weak at this point, I lose the ability to even try and fight back against Tristen. “Please.” I manage between hacking.
“You want more? Cool, I can indulge faggot.” He loosens his grip on me slightly only to pull his sweatpants down under his ass. He’s wearing a jockstrap that frames his ass.
“No, no, god no!” I begin to scream as he pulls me back against his ass.
“This is why you don’t talk shit!” He roughly bounces my face in between his ass cheeks as he shakes his. PFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFFFTTTT His naked ass is much worse than before. His gas burns my nostrils as he keeps ripping noxious fumes.
“Please...I-I...Can’t breathe.” He doesn’t budge any, instead he pushes harder against my face.
“Good, I wantchu to suffocate in my fat ass.”
PFFFFFBRBBRFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTT
If he keeps this up, I’m definitely going to start suffocating. I already feel dizzy from all these butt bombs obliterating my nose.
“Gonna make you regret ever talking shit.” He’s already done that. “Eat this faggot!”
A loud trumpeting 15 second fart hits my face without any filter. Pure garbage gets spewed into my lungs and I start convulsing against him. “Yeah let the gas in. Breathe me faggot!”
PFFFFFFBBRRFFFFFFFTTTT
He doesn’t let me recover and continues to blast me with his gas. How is anyone even this gassy? “I'm sorry! Please, I’ll do anything!” I try groveling with the little bit of air I have left.
“Sorry faggot, I can’t hear you. You’ll have to beg louder.”
“Ple-” PBRBRBRBRBRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFF He manages to fart directly into my mouth as I start talking. It’s absolutely rotten and I begin hacking up my lungs again and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Oh god.” I don’t learn from my past mistake and he manages to fart in my mouth again, this time pushing his ass and pulling my head as hard as possible.
I feel my cheeks inflating as he keeps spewing a 15 second silent but deadly fart into my mouth. I can’t move and my whole body is shaking against him.
“Fuuuuuuck, that feels so good.” Tristen moans above me as he’s grinding his ass against my face. “You still breathing faggot?” Barely, I think to myself as everything starts to spin. I give one last attempt to fight back and push him off me, and to my surprise I get away.
I’m scrambling to get away when I feel him grab me around my waist and pull me back to the ground. “Where you going faggot? I’m not done with you?” I’m seeing triple as he twists me around and forces me back on the ground.
He pulls his dick out of his jockstrap and starts slapping my face with his cock. I try twisting away but he grabs my head and holds me into place putting his dick under my nose. He starts humping my face and I can feel his dick harden on me.
“I’ll make sure you’ll never forget about this.” He keeps humping me and all I can smell is his natural musk and the lingering scent of his ass on my face. “This is what fucking happens when you mess with me faggot.”
He forces my mouth open and he starts to spurt cum into my mouth. I go to spit the cum out, but then he sits back down on my face again. “Open up faggot.”
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFBRBRBFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTT
His cum gets blown right back in my mouth and I’m forced to swallow his cum and nasty fart. It’s the most vile thing I’ve ever tasted and I can’t stop from gagging.
Barrage after barrage of fart is being forced down my throat and it’s at this moment I fear for my life. I can’t even speak anymore to try and beg for my life and I feel myself spasming. I think I may have pissed myself, I can’t even tell anymore.
All I hear is him laughing, grunting, and his trumpeting farts. I’m going to die like this.
I lose consciousness and my head falls against the gym floor.
Minutes or maybe hours later, I awake alone. Lights completely turned off in the gym.
“Help.” I try to yell, but my voice is hoarse. I struggle to get to my feet and all I can smell and taste is Tristen’s ass. I end up throwing up on the gym floor.
At least I’m not dead, I think to myself as I make my way to what I assume are the doors. I open a door to find myself in a small bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and see the state I’m in.
Jeans drenched in piss and my face is splotchy and red. Everything smells bad and I go to the sink to try and scrub my face. As I’m about to go another round of scrubbing, I feel my phone buzz.
Jalissa: Hope you had fun tonight faggot xx
I stare at my phone for a bit before throwing it full force against the wall.
~~~Fin
Author’s Note: Another old story that I found and decided to revamp. I pretty much rewrote the whole thing at this point and changed it from 2nd person to 1st person. I also think I created a new kink for myself? Forcing cum in someone’s mouth and then immediately farting in their mouth? Hello? Has that been done before? Anyways, hope you enjoyed :3
This is my first ever college party, and man is it intense. A frat rented out a big ass mansion and is hosting a Halloween costume party. This party is insane.
Girls are scantily dressed, showing off their cleavage and curves. While guys are wearing costumes that show-off their muscles and bulges.
I feel completely under-dressed in my old-timey prisoner’s outfit. I'm wearing a white and black striped pair of pants, shirt, and prisoner's cap.
I’ve never been to a party like this. There's so much alcohol and other substances.
There must be hundreds, maybe even thousands of people at this party. Apparently every student in the university was invited.
This huge mansion seems to go on forever. There are so many rooms, and each one is loud with people. And that’s not counting the many bedrooms that have couples going at it. I also may have walked in on an orgy.
I need some time to myself. This party is overwhelming.
After walking for 20 minutes I find an empty recreational room. There's a pool table in the middle of the room and a loveseat against the wall.
I sit down and take a breath.
As I’m calming down my vision is suddenly dominated by a wall of blue.
PPPPPPWWWWWWWHHHHHHFFFFFFF
What sounds and feels like a miniature explosion goes off in my face. It lasts for five seconds, blowing my hair back. Next thing I know, a rancid, paint-peeling stench assaults my nose. It stinks of rotten eggs and spices.
I put two and two together and realize that I’m staring at a huge ass and someone just farted in my face.
My watery eyes travel upward and upward, taking in the guy who just farted in my face. This guy’s a monster. He’s about 6 foot 5. Like 230 pounds of mostly muscle, and some fat. And the guy’s ass, which is still in my face, is big as hell. It’s like he has two basketballs stuffed in the back of his pants.
The guy’s wearing all blue, dressed as a police officer. He looks down at me, over his shoulder, flashing a wide, impish grin. Damn, he’s handsome.
“Ah, take that, perp. Looks like this officer caught an escaping prisoner.” The guy teases.
“Wh-why’d you do that?” I ask, caught completely off guard.
He shrugs, “You’re alone. I thought you could use some company. Also most of my closest friendships started with me farting in their faces. I’m hoping for the same result here.”
He turns to face me. I swallow thickly, trying to keep my eyes on his, and not on his impressive bulge that’s right in my face.
He takes a seat next to me and offers me his hand, “Hey man, I’m Alex.”
I shake his hand, “David.”
With a grin, Alex points out our costumes. “It’s wild how our costumes go with each other. It’s like we’re a couple who planned this. To play my part I better keep an eye and ass on my escaped prisoner.”
With my hand still in his he stands up, and tosses a leg over my arm, putting his bubble butt right in my face. I try to pull away but his grip on my hand tightens so I can’t escape. I hear him grunt.
FFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPBBBBBB
Alex farts in my face a second time. It stinks as bad as the first one. I try to pull away but he won’t let me go. “Nu-uh. My partner, Officer Booty, isn't done with you… NGH”
BBBBBBBFFFFFFF-PPPPPPPPTTTTTTT
Alex rips two consecutive, high-pitched farts in my face. The eggy stench I’m forced to inhale has my lungs feeling like they are on fire.
Alex finally releases my hand and sits back down next to me, laughing his ass off.
“Jeez, what did you eat that made you so gassy today?” I ask after my coughing fit dies down.
“Haha, there’s no secret, Davey. I just always got to fart.”
I hear a chime jingle coming from Alex’s pocket. He pulls out his phone and reads the text he just received. “Ha, I’m kicking my brothers’ asses in this competition.” He cheers.
“Um, what?” I’m confused.
Alex looks back at me. “Oh, I’m in a competition with my frat brothers right now. Whoever farts on the most people here, in an hour wins.” He admits proudly, giving me a slight boner. I have a huge fart fetish.
“Oh, are you part of the frat hosting this party?” I ask.
He shakes his head, “Naw, I’m part of Delta Phi.”
“I don’t think I know that frat.”
Alex shrugs, “Our frat is pretty secretive and exclusive.”
“So how ahead are you?” I question.
“My friend Zack, who’s in second place, texted that he’s farted on 26 people as of now. But I’ve farted on 57.”
My jaw drops. “How did you manage to fart on so many people so fast?”
“Easy. The football team paid for a bus to take them from the athlete’s dorm to here. I snuck on. When we parked out front, I ripped a monster of a butt bomb on the bus before anyone could escape. It was really bad, it even brought me to tears, but more importantly, it knocked out everyone on the bus.” Alex recounts, slapping his knee as he laughs.
“After that it was simply going from row to row, farting in each of their knocked out faces. And of course, I didn’t spare the unconscious bus driver from the same fate, haha.”
His gassy retelling is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Man, you and your frat must be the gassiest people alive.”
“Ha, actually being gassy as fuck is a requirement to join Delta Phi. You have to fart 100 times in 24 hours to be accepted.”
Alex flashes me a cocky smirk. “I farted 100 times in only two hours. To this day, my record is unbeaten. Not to toot my own horn, pun intended,” Alex leans away from me, lifting his left butt cheek off the seat and aiming his crack at me. PBBT. He blasts me with an airy poot that stinks of rotten eggs.
“Ah, haha, not to toot my own horn but no one is a challenge to me when it comes to farting. My brothers may be farting masters, but I’m a farting god, haha.” Alex brags.
“Anyway, farting on everyone on that bus got me to 48. Then I farted on 8 more people on my way here.” Alex’s grin broadens, “And you were number 57, buddy.”
“Do you get multiple points since you farted on me multiple times?” I ask.
"Nope, only a single point per person you fart on."
“Then why have you been farting on me so much?” I ask. Personally I'm not complaining.
“For two reasons. One: I’m giving my frat bros a fighting chance to try and catch up. And two: farting on you is fun.”
Before I can react, he jumps up, spins around, and bends over, jutting his ass into my face. He moves so quickly that his fat, uniform-clad globes wobble when he comes to a stop.
RRRRRRWWWWWWWAAAAAPPPPPP
He blasts me in the face with a trumpeting fart. He snickers as he sits back down while I gag on his raunchy fumes.
A torturous/arousing idea comes to mind. I’m already blurting it out before I can stop myself. “Hey if you want a handicap, I've got an idea. How about we walk around together? For the next while, everytime you fart on someone you also have to fart on me right after. Would that make it more challenging for you?”
I’m internally berating myself. I’m practically screaming that I have a farting fetish. This is gonna weird him out.
To my surprise he hugely grins. “Dude, that’s an awesome idea! Every two farts will earn me a single point. This is gonna scare the shit out of my frat brothers; they already think my ass is possessed, haha.”
Excited, Alex grabs me by the hand, pulls me to my feet, and leads us out the room.
We step out to a pathetic sight. Some drunk guy is on his knees, puking into the pot of a fake tree.
I follow Alex as he walks up to the guy. He spins around and squats his ass just above the back of the guy's head. ‘Here man, this should help you get all that out of your system… GGH”
PPPPPPPLLLLLLLLVVVVVBBBBBBB
Alex rips a growling fart on the back of the guy’s head. I’m not even sure he realizes what just happened, but he does groan. I can understand why as I get a whiff of Alex’s noxious emission.
Alex sighs in relief before stepping up to me. He wheels around, and presses his caked-up backside against my hip. “Your turn, buddy… HGH”
BBBBBBRRRRRVVVVVMMMMMM
Alex rips ass on me, coating me in a tear-inducing fart cloud, making me gag.
“Do you really think you have enough gas to match every fart on someone else with a fart on me?” I accidentally wonder out loud.
Alex looks slightly perturbed. “Davey, I’m gonna make you a believer and wish you never thought of this idea. You’ll never forget the smell of my swampy ass.”
He gestures towards my outfit, “And you’re gonna have to burn that costume. You’re never gonna get the stench of my farts out of them. Just pray that my butt stink isn’t baked into your body for too long.” Alex finishes, completely serious. I tinker with the waistband of my slacks, trying to make my semi less noticeable.
Alex nods his head down the hall. “Let’s go, Davey. Officer Booty has more victims to claim.” He gives his big ass a slap, making his fleshy moons ripple sexily in his blue pants.
We keep walking and come up to three guys. Two jocks have a guy cornered and are bullying him. The jocks are dressed as cowboys. The cornered one is thin with coke-bottle glasses. He is dressed in a wizard’s robe.
“Haha dude, are you wearing a dress?” Cowboy 1 asks.
“Oh man, that’s so gay, haha.” Laughs Cowboy 2.
“This is a magical robe. I’m dressed as my D&D character-”
Cowboy 2 interrupts, “Oh dude, what a fucking nerd! Haha.” making the two jocks laugh.
Alex walks up behind the two, joining in on their laughter. Wow, Alex is much bigger than those two.
The two turn to Alex with welcoming grins, believing he's a similar-thinking jock.
“Haha dude, this nerd is dressed ridiculously. Am I Right?” Cowboy 1 says to Alex.
“Actually I’m laughing at the two of your costumes. I mean who comes as fart-faces, haha.” Alex corrects them.
The two stop laughing and look at eachother confused. That’s when Alex strikes.
He spins around and then reaches back, knocking off both of the jocks’ cowboy hats. Then he grabs the top of both of their heads with either hand.
Not wasting a moment, Alex pulls down the head of Cowboy 1 and shoves his face into his big posterior. Alex cocks his right leg and narrows his eyes.
DDDDDDDVVVVVVUUUUUUTTTTTT
After farting in his face, Cowboy 1’s body convulses before going limp. Once Alex releases his hold, Cowboy 1 falls to the ground, unconscious.
Witnessing this Cowboy 2 starts to struggle. Alex is too physically strong; he casually pulls his head down.
“Oh no, you’re not getting away from this.” Alex declares before wedging his face in between his protruding cakes.
RRRRRRRWWWWWWWOOOOOOBBBBB
Cowboy 2 follows his friend to dreamland after Alex farts in his face as well.
The nerd witnessed all that transpired with wide eyes and a hanging jaw. Once his two bullies are downed he gives Alex a tentative smile. “Thanks for your help.”
“Oh don’t thank me yet. Especially with what I’m about to make you smell.”
I watch as the nerd’s face goes pale; looking more scared than before. All he can do is flatten himself against the wall as Alex takes a few steps backwards. Only a foot of space separates Alex’s dump truck from his next victim.
Alex leans forward, and with both hands, pushes down on his stomach. “Little dude, to put it in words you’ll understand, this fart is about to do critical damage to your sense of smell.” Alex scrunches up his face and grunts.
FFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWPPPPPPPP
Alex blasts the poor guy with a 10 second long, wet-sounding fart. The nerd’s face turns red as he starts choking on Alex’s intestinal vapors. After a few seconds his eyes roll into the back of his head, losing consciousness. He slides down the wall, landing on his ass, on the floor, passed out.
Alex flashes me a lopsided grin. He shuffles back, sealing the guy's face in between his bubbly backside and the wall. “I don’t want you to hide behind a technicality that I farted at him and not on him. So I’m gonna make sure to drop this bad boy right on his face.”
PPPPRRRR-UUUUTTTTT
Alex rips two back-to-back, short but loud farts in the unconscious guy’s face.
Although I’m extremely turned on, I frown at Alex. “Come on Alex, the guy was already getting bothered by those two. Did he really deserve that?”
Alex’s grin turns devious as he prowls towards me. I start backing away in alarm. Every step he takes forward I take a step back. This cat and mouse game ends when my back hits the wall.
Alex stops right in front of me. He turns around and backs his pillowy bum into my lower stomach. Thanks to our height difference he avoids my boner.
“59” BBBBBBPPPPPPPLLLLLLRRRRRR
“60” DDDDDDFFFFFFFHHHHHHMMMMM
“And 61… FGH” RRRRRRVVVVAAAATTTTT
Alex rips a series of beefy farts on me, marking me with his ass gas. It smells of digested meat and onions.
“Ah, remember this was your idea. This is all on you, quite literally I might add, haha.”
As we continue on Alex’s journey to find more victims, we hear VVVVVRRRRRUUUUUPPPPP coming from a nearby room. We peek inside the open door.
It's another room with a pool table. There are several guys in the room, but my focus is on the one holding the pool stick. He’s a black, athletic-looking dude. He’s also wearing an identical cop costume to Alex’s, except smaller since Alex is built like a tank.
More importantly, a guy is kneeling behind him, with his face willingly buried in the dude's ass.
The guy in the police costume has a pretty fat bubble butt. Nothing like Alex’s, but still impressive.
It’s pretty obvious that him farting in the guy's face is what we heard.
The guy pulls his face away from the fake cop's ass, looking like he’s gonna hurl.
The guy in the cop outfit notices us. He shoots Alex a grin and Alex returns one.
“Hey A-Bomb.” The guy greets.
A-Bomb is a fitting nickname for gassy Alex.
“Hey Boxer.” Alex greets.
Alex leans in and quietly tells me, “He’s nicknamed Boxer because he’s notorious for fart-boxing people.”
Boxer is obviously part of Delta Phi and a part of this competition.
“So whatcha doing?” Alex asks.
With a grin, Boxer pulls out a wad of cash. “Anyone who can beat me in a game of pool wins 500 dollars, but if they lose they have to kneel behind me and I get to fart in their face.”
Alex rolls his eyes and scoffs, making Boxer laugh. “Haha, hey I tell everyone I play that I’m undefeated.” He pats the guy, kneeling behind him, on the top of the head. “This guy is number 29.”
I believe him with the room reeking of spoiled milk and a men’s locker-room.
Boxer glances my way. “Who’s that?” He asks.
Alex impishly grins, “This guy volunteered to try and help you losers. Every time I fart on somebody I also have to fart on him as well. It’s to slow me down. Not sure it's working since I’m already at 61.” Alex boasts.
Boxer’s jaw drops.
“Scratch that.” Alex starts as he walks up to the row of four guys debating on who should go against Boxer next. He stops in front of the group and wheels around. He then bends over at the waist, aiming his plump rear end at the guy in the middle. Alex grits his teeth, straining.
BBBBBBBBBVVVVVVVVVPPPPPPPPRRRRRRR
Alex vents out a 12 second long, slow, chainsaw-sounding fart. For the entire duration he sways his ass from side-to-side, spraying each member of the group with an equal amount of his skunky wind.
Alex's four newest victims are immediately coughing and gagging, and I don’t blame them. Alex’s ass stink is vile and overtaking Boxer's.
Boxer looks both annoyed and nauseous. Alex returns a cocky smirk. “Ah four-for-one, make that 65, haha.” He taunts.
“Whatever, I still have more competitors and 500 bucks. This competition isn't over.” Boxer replies defiantly.
Alex returns to the entrance. It looks like he’s about to walk past me but stops when he's standing right next to me. He hikes up his right leg, swivels his hips, and presses his ass against my side.
MMMMMBBBBBBUUUUUUPPPPPPP
RRRRRRHHHHHHHAAAAABBBBBB
PPPPPPPLLLLLLLLHHHHHTTTTTTT
FFFFFFWWWWWWOOOOORRRRRR
Alex farts on me 4 times to match the four guys he just farted on. My eyes water as I’m enveloped in his eggy fart cloud.
Alex shoots a condescending grin over his shoulder to Boxer. “Yeah well, good luck with that.” With that Alex leaves and I follow him.
“Damn, this is way too easy, but it’s great having you along, Davey. You’re making this more fun and almost challenging.”
As we’re walking, two guys are coming up from behind us, one talking loudly. “I mean I don’t know why she's so pissed. So what, I let her sister suck me off.”
As we walk, I notice Alex’s pace slowing down, I follow suit.
We come to a complete stop and the guy who was talking walks right into Alex. He unfortunately finds himself in Alex's blast zone.
“Hey, don't stop in the middle of the road, dumbass!”
Alex doesn’t respond. He closes one eye and bites his bottom lip in concentration.
After several seconds of silence, Alex sighs in relief and looks to me with an expression of contentment, ignoring the two behind us.
“Ah, there’s nothing better than ripping a deadly sbd.”
The guy's look of irritation transforms into intense repulsion. “Oh fuck that smell! I’m gonna throw up!” He looks like he's moments away from vomiting.
Alex’s watching him with a shit-eating grin, over his shoulder. “Better hurry, I see an empty bathroom down the hall.” The guy runs off.
Alex's gaze then turns to the friend, who’s covering his mouth and nose with his hand.
He flashes him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry man, but you're getting a butt bomb to the face.”
Alex quickly reaches back, grabbing the back of the guy's neck. He then abruptly pulls his head down and shoves his face against his ass, before the guy can resist.
PPPPPPLLLLLLLAAAAAABBBBBB
Alex farts in the guy’s face and then releases him. “Ah, enjoy. Hopefully your friend's done with the toilet by now.”
The guy races off, following where his friend went.
Not finished yet, it's my turn to be grabbed by the back of the neck.
"Get on down there, Davey. You know the stipulation, it's your turn."
Next thing I know, my face is being smothered by his blubbery rump, with my nose buried in between his cheeks.
MMMMMMVVVVVVVOOOOOODDDDDD
“Ah, stay right there. You're due another one… GGH”
RRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHPPPPPPTTTTTT
Alex destroys my nose with two skunky farts. All I can smell is rotten eggs and Alex’s signature butt musk.
Once I’m free, I stumble back a bit, overwhelmed by his gas. Alex chuckles as he helps steady me.
“Haha, you okay man?”
I nod, “Yeah, it's just your farts pack a hell of a punch.”
He shoots me a wink accompanied by a lopsided grin. “I ain’t called A-Bomb for nothing.”
We continue on our way. As we pass a door it's flung open. Out steps another guy dressed as a cop. But his shirt is undone, revealing his abs. He must be part of Delta Phi. Behind him, in the bedroom, I see a body or two, still, beneath the sheets.
He smiles. “Hey A-Bomb.”
“Hey Dutch.” Alex then turns to me. “He's called Dutch because his specialty is Dutch ovening people.”
Alex nods his head towards the bed behind Dutch. “Up to your same tricks?” He teases with a grin.
Dutch shrugs, looking slightly guilty. “Can’t lie, I’ve been gay-baiting guys into bed and trapping them in a Dutch oven.”
With a cocky grin, Dutch rubs his fingers across his washboard abs. “Thanks to these bad boys I’m up to 23.”
Alex gives him a pitying smile. “How sweet, well I’m at 67.”
Dutch’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
He huffs in irritation. “Man, this is totally unfair. You need to get your digestive system checked because, damn.”
Dutch raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, he must be your self imposed handicap. Boxer texted me about him.”
He shoots Alex a knowing smirk. “Sure, that’s the only reason you want him around.” Dutch sing-songs as he aggressively humps the air.
In a first, Alex is flustered.
“Wha-” I try but Alex cuts me off.
“Ignore what he said. He's an idiot.” Alex rushes out.
Dutch snickers, shaking his head, “Man, A-Bomb, you're unbeatable when it comes to farting, but your game is shit.”
I side-eye Alex. Is Dutch hinting at what I think he is? Is Alex gay? I thought he was straight this whole time.
Dutch’s eyes lock on someone passing us. The guy is dressed as the gay superhero, Wiccan.
“Gotta go, I see number 24.” Dutch goes to slip past us but stops when his butt is touching the back of my hand.
"On second thought, he'll be number 25."
PPPFFF
Dutch poots on the back of my hand.
Alex grabs Dutch by the shoulder, stopping him from leaving. "You shouldn't have done that Dutch. Now I'm seeing you as fair game." Alex says, making Dutch's eyes widen with fear.
Before Dutch can do anything, Alex grabs a handful of his hair, and pulls his face down to his ass. "Get down there, Dutch. Brother Booty wants to say hi... HGH"
FFFFFFFVVVVVVLLLLLLDDDDDD
Alex rips a 5 second fart in Dutch's face. When he lets him go, Dutch stumbles away. After a few steps, he's right as rain and heading for the guy dressed as Wiccan.
Awkward silence surrounds us for a few moments. I don't know what comes over me but I blurt out, “I’m gay.”
Alex's shoulders sag in relief, “Yeah, me too.”
I don't know what's wrong with me but I go on to admit, "I also think your farting is hot."
Alex chuckles. "I suspected as much. Usually my constant farting chases away interested guys."
"That has the completely opposite effect on me. " I confess.
Alex cockily grins as he looks from left to right, making sure we are alone. He then grabs my wrist and shoves my hand down the back of his slacks. I nearly choke as my hand feels his meaty orbs.
PPPPPPRRRRRROOOOOTTTTTTT
"Ah, that's for the fart I laid on Dutch."
I have to stifle a moan as I feel his unfiltered fart warm my palm.
"Oh, I almost forgot about our costumes." He comments.
Alex’s grin broadens into a wolfish one. “How about we go find ourselves an empty bedroom. I think it’s time this officer locks up his prisoner in some place big, cramped, and smelly. But first-”
Alex wraps his big arms around me and pulls me in before kissing me. At first I’m shocked but then I lean into it. I feel his tongue licking the seam of my lips, I open , letting him taste me. I never knew a kiss could feel so intense. It alone nearly has me creaming myself. We’re both breathing heavily when we finally pull away.
Alex takes my hand and starts marching us down the hall. "Let’s go. My prison cell of an ass has got your name on it.” He growls, making my hard-on throb.
On the third attempt, we find an unlocked and vacant bedroom. He drags me inside. After closing the door, Alex herds me towards the bed and makes me sit on the edge with him standing in between my spread legs.
He gazes down at me with cocky, frat-boy energy. “So you like my farts. Well then you’re gonna love this shit.” Alex slowly turns around, presenting his huge bubble butt right in my face. His pumpkin-sized globes look like they're stretching the stitching of his blue slacks to their limit. The seam of his pants is wedged deep in his crack, no longer visible.
Alex bends at the knees and arches his back, sticking his ass out and bringing it within inches of my face.
BBBBBBRRRRRRRRHHHHHHPPPPPP
“Ah, Davey, you remember Officer Booty right?” FART “If farts are what you want, then he’s your man.” FART “He’s the most decorated and smelliest officer in our precinct.” FART “Don’t believe me?” FART “Then take a smell of this action… NGH” FFFAAARRRTTT
I breathe in heavily as Alex pelts my face with a string of strong farts. They’re so strong that each blast blows back my hair. His noxious wind is as nauseating as it is arousing.
“I don’t think you’re really appreciating Officer Booty’s talents. I want you to really get your nose in there.” Alex snarls as he reaches behind, grabbing the back of my head, and shoving my face into his big bum. My face is once again being smothered by his pillowy cheeks with my nose lodged in his hot and musky crack.
I feel Alex’s ample glutes flex and then relax.
RRRRRRRRRRRWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
He rips a massive 15 second fart pointblank up my nose. The stench of rotten eggs and raw sewage singes my nose hairs. It has me seeing stars.
Alex lets go of my head and pushes me back, making me lie on the bed. Not wasting a moment, he climbs on top of me, straddling my chest backwards.
He peers down at me, over his shoulder, with a sexy little smirk. “Time to lock you up in Officer Booty’s personal cell, prisoner.”
With that he undoes his pants and pulls them down to the middle of his thighs. He struggles getting them past his massively protruding butt-slabs.
Once they're below his ass, Alex’s fleshy moons spill out and bounce freely into the open. His brawny globes are slightly damp with sweat and sprinkled with blonde hair.
Alex reaches back with both hands and spreads his cheeks, revealing his winking cornhole surrounded by a patch of curly, blonde butt hairs.
“It’s time for you to serve your time. In you go, prisoner.”
Alex drops his ass down, sitting on my face. My face is swallowed up by his seemingly bottomless trench. His doughy cakes flow over the sides of my face, making contact with the bed, completely entombing my entire head in a prison made of his ass.
Alex starts rolling his hips, wiping his grimy pucker all over my face. He doesn't stop until my lips are pressed against his ass lips.
“Open wide, Davey! You’re gonna be jerking off to this jail-time for years to come.”
I go further. I part my lips and start tonguing his hole. Alex makes a noise of surprise and…
MMMMMMMBBBBBBDDDDDDPPPPPPP
Alex launches an eggy butt bomb that echoes down my gullet, making me taste it.
Alex shifts around on top of my face, doing something. I then start feeling his cheeks clamping around my face, rhythmically, and him bouncing up and down. It takes me a second to realize that he’s jerking off. I continue to rim him.
“Fuck yeah, eat my shitty hole.” RRRWWWPPP “Show Officer Booty the respect he deserves.” BBBLLLDDD “Damn, your slutty tongue feels good.” VVVOOOTTT “I’m gonna have fun ruining your taste buds.” FFFMMMRRR
Alex pauses his flatulent assault to bear his ass down harder on my face. I hear an ominous gurgling emitting from his gut.
“Here it comes, Davey. You’re reckoning. Officer Booty reporting for duty… UGH”
FFFFFFFFLLLLLLLWWWWWWWOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPP
Alex pushes out a 20 second hurricane of ass wind into my open mouth. My cheeks expand with his toxic fumes. The acrid taste of his ass gas coats my tongue. And my lungs inflate with the stench of digested meat and methane.
Still jerking off, Alex blows his load. I’m right behind him, creaming my boxers.
Alex rolls off of my face, and lies next to me on the bed. We’re both breathing hard and all sweaty.
“That was amazing.” Alex declares, still huffing.
“Yeah it was.” I agree.
I decide to address the elephant in the room. “So what happens next?”
He turns to me, I see vulnerability in his eyes. “I don’t know. What do you want to happen?”
I gnaw on my bottom lip for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t mind if this led to something more. Maybe we could exchange numbers and go out sometime? If you’re interested?”
Alex is grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary. “That sounds great.” He says before initiating another heated make-out session.
“Hmm, you know this doesn’t have to be over just yet.” Alex starts. He then grabs my hand and presses my palm against his stomach. I can feel his gut bubbly furiously.
He flashes me a cheeky grin. “I’m brewing up a big one. Do you want A-Bomb to nuke your face?”
“Fuck yes.” I desperately cry.
Alex's grin grows as he climbs off the bed. I sit up, at the end of the bed.
Reenacting earlier, Alex stands in between my legs. He then turns around, filling my vision with his bare moons.
I wait and wait, but nothing happens. I look up to find Alex looking back down at me, over his shoulder, with an impish grin.
“Beg me! Beg me to fart!” He commands.
I grab the sides of his meaty globes. “Please A-Bomb, destroy my face.” I beg.
With one hand he spreads his cheeks, and with the other, he grabs the top of my head. He unceremoniously plugs my face in between his basketball-sized mounds.
"If you want A-Bomb to nuke your face, then that's what you're gonna get. Don't come crying to me if this burns your nose off... UGH"
