(18+ CONTENT) A series of fart stories (formerly "Life With Dave") about two best buds in their late 20s: Tim, a gay guy with a fart fetish, and Dave, his gassy, straight best bud. (DO NOT INTERACT UNLESS YOU'RE 18+)
(18+ CONTENT) A series of kinky fart stories about two best buds in their late 20s/early 30s: Tim, a gay guy with a fart fetish, and Dave, his gassy, straight best bud (and, eventually, roommate).
The episode list below is going to be updated whenever new stories are being written or coming soon.
DaveFarts - Episode 39 “Suck-in Streak” [Episode List]
A buggy fighting game both Tim and Dave are really good at gets finally fixed, which promptly leads the duo to exhume old rivalries and challenge each other. It’s been long since they last played so fiercely, but while Dave is still quite skilled, Tim got a bit rusty, leading to an almost embarrassing losing streak. To add salt to the injury, Tim’s bro knows how to mess with him even further…
Want to feel like Tim?
Click on the links in the story to hear the power of Dave's farts!
The amazing farts in this story were provided by the talented AceFlatulist.
POV: Tim
This is the last time I’m working on Saturdays: the clients do not seem appreciate it at all. It’s like they have no idea how much time my shit takes and I swear som- ok, never mind, I’m home now, home sweet home, the one I can pay for (my share at least) thanks to those clients, even the ones I despise. I need a beer.
The moment I stepped in I was greeted by Dave with a silent nod; by the look of it, he too just finished today’s chores (like buying groceries and shit) and came back mere minutes ago, as he was still wearing a bunch of casual clothes (a hoodie and a pair of loose, lowkey shabby-ish jeans) and distractingly holding the car-keys while looking for -you guessed it- a beer in our own beloved fridge. I didn’t even need to acknowledge my presence even further as my bro simply handed me a can of our favorite nectar.
“Thanks, man.”
He just replied with with wink, as he took a sip of his own beer, and walked towards our couch in the so-called living room. As my eyes followed him, I only then noticed that the console was ON, and our TV was displaying a familiar “face”, so to speak. The big, stylish logo of a fighting game both me and Dave really enjoy, Nekken.
During College years and after that (like, nowdays), a concerning amount of people in our friend group, myself included obviously, would still get heated up about it, though probably not for the reason you may be thinking.
Yes, obviously some of us are more skilled than others, but the more “violent” discussions happened in regards of the game’s balancing, which was admittedly absolutely terrible, and some things were literally broken, like hitboxes not working properly, i-frames which are not supposed to exist, and unnecessarily distracting jiggle physics (no wait, that one’s a feature I believe, for some reason). I’m not the most skilled player, but I do have a decent Win/Loss ratio against most of our buds, and part of the fun with this broken mess was taking advantage of those bugs and glitches, which became an unofficial mode of its own among players. Naturally, the competitive play (online, or e-sports) was over before it could even properly start, and after 7 years (which is like forever in this context) since its last update (which only fixed the alignment of some UI buttons, as if the developers were purposely messing with us), no sequel announcement, and relative radio silence from the tricksters who made it, the game has obviously been deader than dead, save for us aficionados who would occasionally still boot it up from time to time to kick each other’s ass.
As messy as the game is, it is kind of nostalgic, though I’m pretty sure the last time we played was when we went to a dinner at Adam’s place some months ago; a small competition erupted after Dana, of all people, brought the game up, and so we, the manly men of the manly gaming community, obviously had to be ridiculous about it and turn the oddly formal evening into a jungle of beer, competitive play, and broken combos (which Dana actually enjoyed wholeheartedly by the way, and even easily managed to win a couple of matches against the host himself).
I took another sip of beer and walked towards the back of the couch, eyes on the TV, and only when I got closer I noticed that something was different. The title looked… better? Did I clean my glasses too well or something? My glance turned to Dave, then back at the TV, then back at him again: my bro couldn’t help but smirk.
“No way.” I mouthed.
I took a closer look at the title screen, and the release date written at the bottom of the screen said 2026. What the fuck is going on. Is this a joke?
“Bro.” I simply said. “Did they just shadow-drop…”
“They totally did.” Dave confirmed. “I already hate this.” he added, smiling widely.
“How did I not know this.”
“No one did.” Dave explained. “They made an announcement this morning, uploaded the remake on the stores, and then disappeared again.” he took another sip of beer and then said the most important part. “And it’s free for whoever bought the original game.”
I was flabbergasted. “There’s no way they did this, they want us dead.”
I scrambled to read the patch notes, though this is way more than that: this is an entirely new version of the game.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Dave promptly said, now handing me a gamepad.
Obviously, we had many loose ends to tie up, when it came to this mess of a game.
“Still not over the backwards kick of 2021 huh?” I teased him.
“An illegal move even for your standards” he replied, sitting down on the couch. “Even for this broken game.”
I sat on my side of the couch, putting the beer on the small table in front of him, and admired the game’s shiny new look for a few seconds.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I said.
Dave laughed. “Winning once against me truly did wonders to your self-esteem.”
I swear I wanted to shrug that obviously immature tease off, but I just couldn’t.
“Excuse me?” yeah I got baited.
“It’s not like you’re big on win streaks against yours truly.” he explained, with a smirk.
“Fuck off I kicked your ass so many times you almost begged me for more.”
“You won single rounds, not matches.” he explained. “In the end, despite your illegal moves, the honourable player still won in the end.”
Dave rage-baiting is very basic, he’s aware of it, he’s just playing, but the way he says it… goddammit it’s very easy with me, isn’t it? And that makes no sense even: he too takes advantage of the game’s broken gimmicks.
I mean don’t get me wrong, my friend is a very skilled player, probably the best in our friend group, but even Gods can bleed, he just needs to accept it.
“Fine, I’ll bite.” I stated. “Pick any character, any stage, and maybe I’ll show you mercy.”
Dave just remained silent; he adjusted his position, took his shoes off and put both his legs on the small table in front of us.
“Mercy, you say?”
A deafening fart erupted, a quick, loud, startling thunder, 4 seconds long (short for his standards), almost tearing a hole through his jeans. 🔈
The tent I immediately pitched between my legs almost pierced through my own khaki pants instead. Fuckin’ teaser… this is gonna be one of those days, isn’t it?
———
The game’s announcer, a familiar deep voice yelling stuff like “Round 1”, welcomed us back into our petty tournament.
In spite of my bro’s best efforts to… distract me, I still managed to focus on the game.
With unimpressive results, sadly.
Indeed, while I am winning single rounds, I still have to win a single match.
I’m a bit rusty and, believe it or not, the fact that the game runs more smoothly now is actually messing with my timing. Dave said the same thing and admitted he was also being thrown off by Nekken working as intended for the first time ever; unfortunately, he’s much more skilled than I am, and got used to the new rhythm of the characters and their combo much faster than me.
It was 3-0: Dave was winning with relative ease at this point. The way his fingers danced across the gamepad was like the movements of a skilled guitarist. I have to wonder if he’s enjoying humiliating me like this but, knowing him, he probably is. He baited me good, I fell for it, and I'm getting exactly what I deserve.
"You good, bro?" Dave said, knowing full well he was using his annoying tone.
For a second, I feared it was one of those one-liners that precedes... well, you know what.
The last thing I need right now is another distraction.
I’m not going down without a fight.
I just won a round: I can take home at least one victory.
A few trips, a few dodges. Dave’s healthbar is almost empty; this might be it. Block, punch, and...
And I’m a kinky mess, because the loud blast that echoed in the room, easily surpassing the sounds of the game, effortlessly ripped by the bro sitting on the other side of the ouch, completely throw me off, putting an end to an already precarious display of skills.
Dave snorted at the fact that his distraction worked, and his “short” 6 seconds rip was followed by him finishing me off (in the game), winning another match. He then just turned to me, with a silly, annoying smile.
I took a deep breath to calm down, accidentally sniffing up the smell lingering in the room.
“All that bitching about illegal moves and then that’s the shit you pull off to win?” I said. “Very honourable.”
My bro laughed. “That’s not an in-game move, it doesn’t count.”
I adjusted my glasses, pinching my nose, trying to resist the urge to strangle my friend.
“Let’s just wrap this up. You won.” I admitted.
“Aw come on.” Dave said. “I’m seeing Dana later, I got nothing to do until then.”
“You got your point, you won fairly… sort of.” I insisted. “I’ll go get another beer no-“
"You're such a pain in the ass!” he mocked me. "Pick up that fucking gamepad and let me dominate you a little more."
"Bro!” I said, trying not to laugh. "I admit it, you're stronger. Clearly you bested me!”
“You better start putting your head into the game, or else…”
"Or else what?" I dared to ask.
Dave took a deep breath of his own this time, and laughed a bit.
"Okay, if you... well, if we were both normal people, I’d probably just say that if you don't pick up that gamepad, I’m gonna fart in your face so hard it’s gonna melt your skin off. But since our situation is… very different..."
"Shut up.” I hissed.
“I mean, you know me, I believe much more in... positive reinforcement.” my bro did his best to not burst into laugher there. “Perhaps the only thing you need to win is just a bit of… motivation…”
“I just texted Dana ‘Sorry for your loss’, ‘cause I think I’m going to kill you, Dave.”
Obviously, Dave was just messing with me, teasing, playing around my kink, the best friend and worst bully you could ask for. Not the first time he tries to “bribe” me with his incredible farting skills… and not the last time I’m going to fall for it.
No, I can’t let him have this.
I know that at this point he’s super chill (always has been), open-minded and… possibly morbidly amused by my gross kink, and given how good he’s at farting and how awkward I can get because of it, I can’t really blame him. Hell, I’m probably the luckiest kinky person in the world.
Still, I gotta strangle him later.
“Okay…” I scoffed. I sat back down. “I too have nothing better to do… but I’m not doing this because of… you know what.”
Dave leaned a bit, obviously to promptly fart in response to what I just said, but then stopped. “Nah… saving it for later.”
Teasing bastard.
And we’re back into the game, back at trying to kick each other’s ass.
I was doing better, and I hate the idea of Dave thinking that I was doing so because of my kinky thirst.
Then I remembered… he just doesn’t care. He’s the one pulling this fart shit even when it’s uncalled for, so I guess I should just relax. Yes, relax and get my ass kicked again, fuck off. He won again.
“Looks like I’m a lost cause, bro.” I remarked, sarcastically, as Nekken reminded us who’s in the lead.
“Yeah I gotta say, you were much better at the buggy version of this shit.” he played along.
“I don’t need any reinforcement, I just need to practice.” I explained.
“Nah, positive reinforcement it is…” Dave insisted, raising his right leg. “With a just a bit of FOMO thrown into it…” he said, turning to me with a smirk, and ripping a loud, meat-y rip, around 4 seconds long.
Fuck. So he’s going there.
This is what I missed out by losing.
Really? We’ve come to this.
The newest frontier of my friend’s kinky mind games just to mess with me.
My boner was greatly enjoying this though. Yeah, my boner, not me, obviously, duh.
“Let’s try again.”
I let Dave start another match, we picked anther stage.
Impressive combos from both sides, special moves, punches, blocks, kicks, dodges.
Yet, as usual, I won a single round, but my friend still won the match overall.
I just can’t seem to be consistent, it’s like I’m losing focus, regardless of any… distraction.
Well, I lost again, time to hear what Dave’s ass has to say.
My friend however didn’t fart: he did lean again, raising his right leg, but the sounds that came out from his denim, sagging ass were different. He wasn’t farting this time, he was sucking air in. Fuck.
He just casually sat back normally again, as if he didn’t just breathe air in from his anus, and started another match. Why didn’t he fart? Why was he keeping it in?
I tried, really tried, to focus on the game, but my boner was taking the wheel. The gamepad in my hand was nothing compared to the good-old joystick between my legs.
Another match, another loss.
Yeah I was hard, hard to watch.
I could tell Dave was having fun though, and so was I don’t get me wrong, and this kinky layer of embarrassment from me was greatly amusing to him, the teasing bastard.
Here he goes again, leg raised, more air loudly going in through his sagging jeans, effortlessly, more power to the the already huge fart he was brewing. Is he going to do a suck-in every time he wins? What’s his endgame? He isn’t even addressing that he’s doing that, what the fuck is going on.
Now I was getting mad, for some reason.
Raging boner on a raging gamer, fittingly.
And rage obviously didn’t help at all, because this was the first time I didn’t even win a single round.
Dave didn’t even remark on his easy win, save for his usual “turns to me with an annoying smirk” face.
He did, however, suck more air in, loudly.
He’s got mad farting skills, whether it’s natural or on command, but the idea of him being able to even keep all of that in, brewing a huge one on command while kicking my ass in a fighting game… I don’t know, there’s something to it that it’s doing something to my chest. Stereotypical manliness, maybe? Or something along those lines. Either way, getting distracted was the norm now, there’s no way I could win a single match.
Two more times I lost, and two more suck-ins I heard. My bro would still occasionally make comments on the game’s new graphics, while rightfully make fun of my questionable skills at blocking, but the constant, alongside me getting crushed, was him sucking air in every time I lost.
I know I should probably shut up, I should probably just accept the fact that he’s chill. If he’s doing something this weird it’s because he just doesn’t care… but you know me, I have to be annoying. I don’t want him to think that I’m doing this on purpose you know, doing this just to hear him, well, fart.
“Dave I swear…” I stuttered. “I’m not losing on purpose.”
A big ol’ PAUSE appeared on the screen, and Dave turned to me.
He looked… a bit more serious, his eyes studying my awkwardness.
“I know you’re not.” he then said. “You just really really really suck.” he whispered.
I was… oddly relieved.
“And speaking of sucking!” Dave then yelled, now acknowledging a big loud suck-in. “Oof, that’s gonna leave a mark later.” he said, to me, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
I was sweating: the gamepad was barely slipping in my grip anymore, while Dave kept playing like his hands were one with the buttons. I'm distracted, I'm nervous... but it's just a damn game, in the end.
Positive reinforcement or whatever the hell that was, it's all teasing; it's Dave mocking me, messing with me, for better or worse. Weird mind games my best friend loves to play just to get a laugh at my clumsiness, but enough is enough.
It’s not that deep.
I just, simply, purely, need to focus.
Stench still lingering aside, I took a deep breath, eyes on my character, eyes on the opponent, eyes on the hitboxes that finally make sense for once. 3, 2, 1.
Round 1. Dodge, block. Tactical trip, uppercut.
I go for a combo, Dave dodges it, counters.
I take the hit, I survive.
Flying kick, another trip, final uppercut.
First victory.
Dave chuckles, calling me a "dickhead."
I appreciate the good-natured insult.
Round 2. Backjump, and then I throw a blade-hat.
Dave takes damage, but pulls off an unexpected counter to my kick, taking out a lot of my HP. I don't let myself get played, I don't push it.
Tactical retreat, I take the opportunity to let him blow off steam, to study him.
I focus on blocking, but I know I’m going to lose this one. Not a problem.
I let him win this Round.
Round 3, final round. The deciding round.
I start like before, throw my hat, predict the counter.
Trip, new combo, special move.
Dave doesn't even have time to use his own combo before I grab him, throwing him off the stage and triggering a violent, hilarious cutscene.
No backwards kicks this time, Dave.
You got served.
I won.
Finally, I won.
I took a deep breath, managed to punch Dave on the shoulder, and threw the gamepad on the small table in front of us.
“Well well well…” Dave said, still managing to sound annoying even when defeated. “First time you beat me without cheating, I’m impressed!”.
I ignored the obvious jab at my 2021 move. “First time you didn’t pull any weird-ass illegal move in a way or another.”
Dave snorted. “You might want to take that back.”
As usual, he’s the one who has to have the last word... even if the concept of a "word" is debatable here. More than anything, I'd call it a "roar”… a rear, you might say.
With a deft movement, my friend adjusted his position, leaning on his side, leg stretching up, now fully showing off his sagging jeans ass in my direction, a familiar view that could be described as some sort of “denim wall”. Behind that wall, an ass that was brewing a huge fart, result of a series of immense suck-ins prompted by me lacking gaming skills.
My bro managed to get his ass a bit closer to me and didn’t even wait for me to say anything: he simply let his ass speak as if I wasn’t even sitting there.
“Round… 1!” Dave muttered, imitating the deep voice of the game’s narrator. And a huge fart erupted out of his ass. Loud, long, juicy. 🔈
Thunderous as usual, powered by his suck-ins from before and yeah, probably his own built-in skills that we all know. As the fart kept being ripped, he stretched his leg even more to ease the blast out, a gimmick that only made the view even hotter for me. I was exhausted, but still fighting the urge to plant my face into that roaring ass.
After 14 seconds, the blast was over, but Dave didn’t change pose.
“How’s that for positive reinforcement?” he joked, we both laughed like idiots.
I almost didn’t notice his arm reaching for my head, pulling me down, closer to his denim ass, as if it was, you know, the most normal thing to do in that situation. Sure, why not: you dominated me into the game, might as well do it on this couch as well, not gonna complain.
“Round… 2!”
I should’ve seen this coming.
The moment my nose touched the rough, smelly, warm surface of my friend’s sagging jeans, very close to the spot where a pair of red underwear were visible, my entire face was blasted my another loud fart, strong enough to make my entire face shake. 🔈
Being on-command, the stench wasn’t as terrible as you may imagine, but there’s still ass and sweat involved, so trust me it wasn’t pretty. The sound was hot, loud, chainsaw-like, and rocked my eardrums like Dave always knew how to do. Around 15 seconds, brutal and long like the previous one.
Before I could even say anything, insult him, or even just thank him like the awkward mess I am, Dave adjusted his position a bit more, this time wrapping both his legs around my head, trapping me into a denim gas chamber.
“Round… 3!”
Oh come the fuck on.
Another blast, loud, dangerously meat-y, airy. Absolutely unbearable now. 🔈
This felt more natural than on-command, probably a mix of both, if that’s even possible (and for Dave, it usually was). I could heard Dave snort a bit as he kept pushing it out, holding my head in its place, making sure none of his reinforcement got wasted. 12 seconds, 12 seconds of reinforcement down my throat basically, and he was done.
Just as his legs pulled me in, those same legs then pushed me on my side of the couch, far from his ass, but not immune to the smelly AOE of the farts I just got all over my face.
I didn’t say anything, obviously, and just let Dave laugh at me as usual. Or with me.
“Yeah you might be right…” he said, noticing the smell. “Totally counts as an illegal move.”
The teasing asshole laughed at my awkwardness, then reached for his phone and gamepad.
“Welp, I got dinner with Dana. Gonna take a shower.” he explained. “I need the bathroom… unless you need it first.” he mocked, purposely throwing his gamepad on the tent I was visibly pitching between my legs.
He snorted and left me there on the couch, alone dealing with my painful boner.
Once again, special thanks to AceFlatulist for providing the farts for this episode. He's a talented farter who can also fart on command. Very nice, very skilled. Be sure to check what he's capable of!
DaveFarts - Episode 39 “Suck-in Streak” [Episode List]
A buggy fighting game both Tim and Dave are really good at gets finally fixed, which promptly leads the duo to exhume old rivalries and challenge each other. It’s been long since they last played so fiercely, but while Dave is still quite skilled, Tim got a bit rusty, leading to an almost embarrassing losing streak. To add salt to the injury, Tim’s bro knows how to mess with him even further…
Want to feel like Tim?
Click on the links in the story to hear the power of Dave's farts!
The amazing farts in this story were provided by the talented AceFlatulist.
POV: Tim
This is the last time I’m working on Saturdays: the clients do not seem appreciate it at all. It’s like they have no idea how much time my shit takes and I swear som- ok, never mind, I’m home now, home sweet home, the one I can pay for (my share at least) thanks to those clients, even the ones I despise. I need a beer.
The moment I stepped in I was greeted by Dave with a silent nod; by the look of it, he too just finished today’s chores (like buying groceries and shit) and came back mere minutes ago, as he was still wearing a bunch of casual clothes (a hoodie and a pair of loose, lowkey shabby-ish jeans) and distractingly holding the car-keys while looking for -you guessed it- a beer in our own beloved fridge. I didn’t even need to acknowledge my presence even further as my bro simply handed me a can of our favorite nectar.
“Thanks, man.”
He just replied with with wink, as he took a sip of his own beer, and walked towards our couch in the so-called living room. As my eyes followed him, I only then noticed that the console was ON, and our TV was displaying a familiar “face”, so to speak. The big, stylish logo of a fighting game both me and Dave really enjoy, Nekken.
During College years and after that (like, nowdays), a concerning amount of people in our friend group, myself included obviously, would still get heated up about it, though probably not for the reason you may be thinking.
Yes, obviously some of us are more skilled than others, but the more “violent” discussions happened in regards of the game’s balancing, which was admittedly absolutely terrible, and some things were literally broken, like hitboxes not working properly, i-frames which are not supposed to exist, and unnecessarily distracting jiggle physics (no wait, that one’s a feature I believe, for some reason). I’m not the most skilled player, but I do have a decent Win/Loss ratio against most of our buds, and part of the fun with this broken mess was taking advantage of those bugs and glitches, which became an unofficial mode of its own among players. Naturally, the competitive play (online, or e-sports) was over before it could even properly start, and after 7 years (which is like forever in this context) since its last update (which only fixed the alignment of some UI buttons, as if the developers were purposely messing with us), no sequel announcement, and relative radio silence from the tricksters who made it, the game has obviously been deader than dead, save for us aficionados who would occasionally still boot it up from time to time to kick each other’s ass.
As messy as the game is, it is kind of nostalgic, though I’m pretty sure the last time we played was when we went to a dinner at Adam’s place some months ago; a small competition erupted after Dana, of all people, brought the game up, and so we, the manly men of the manly gaming community, obviously had to be ridiculous about it and turn the oddly formal evening into a jungle of beer, competitive play, and broken combos (which Dana actually enjoyed wholeheartedly by the way, and even easily managed to win a couple of matches against the host himself).
I took another sip of beer and walked towards the back of the couch, eyes on the TV, and only when I got closer I noticed that something was different. The title looked… better? Did I clean my glasses too well or something? My glance turned to Dave, then back at the TV, then back at him again: my bro couldn’t help but smirk.
“No way.” I mouthed.
I took a closer look at the title screen, and the release date written at the bottom of the screen said 2026. What the fuck is going on. Is this a joke?
“Bro.” I simply said. “Did they just shadow-drop…”
“They totally did.” Dave confirmed. “I already hate this.” he added, smiling widely.
“How did I not know this.”
“No one did.” Dave explained. “They made an announcement this morning, uploaded the remake on the stores, and then disappeared again.” he took another sip of beer and then said the most important part. “And it’s free for whoever bought the original game.”
I was flabbergasted. “There’s no way they did this, they want us dead.”
I scrambled to read the patch notes, though this is way more than that: this is an entirely new version of the game.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Dave promptly said, now handing me a gamepad.
Obviously, we had many loose ends to tie up, when it came to this mess of a game.
“Still not over the backwards kick of 2021 huh?” I teased him.
“An illegal move even for your standards” he replied, sitting down on the couch. “Even for this broken game.”
I sat on my side of the couch, putting the beer on the small table in front of him, and admired the game’s shiny new look for a few seconds.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I said.
Dave laughed. “Winning once against me truly did wonders to your self-esteem.”
I swear I wanted to shrug that obviously immature tease off, but I just couldn’t.
“Excuse me?” yeah I got baited.
“It’s not like you’re big on win streaks against yours truly.” he explained, with a smirk.
“Fuck off I kicked your ass so many times you almost begged me for more.”
“You won single rounds, not matches.” he explained. “In the end, despite your illegal moves, the honourable player still won in the end.”
Dave rage-baiting is very basic, he’s aware of it, he’s just playing, but the way he says it… goddammit it’s very easy with me, isn’t it? And that makes no sense even: he too takes advantage of the game’s broken gimmicks.
I mean don’t get me wrong, my friend is a very skilled player, probably the best in our friend group, but even Gods can bleed, he just needs to accept it.
“Fine, I’ll bite.” I stated. “Pick any character, any stage, and maybe I’ll show you mercy.”
Dave just remained silent; he adjusted his position, took his shoes off and put both his legs on the small table in front of us.
“Mercy, you say?”
A deafening fart erupted, a quick, loud, startling thunder, 4 seconds long (short for his standards), almost tearing a hole through his jeans. 🔈
The tent I immediately pitched between my legs almost pierced through my own khaki pants instead. Fuckin’ teaser… this is gonna be one of those days, isn’t it?
———
The game’s announcer, a familiar deep voice yelling stuff like “Round 1”, welcomed us back into our petty tournament.
In spite of my bro’s best efforts to… distract me, I still managed to focus on the game.
With unimpressive results, sadly.
Indeed, while I am winning single rounds, I still have to win a single match.
I’m a bit rusty and, believe it or not, the fact that the game runs more smoothly now is actually messing with my timing. Dave said the same thing and admitted he was also being thrown off by Nekken working as intended for the first time ever; unfortunately, he’s much more skilled than I am, and got used to the new rhythm of the characters and their combo much faster than me.
It was 3-0: Dave was winning with relative ease at this point. The way his fingers danced across the gamepad was like the movements of a skilled guitarist. I have to wonder if he’s enjoying humiliating me like this but, knowing him, he probably is. He baited me good, I fell for it, and I'm getting exactly what I deserve.
"You good, bro?" Dave said, knowing full well he was using his annoying tone.
For a second, I feared it was one of those one-liners that precedes... well, you know what.
The last thing I need right now is another distraction.
I’m not going down without a fight.
I just won a round: I can take home at least one victory.
A few trips, a few dodges. Dave’s healthbar is almost empty; this might be it. Block, punch, and...
And I’m a kinky mess, because the loud blast that echoed in the room, easily surpassing the sounds of the game, effortlessly ripped by the bro sitting on the other side of the ouch, completely throw me off, putting an end to an already precarious display of skills.
Dave snorted at the fact that his distraction worked, and his “short” 6 seconds rip was followed by him finishing me off (in the game), winning another match. He then just turned to me, with a silly, annoying smile.
I took a deep breath to calm down, accidentally sniffing up the smell lingering in the room.
“All that bitching about illegal moves and then that’s the shit you pull off to win?” I said. “Very honourable.”
My bro laughed. “That’s not an in-game move, it doesn’t count.”
I adjusted my glasses, pinching my nose, trying to resist the urge to strangle my friend.
“Let’s just wrap this up. You won.” I admitted.
“Aw come on.” Dave said. “I’m seeing Dana later, I got nothing to do until then.”
“You got your point, you won fairly… sort of.” I insisted. “I’ll go get another beer no-“
"You're such a pain in the ass!” he mocked me. "Pick up that fucking gamepad and let me dominate you a little more."
"Bro!” I said, trying not to laugh. "I admit it, you're stronger. Clearly you bested me!”
“You better start putting your head into the game, or else…”
"Or else what?" I dared to ask.
Dave took a deep breath of his own this time, and laughed a bit.
"Okay, if you... well, if we were both normal people, I’d probably just say that if you don't pick up that gamepad, I’m gonna fart in your face so hard it’s gonna melt your skin off. But since our situation is… very different..."
"Shut up.” I hissed.
“I mean, you know me, I believe much more in... positive reinforcement.” my bro did his best to not burst into laugher there. “Perhaps the only thing you need to win is just a bit of… motivation…”
“I just texted Dana ‘Sorry for your loss’, ‘cause I think I’m going to kill you, Dave.”
Obviously, Dave was just messing with me, teasing, playing around my kink, the best friend and worst bully you could ask for. Not the first time he tries to “bribe” me with his incredible farting skills… and not the last time I’m going to fall for it.
No, I can’t let him have this.
I know that at this point he’s super chill (always has been), open-minded and… possibly morbidly amused by my gross kink, and given how good he’s at farting and how awkward I can get because of it, I can’t really blame him. Hell, I’m probably the luckiest kinky person in the world.
Still, I gotta strangle him later.
“Okay…” I scoffed. I sat back down. “I too have nothing better to do… but I’m not doing this because of… you know what.”
Dave leaned a bit, obviously to promptly fart in response to what I just said, but then stopped. “Nah… saving it for later.”
Teasing bastard.
And we’re back into the game, back at trying to kick each other’s ass.
I was doing better, and I hate the idea of Dave thinking that I was doing so because of my kinky thirst.
Then I remembered… he just doesn’t care. He’s the one pulling this fart shit even when it’s uncalled for, so I guess I should just relax. Yes, relax and get my ass kicked again, fuck off. He won again.
“Looks like I’m a lost cause, bro.” I remarked, sarcastically, as Nekken reminded us who’s in the lead.
“Yeah I gotta say, you were much better at the buggy version of this shit.” he played along.
“I don’t need any reinforcement, I just need to practice.” I explained.
“Nah, positive reinforcement it is…” Dave insisted, raising his right leg. “With a just a bit of FOMO thrown into it…” he said, turning to me with a smirk, and ripping a loud, meat-y rip, around 4 seconds long.
Fuck. So he’s going there.
This is what I missed out by losing.
Really? We’ve come to this.
The newest frontier of my friend’s kinky mind games just to mess with me.
My boner was greatly enjoying this though. Yeah, my boner, not me, obviously, duh.
“Let’s try again.”
I let Dave start another match, we picked anther stage.
Impressive combos from both sides, special moves, punches, blocks, kicks, dodges.
Yet, as usual, I won a single round, but my friend still won the match overall.
I just can’t seem to be consistent, it’s like I’m losing focus, regardless of any… distraction.
Well, I lost again, time to hear what Dave’s ass has to say.
My friend however didn’t fart: he did lean again, raising his right leg, but the sounds that came out from his denim, sagging ass were different. He wasn’t farting this time, he was sucking air in. Fuck.
He just casually sat back normally again, as if he didn’t just breathe air in from his anus, and started another match. Why didn’t he fart? Why was he keeping it in?
I tried, really tried, to focus on the game, but my boner was taking the wheel. The gamepad in my hand was nothing compared to the good-old joystick between my legs.
Another match, another loss.
Yeah I was hard, hard to watch.
I could tell Dave was having fun though, and so was I don’t get me wrong, and this kinky layer of embarrassment from me was greatly amusing to him, the teasing bastard.
Here he goes again, leg raised, more air loudly going in through his sagging jeans, effortlessly, more power to the the already huge fart he was brewing. Is he going to do a suck-in every time he wins? What’s his endgame? He isn’t even addressing that he’s doing that, what the fuck is going on.
Now I was getting mad, for some reason.
Raging boner on a raging gamer, fittingly.
And rage obviously didn’t help at all, because this was the first time I didn’t even win a single round.
Dave didn’t even remark on his easy win, save for his usual “turns to me with an annoying smirk” face.
He did, however, suck more air in, loudly.
He’s got mad farting skills, whether it’s natural or on command, but the idea of him being able to even keep all of that in, brewing a huge one on command while kicking my ass in a fighting game… I don’t know, there’s something to it that it’s doing something to my chest. Stereotypical manliness, maybe? Or something along those lines. Either way, getting distracted was the norm now, there’s no way I could win a single match.
Two more times I lost, and two more suck-ins I heard. My bro would still occasionally make comments on the game’s new graphics, while rightfully make fun of my questionable skills at blocking, but the constant, alongside me getting crushed, was him sucking air in every time I lost.
I know I should probably shut up, I should probably just accept the fact that he’s chill. If he’s doing something this weird it’s because he just doesn’t care… but you know me, I have to be annoying. I don’t want him to think that I’m doing this on purpose you know, doing this just to hear him, well, fart.
“Dave I swear…” I stuttered. “I’m not losing on purpose.”
A big ol’ PAUSE appeared on the screen, and Dave turned to me.
He looked… a bit more serious, his eyes studying my awkwardness.
“I know you’re not.” he then said. “You just really really really suck.” he whispered.
I was… oddly relieved.
“And speaking of sucking!” Dave then yelled, now acknowledging a big loud suck-in. “Oof, that’s gonna leave a mark later.” he said, to me, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
I was sweating: the gamepad was barely slipping in my grip anymore, while Dave kept playing like his hands were one with the buttons. I'm distracted, I'm nervous... but it's just a damn game, in the end.
Positive reinforcement or whatever the hell that was, it's all teasing; it's Dave mocking me, messing with me, for better or worse. Weird mind games my best friend loves to play just to get a laugh at my clumsiness, but enough is enough.
It’s not that deep.
I just, simply, purely, need to focus.
Stench still lingering aside, I took a deep breath, eyes on my character, eyes on the opponent, eyes on the hitboxes that finally make sense for once. 3, 2, 1.
Round 1. Dodge, block. Tactical trip, uppercut.
I go for a combo, Dave dodges it, counters.
I take the hit, I survive.
Flying kick, another trip, final uppercut.
First victory.
Dave chuckles, calling me a "dickhead."
I appreciate the good-natured insult.
Round 2. Backjump, and then I throw a blade-hat.
Dave takes damage, but pulls off an unexpected counter to my kick, taking out a lot of my HP. I don't let myself get played, I don't push it.
Tactical retreat, I take the opportunity to let him blow off steam, to study him.
I focus on blocking, but I know I’m going to lose this one. Not a problem.
I let him win this Round.
Round 3, final round. The deciding round.
I start like before, throw my hat, predict the counter.
Trip, new combo, special move.
Dave doesn't even have time to use his own combo before I grab him, throwing him off the stage and triggering a violent, hilarious cutscene.
No backwards kicks this time, Dave.
You got served.
I won.
Finally, I won.
I took a deep breath, managed to punch Dave on the shoulder, and threw the gamepad on the small table in front of us.
“Well well well…” Dave said, still managing to sound annoying even when defeated. “First time you beat me without cheating, I’m impressed!”.
I ignored the obvious jab at my 2021 move. “First time you didn’t pull any weird-ass illegal move in a way or another.”
Dave snorted. “You might want to take that back.”
As usual, he’s the one who has to have the last word... even if the concept of a "word" is debatable here. More than anything, I'd call it a "roar”… a rear, you might say.
With a deft movement, my friend adjusted his position, leaning on his side, leg stretching up, now fully showing off his sagging jeans ass in my direction, a familiar view that could be described as some sort of “denim wall”. Behind that wall, an ass that was brewing a huge fart, result of a series of immense suck-ins prompted by me lacking gaming skills.
My bro managed to get his ass a bit closer to me and didn’t even wait for me to say anything: he simply let his ass speak as if I wasn’t even sitting there.
“Round… 1!” Dave muttered, imitating the deep voice of the game’s narrator. And a huge fart erupted out of his ass. Loud, long, juicy. 🔈
Thunderous as usual, powered by his suck-ins from before and yeah, probably his own built-in skills that we all know. As the fart kept being ripped, he stretched his leg even more to ease the blast out, a gimmick that only made the view even hotter for me. I was exhausted, but still fighting the urge to plant my face into that roaring ass.
After 14 seconds, the blast was over, but Dave didn’t change pose.
“How’s that for positive reinforcement?” he joked, we both laughed like idiots.
I almost didn’t notice his arm reaching for my head, pulling me down, closer to his denim ass, as if it was, you know, the most normal thing to do in that situation. Sure, why not: you dominated me into the game, might as well do it on this couch as well, not gonna complain.
“Round… 2!”
I should’ve seen this coming.
The moment my nose touched the rough, smelly, warm surface of my friend’s sagging jeans, very close to the spot where a pair of red underwear were visible, my entire face was blasted my another loud fart, strong enough to make my entire face shake. 🔈
Being on-command, the stench wasn’t as terrible as you may imagine, but there’s still ass and sweat involved, so trust me it wasn’t pretty. The sound was hot, loud, chainsaw-like, and rocked my eardrums like Dave always knew how to do. Around 15 seconds, brutal and long like the previous one.
Before I could even say anything, insult him, or even just thank him like the awkward mess I am, Dave adjusted his position a bit more, this time wrapping both his legs around my head, trapping me into a denim gas chamber.
“Round… 3!”
Oh come the fuck on.
Another blast, loud, dangerously meat-y, airy. Absolutely unbearable now. 🔈
This felt more natural than on-command, probably a mix of both, if that’s even possible (and for Dave, it usually was). I could heard Dave snort a bit as he kept pushing it out, holding my head in its place, making sure none of his reinforcement got wasted. 12 seconds, 12 seconds of reinforcement down my throat basically, and he was done.
Just as his legs pulled me in, those same legs then pushed me on my side of the couch, far from his ass, but not immune to the smelly AOE of the farts I just got all over my face.
I didn’t say anything, obviously, and just let Dave laugh at me as usual. Or with me.
“Yeah you might be right…” he said, noticing the smell. “Totally counts as an illegal move.”
The teasing asshole laughed at my awkwardness, then reached for his phone and gamepad.
“Welp, I got dinner with Dana. Gonna take a shower.” he explained. “I need the bathroom… unless you need it first.” he mocked, purposely throwing his gamepad on the tent I was visibly pitching between my legs.
He snorted and left me there on the couch, alone dealing with my painful boner.
hey so i saw you thinking about more audio links for your stories. I really like reading your work so if you wanted to reach out, ive got some stuff on this vid @AceFlatulist lol, i think it would be fun to record some sound bites for you! Hopefully i can do dave proud!
That would be really cool.
Thanks man!
Let's keep in touch.
Have you ever been farted on by someone like dave. If so, how was it????
Nope.
Over the years however I did chat with with some like-minded (kink-wise), very friendly, amazing people who also happened to be insanely good farters (seriously, great skills). Never met them in person, because geography, and drifting apart (amicably) is part of the game sometimes, but they were -and still are- amazing.
Both Dave and Tim have shades of myself thrown into their personalities, but Tim obviously the most. He's not 100% my self-insert but yes I'm definitely similar to him ahah
Yes and no.
He's loosely based on some people I know (including myself), but he's not a 1:1 stand-in for them. Some of these guys do have impressive farting skills however, loud and proud you know ahah.
DaveFarts - Episode 38 “The Long One” [Episode List]
Tim and Todd spend some quality time together.
Meanwhile, Dave is filming some more fart-porn with Greg... and gets a bit competitive about it.
This story was originally posted some months ago. This is a partial rewriting.
POV: Tim
"Well... it wasn't bad, come on." said Todd, clearly trying to be nice.
I appreciated the white lie.
"It was painful." I said, opening the apartment door.
Dave isn't home: he said something about his job, then he'd go straight to the gym and then had some things to do with Greg. The less I know, the better, as long as Greg is involved, as confirmed by our other friends.
Also, he knows Todd’s here, so he basically went “go nuts” to leave us some privacy.
"Welcome back to our humble abode." I said to my guest.
Ted isn't my boyfriend (and he doesn't introduce himself as such either), but we've been seeing each other occasionally in the last 3 weeks, practically since we met at the wedding. We like each other, to put it simply. He's not from Limdale like us, but from a city not far from here, half an hour's drive at most.
I took the liberty, more as a threat, of showing him "the wonders" of our little town, knowing full well it would be awful, but he insisted.
"The riverfront was nice." he said, trying to salvage the situation.
"A glorified sewer drain, but thanks."
Todd had been here since this morning, and he was already making himself at home. He went to the kitchen to grab two beers while I closed the increasingly dodgy door.
"Thanks.” I told him, as soon as he handed me my nectar.
We silently toasted to the worst tour in history.
“Come on, say it: Limdale fucking sucks.”
"Well, I'm from Landale, so thinking that is part of my hardware.” he explained, taking a sip of his beer. "Our towns have been rivals since forever."
"I like how your look reflects what you're saying…” I observed, with a smirk.
Todd was indeed dressed in a vaguely geeky chic aesthetic, looking a bit like a professor. He’s a developer and, like me, enjoys video-editing, but if he'd introduced himself as a relatively young (he’s about my age, around 30) teacher from Harvard, Yale, or whatever Westfork thinks it is nowdays, I would have believed him.
"Anyway..." he said, as we sat down on the sofa. "It's early. It's not even 7:30 PM. So you still have time to fix this disaster.” he joked.
Luckily, I'd already planned something.
"Well, you said you appreciate Italian cuisine, so Capelli's should be right up your alley."
He laughed. "Oh wow Tim, how romantic! Do you also want to share a plate of spaghetti while two stereotypes play us a song?"
"Exactly. Beat that, Landale!" I proclaimed, taking a long gulp of beer.
It wasn't going badly, actually.
Todd might have the "neat-freak" look, so to speak, but he's chill like us.
"I made a reservation for 9:00 PM.” I explained.
"Hmm... good to know…” Todd said, thinking. "We also have time for a shower then.”
He looked at me, with a smirk.
It took me a few seconds, then we lunged at each other, unbuttoning each other's clothes, knocking cushions off the couch, and almost crushing my glasses in the process.
"Are you sure no one's home?" Todd gasped, as I bit his ear.
“My roommate’s busy somewhere.”
No idea what he’s doing.
Probably some super boring work stuff.
———
POV: Dave
BBBBRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP
BRRRPPPPP
BRRRP
PPRP
“Yeah, all yours, bitch.” I said.
I can’t believe there’s a script for this stuff.
I can’t believe I’m saying such stuff out loud without laughing.
“Oh wait… fifth time the charm!” I said, as I ripped another loud fart on Tom’s face.
Tom, the heroic so-called “bottom” of those videos, even though I’m pretty sure he could split me in half if he wanted to (which reminds me, I gotta ask him for some gym-related advice).
I easily ripped yet another fart while my mind was elsewhere, my dark blue sweatpants sucking at being a filter, so Tom, crushed between my ass and the couch, was sniffing Hell down there.
The set built inside the enormous warehouse was always more or less the same: a small living room, a couch (which we were on), some bookshelves and a fake window.
No fourth wall, literally.
Initially, I was a little nervous about having, well, an audience, but as I quickly realized, no one gives a damn of who you are here, in the best possible way.
“Cut!” Greg yelled.
He's a friend of mine, I know, I respect him, believe me, I love him, but the fact that he wants to become the Hitchcock of kinky porn for some reason will never stop making me question my life choices.
He gave me a nod, inviting me to follow him.
I got up, patting Tom’s chest as I walked way.
“Good job, bro.” I said. He gave me a thumbs up as a response.
We went to his office, also in the warehouse, behind the crew (still focused on the set and what had been filmed so far). Greg immediately sat down behind his desk to check some messages on his computer -I remained standing.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I just wanted to tell you that you're doing great and you're one of my best friends.” he said, almost like a robot, and with the fakest smile I had ever seen.
Okay, something's off.
Greg is a robot, fine, but one who knows how to simulate human emotions at least.
“What did you do…?” I said, my patience being tested.
Greg adjusted his glasses and sighed, knowing very well he fucked up.
"Remember when you said you couldn't stay for more than two hours today?"
"Yes, Greg. I think I said that 119 minutes ago." I hate it when he changes plans at the last second.
"Well... we need you to film The Long One today…”
There's no helping it, he's a mess.
"What the hell, Greg. I got plans with Dana tonight! Can I really go pick her up smelling like shit?!”
“Shit?” Greg asked, puzzled, if not annoyed even. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Saturday. We do scat on Thursda- wait, Scaturdays… I’m a genius.”
Why is he like this.
And no, I don’t do scat by the way. That’s Liam’s job.
The less I know, the better.
Not interested.
“You’re lucky I can’t go home because Tim is busy with his b-“ I started to stutter like a mess, turning the letter “b” into a long vowel somehow. “-beautiful girlfriend.” Nice save. Well done, me.
Greg was surprised, as if I told him I could fly. “Tim’s dating? A girl? A person? An actual human being?”
“Says the robot.” I scoffed. “Let’s focus back on your idiotic schedule.”
"Dave…” said Greg. "You know I'm an honest man with no scruples."
"I don't think that's how it wor-“
"So I'm willing to give you a 1% extra, if you stay.”
I just looked at him, letting the silence speak for itself, amused by his terrible negotiating skills.
"Have a good weekend, Greg.” I said, and I turned around, heading towards the door.
"What the hell, Dave! Just because I messed up the schedule... again."
I turned back to him, with a smirk.
I didn’t speak, I let my other end do the talk this time.
He asked for a long one, after all.
Yep, one of my massive farts, loud and proud. I had to stretch my left leg a bit to ease it out.
“Oh I see, very mature, Dave!” Greg said, yet I could barely hear him over the sound my blast.
"I can't hear you…” I mouthed, pointing to my ear, as I kept ripping that long fart.
He just stared at me, annoyed by my talent -but that’s why he wants me on the team in the first place. The smell finally hit him, I could tell ‘cause he started coughing. And the fart was still going strong.
“Okay, fine!” he yelled, just as my 14 seconds long rip ended with a loud final toot.
I walked back towards his desk, still with the most annoying smirk you can imagine.
“I’ll pay you double, if you stay.”
“Love doing business with you, bro.” I said, as we shook hands.
While he opened a small window by his desk in a desperate attempt to overcome my manly scent (it wasn't very helpful, since the window still faced the inside of the warehouse anyway).
"So... how’s gonna work?”
While waiting for the answer, I grabbed my own phone to text Dana, telling her I'd be late (she knows I'm helping Greg with something but not, well, this). My girlfriend, awesome as always, replied with a funny sticker and said she'd immediately think of a Plan B, maybe having dinner later than usual if necessary.
"I asked one of your... colleagues..."
"...colleagues?"
Greg turned his computer screen around, showing me a group chat with other "colleagues." I even recognized Liam’s name. The group was called The League of Masters and I’m pretty sure it has nothin to do with D&D. I cringed pretty hard, once again re-evaluating my life choices... but I was also slightly offended that I wasn’t part of whatever that was, which triggered a whole other internal monologue.
I didn't have time to grill him on why he felt the need to ask for second opinions, as if I were the carrier of some unknown disease, that he started to explain himself.
“Apparently the experts here say that actually brewing The Long One requires some serious skills. Some of them watched your clips and they’re not sure you may be ready for it.”
I was just standing there, arms crossed, unimpressed, as I got kinky porn actors going "skill issue" on me, doubting of one of the very few talents I could honestly brag about. My weird-o-meter was also off-the-chart, though I admit the call may be coming from inside the house.
“No that I care… but I’m pretty that if this was a competition, I’d win by W.O.” I stated.
“Getting cocky about farting, of all things?”
“Getting co- you’re the one paying me to shit myself.”
“I told you that’s Liam’s job!”
“Yeah. On Thursdays, got it. The point is… I can’t believe I’m saying this… I’m the best farter.”
We stared at each other in silence, aware of how weird the conversation was, and this comes from a straight guy who farts on his roommate because he has a fart fetish.
“Just… just go nuts I guess…” Greg said, adjusting his glasses, seemingly exhausted. "I already told I'd pay you anyway. I gotta settle for you for now."
Settle?
If Tim was here… and if his kink wasn’t a secret of course, he’d tell Greg to ditch those so-called “experts”, and he’d definitely confirm that when it comes to long ones, I’m the only master this warehouse needs.
What’s that? Ah yes, that’s the sound of my inner voice telling me to strongly reconsider my life choices.
———
POV: Tim
Outside, a crisp, autumn evening was brewing. Or at least, that's what the notification I glimpsed on my phone said, before ending up under the sheets of my bed with Todd, where the cold doesn't exist. We left our clothes scattered on the stairs, around the house, arriving naked in my room.
Todd was surprisingly fit, despite his slender appearance. The hair on our chests rubbed together like flint stones, while our mouths wouldn't detach from each other.
“Do you think they have lasagna there?” Todd gasped, just as my hand touched his cock.
“Really? That’s all you can think of right now?” I stared at him, and he smiled back. “Me too. I love lasagna.”
Is this the infamous #foodporn social media managers always talk about?
“No.” Todd whispered, as I started rubbing him.
“Oh ok, sorry.” I said, stopping immediately.
“No no… I mean…” he tried to say, then explained himself by reaching for my cock. “I never got to… you know… return the favor.”
He started rubbing, slow at first, then faster. “D-don’t m-mention it.” I said, like an idiot.
“Not bad, Limdale…” he said, with a smirk, as he kept massaging my dick. “Let me take a closer look.”
And a closer look he took: he pulled himself down, deeper under the sheets, and I felt a warm sensation down below. A pleasing, warm sens- oh fuck he’s using his tongue. Fuck. He’s twisting it, I don’t know how it’s possible, but yeah, he’s doing it, and he’s also using teeth.
FFFFFUCK.
I clenched my own teeth in response: Todd bites. Not as hard as you may think, but I felt that.
I reached for his head, holding it down there, not that I needed to.
Fuck… bite harder.
Choke on it if ya want to.
The things he’s doing to my dick… holy shit… is this how they return a favor in Landale?!
———
POV: Dave
I stepped into the set, Tom was lying on the usual couch, casually scrolling through some stuff on his phone. I kind of walked over him as I sat on the couch’s backrest, my legs and butt already casting a shadow on his face. He didn’t mind, he didn’t care, and kept his eyes glued on the phone. He’s used to my ass roaring all over him even more than Tim is, weirdly enough, but not as weird as me accepting to showoff my skills like this.
Greg instead sat among his small crew on his cute director chair, because the only thing bigger than my farts here is his ego as a wannabe-movie director. I respect his dream, believe me.
“Alright Dave, ready when you are.” he said, gesturing the cameraman. “Start rolling. This is gonna be a long one, hopefully.”
I could sense everyone rolling their eyes at that.
Yeah, he’s talking about The Long One. Given the context, this is exactly what you expect: he wants a video where the farter (well, me) rips a humongously long fart… yes, it’s that simple. The man doubted my skills, least I could do is prove how wrong he was.
After all, and Tim knows more than any other, I’m basically the King of Farts.
I know, bragging about this is super silly, but you know me, you know what I’m capable of, I gave Greg a nice reminder in his office mere minutes ago, and that was a natural one.
But for this one, I guess I gotta go full berserk mode, so to speak.
I gently lowered my ass on Tom’s face until I felt the tip of his nose brushing against my dark blue sweatpants, then I sat on him full-weight. I then leaned a bit on the side, so I could let my ass breathe some air in.
Yeah, you read that right, though that shouldn’t be a surprise anymore: I can fart on command, and I’m really good at it.
So I started sucking (just as foretold by an ex-girlfriend of mine from years ago when she dumped me while telling me that I suck), the weird sounds echoing in the otherwise silent warehouse, and already sounding like farts being played in reverse, because technically that’s exactly what they are. I don’t think they smell, nor I’m interested to find out, but I assume they don’t, since the air is getting in, you know.
As I focused on being disgusting, I almost forgot I was actually sitting directly on Tom’s face, not the couch itself. I swear that’s because I suck at multitasking, not because I think low of my partner.
I leaned more as more air got in: whatever I was brewing, it was going a big long one, that’s for sure. As big as it was long, obviously.
My natural farts are loud and long, but when you throw my special ability into the mix, yeah this crown belongs to my head bro.
Yes, I’m bragging about this, I don’t care anymore.
I’m getting paid to fart on Tom’s face: we’re way past being weird.
And to be honest, considering that I’m the one blasting my gay best friend’s face on weekly basis, who am I to judge (not that I was planning to)?
One final suck-in and my ass was armed and ready to shoot.
I let Tom’s face enjoy some moments of silence, moments of calm before the storm, before the thunderous blast that I was going to unleash directly on his nose.
“Get ready for this.” I mouthed, looking down at him, though I could barely see him considering that he was under me.
I didn’t have to push hard, because the beast could barely be contained anyway.
The fart was loud, bassy and powerful, so the usual Dave-flavoured rip you all know very well.
But as much as I liked the idea of showing off such raw power, even I knew I had to pace myself, so I wouldn't blow it all at once. Don’t you dare getting me wrong: I adjusted the flow, not the sheer loudness of it; they wanted a show, so I’m giving them one, as gross as that sounds.
Tom was taking it like a champ, like the professional he is, but I could tell he was going to struggle soon as my blast already reached 30 seconds and it showed no signs of stopping.
Well, I’m the one ripping it, I’m the one pushing it out, and yeah this ain’t gonna stop until I say so.
I leaned a bit more, stretching my leg up, easing the fart out, but not too much, ‘cause I want this to last, I want this to leave a mark on Tom’s face… not that kind of mark; I’m a pro, no extra stuff is coming out, that’s Liam’s job… on Thursdays.
There he is, I felt Tom’s face twitching and moving. Whether it was the smell or my ass-gas directly into his eyes I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re 60 seconds in and I’m not even halfway done ahah.
There are weirder kinks yes, and I got my own, but this one… I don’t get the appeal. I get that it can be hilarious, but hot? I’ll never get used to this, but since I’m so good at it why waste it. I’m aware that thinking this probably makes me weirder than Tim getting a boner for my farts, but I don’t care anymore, I never did as you could tell. And my ass doesn’t care either, as I let it roar on Tom’s head as if he wasn’t there.
I lost track of time, but I’m pretty sure around 2 minute passed. I’m not going for the World Record, but I am going to teach Greg to never doubt of my skills again: not when gaming, not when playing basketball, and I guess not when it comes to being the fart master.
I’m chill, but yeah I can get very competitive on some very mundane stuff, even when it comes to shit like this.
I’m sorry Tom is getting the short-end of the stick however: kink or not, my fart going for so long must be too much even for him at this point, the bassy force of the blast making his entire face shake.
Pacing myself wasn’t always easy however, so at times it felt like a working out session: I was sweating.
My sweatpants were also very thin so I’m sure the stench and the sweat were getting unbearable for my "victim" as well, though I gotta say that farts on command usually don’t smell as bad as natural ones, or so I’ve been told. I don’t know man, it’s still air coming out of someone’s ass, so I’m sure it’s not pleasant.
Speaking of which, Tom coughed a couple of times, so I decided to be a good sport.
I leaned more, enough to let my partner’s nose get some actual fresh air… but I didn’t stop farting, mind you. Actually, leaning so much made me lose control of the gas being blown out for a moment, so the fart got even louder as I moved. That made me chuckle like an idiot: I don’t know how people manage to keep a straight face all the time while doing this. I do find it gross too, but once again I’m not judging and I don’t care.
Now the fart was actually starting to lose power, getting less loud every second, and I had to push harder to keep it going. I was satisfied, personally. I’m pretty sure the whole thing lasted around 5 minutes, probably one of the longest farts I ever ripped.
I let my ass crush Tom’s face one final time for a few seconds, pressing my asscheeks against his nose, leaving that "mark" I mentioned earlier, a mix of sweat and gas, then I got up, setting my partner free from the clutches of my unbeatable (and unbearable) talent.
“Cut!” Greg yelled.
I looked at him, sporting my annoying smirk. He replied by giving me the finger, but I could tell he was happy with the result.
I was exhausted, panting, and covered in sweat: if someone walked in and we told him we filmed porn, by looking at the state I was he’d assume we meant classic sex, instead of this whole kinky thing.
“I gotta say…” Greg said, walking up to me. “That was indeed a long one.” he admitted.
I patted his shoulder, almost saying that Tim would agree (I’m good at keeping secrets, believe me!).
Send that to your group chat, Greg.
———
POV: Tim
I buttoned up my shirt while descending the stairs, hoping to find my shoes near the sofa where Todd and I started to... "lose pieces." We were super late because of our... well there's no nice way to say this: because of our mad, steaming sex sessions.
I swear we achieved infinite stamina today.
We took a long shower together, which resulted in one final session obviously, and I had to postpone the reservation to 10:00 PM. Fortunately, it's one of the very few restaurants that stays open late, so there were no problems.
Todd joined me at the entrance, ready and dressed in that geeky chic style that's driving me crazy today (get a grip, Tim, infinite stamina doesn't exist!).
"Well, it's exactly 9:00 PM, so technically we're on time!” Todd joked.
"Or even early, by now…” I replied. "Well, shall we take a walk then? Limdale gets a lot better at night -on the account that you can't see it when it’s dark.”
My date didn't have time to pile on our town being shit, when the front door burst open, even though it was theoretically locked (I told you it's dodgy!).
It was Dave, gym bag slung over his shoulder, white t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants.
"Good evening, lovebirds.” the idiot said, with a mocking smile.
Unfortunately, Todd's presence prevents me from strangling my roommate.
"You must be Dave, from the wedding! Tim won’t shut up about you.” Todd began. "Are you Tim's b-"
"I'm straight.” Dave said, smiling. "Not his boyfriend, he's all yours."
On second thought, can someone strangle me instead?
"I was gonna say 'best friend’…” Todd laughed. "And no worries, I can totally tell you're not gay. ahah."
"...what's that supposed to mean?" Dave asked, puzzled.
Todd took a good look at him, with a smirk, focusing on his somewhat lackluster gym-attire. "You can't be gay... not dressed like that."
Uh, dissing, I'll enjoy this.
"Excuse me?"
"You look like a default skin!" Todd insisted.
"Oh Yeah?" my bro snapped back. "Says… twink Dr. Who. I didn’t know the G in Gay stood for Gallifrey!”
There was a moment of silence, until Dave broke it, smiling.
"Anyway, yeah, I'm Dave, from the wedding. Nice to meet you.” he said, shaking Todd's hand, who meanwhile let out a laugh.
"He's right, I totally look like Dr. Who." he admitted, amused.
"That's fine for me, as long as you look like Tennant.” I said, stroking his chest.
"Well, you two have fun regenerating each other. I'm going to take a quick shower. Dana and I have a reservation at Capelli's for 10:00 PM.".
"Capelli's, really?" I said. "Us too."
"Please don't tell me it's gonna be a double date…” Todd promptly said, then immediately turned to Dave. "No offense, man. You and Dana look super cool!"
I noticed Dave's eyes light up, as if he'd found a precious treasure.
"None taken. I too hate double dates!"
"It's the last thing I'd wanna do after a long day of work!” Todd explained.
"I was just gonna say that!" Dave commented.
"Well I guess it is gonna be a disaster after all!" I told my date. "But come on a double date can't be that bad."
They both groaned, bored and annoyed by my stance on this subject apparently.
“Don’t look too excited about it.” I remarked, sarcastically.
I refused to spend one more second letting those two make fun of me, so I pulled my date outside; and so Todd and I set off toward the restaurant, on foot (it wasn't far).
"I figured it was better to break the ice right away with your roommate." he explained.
"You did great.” I told him. "And don't worry: Dave is a huge marshmallow. He likes you already."
We laughed like idiots about the whole thing.
"I do hate double dates, though…” Todd admitted.
"Dave does too. And so do I…” I confessed. "But it's the only way we can get our lasagna tonight."
Todd looked at me, dead serious.
"Alright, your proposal is acceptable.” he stated. “I guess I owe you a favor.”
As he said that, I felt a slight ache between my legs.
I already know you repay favors in Landale, Todd.
New Years Eve just flew by and Dave and I got home at around 5:00 AM that night. We had a friend drive us to our place 'cause we both were dizzy because of the celebration.
We were fine, just tired as shit.
We both clumsily managed to open the front door, taking turns to guess which one was the right key (at one point we even wondered if it was the right house). After we managed to get in, he said something to me but I'm pretty sure it was just a weirdly verbal burp. So, without saying anything that actually made sense, we just silently agreed to go upstairs in our respective rooms and go to sleep, hopefully to wake up directly on January 2nd.
Dave went first and, dizzy as we were, swaying through the stairs was a surprisingly difficult task, which actually made us laugh like idiots as gravity easily made us its bitch.
Since I was a few steps behind him, it's almost needless to say that my face pretty much ended up being aligned with Dave's butt. Not what I was going for I swear, but it's a nice view nonetheless.
We both kept walking very slowly until my bro just stopped and somehow started to talk more fluently.
"Bro..." he whispered, trying not to laugh.
He lifted his right leg, fully exposing his denim ass in my face.
"I swear." I said, knowing where all of this was going. "If you say that there's gonna be fireworks I'm go-"
Dave cut me off in the way he does best: by farting, and man that was loud, probably hours of alcohol and food being processed into a gas bomb. That sounded quite difficult to rip but Dave didn't flinch for a second. After the slow start, the fart erupted in all of its force by getting even louder, sounding like e deep chainsaw. I just stood behind him taking it, as I was too tired to do anything anyway.
After 12 seconds, Dave's leg went down and he almost collapsed on the stairs because of how much he was laughing like a jerk. He turned around to check my reaction.
"I'm still gonna say it you know."
He reached for my head this time, his leg again going up. I couldn't trying to get out of his grip even if I wanted to as I was too weak and exhausted (though it's not like I didn't like that...). I didn't even have the time to feel his denim ass planted on my face, or even the stench of his previous rip, that he started pushing another one out.
"Here comes the fireworks." he smirked after that, I'm sure.
And another fart blasted my face. No slow starts this time: just loud, proud and manly. My face was shaking and the gas, mixed with the all the alcohol I had, almost made me pass out on the spot. Dave kept pushing and more gas came out, effortlessly ripping his way in into the new year. Lame joke aside, that was indeed as loud as fireworks, though the fact that he was farting all over my face certainly helped.
Another 14 seconds passed and the fart finally stopped. My bud turned around again and winked, being the hot bastard that he is.
We resumed walking upstairs, relatively faster this time, as Dave ripped small (for his standards) toots for almost each step he took.
"I'm going to bed." he simply said, right before ripping one final loud toot (around 5 seconds long). "Happy new year and all: remember the bathroom is right there." he then laughed, before disappearing into his room.
Yes, he was aware that my first stop before my room was getting rid of the massive boner he gave me, which really embarrassed me. But at the same, I'm glad Dave kept being so chill about all of this.
Hey, been reading your stuff for a minute. I really commend how much detail you put into every story—from character beats, to relationship arcs, to witty dialogue. I love all the sensual material you have included thus far—particularly the trapped in the closet episode or anything that involves head grabbing. I was wondering if you’d consider including fart cupping in future episodes, I always found that kind of activity interesting. Again, love the stories & keep up the good work.
Thanks man, glad you appreciate!
I assume that with "fart cupping" you mean -for example- farting in a jar or a bottle and then "trap" the fart inside, right?
Imagine the merchandise possibilities ahaha
Thanks again man, happy you enjoy the stories!
Have a good weekend.
I doubt this was your intention with this, but as a sex-repulsed asexual with this kink, I really appreciate the more low-key, casual scenarios you write about, with Dave and Westfork – it's hard to come across stuff that matches my tastes usually, but yours hit the spot perfectly, haha
I'm also a writer of this kind of thing (not on Tumblr, though), but I feel like none of the scenarios I can come up with can go on for much longer than 1500 words… Do you have any advice on how to develop stories with slightly longer lifespans?
Obviously, it's okay if you can't come up with any advice – I mostly just wanted to say how much I like your writing!
You'd be surprised by how intentional this is actually, ahah.
While I don't see myself as asexual, I do enjoy a more "laid-back", casual approach when it comes to this specific kink.
I'm flattered that you'd ask me for story tips but sadly, I'm no expert when it comes to writing, and I mostly write stuff when I'm inspired. I'd say that real life is a great inspiration, so to speak: even though none of my characters are 1:1 recreation of people I know IRL, they do have shades of them, including myself.
Also I personally enjoy "settings things up" before properly getting to the kinky stuff, as a way to flesh out the characters (and the scenario) involved a bit more -I'm not gonna act like Tim or Dave are deeply complex characters or anything ahah, but I personally like the idea of them being a bit more three-dimensional than their kinky archetypes, so sometimes the scenarios sort of write themselves.
Even more subjectively, while the stories are obviously kinky fart porn, the tone is (tentatively) very chill and comedic, which for me is really helpful when it comes to character interactions (fetish moments and whatnot).
I have no idea if those suggestions can be helpful (or if they make any sense, really).
Either way, good luck with your writing!
And thank you, glad you enjoy the stories!
Really loved Smelly Flowers!! Was expecting Todd to accidentally rip a fart at first but I love Dave's farts from the flower. Will Todd be gassy or just a regular amount of farts? (Also loved how Dana was written)
Glad you enjoyed!
Even though it's basically kinky porn, I always try to keep a comedic tone with the characters and their interactions.
Happy you appreciate.
I don't have anything planned for Todd but I do want to bring him back in future episodes, why not. I didn't picture him having a fart kink however.
Thanks for reading!
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 loved so much the Westfork story!!! Just as good as the DaveFarts series!! Really hoping it eventually becomes a series too!! Thanks for writing it!!
Thanks man!
Currently writing the next episode for DaveFarts, but I might come back to Westfork in the future. Really glad you enjoyed!
Thanks for reading!
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.
