(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 âSuck-in Streakâ [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. Itâs 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, Timâs bro knows how to mess with him even furtherâŚ
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 Iâm working on Saturdays: the clients do not seem appreciate it at all. Itâs like they have no idea how much time my shit takes and I swear som- ok, never mind, Iâm 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 todayâs 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 didnât even need to acknowledge my presence even further as my bro simply handed me a can of our favorite nectar.
âThanks, man.â
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 âfaceâ, 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 âviolentâ discussions happened in regards of the gameâs 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 oneâs a feature I believe, for some reason). Iâm 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 otherâs ass.
As messy as the game is, it is kind of nostalgic, though Iâm pretty sure the last time we played was when we went to a dinner at Adamâs 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 couldnât help but smirk.
âNo way.â 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?
âBro.â I simply said. âDid they just shadow-dropâŚâ
âThey totally did.â Dave confirmed. âI already hate this.â he added, smiling widely.
âHow did I not know this.âÂ
âNo one did.â Dave explained. âThey made an announcement this morning, uploaded the remake on the stores, and then disappeared again.â he took another sip of beer and then said the most important part. âAnd itâs free for whoever bought the original game.â
I was flabbergasted. âThereâs no way they did this, they want us dead.âÂ
I scrambled to read the patch notes, though this is way more than that: this is an entirely new version of the game.
âWhenever youâre ready.â Dave promptly said, now handing me a gamepad.Â
Obviously, we had many loose ends to tie up, when it came to this mess of a game.
âStill not over the backwards kick of 2021 huh?â I teased him.Â
âAn illegal move even for your standardsâ he replied, sitting down on the couch. âEven for this broken game.â
I sat on my side of the couch, putting the beer on the small table in front of him, and admired the gameâs shiny new look for a few seconds.
âDonât hate the player, hate the game.â I said.
Dave laughed. âWinning once against me truly did wonders to your self-esteem.âÂ
I swear I wanted to shrug that obviously immature tease off, but I just couldnât.Â
âExcuse me?â yeah I got baited.
âItâs not like youâre big on win streaks against yours truly.â he explained, with a smirk.
âFuck off I kicked your ass so many times you almost begged me for more.âÂ
âYou won single rounds, not matches.â he explained. âIn the end, despite your illegal moves, the honourable player still won in the end.â
Dave rage-baiting is very basic, heâs aware of it, heâs just playing, but the way he says it⌠goddammit itâs very easy with me, isnât it? And that makes no sense even: he too takes advantage of the gameâs broken gimmicks.
I mean donât 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.
âFine, Iâll bite.â I stated. âPick any character, any stage, and maybe Iâll show you mercy.â
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.
âMercy, you say?â
A deafening fart erupted, a quick, loud, startling thunder, 4 seconds long (short for his standards), almost tearing a hole through his jeans. đ
The tent I immediately pitched between my legs almost pierced through my own khaki pants instead. Fuckinâ teaser⌠this is gonna be one of those days, isnât it?
âââ
The gameâs announcer, a familiar deep voice yelling stuff like âRound 1â, welcomed us back into our petty tournament.
In spite of my broâs 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.
Iâm 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, heâs 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 heâs 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.Â
The last thing I need right now is another distraction.
Iâm 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. Daveâs healthbar is almost empty; this might be it. Block, punch, and...
And Iâm 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 âshortâ 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.
âAll that bitching about illegal moves and then thatâs the shit you pull off to win?â I said. âVery honourable.â
My bro laughed. âThatâs not an in-game move, it doesnât count.â
I adjusted my glasses, pinching my nose, trying to resist the urge to strangle my friend.
âLetâs just wrap this up. You won.â I admitted.
âAw come on.â Dave said. âIâm seeing Dana later, I got nothing to do until then.âÂ
âYou got your point, you won fairly⌠sort of.â I insisted. âIâll go get another beer no-â
"You're such a pain in the ass!â he mocked me. "Pick up that fucking gamepad and let me dominate you a little more."
"Bro!â I said, trying not to laugh. "I admit it, you're stronger. Clearly you bested me!â
âYou better start putting your head into the game, or elseâŚâ
"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, Iâd probably just say that if you don't pick up that gamepad, Iâm gonna fart in your face so hard itâs gonna melt your skin off. But since our situation is⌠very different..."
"Shut up.â I hissed.
âI mean, you know me, I believe much more in... positive reinforcement.â my bro did his best to not burst into laugher there. âPerhaps the only thing you need to win is just a bit of⌠motivationâŚâ
âI just texted Dana âSorry for your lossâ, âcause I think Iâm going to kill you, Dave.â
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 âbribeâ me with his incredible farting skills⌠and not the last time Iâm going to fall for it.
No, I canât let him have this.Â
I know that at this point heâs super chill (always has been), open-minded and⌠possibly morbidly amused by my gross kink, and given how good heâs at farting and how awkward I can get because of it, I canât really blame him. Hell, Iâm probably the luckiest kinky person in the world.
Still, I gotta strangle him later.
âOkayâŚâ I scoffed. I sat back down. âI too have nothing better to do⌠but Iâm not doing this because of⌠you know what.â
Dave leaned a bit, obviously to promptly fart in response to what I just said, but then stopped. âNah⌠saving it for later.â
Teasing bastard.
And weâre back into the game, back at trying to kick each otherâs ass.Â
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 doesnât care. Heâs the one pulling this fart shit even when itâs uncalled for, so I guess I should just relax. Yes, relax and get my ass kicked again, fuck off. He won again.
âLooks like Iâm a lost cause, bro.â I remarked, sarcastically, as Nekken reminded us whoâs in the lead.
âYeah I gotta say, you were much better at the buggy version of this shit.â he played along.Â
âI donât need any reinforcement, I just need to practice.â I explained.
âNah, positive reinforcement it isâŚâ Dave insisted, raising his right leg. âWith a just a bit of FOMO thrown into itâŚâ he said, turning to me with a smirk, and ripping a loud, meat-y rip, around 4 seconds long.
Fuck. So heâs going there.
This is what I missed out by losing.
Really? Weâve come to this.
The newest frontier of my friendâs kinky mind games just to mess with me.
My boner was greatly enjoying this though. Yeah, my boner, not me, obviously, duh.
âLetâs try again.âÂ
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 canât seem to be consistent, itâs like Iâm losing focus, regardless of any⌠distraction.
Well, I lost again, time to hear what Daveâs ass has to say.
My friend however didnât fart: he did lean again, raising his right leg, but the sounds that came out from his denim, sagging ass were different. He wasnât farting this time, he was sucking air in. Fuck.
He just casually sat back normally again, as if he didnât just breathe air in from his anus, and started another match. Why didnât 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 donât 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? Whatâs his endgame? He isnât even addressing that heâs doing that, what the fuck is going on.
Now I was getting mad, for some reason.Â
Raging boner on a raging gamer, fittingly.
And rage obviously didnât help at all, because this was the first time I didnât even win a single round.
Dave didnât even remark on his easy win, save for his usual âturns to me with an annoying smirkâ face.Â
He did, however, suck more air in, loudly.
Heâs got mad farting skills, whether itâs 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 donât know, thereâs something to it that itâs doing something to my chest. Stereotypical manliness, maybe? Or something along those lines. Either way, getting distracted was the norm now, thereâs 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 gameâs 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 heâs chill. If heâs doing something this weird itâs because he just doesnât care⌠but you know me, I have to be annoying. I donât want him to think that Iâm doing this on purpose you know, doing this just to hear him, well, fart.
âDave I swearâŚâ I stuttered. âIâm not losing on purpose.â
A big olâ PAUSE appeared on the screen, and Dave turned to me.
He looked⌠a bit more serious, his eyes studying my awkwardness.
âI know youâre not.â he then said. âYou just really really really suck.â he whispered.
I was⌠oddly relieved.
âAnd speaking of sucking!â Dave then yelled, now acknowledging a big loud suck-in. âOof, thatâs gonna leave a mark later.â 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.Â
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.Â
Itâs 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 Iâm 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.
âWell well wellâŚâ Dave said, still managing to sound annoying even when defeated. âFirst time you beat me without cheating, Iâm impressed!â.
I ignored the obvious jab at my 2021 move. âFirst time you didnât pull any weird-ass illegal move in a way or another.â
Dave snorted. âYou might want to take that back.â
As usual, heâs 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 "roarâ⌠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 âdenim wallâ. 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 didnât even wait for me to say anything: he simply let his ass speak as if I wasnât even sitting there.
âRound⌠1!â Dave muttered, imitating the deep voice of the gameâs narrator. And a huge fart erupted out of his ass. Loud, long, juicy. đ
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 didnât change pose.
âHowâs that for positive reinforcement?â he joked, we both laughed like idiots.
I almost didnât 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.
âRound⌠2!âÂ
I shouldâve seen this coming.
The moment my nose touched the rough, smelly, warm surface of my friendâs 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. đ
Being on-command, the stench wasnât as terrible as you may imagine, but thereâs still ass and sweat involved, so trust me it wasnât 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.
âRound⌠3!â
Oh come the fuck on.
Another blast, loud, dangerously meat-y, airy. Absolutely unbearable now. đ
This felt more natural than on-command, probably a mix of both, if thatâs 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 didnât say anything, obviously, and just let Dave laugh at me as usual. Or with me.
âYeah you might be rightâŚâ he said, noticing the smell. âTotally counts as an illegal move.â
The teasing asshole laughed at my awkwardness, then reached for his phone and gamepad.
âWelp, I got dinner with Dana. Gonna take a shower.â he explained. âI need the bathroom⌠unless you need it first.â 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 âSuck-in Streakâ [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. Itâs 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, Timâs bro knows how to mess with him even furtherâŚ
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 Iâm working on Saturdays: the clients do not seem appreciate it at all. Itâs like they have no idea how much time my shit takes and I swear som- ok, never mind, Iâm 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 todayâs 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 didnât even need to acknowledge my presence even further as my bro simply handed me a can of our favorite nectar.
âThanks, man.â
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 âfaceâ, 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 âviolentâ discussions happened in regards of the gameâs 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 oneâs a feature I believe, for some reason). Iâm 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 otherâs ass.
As messy as the game is, it is kind of nostalgic, though Iâm pretty sure the last time we played was when we went to a dinner at Adamâs 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 couldnât help but smirk.
âNo way.â 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?
âBro.â I simply said. âDid they just shadow-dropâŚâ
âThey totally did.â Dave confirmed. âI already hate this.â he added, smiling widely.
âHow did I not know this.âÂ
âNo one did.â Dave explained. âThey made an announcement this morning, uploaded the remake on the stores, and then disappeared again.â he took another sip of beer and then said the most important part. âAnd itâs free for whoever bought the original game.â
I was flabbergasted. âThereâs no way they did this, they want us dead.âÂ
I scrambled to read the patch notes, though this is way more than that: this is an entirely new version of the game.
âWhenever youâre ready.â Dave promptly said, now handing me a gamepad.Â
Obviously, we had many loose ends to tie up, when it came to this mess of a game.
âStill not over the backwards kick of 2021 huh?â I teased him.Â
âAn illegal move even for your standardsâ he replied, sitting down on the couch. âEven for this broken game.â
I sat on my side of the couch, putting the beer on the small table in front of him, and admired the gameâs shiny new look for a few seconds.
âDonât hate the player, hate the game.â I said.
Dave laughed. âWinning once against me truly did wonders to your self-esteem.âÂ
I swear I wanted to shrug that obviously immature tease off, but I just couldnât.Â
âExcuse me?â yeah I got baited.
âItâs not like youâre big on win streaks against yours truly.â he explained, with a smirk.
âFuck off I kicked your ass so many times you almost begged me for more.âÂ
âYou won single rounds, not matches.â he explained. âIn the end, despite your illegal moves, the honourable player still won in the end.â
Dave rage-baiting is very basic, heâs aware of it, heâs just playing, but the way he says it⌠goddammit itâs very easy with me, isnât it? And that makes no sense even: he too takes advantage of the gameâs broken gimmicks.
I mean donât 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.
âFine, Iâll bite.â I stated. âPick any character, any stage, and maybe Iâll show you mercy.â
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.
âMercy, you say?â
A deafening fart erupted, a quick, loud, startling thunder, 4 seconds long (short for his standards), almost tearing a hole through his jeans. đ
The tent I immediately pitched between my legs almost pierced through my own khaki pants instead. Fuckinâ teaser⌠this is gonna be one of those days, isnât it?
âââ
The gameâs announcer, a familiar deep voice yelling stuff like âRound 1â, welcomed us back into our petty tournament.
In spite of my broâs 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.
Iâm 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, heâs 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 heâs 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.Â
The last thing I need right now is another distraction.
Iâm 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. Daveâs healthbar is almost empty; this might be it. Block, punch, and...
And Iâm 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 âshortâ 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.
âAll that bitching about illegal moves and then thatâs the shit you pull off to win?â I said. âVery honourable.â
My bro laughed. âThatâs not an in-game move, it doesnât count.â
I adjusted my glasses, pinching my nose, trying to resist the urge to strangle my friend.
âLetâs just wrap this up. You won.â I admitted.
âAw come on.â Dave said. âIâm seeing Dana later, I got nothing to do until then.âÂ
âYou got your point, you won fairly⌠sort of.â I insisted. âIâll go get another beer no-â
"You're such a pain in the ass!â he mocked me. "Pick up that fucking gamepad and let me dominate you a little more."
"Bro!â I said, trying not to laugh. "I admit it, you're stronger. Clearly you bested me!â
âYou better start putting your head into the game, or elseâŚâ
"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, Iâd probably just say that if you don't pick up that gamepad, Iâm gonna fart in your face so hard itâs gonna melt your skin off. But since our situation is⌠very different..."
"Shut up.â I hissed.
âI mean, you know me, I believe much more in... positive reinforcement.â my bro did his best to not burst into laugher there. âPerhaps the only thing you need to win is just a bit of⌠motivationâŚâ
âI just texted Dana âSorry for your lossâ, âcause I think Iâm going to kill you, Dave.â
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 âbribeâ me with his incredible farting skills⌠and not the last time Iâm going to fall for it.
No, I canât let him have this.Â
I know that at this point heâs super chill (always has been), open-minded and⌠possibly morbidly amused by my gross kink, and given how good heâs at farting and how awkward I can get because of it, I canât really blame him. Hell, Iâm probably the luckiest kinky person in the world.
Still, I gotta strangle him later.
âOkayâŚâ I scoffed. I sat back down. âI too have nothing better to do⌠but Iâm not doing this because of⌠you know what.â
Dave leaned a bit, obviously to promptly fart in response to what I just said, but then stopped. âNah⌠saving it for later.â
Teasing bastard.
And weâre back into the game, back at trying to kick each otherâs ass.Â
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 doesnât care. Heâs the one pulling this fart shit even when itâs uncalled for, so I guess I should just relax. Yes, relax and get my ass kicked again, fuck off. He won again.
âLooks like Iâm a lost cause, bro.â I remarked, sarcastically, as Nekken reminded us whoâs in the lead.
âYeah I gotta say, you were much better at the buggy version of this shit.â he played along.Â
âI donât need any reinforcement, I just need to practice.â I explained.
âNah, positive reinforcement it isâŚâ Dave insisted, raising his right leg. âWith a just a bit of FOMO thrown into itâŚâ he said, turning to me with a smirk, and ripping a loud, meat-y rip, around 4 seconds long.
Fuck. So heâs going there.
This is what I missed out by losing.
Really? Weâve come to this.
The newest frontier of my friendâs kinky mind games just to mess with me.
My boner was greatly enjoying this though. Yeah, my boner, not me, obviously, duh.
âLetâs try again.âÂ
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 canât seem to be consistent, itâs like Iâm losing focus, regardless of any⌠distraction.
Well, I lost again, time to hear what Daveâs ass has to say.
My friend however didnât fart: he did lean again, raising his right leg, but the sounds that came out from his denim, sagging ass were different. He wasnât farting this time, he was sucking air in. Fuck.
He just casually sat back normally again, as if he didnât just breathe air in from his anus, and started another match. Why didnât 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 donât 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? Whatâs his endgame? He isnât even addressing that heâs doing that, what the fuck is going on.
Now I was getting mad, for some reason.Â
Raging boner on a raging gamer, fittingly.
And rage obviously didnât help at all, because this was the first time I didnât even win a single round.
Dave didnât even remark on his easy win, save for his usual âturns to me with an annoying smirkâ face.Â
He did, however, suck more air in, loudly.
Heâs got mad farting skills, whether itâs 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 donât know, thereâs something to it that itâs doing something to my chest. Stereotypical manliness, maybe? Or something along those lines. Either way, getting distracted was the norm now, thereâs 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 gameâs 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 heâs chill. If heâs doing something this weird itâs because he just doesnât care⌠but you know me, I have to be annoying. I donât want him to think that Iâm doing this on purpose you know, doing this just to hear him, well, fart.
âDave I swearâŚâ I stuttered. âIâm not losing on purpose.â
A big olâ PAUSE appeared on the screen, and Dave turned to me.
He looked⌠a bit more serious, his eyes studying my awkwardness.
âI know youâre not.â he then said. âYou just really really really suck.â he whispered.
I was⌠oddly relieved.
âAnd speaking of sucking!â Dave then yelled, now acknowledging a big loud suck-in. âOof, thatâs gonna leave a mark later.â 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.Â
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.Â
Itâs 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 Iâm 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.
âWell well wellâŚâ Dave said, still managing to sound annoying even when defeated. âFirst time you beat me without cheating, Iâm impressed!â.
I ignored the obvious jab at my 2021 move. âFirst time you didnât pull any weird-ass illegal move in a way or another.â
Dave snorted. âYou might want to take that back.â
As usual, heâs 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 "roarâ⌠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 âdenim wallâ. 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 didnât even wait for me to say anything: he simply let his ass speak as if I wasnât even sitting there.
âRound⌠1!â Dave muttered, imitating the deep voice of the gameâs narrator. And a huge fart erupted out of his ass. Loud, long, juicy. đ
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 didnât change pose.
âHowâs that for positive reinforcement?â he joked, we both laughed like idiots.
I almost didnât 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.
âRound⌠2!âÂ
I shouldâve seen this coming.
The moment my nose touched the rough, smelly, warm surface of my friendâs 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. đ
Being on-command, the stench wasnât as terrible as you may imagine, but thereâs still ass and sweat involved, so trust me it wasnât 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.
âRound⌠3!â
Oh come the fuck on.
Another blast, loud, dangerously meat-y, airy. Absolutely unbearable now. đ
This felt more natural than on-command, probably a mix of both, if thatâs 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 didnât say anything, obviously, and just let Dave laugh at me as usual. Or with me.
âYeah you might be rightâŚâ he said, noticing the smell. âTotally counts as an illegal move.â
The teasing asshole laughed at my awkwardness, then reached for his phone and gamepad.
âWelp, I got dinner with Dana. Gonna take a shower.â he explained. âI need the bathroom⌠unless you need it first.â 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 âThe Long Oneâ [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 Toddâs here, so he basically went âgo nutsâ 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.â I told him, as soon as he handed me my nectar.
We silently toasted to the worst tour in history.
âCome on, say it: Limdale fucking sucks.â
"Well, I'm from Landale, so thinking that is part of my hardware.â he explained, taking a sip of his beer. "Our towns have been rivals since forever."
"I like how your look reflects what you're sayingâŚâ I observed, with a smirk.
Todd was indeed dressed in a vaguely geeky chic aesthetic, looking a bit like a professor. Heâs a developer and, like me, enjoys video-editing, but if he'd introduced himself as a relatively young (heâs 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.â 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.â I explained.
"Hmm... good to knowâŚâ Todd said, thinking. "We also have time for a shower then.â
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.Â
"Are you sure no one's home?" Todd gasped, as I bit his ear.
âMy roommateâs busy somewhere.â
No idea what heâs doing.
Probably some super boring work stuff.
âââ
POV: Dave
BBBBRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP
BRRRPPPPP
BRRRP
PPRP
âYeah, all yours, bitch.â I said.
I canât believe thereâs a script for this stuff.
I canât believe Iâm saying such stuff out loud without laughing.
âOh wait⌠fifth time the charm!â I said, as I ripped another loud fart on Tomâs face.
Tom, the heroic so-called âbottomâ of those videos, even though Iâm 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.Â
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.
âCut!â 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 Tomâs chest as I walked way.
âGood job, bro.â 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.â he said, almost like a robot, and with the fakest smile I had ever seen.
Okay, something's off.Â
Greg is a robot, fine, but one who knows how to simulate human emotions at least.
âWhat did you doâŚ?â 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 todayâŚâ
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?!â
âShit?â Greg asked, puzzled, if not annoyed even. âDonât be ridiculous. Itâs Saturday. We do scat on Thursda- wait, Scaturdays⌠Iâm a genius.â
Why is he like this.
And no, I donât do scat by the way. Thatâs Liamâs job.Â
The less I know, the better.
Not interested.
âYouâre lucky I canât go home because Tim is busy with his b-â I started to stutter like a mess, turning the letter âbâ into a long vowel somehow. â-beautiful girlfriend.â Nice save. Well done, me.
Greg was surprised, as if I told him I could fly. âTimâs dating? A girl? A person? An actual human being?â
âSays the robot.â I scoffed. âLetâs focus back on your idiotic schedule.â
"DaveâŚâ said Greg. "You know I'm an honest man with no scruples."
"I don't think that's how it wor-â
"So I'm willing to give you a 1% extra, if you stay.â
I just looked at him, letting the silence speak for itself, amused by his terrible negotiating skills.
"Have a good weekend, Greg.â 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 didnât 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.
âOh I see, very mature, Dave!â Greg said, yet I could barely hear him over the sound my blast.
"I can't hear youâŚâ I mouthed, pointing to my ear, as I kept ripping that long fart.
He just stared at me, annoyed by my talent -but thatâs why he wants me on the team in the first place. The smell finally hit him, I could tell âcause he started coughing. And the fart was still going strong.
âOkay, fine!â 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.
âIâll pay you double, if you stay.âÂ
âLove doing business with you, bro.â 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... howâs gonna work?â
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 Liamâs name. The group was called The League of Masters and Iâm 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 wasnât 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.
âApparently the experts here say that actually brewing The Long One requires some serious skills. Some of them watched your clips and theyâre not sure you may be ready for it.â
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.
âNo that I care⌠but Iâm pretty that if this was a competition, Iâd win by W.O.â I stated.
âGetting cocky about farting, of all things?â
âGetting co- youâre the one paying me to shit myself.â
âI told you thatâs Liamâs job!â
âYeah. On Thursdays, got it. The point is⌠I canât believe Iâm saying this⌠Iâm the best farter.â
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.
âJust⌠just go nuts I guessâŚâ 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 wasnât a secret of course, heâd tell Greg to ditch those so-called âexpertsâ, and heâd definitely confirm that when it comes to long ones, Iâm the only master this warehouse needs.
Whatâs that? Ah yes, thatâs the sound of my inner voice telling me to strongly reconsider my life choices.
âââ
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.
âDo you think they have lasagna there?â Todd gasped, just as my hand touched his cock.
âReally? Thatâs all you can think of right now?â I stared at him, and he smiled back. âMe too. I love lasagna.â
Is this the infamous #foodporn social media managers always talk about?
âNo.â Todd whispered, as I started rubbing him.
âOh ok, sorry.â I said, stopping immediately.
âNo no⌠I meanâŚâ he tried to say, then explained himself by reaching for my cock. âI never got to⌠you know⌠return the favor.â
He started rubbing, slow at first, then faster. âD-donât m-mention it.â I said, like an idiot.
âNot bad, LimdaleâŚâ he said, with a smirk, as he kept massaging my dick. âLet me take a closer look.â
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 heâs using his tongue. Fuck. Heâs twisting it, I donât know how itâs possible, but yeah, heâs doing it, and heâs 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 heâs doing to my dick⌠holy shit⌠is this how they return a favor in Landale?!
âââ
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 couchâs backrest, my legs and butt already casting a shadow on his face. He didnât mind, he didnât care, and kept his eyes glued on the phone. Heâs 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.
âAlright Dave, ready when you are.â he said, gesturing the cameraman. âStart rolling. This is gonna be a long one, hopefully.â
I could sense everyone rolling their eyes at that.
Yeah, heâs 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, itâs 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, Iâm basically the King of Farts.
I know, bragging about this is super silly, but you know me, you know what Iâm 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 Tomâs 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 shouldnât be a surprise anymore: I can fart on command, and Iâm 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 thatâs exactly what they are. I donât think they smell, nor Iâm interested to find out, but I assume they donât, since the air is getting in, you know.
As I focused on being disgusting, I almost forgot I was actually sitting directly on Tomâs face, not the couch itself. I swear thatâs because I suck at multitasking, not because I think low of my partner.Â
I leaned more as more air got in: whatever I was brewing, it was going a big long one, thatâs 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, Iâm bragging about this, I donât care anymore.
Iâm getting paid to fart on Tomâs face: weâre way past being weird.
And to be honest, considering that Iâm the one blasting my gay best friendâs 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 Tomâs 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.
âGet ready for this.â I mouthed, looking down at him, though I could barely see him considering that he was under me.
I didnât 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. Donât you dare getting me wrong: I adjusted the flow, not the sheer loudness of it; they wanted a show, so Iâm 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, Iâm the one ripping it, Iâm the one pushing it out, and yeah this ainât gonna stop until I say so.
I leaned a bit more, stretching my leg up, easing the fart out, but not too much, âcause I want this to last, I want this to leave a mark on Tomâs face⌠not that kind of mark; Iâm a pro, no extra stuff is coming out, thatâs Liamâs job⌠on Thursdays.
There he is, I felt Tomâs face twitching and moving. Whether it was the smell or my ass-gas directly into his eyes I donât know. What I do know is that weâre 60 seconds in and Iâm not even halfway done ahah.
There are weirder kinks yes, and I got my own, but this one⌠I donât get the appeal. I get that it can be hilarious, but hot? Iâll never get used to this, but since Iâm so good at it why waste it. Iâm aware that thinking this probably makes me weirder than Tim getting a boner for my farts, but I donât care anymore, I never did as you could tell. And my ass doesnât care either, as I let it roar on Tomâs head as if he wasnât there.
I lost track of time, but Iâm pretty sure around 2 minute passed. Iâm 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.
Iâm chill, but yeah I can get very competitive on some very mundane stuff, even when it comes to shit like this.
Iâm 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 wasnât always easy however, so at times it felt like a working out session: I was sweating.
My sweatpants were also very thin so Iâm sure the stench and the sweat were getting unbearable for my "victim" as well, though I gotta say that farts on command usually donât smell as bad as natural ones, or so Iâve been told. I donât know man, itâs still air coming out of someoneâs ass, so Iâm sure itâs 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 partnerâs nose get some actual fresh air⌠but I didnât 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 donât know how people manage to keep a straight face all the time while doing this. I do find it gross too, but once again Iâm not judging and I donât 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. Iâm pretty sure the whole thing lasted around 5 minutes, probably one of the longest farts I ever ripped.Â
I let my ass crush Tomâs 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.
âCut!â 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.Â
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 heâd assume we meant classic sex, instead of this whole kinky thing.
âI gotta sayâŚâ Greg said, walking up to me. âThat was indeed a long one.â he admitted.
I patted his shoulder, almost saying that Tim would agree (Iâm good at keeping secrets, believe me!).
Send that to your group chat, Greg.
âââ
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!â Todd joked.
"Or even early, by nowâŚâ 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 itâs dark.â
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.â 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 wonât shut up about you.â Todd began. "Are you Tim's b-"
"I'm straight.â Dave said, smiling. "Not his boyfriend, he's all yours."
On second thought, can someone strangle me instead?
"I was gonna say 'best friendââŚâ 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 didnât know the G in Gay stood for Gallifrey!â
There was a moment of silence, until Dave broke it, smiling.
"Anyway, yeah, I'm Dave, from the wedding. Nice to meet you.â 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.â 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 dateâŚâ 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!â 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.
âDonât look too excited about it.â 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.â 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, thoughâŚâ Todd admitted.
"Dave does too. And so do IâŚâ 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.â he stated. âI guess I owe you a favor.âÂ
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 storyâfrom character beats, to relationship arcs, to witty dialogue. I love all the sensual material you have included thus farâparticularly the trapped in the closet episode or anything that involves head grabbing. I was wondering if youâd 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 â 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 â 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 âSmelly Flowersâ [Episode List]
Tim, Dave and Dana are at a friendâs 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. Weâd 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 kitschyâŚ) lost in the Californian countryside, not too far from the ocean. Janet and Ron hadnât been joking years ago when they said theyâd pick âa place where no one can hear you screamâ: 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 didnât 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.
âOhhh⌠now comes the good partâŚâ said Dave, rubbing his hands, his eyes following the waiters setting up a massive dessert buffet across the hall. âCome on babe, before the crowd catches the sugar scent.â He stood up, pulling Dana by the hand.
âWait.â Dana resisted and made him sit down again. She took one last sip of wine, then spoke. âRemember what happened on the plane.â
I laughed, the memory still far too vivid.
âBabe, how was I supposed to know that people make hot sauce with⌠fruit?â
âItâs literally the only thing youâre intolerant to.â
I wouldnât even call it intolerance. Daveâs stomach just⌠processes everything in its own way, even food that should knock him down.
âYour friend hereâŚâ Dana said, turning to me. âHe canât digest hibiscus.â She turned back towards Dave, half serious, half playful. âWhich, by the way, is a flower, not a fruit.â
Dave kept his eyes glued to the buffet and took a sip of wine. âAlright, relax. Iâll be careful.â
He was lying, obviously.
Never stand between Dave and his sugar.
âOkay, Iâm stepping away for a sec. Emmaâs waving at me and I accidentally made eye contact⌠damn it. Donât wait for me.â
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.
âIâm going now...â he whispered. âWeâre in a shark tank. One second of distraction and that buffet will be torn apart without mercy.â
âYour strategy is flawless,â I said, sipping my drink. âKeep me posted from the front line. Youâll find me on the terrace.â
âWhat?â Dave blinked, oddly offended. âMy brother-in-arms is abandoning me like this?â
âIâve got⌠stuff to do.â I explained, nodding towards one of the guys from our table, who was also getting up and heading to the terrace.
âOhhhh⌠I see.â Dave grinned. âLeaving your bro hanging like that. For just a bit of cock. Fine. Iâll remember this.â
âYouâre such an idiotâŚâ 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 Iâm gonna make out with on the terrace. Todd is nice, heâs into video-editing and cocks.
We have so much in common!
â
POV: Dave
Screw this human swarm of locusts. I always end up empty-handed at weddings, but this time Iâll 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 (theyâre gonna be mine).
Am I overdoing this? Am I being immature?
Iâd like to see you in my place, a man repeatedly robbed of sugarâs simple joy because he makes the mistake of trusting in the crowdâs so-called manners. Of course theyâll leave me something, sure, absolute fucking bullshit, thatâs what theyâll 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 sheâd be the first one here, right next to me, hoarding desserts if she could. Iâm the man on the front line, the scout, the manly man who will have his delicious, well-earned pink cupcake.
â
POV: Tim
The terrace was big and overlooked the garden surrounding the villa. We truly were in the middle of nowhere.
âSo⌠theyâre setting up the buffet huh.â I said, trying to have a casual conversation.
âYeah, I heard they have some delicious cupcakes. Iâm friend with the chef -I think they used some kind of fruit to give it a particular exotic taste.â Todd explained.
âAs long as itâs not flowers.â
We didnât 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 donât care anymore about my closet, but I donât 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.
âWhatâs your codec of choice?â he panted.
âMPEG.â I replied, as I felt his hand reaching for my crotch.
âMPEG meâŚâ 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 Toddâs 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 Toddâs pitching a tent in the palm of my hand. I didnât 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.Â
âSorry.â he whispered, smiling.
âDonât even say that.â I reassured him.
He clearly wanted to stop, so I just leaned against the railing, smiling like an idiot. Thank goodness I wasnât wearing glasses (contact lenses this time), Iâm sure I would have lost them.
âI need to change. Believe it or not I got a backup tux.â he explained.
âYou never know, you know.â I said, with a smirk.
âIâll be in my room.â he smiled and handed me a small piece of napkin with a number written on it. âIâll be back soon, but maybe, after this is over⌠feel free to join me. I gotta⌠return the favor.â he said, gently patting my crotch.
âDonât mention it.â I said. He laughed.
This guy must really be into me because Iâm terrible at this.
I watched him as he went back into the hall, walking faster and faster so he wouldnât 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 villaâs 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.
âWhat did you do?â I said, scolding him.
âTim shut up for a sec.â Dave replied. âLetâs just have a quick, calm walk.â
I wasnât impressed. âWhat did you do?â 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. Iâm no detective, but I was pretty sure Dave didnât have the same intentions as Todd.
âThose damn cupcakes,â he muttered. âThe waiter said they were fruit-flavored, but nope, judging by my stomach, it was hibiscus! And trust me, bro, I know my stomach.â
âWhy does everyone keep confusing that flower with a fruitâŚâ I mused, remembering how Todd had done the same thing earlier.
âI DONâT KNOW, MAN!â Dave burst out, then doubled over in pain. âLetâs walk. I need to⌠work this off. And you know what that means.â
Unfortunately, I do. And I was terrified of what Dave might unleash.
âââââ
After walking for a couple of minutes, Dave wanted to seat on a stone bench, because he needed to a few moments to focus -thatâs 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.
âI didnât drag you out here because of your kink by the way.â
What. Where did that come from?Â
âI just needed my brother-in-arms.â 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 doesnât see me any differently, even considering my gross kink.
âSo this is not one of your kinky games then.â I bluntly remarked.
âMy kinky games?â he replied. âYouâre the one craving my farts!â he laughed.
I felt attacked, even though I had no reason. âI never craved your farts.âÂ
Are we seriously having a conversation about this? Are those real sentences?
âThen why did you tell me about your kink?âÂ
âI never told you, you found out. You did⌠you know⌠the rest!â
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.
âCome on⌠admit it.â he said, in a weirdly flirty tone. âWe had to share a room for a few weeks back in college. Donât tell me you didnât crave a piece of your friend Dave back then.â
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. Donât get me wrong, I was super embarrassed by where this conversation was heading all of the sudden.
And my Todd-related boner wasnât helping, because now my cock was confused. Itâs like it was saying âWhat am I even hard for now?!â
âCome on⌠admit it.â he said, playfully leaning towards me. âAdmit you love this.â
Oh, thatâs 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 friendâs stomach fighting those damn flowers, flowers that ironically produced the stinkiest rip Iâve 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, itâs 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.
âYes, Dave. Iâve always liked you.â I admitted.Â
Or rather, confessed.Â
Because I wasnât talking about his farts.
Luckily, my bro didnât 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).
âI canât blame you. Iâm the whole package.â he said, ripping a short, quick blast.
âSo this is one of your kinky gamesâŚâ I remarked.
Dave laughed. âNo bro, I just donât want Dana to see me shitting myself.â
âAh so youâre just hiding.â
âPretty much.â he replied. âAnd no, for the last time, this is not one of my kinky games. I donât even know what you mean by this!â
He then leaped over me and sat on my lap, full weight, almost crushing my legs.
âUnless you want it to beâŚâ 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 friendâs 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.
âFuck, I hope Todd wonât notice the smell.â I joked, comically trying to dust the smell off of me.
âTodd? Whoâs Todd?â Dave asked, puzzled.
âThe guy from our table?â I explained.
âAh yes. He seems cool.â he took a couple of more seconds to connect the dots. âHoly shit. Did you guysâŚâ
âKind of.â I simply said. âWeâre planning the rest for later I guess.â
âAwesome bro.â he said, patting my shoulder. âIs he also intoâŚâ
âNot that I know of.â I cut him off. âDoesnât matter.â
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.
âThat one hurt a bit.â he commented.
âAs long as you donât shit yourselfâŚâ I observed.
âYou know Iâm a pro.âÂ
Another moment of silence, this time interrupted my friend speaking from his mouth like a normal person.
âWhen you said that you always liked me⌠that wasnât about your fetish, wasnât it?â
My heart stopped for a moment, even though I had nothing to be afraid of.
Still, I know itâs bad when I wish heâd 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.
âIt comes and goes.â I admitted. âYou wonât get another word out of me.â
He laughed. For a moment, he seemed the awkward one.
âYou have such a horrible taste in men, bro.â he joked. âBut maybe that Todd guy can fix that.â
âHow romantic of you.â I dryly said.Â
âVery. I even brought you flowers.â a loud blast shook the bench, a quick 4 seconds tip. âTechnically.â
âYouâre such an idiot I swear.âÂ
âTold ya Iâm the whole package.â he elbowed me. âIâm flattered that youâre crushing on me.â
âIâm not crushing on you.â I quickly remarked.
âOf course youâre not.â he said, getting up, gently massaging his stomach.
I got up too, and we started walking again, this time towards the villa. This doesnât 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.
âAnd here I thought you were feeling better.â
âI am.â my bro said. âJust tying up some loose ends.â
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 wasnât 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.Â
âYou would have loved this one.â he casually said, walking past me.
I got red instantly, and resumed walking.Â
I did love that, even if it wasnât on my face.
My boner, now less confused, totally agreed.
As we got back on the terrace, Dana greeted us.Â
âIâve been looking for you for like 30 minutes! These human locusts have devoured everything!â
âIâm fine, honestlyâŚâ Dave said, trying to sound casual.
But yeah⌠Dana could read him like an open book.
âYou ate the hibiscus cupcakes.â she said, firmly.
Dave didnât even try to lie his way out.
âBabe, who the hell puts a damn flower in a damn cupcake? Itâs a flower! How do you evenâŚâ
âYouâre such an idiotâŚâ Dana said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. âCome on, maybe thereâs still something edible left. I even saw some strawberries, Tim.â
âThanks, Dana. As much as I love strawberries though⌠I need to do something.â
âOhhhhâŚâ she said âKeep us posted. Weâll se you late-â the sight of Emma stealing the last slice of apple pie got her attention, cutting her off. âOh no she wonât.âÂ
Dana sprinted inside, leaving me and Dave on the terrace.
âSay âhiâ to Todd for me.â he joked. âAre you sure he wonât get jealous because of me though?â
âVery funny.â I said, as I reached for the napkin Todd gave me earlier.
âHey, show a little gratitude⌠I got you riled up.â Dave said, patting my hard boner.
I canât believe he just did that.Â
Why is he like this.
Sometimes heâs way too chill.
âThatâs disgust- thatâs⌠fuck off!â 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 wasnât all as well-preserved as it may look.
Despite not being a University anymore, Westfork is still a reverenced name in academic environments, and itâs 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 thatâs 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.
Itâs 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. Iâm starting this new job tomorrow, but first Iâm supposed to meet with an old acquaintance from college, Ted, so he can show me around.Â
Heâs a bit of a⌠stickler, but he usually means well.
Usually.
Itâs also hopefully an excuse to have a quick beer or coffee, which is fine to me.Â
I sat on a bench just outside of a Cafe, parking my rolling bag in front of me (itâs not much, but Iâm planning to leave this weekend to fetch more stuff from home). The atmosphere is great and nostalgic, almost romantic Iâd 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. Iâve been told the institution doesnât really care who visits, as long as they donât burn the place down. Plus, weâre basically working adults here, not college students throwing parties (I know because I was one of them -especially the party part, no regrets).
âJeff Parkâ I turned around and saw Ted holding a cup of coffee, while adjusting his big round glasses. âI didnât recognize you without a microphone.â
My parties usually involved karaoke contests.
I stood up and stepped towards him, shaking his hand.
âGood to see you too, Ted.âÂ
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 âofficialâ 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.
âWestfork may just be a study center nowdays, but as you can see it still has that college soul going.â he commented, looking at some guys jogging. âThat building right there, the one with the white dome, is the Presidentâs office basically. The library is right next to it.â
âI assume the library is where you guys also keep your archives?â
âYeah -well, itâs actually in the building literally behind it, we canât see it from here though.â
Ted kept describing the place, explaining some bits of history as well, which I found interesting, but Iâm 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.
âHere comes the bullies.âÂ
âHere comes the what-now?â I asked.
Indeed, two guys on their skateboards rode past us, one of them casually (and jokingly, I assumed) slapping Tedâs back, clearly to annoy him. As they rode away, they gave one last amused look to my guide, before disappearing behind a brick building.
ââŚBullies?â 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 guysâ presence.
âThatâs the soul I was talking about.â he explained. âThe rotten, immature soul of the worst college you can think of.â
I was quite surprised by his reaction. âThey were just goofing around.â I tried to calm him down, without success.
âThose are Bradâs goons. They donât look the part, yet they too work here for some reason.â he said. âTheyâre basically the bullies around here, immature hogs acting like a toxic fraternity, tarnishing the already tarnished name of Westfork.â
This was turning into a petty monologue pretty fast for my taste.
I know him, I know no oneâs tarnishing anything.
âAlways bullying hard-workers like us while they fuck around on their stupid skateboards.âÂ
I decided to step in. âI see.â I said. âAny other 90s stereotype I should be concerned about?â
âTheyâre also homophobes.â
Ok, ouch. âWell thatâs the first actually bad thing about them, if itâs true.â
âJust stay away from them. Theyâre like a disease.â
Ted seemed pretty sure about them; I could tell there was something else going on, but I didnât 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 heâd call anyone a homophobe if he wasnât sure about it -thatâs a pretty bad thing to say about anyone.Â
I didnât 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⌠âbulliesâ, 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.
âThatâs my stop. Sorry, itâs been a long day for me.â
âItâs fine. Iâm staying across the street, right?â I said, pointing at what was basically this buildingâs twin, on the other side of a small square.
âYep. If you need anything⌠good luck.â
I let Ted go get some rest while I walked towards the other building. It wasnât late, but I wasnât planning on doing anything tonight, plus I was tired for the trip: top priority is unpack some stuff and throw them into place. Thereâs this history paper Iâve been reading, focusing on the language of architecture in Middle Age Europe (creatively titled âArchitecture and Powerâ), which is porn to my brain. Canât find any info on the guy who wrote it -some dude called âL. Evansâ. I just have a printed copy -hope it didnât 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. Iâm the King of idiots, theyâre 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 apartmentâs keys in my pockets, but I canât 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, Iâm 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.
âIs that our guy?â 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 âboards parked by their stools under their feet, one displaying a simple drawing of a lightning.Â
Itâs those⌠âbulliesâ. 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.
âHey is this yours?â the man said, handing me the long handle of the suitcase, as he scratched the small black stud on his left ear.
âYes⌠thanks.â
âNo problem.â the man simply said, before turning around and walking back to the Cafe. âYep, that was our guy.â 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.
âYeah he looked pretty nervous. They usually do that ya know.â
âThey?â I mouthed, in silence.Â
Iâm out of here.Â
I didnât even know that being nervous was a gay stereotype. Everyoneâs nervous, in this economy! Thanks for keeping my suitcase safe, but no, Iâm 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.
âSlow down with the beer dude, have mercy for our noses.â one of them said, laughing.
I pretended I didnât hear that.
â â âÂ
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 didnât 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 wasnât lying: the vibes are still there, the soul he mentioned still lives on, for better or for worse.Â
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.Â
âYeah⌠I wonder how much sex those walls witnessed.â I thought, looking around me.
â â âÂ
WEDNESDAY
The best thing about this job, skipping the parts youâd 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 (âŚI refused to tell them about the suitcase), which they find hilarious of course.
I also got an e-mail from Westieâs President, welcoming me aboard officially, hoping I enjoy my stay and implying that I should get the job done properly. He didnât get to the âunless you want to get firedâ 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. Itâs fine, Iâm 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 couldnât wait to get started.
âItâs pretty straightforward to be honest.â Ted admitted. âYou can start from there, the stuff filed under the letter A, obviously.â
I obeyed, even though Ted wasnât my boss or anything.
âRemember the archival standards-â
âYes, no worries, this is like Heaven to me.â I reassured him, perhaps sounding more cocky than I wanted to.
Tracing back to a documentâs origin or author is like a murder mystery: you have evidence to arrange, logical steps to follow, deduction, and suspects. However, sadly, you donât 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 canât find any info on the author. The Internet has failed me! Iâd love to read more of his stuff, if he has written any to begin with. I donât even know if heâs still alive! Does he even exist? Maybe thatâs not his real name?
Nice, itâs my first day and Iâm 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 itâs on me, I was just really into those old files this time. Iâm far from being a workaholic, but I do enjoy this stuff.
âWeird.â I said, arranging a couple of old books on the well-lit desk in front of me. âTheyâre in perfect state, theyâve been catalogued already apparently, but youâre missing one.â I checked the side of the books. âThe third one.â
âWell, thatâs our job, isnât it?â Ted replied, not really listening to what I was trying to say.
âYes, but Westie does own it, itâs been digitized, itâs listed on your website, even.â sometimes work is as simple as that.
âOh yeah, now I get it.â Ted admitted. âBeyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs, vol. III. I know where it is.â
Ted seemed hesitant, and also annoyed.
âItâs not urgent or anything, but we can simply place this series in the library if we have them allâŚâ this is more of my perfectionist side taking the wheel. The shipâs wheel.
âI think either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon have it, those jerks.â
âLet me guess, theyâre the super scary skateboarders from yesterday, right?â I said, with a hint of sarcasm. Just a hint, really.
âHey, I told you. Theyâre not worthy of this institution, so you getting the book back from them is basically your duty.â
I rolled my eyes behind his back. I reached for one of the tomes and put it in my backpack.
âAnd theyâre also homophob-â
I cut him off, maybe raising my voice a bit too much at first. âI⌠Iâm going to decide if thatâs true, with all due respect.â
Ted scoffed at me. âWhy would I make it up?â
âIâm⌠Iâm not saying you made it up, Iâm just doing my job, not jumping to conclusions.â even though they did make a weird comment yesterday, after handing me the suitcase.
âWhatever.â he simply said. âItâs past 6:00 PM, theyâre probably hanging out at their Frat House not far from here, by the Old Birch.â
âFrat House? Really?â
âI mean it does feel like one you knowâŚâ he said, concerned.
âI kind of hope it does now.â 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 wasnât done yet, Iâm gonna Indiana Jones this shit if I have to.
Once I got familiar with Westforkâs layout I realized that the campus wasnât nearly as big -or fancy- as it looked -donât get me wrong, itâs a small town basically, but everything is conveniently close. And that includes the so-called âFrat Houseâ 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 âΊâ in the middle. Yep, once again, the soulâs 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 donât blame them.
Maybe Tedâs stereotyping wasnât 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 âYouâre the rolling bag-guy!â.
I was famous!
âYou remembering me tells me that Westfork must be very boring.â
He laughed and let me in. âThatâs what all workplaces are.â
âIâm looking for either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon.â straight to the point, more or less.
âNice to meet you -Iâm Brad.â 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. Westforkâs historical soul was mostly intact here, if you donât count the empty chips bag.
âAnd that goblin there is Tyler.â 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 heâs 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.
âBrad.â another guy showed up. âThe game starts in 20 minutes. Did you check the subscription?â
âAnd thatâs Mark.â Brad commented, visibly annoyed -clearly this wasnât 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.
âIf this is a bad time I can-â
âItâs fine.â Brad cut me off. âWhenever the Lobsters play, Mark goes DEFCON 1. YOUâRE GONNA LOSE ANYWAY.âÂ
âFuck you and your Wasps!â a muffled response from the other room. âWhatâs wrong with this TV?!â
Brad pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, sort of embarrassed by the situation. âHard to believe everyone in here is a published historian, huh?â
Honestly, that was hilarious. This is the right mix of âacademic environmentâ and âchillâ for me, maybe with a bit less screaming at the TV (but that happens to me when gaming, so I get it).
âDo⌠do you mind if I help?â I dared to ask, hearing more angry comments. âFrom what I⌠barely heard I had a similar problem with my TV last week.âÂ
âOf course. Thanks.â Brad said, eagerly pushing me in the lionâs den. âBe my guest.â
Mark was almost punching the TV, something weâve all did but rarely works, come on. I simply tapped on his shoulder and silently asked him for the remote.
âI got the same model. Theyâre like the printers of TVs: they stop working whenever you actually need them.â
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.
âWho are you again?â Mark asked, after taking a good look at the crisp, perfect image on the screen.
âIâm Jeff, Iâm the new archivist. I got he-â
âStop talking, youâll tell us everything about you tomorrow night. Beerâs on us.â he said, with a firm handshake.
âGladly.â I simply said. âI mean I didnât do mu-â.
âIf you donât wanna come, donât. If you want, thereâs only one Cafe in this husk of a University, so youâll know where to find us.â
Tedâs words echoed in my head as these guys kept being just casually⌠nice.Â
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.
âThe President wonât kick you out, Tyler. Youâre the most valid asset in our team.â
âRead the e-mail. If it happens again, Iâm out. I fucked up too many times.â
âYou had a couple of beersâŚâ
âI was drunk, passed out, and he was the one who found me â right in the middle of the night, in the middle of the campus, during one of his late-night jogging sessions.â
ââŚno one got hurt?â
âHe literally tripped over me!â
I decided to step in, hopefully not making things too awkward or embarrassing, pretending I didnât hear a thing.
âThe TV is fixed.â
âAwesome dude.â Brad said.Â
âWhoâs the IT guy?â Tyler said, before correcting himself (and rushing to change the subject). âOh right, youâre the rolling bag-guy!â
âMy reputation precedes me I see.â
Tyler was too focused on reading that e-mail to notice me earlier, and given what Iâve heard, I donât blame him. Hope things get better for him.
âLook, Brad.â I said. âSeriously, I can come back anoth-â
âNo no, sorry about Mark. What do you need?â he asked.
âAlright⌠Iâve been told you guys have the third volum-â
âBeyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs.â Tyler cut me off. âItâs somewhere in my room, follow me.â
âI thought youâd returned it.â Brad commented.
âI was going to.â Tyler replied, almost clenching his teeth. âThen⌠something happened.â clearly he didnât 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-workerâs shenanigans. Tyler shook his head, then resumed talking.
âLetâs just be quick.â he jokingly smiled. âYou know they can get all⌠you know.â he then did some weird panicked gestures or something that looked like that.
âThey?â I asked, my tone getting a bit more defensive. The two guys noticed my tonal shift, but still looked pretty relaxed. âWhat do you mean with they, exactly?â
A few seconds of awkward -for me- silence, then all three of them said âWestie archivists.â at the same time, even Mark from the other room.
âOf course.â I said, realizing Iâm an idiot.
âI smell Ted.â Brad said, the other two echoing his words.
They didnât look angry or offended, just amused. I have the feeling this is not the first time this happens, in a way or another.
âJeff, right?â Brad spoke first. âTedâs not a bad person, but heâs a bit of a⌠you know⌠sort of a classist, I might say?â he indeed said, Tyler nodding.
Iâd lie if I say that Ted didnât sometimes act⌠âweirdâ, to put it charitably, but thatâs why I donât consider him a close friend. Iâm glad heâs been my guide here, but heâs not exactly my cup of tea. Â
âYou donât get to nod.â Brad turned to Tyler, trying not to laugh. âHe does have a valid reason to dislike you.â
âIs it because of my long, flowing golden locks?â he said, pulling his hood back, revealing a shaved head with very short dark hair.
âNo thatâs becau-â Brad turned to me. âItâs nothing. They have a history. Tyler messed up, but yeah Ted was a bit too spiteful.â
âIf we were like half of the bad things he says about us weâd be in jail.â Tyler said. âAnd also if we were homophobes weâd have to kick this hot beefcake out.â Tyler patted his bigger friendâs back, who was very annoyed by him talking too much.
âIâm bi.â Brad simply said, after taking a deep breath.
âAnd the B stands for BOOOORING!â Tyler kept making fun of him.
That jab clearly had nothing to do with Bradâs 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 âstraight manâ, Brad just looked at me with a tired expression, reading me like an open book, fully knowing that Iâm gay, hoping to find some support.
âDo you have any straight friends?â he asked, sarcastically.
âCanât live with them, canât live without them.â I simply replied, amused by this whole situation.Â
â â â
Tylerâs bedroom was upstairs, a modest room, and a messy one nonetheless. Not judging, plus Iâm 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.Â
Yeah, those guys are cool, I donât 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.
âLike I told Brad, if you have to watch the game, I can come back tomorrow.â I insisted, rummaging through my backpack.
âItâs fine, we got a couple of minutes.â Tyler stated, as he started looking. âThough a couple of seconds will do.â
I didnât even have the time to take the book out that he already handed me the third volume. That was fast.
âThanks.â I said, reaching for the tome, letting my backpack fall on the floor in the process, because thatâs 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 Iâm re-reading.
âSorry. Let me grab all of this real quick.â I said, as Tyler crouched to help.
âArchitecture and Power.â he reached for the paper first, intrigued. âHope itâs a good read.â he snorted, as he handed it to me.
âItâs a really interesting take on Middle Age Europe. Very creative, very informative, a bit verbose at times, and uses âliterallyâ a bit too much.â I explained, half serious.
âI literally told the editor but he didnât care.â Tyler stated.
âYeah.â it took me a few seconds to fully realize what he said. âWhat the fuck.â I turned to him as if I saw a ghost. âAre you L. Evans?â
âNope. Iâm Tyler Landoon Evans.â he said, spelling his full name loud and clear. âFor SOME reason they thought my name was Landon and⌠well, you know the rest⌠or rather, you donât. Iâm basically a ghost.â
âThis canât be real.â I said. âWhoâd make such a stupid mistake?â
âIt just happens. Thatâs fine. I like living in the shadows.â he chuckled.Â
âNo no, you donât understand. This is my job.â I insisted. âThis is what I do. I can fix this.â
âItâs okay dude. You donât wanna get involved into this.âÂ
Iâm totally going to get involved into this.Â
I said I was gonna Indiana Jones this shit, thatâs what Iâm still planning to do.
âWell, either way⌠big fan of your work.âÂ
âThanks man.â he then gave a quick look to my black and yellow backpack. âBig fan of your Wasp bag there.â
âDonât tell Mark.â 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.
âSay âhiâ to Ted for us.â Brad joked, walking me to the door.
âIâll make sure he gets the message.â
This is why I donât 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.Â
So far so good, but damn, Westfork is⌠weird, yet I wanna help. Just today I met people who were mislabeled: fixing Tylerâs paper will be a piece of cake.
â â â
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 itâs 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 doesnât 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.
âI see you survived the encounter.â he said, as he walked me inside. âDo they eat raw meat? Did the concept of fire reach them? Should we be the ones teaching them?â
âCalm down, Prometheus.â I replied. âTheyâre fine.â
âFine?â he seemed genuinely incredulous. âTheyâre hogs, Jeff.â
âOkay, you can turn your 90s stereotype goggles OFF for a second. And those are pretty big goggles. I said theyâre fine.â
âDid you get the book?â he bluntly asked.
âItâs in my backpack.â
âGood. Iâm sure youâll do a great job without my supervision.â
I didnât like his tone. âFirst of all, youâre not my supervisor.â he narrowed his eyes, annoyed. âSecond, youâre leaving?â
We reached our workstation, the dark, dusty room full of wonders to discover and cry over when we canât find any cross-reference.
âThis 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.â
âThanks for being my guiding moonlight.â I said, half-serious.
âNot to brag, but the President really appreciates my work. Sometimes I even get to review graduatesâ papers andâŚâ
Oh come on, this canât be going where I think itâs going. Ignoring my âjumping to conclusionsâ rule for a moment, I reached for Tylerâs paper in my backpack and almost shoved it in Tedâs face.
âDo you recognize this, by any chance?â
Ted remained silent.
That was a rhetorical question.
âAnswer me.â
âNo.â
âThat was a weirdly high-pitched response from you.â
âI donât know who this L. Evans is.â
âI never told you the authorâs name.â
Ted scoffed in frustration, as I pointed one of the lights to his face. Sorry Indy, looks like Iâm going full Colombo for this stupid ass case instead.Â
âYou know, until this morning I thought that an editor getting an authorâs name wrong was a silly mistake⌠except that you guys donât make mistakes like this. In fact, you correct mistakes like this⌠which means that you⌠did this on purpose.â
âThis is literally insane.â Ted commented, adding more smoke to the already smoking gun.
âPettiness aside, this could get you fired, man.âÂ
âNo one cares about this paper, why would anyone. Itâs a piece of trash, I could write this blindfolded.âÂ
Looks like Iâm not getting any actual work done for a couple of more minutes.
âWhy do you hate this guy so much?â
âWhy do you care so much?â Ted replied, a smirk appearing on his face. âGot a little crush on Tyler, perhaps?â
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.
âFix this.â
â⍠Heâs never gonna love you. âŤâ he mocked me.
âIâm just doing my job. Fix this. Talk to the higher-ups or whatever you do, and give Tyler the credit he deserves.â
Tedâs eyes behind his big round glasses inspected the paper, without really reading it. In fact, he almost seemed disgusted he was even holding it.
âWhatâs in there for me?â he then asked.
âI wonât tell anyone that youâre a petty jerk.â
âNot helping.â Ted insisted.
âI wonât tell anyone that youâre a classist petty jerk, is that better?â
He slammed the paper on the desk, visibly offended by that last statement. âIâm not any -ist you stupid know-it-all. I studied hard and Iâm working hard, and you canât blame me for disliking someone who GPT-ed his way up here.â
Clearly this was escalating into an actual, animated, verbal fight, but to be honest I did want to hear Tedâs side of the story⌠blind accusations aside.
âDo you have any proof that those guys GPT-ed their way up to the top?â
âNo.â he admitted. âBut I do have proof that Tyler flirted with my girlfriend last year.â
This seems like a big accusation, and it would be, but thereâs a small detail that Ted is omitting, and if his âattack patternâ is always the same, I simply need one question to get to the truth.
âTed, did this happen before or after you two broke up?â
Lucky for me, Ted is a bad liar, so he remained silent.
âI canât believe it. You were doing this again. You were gaslighting me, you prick!â
âI dislike those guys, OK?! I didnât know it was illegal!â
âNo one said you have to like them. Feel free to burn with hatred for the rest of your life.â I was tired of this conversation. I reached for the paper on the desk and handed them to him again. âI just want us to do our fucking job without being petty bastards, is that clear?â
Ted took a deep breath and regained his composure. âFine, Iâll see what I can do.â
âThanks.â I simply said.
âBut you take the credit. I donât want that hog to get any close to me.â
âOK⌠fine?â
âLiterally fine. See you tomorrow night then, if youâre still up for it.â he put Tylerâs paper under his coat and buttoned it up. âHave a good day.â
âYou too. And yeah, see you tomorrow.â 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.
â â â
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. Iâd 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 Iâm passing by anyway, Iâll check if the so-called âbulliesâ 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 -Markâs and Tylerâs at least; Brad was right behind them, walking. Heâs the biggest of the three, didnât 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.Â
âI had to convince them of course.â Mark said, jokingly, talking about me joining them for a beer.
âYeah, because we hate gay people apparently.â Brad added.
âNo worries, youâll learn to hate me for who I am, not because of my sexuality.â 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.
âWeâve been here since last year. This place is more in shambles than it looks, but it pays the bills.â Brad explained.
âWell the Archives are holding up, I can tell you that.â I said. âTheyâre a bit dusty and dark, but hey, itâs the Archives. Iâd be disappointed if they didnât seem haunted.â
âOnly thing missing in this husk of a campus is a poison swamp.â Tyler joked.
âWeâre historical geographers by the way. Tylerâs a specialised architectural historian instead.â Brad said.
âI could tell, Iâve read his paper.â
âYeah heâs actually one of the 4 people who did.â Tyler joked. âIncluding us of course.â
âYouâre way too hard on yourself.â Brad stated. âYou got skills, man.âÂ
âPull my finger and Iâll show you how skilled I am.â he kept joking.
That earned some immature laughs from us.
I do wonder if Ted is actually gonna fix itâŚ
âOnce againâŚâ Brad turned to me. âI can assure you weâre all published historians here.âÂ
Tyler pinched the small black stud glinted on his left ear -something that Iâve just noticed he does often apparently- and just stared funny at Brad in response to his sarcastic remark.
âJust Wasps acting like the smartasses they think they are.â Mark commented.
âStill mad about yesterday I see.â I observed.
âDonât you dare.â he pointed at me. âBeers are on me as promised, but I know youâre one of⌠them.â he said, giving Tyler and Brad a disappointed glare. âThatâs the only reason a gay man would every buy an ugly-ass backpack like that.â he added, referring to my Wasp-branded bag.
I laughed⌠it is kind of ugly. âHey, we won fair and square.â I replied, knowing very well how annoying that will sound to certain supporters.
âOhhh heâs going there.â 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 didnât 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), heâs 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.
âIâm the best one.â Mark bragged.
âI can totally kick your ass.â Tyler said.
âOh you got the best tricks, huh?âÂ
âSigh Pull my finger and Iâll show you my best trick.â Tyler said, repeating that same silly joke from before with a concerning amount of self-awareness.
âSlow down, Thunder Tyler, we have guests.â Brad said.
âWell you gotta show us some tricks then.â I commented. âWith the skateboard I mean.â I quickly added.
âAre you sure?â Tyler asked. âBecause⌠I feel a big one comingâŚâ he pulled a face, pretending to push one out, bending sideways on his stool, before his friends stopped him.
More immature laughs. âYouâre desecrating this great institution.â Brad cried.
And here I feared that I was getting too bold.
More beers arrived, in the meantime.
âI just realizedâŚâ I said, as I took a sip. âIs it just me⌠or does this beer suck?â
They laughed, as if they were waiting for me to finally notice it.
âWestfork is in shambles my dude.â Mark said.Â
âThis placeâs unofficial motto is basically Count Your Blessings.â Tyler remarked.
âYeah thatâs why weâre gonna fly South for the weekend.â Brad said.
I got curious. âHuh, where are you three going?â
âOh no, better dead than having those idiots at my place.â Mark said, referring to his two friends and co-workers here at the table.
âWeâre going home for the weekend.â Brad clarified. âTylerâs staying because heâs got a date, for reasons no one can fathom.â
âWestfork sucks ass but you can still find someone throwing a decent party on Fridays.â he explained.
As he said that, his phone on the table notified a couple of messages.
âLet me guess, Grace? The archeologist?â Mark asked.
Tyler simply snapped his fingers and nodded in response, eyes glued on his phone.
âDonât do anything stupid.â 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 âbulliesââ dismay, who swore theyâll 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 âHiâ 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?Â
I guess the soul is still going strong then.
â â âÂ
FRIDAY
I was alone in the Archive today, closely inspecting some mislabelled books from the 1800s. Itâs like the guy who worked here before me didnât even try. Itâs 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 donât 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 donât know, Iâll 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.
âWhoa. Whoa!â Tyler laughed, understandably amused by my reaction, stretching his arms forward. âAre you ok?â
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.
âNo.â an answer that promptly made him laugh more.
âWell Jeff, if you die in front of me right now, Iâll make sure to get you the best flowers.â he stated. âWhat the fuck did you do, man?â he then asked, visibly excited, happy even.
I guess Ted kept the promise.
âItâs nothing, really. I just talked with-â but he cut me off.
âI already got like a dozen of emails of people praising my paper. Dude⌠this is awesome.â
âTed did most of the work. You should thank him.â I explained.
He snorted. âPfft, heâd rather drink bleach than talk to me⌠so I guess youâre getting a double-sized thank you.â
Well, Ted did say that he didnât want to take any credit, so Iâm not gonna insist, and by doing this Iâm keeping my promise instead.
âI⌠I literally donât know what to say, really.â Tyler sounded extremely grateful, but also a bit confused, considering that we basically just met.
âLetâs just say⌠you owe me a beer, and weâre even.âÂ
âNot Westieâs disgusting piss-beer thatâs for sure.â he replied.Â
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.Â
âWhy did you help meâŚ?â he asked, eyes still on the phone.
âOh⌠you know, just because.â I simply said.
âPfft. Weirdo.â he replied. I deserved that.
My heart was still racing fast⌠but not because I got startled, not anymore.Â
âI⌠I gotta get back to work.â I then stated. âAnd youâre not allowed to be here.â trying to sound as polite as possible.
âOh yeah of course.â Tyler said. âI know you archivists get all⌠ya know.â he then proceeded to do an impression of my manly scream.
âItâs like looking into a much taller mirror.â I replied, unimpressed.
âThanks again, Jeff. Iâll see you around.â 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, thatâs one case closed I guess.
Back to work, back to cursing my predecessor.
â â âÂ
âIâm surprised he came to say thanks.â
Unsurprisingly, Ted wasnât exactly cheering at the idea of having helped Tyler, but he was taking it much better than I expected. At least he wasnât monologuing about him and his friends being hogs or bullies this time.
âHe was happy, if that makes you feel better. Which it wonât, which in turn amuses me.â
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 Iâm handling things at the Archive -but nothing screams âpromotionâ yet, itâs been barely 3 days, after all.Â
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.Â
âWell, Ted. It sure was nice hanging out with you as if you were a human being for once.â I joked.
âDonât get too used to it.â 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 (âŚor who) made us fall.
âI guess the party went well.â I commented, Tylerâs shaved head reflecting back much of the light coming out of my phoneâs flashlight.Â
I stood up, staring down at him; he was only wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, snoring loudly, occasionally mumbling something. Yeah, heâs totally drunk, full hangover.
Good thing we werenât jogging.
âHeh!â Ted said, gleefully enjoying Tyler being wasted. âNow this makes me feel better.â
âCome on.â I stated. âGive me a hand. We canât leave him here.â
âYes we can.â
âNo we canât.â 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.
âJust to be clear: Iâm only doing this because I find Tyler being a waste of oxygen rather amusing.â he said.
âHow generous.â I replied. âWhere do we park him?â
âWell, the city dump is not far from Westfork.â
âTed.â
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.Â
We slowly made it to the front door of Tedâs building, an impressive feat considering we were basically dragging a human-sized heavy sack of potatoes.
âCanât we just call his hog-friends?â
âTheyâre out for the weekend.â I explained, breathing heavily. âLet him crash at your place for tonight.â
âAbsolutely not.â 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.
âWeâre literally in front of your house.â I whispered in frustration -I didnât want to draw attention to us.
âFirst you want me to like him⌠then you want me to help him⌠and now you want me to sleep with him?!â he hissed.
âOf course, Ted. Make sure to send me pictures once youâre done, hashtag #aftersex, ok?â I said, then slapped his chest. âStop acting like a bitch and help me drag him inside! My ass is freezing!â
âOh Iâll drag him alright, but not into my house.â
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.
âThis guyâs your problem, not mine.â he muttered, as we got to the front door.
âYes yes, thanks Ted. Iâll send you some flowers.â I hastily said, reaching for the keys in my pocket, Tylerâs 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.
âWell, I got my hands dirty enough for tonight.â
He was remarkably annoying⌠but in the end he did help me all the way up here. âSure, thanks.â
âNormally Iâd say no problem, but I hate this guy, so fuck you.â
I just casually patted his shoulder in response. âWhatever you say man.â
âSee you tomorrow.â 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.
âWhatever.â I scoffed, and went to my bedroom.
â â âÂ
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 Iâm 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 donât have to work neither today nor tomorrow. I was supposed to be at home for the weekend, but seeing whatâs 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 Iâm 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.Â
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?Â
I got up, held my head in its place, then went to the other room. As I opened my bedroomâs 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.
âMorning.â Tyler turned to me, hands still focusing on the meal.
âMorning.â I mumbled, as my brain took his time to properly boot up.
âHope you donât mind the music. I used your laptop by the way, checked for some e-mails.â 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 didnât leave any⌠weird tab open in the last few days, but luckily there was nothing. Besides this, I didnât mind at all, and the playlist he chose was, well, chill.
âItâs fine.â I finally said, sounding a bit more⌠alive.
As my brain finally booted up completely, I sat by the table, pushing my laptop aside.
âAre you actually cooking breakfast?â I asked, as if Iâve been blind the whole time.
âOh yeah. Least I can do, Jeff.â Tyler simply answered.
The guy seemed much more lively and upbeat than I expected.Â
âHow are you⌠you know⌠doing things?â I asked, in the most confusing way possible. Luckily, he got the point.
âMy head and stomach are a mess, thanks for asking.â he laughed. âBut I got some more feedbacks for my paper, I donât have time to suffer.â
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.
âI mean I kind of suffered -not telling from which end- in your bathroom like 1 hour ago. Iâd stay away if I was you.â he joked.Â
âExactly what I wanted to hear while eating breakfast, thanks.â I played along.
We took a couple of bites of our food, enjoying the meal.
âI was a mess, wasnât I?â Tyler asked, with a smile that was a mix of embarrassment and pride.
âIâve seen worse.â I said. âTed and I were walk-â
âTed?â Tyler replied.
âYeah, heâs petty but heâs not a villain.âÂ
âI did hear that you were the one insisting though.â Tyler said.
âItâs fine, donât mention it.â I brushed it off.
âYou heard me and Brad talking about the jogging accident, didnât you?â
I did, but I wasnât eavesdropping.
âMaybe I did, maybe I didnât.â I tried, very clumsily, to act smooth. Tyler chuckled and shook his head in response.
âWell, either way, thank you.â he let me have this one.Â
âThis thingâs delicious by the way.â I said, my mouth stuffed.
Tyler laughed. âCan you tell that to Mark and Brad, please?âÂ
âIâd rather not get involved.â
âToo late bro, you dragged me to your place while I was wasted, youâre in the team now.â he said. âAlso, I owe you a big one.âÂ
âDonât mention it.âÂ
âNo.â Tyler, suddenly turning somewhat a bit more serious. âYouâve known me for like 2 days and you helped me so much. I gotta do something in return.â
âBelieve me, itâs fine. Plus, this breakfast is enough already.â I legit was really enjoying it.
âAre you really sure thereâs nothing I could do for you?â Tyler insisted.
âLook.â I said. âNormally, Iâd put here sexual joke, but I donât wanna get too bold with someone I just met.â I joked.
âSo, no sex? Bummer.â he played along. âWhich is basically what happened with Grace last night by the way.â
I admit my gossip-loving ass was dying to know what happened exactly, yet I didnât want to be, you know, nosy.Â
âItâs none of my business.â Iâm 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.
âOuch.â I very deeply commented.
âNah⌠itâs all my fault.â he admitted. âI totally misinterpreted how she acted around me. Turns out sheâs just a really social person.â he took another bite of his breakfast. âSheâs cool. Sheâs smart. We had fun. She didnât stop being an interesting person because of this.â
âSheâs an Archeologist if I recall correctly.âÂ
âYeah, pretty cool stuff.â
âI guess sheâd like you more if you were a fossil.â I suggested.
Tyler chuckled. âIâm no fossil, but Iâm certainly History to her. I guess Iâm more of your type instead.âÂ
How did I not blush to that remains a mystery to this day.
I didnât want to ask for more details, so naturally I bluntly asked if this was the reason he got drunk, because Iâm a clown. Tyler didnât seem to mind and smiled politely.Â
âNah, I got wasted because Iâm an idiot, thatâs it.âÂ
âIâve been an idiot multiple times myself, so no worries about it.â
âYou basically saved me.â he said, then laughed. âI will find a way to return the favour. Trust me.â it almost sounded like a fun challenge to him.
I smiled and nodded at him. Seriously, I didnât want anything in return, not because I have to act like some kind of Saint or anything -Iâm sure lots of people would have done the same, Iâm not special.
My temporary roommate finished his meal and stood up. âCoffee?â he asked.
I was in the mood for a coffee, but I didnât even take a shower yet. Tyler sort of read my mind.
âAnd yes, I know I seriously need a shower, thatâs why Iâm leaving you alone after that.â
I just looked at him, this tall, slim guy acting like he made a blood oath to please my needs.
âA coffeeâs fine. Let me put some actual clothes on.â I said.
âSame. I need to take a quick piss first, if you excuse me.â he replied, cautiously walking towards the bathroom, as if he was expecting my actual permission, which wasnât needed of course.Â
On his way he also took his clothes off the couch.
In the meantime I went back into my bedroom to prepare myself -didnât 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 arenât exactly noise-cancelingâŚ). 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 youâd hear in comedies, its power easily surpassing the music playing from the laptop in front of me. I couldnât ignore it, even if I wanted to -Tyler wasnât kidding when he implied that he almost destroyed the place.Â
I tried to focus back on my inbox but the fart just wouldnât 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? Letâs face it: itâs definitely the latter, so I just ignored it as much as he did.Â
â â âÂ
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.
âYeah thatâs how it is for me.â the so-called âbullyâ explained. âThe more I learn about the Past, the more I realize how trivial some of the shit you see today is.â
âWe never truly changed.â
âYes and no. Weâre the same, we also got better, yet some things are never going away, donât they? I mean, fucked up things aside, itâs all so tirin- hey dude!â Tyler casually bump-fisted a guy passing by, then resumed talking. âI hate sounding preachy, I myself hate people when theyâre preachy, but come on, itâs 2025.â
Basically, Tyler seemed like a very open-minded guy who just doesnât care.
âTake kinks, for example.â he suddenly said. I got startled for a millisecond. âTheyâre super weird, but thatâs part of the fun. Wouldnât you agree?â
The question kind of caught me off guard. âSure. To each their own I guess.âÂ
âExactly. There are tons of kinky historical figures. Even Napoleon could get kinky, so why should you care.â
I know this is actually about History, but those things seemed a bit too⌠specific. I know Iâm not the main character of the Universe, and Iâm sure Iâm reading too much into it, but stillâŚ
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.
âI like elbows for example ahah.â he confessed, while rolling himself a cigarette. âItâs super weird, not obsessed or anything, but youâd agree itâs not something youâd normally look for in a woman.â he admitted.
âWho am I to judge?â I stated. No, seriously.
Tyler cackled at my response. âElbow kink, not exactly the topic youâd expect a published historian to talk about, huh?â
âItâs fine, just donât make fun of my scrawny elbows.â I joked.
âNo worries, youâre not my type.â he finished rolling and casually handed me the cigarette.
âThanks.â I said, gladly accepting the offer. âHow did you know?â
âI didnât. I'm just trying to return the favor in small doses. Throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks.â he explained. âGood thing you accepted it -that means I donât have to unleash any crazy backup plan for now.â
âItâs fine Tyler.â I said, not addressing him mentioning a âbackup planâ at all. âIâm happy I could help, plus it was basically my job.â
âOh so you always drag people around at night?â
âOnly if Ted hates them.â I joked.
âGood luck dragging 8 billions of people around then.â
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.
âI canât believe my body ran on this shit last year -but that paper wouldnât have written itself.âÂ
âSacrificing your stomach for the greater good. Iâm sure it was worth it.â
He took a quick puff of his cigarette before speaking, and smiled at me. âOh, it is now.â
âAre you planning to write anything else?â I was curious about this: I genuinely really liked his paper and take on the subject he chose.
âProbably. Iâd like to delve deeper into Spainâs architecture over the centuries. Itâs a fascinating mix of styles. It gets weird. I like weird.âÂ
âWell, Iâm hyped.â I said. âIâll talk with Ted -might as well start warning him now.â
Tyler chuckled in response. âI already owe you enough.âÂ
âYou donât owe me anything.â
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.
âWell, that sucked.â 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. âAre you doing this on purpose? Do you enjoy making me mad?â he asked, sarcastically.Â
âItâs just coffee.â I simply said.
âBy the way.â he said, changing the subject, as we walked away from the Cafe. âI got nothing to do today. Feel free to crash by the Old Birch later. I got beers -and not Westieâs piss-flavoured ones.â
âSure, why not.â I accepted the invite. âIf thatâs okay of course.â
âNo, I invited you because I expected you to refuse, obviously.â he amicably patted my shoulder then went on his way. âSee you later, Jeff.â
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 wasnât wrong: Iâm totally crushing on this guy, for fuckâs sake. Heâs as cultured as heâs attractive, a deadly mix. But heâs straight, so Iâm 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 Iâd say, if I had to rate this first weekend at West-
I canât 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 Tedâs 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.Â
Heâs 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.Â
The guyâs cool, no doubts about it, and so are his âbullyâ friends. And heâs also the author of this paper you really like. No need to overthink: letâs hang out, you donât have to prove anything.
Itâs not like you never had a boyfriend anyway, you know how to handle those feelings. Thereâs 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.Â
Feelings are good, feelings make us human.
Hang out, have fun.
OK, butâŚ
What if he finds out? He wonât.
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 didnât. Yes he did.
He was just being nice to the weirdo who brought him somewhere safe while he was drunk. He probably doesnât even want me by the Old Birch, once again he was just being nice.
Or maybe he is nice because youâve been nice to him? People seem to get along when theyâre nice to each other, what a concept.
Alright, enough overthinking for today.
Iâm greatly making this far more complicated than it is.
Letâs have a beer.
â â â
I got to Old Birch (or whatâs 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 (didnât 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 letâs hope the weather doesnât 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 didnât take long to open up, greeting me quickly with a nod and silently waving me in, like I was an old friend heâd known forever.
âMake yourself at homeâ he said as I followed him into the living room, the same one where Iâd 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 consoleâs main menu on the screen). If he wants to play some Trekken, Iâm ready to kick his ass.
âHey.â
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 endânot right next to me. He was wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans. No shoes, just some goofy socks with stars on them. Heâs into star patterns I guess.
âYou brought beer?!â he said, noticing after a few seconds. âMan, youâre just trying to bury me in debts with you!â he joked.
âWell, you got me: Iâm the etiquette loan shark,â 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 Iâd picked.
âFan of stouts?â
âI prefer blonde light ones, but on the weekends Iâm kind of a rascal.â
Against all odds, Tyler chuckled at my cheap humor, while absentmindedly moving his earbuds from the couch to the table.
âWhat were you listening to?â I asked, while the Screaming Eagles kept playing softly in the background.
âA podcast on architecture, obviously. Looking for ideas for my next paper.â
âNo Spain?â
âSĂŹ Spain, the podcast is in Spanish.â
I smiled at the twist. âYou speak Spanish?â
âUnfortunately less than Iâd like. But I can tell you, without a doubt, that contrafuerte is buttress.â
It was my turn to chuckle at something stupid.Â
âAh yes, buttress, the most important term in the history of architecture.â
âIâm more of a boobtress guy.â Tyler casually commented, as he took a sip of beer. âBut butts are fine too.âÂ
âAlready past your elbow phase?â
Tyler laughed at my daring joke. âDude, kinkshaming, really? From you? Of all people?âÂ
âThat was a fair question.â I kept going.
âIâd rather answer questions about my next paper.â 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.
âWell, in that case, are you gonna focus on Spain as a whole or just, for example, Andalusia?â
The so-called âbullyâ took another sip of his beer, eyes glued on me, smirking and studying me as if I was a flying buttress.
âI donât wanna bore you with the details.â
âNo!â I stated. âPlease, bore me to death! Make me regret I came here!â
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 didnât take long to realize he genuinely loved talking about this stuff and was very proud of his studies. I havenât 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 didnât 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, theyâre hard to close. And, I want to be clear, itâs 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.
âI thought weâd bond over, like, Screaming Eagles, not⌠spires!â Tyler remarked, noting that the Eagles playlist was still going.
I took another sip of beer, savoring the strong flavor. âNo worries, once I kick your ass in Trekken, youâll hate me like Ted hoped.â
âDude, youâre challenging me to Trekken⌠seriously?â
Tyler didnât 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 donât brag about many things, and Iâm not a pro-gamer by any means, but when it comes to Trekken, Iâm 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).Â
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 werenât kidding). A kick, a punch, an easy block, I do my best, but the skater next to me has tricks I hadnât expected.Â
Iâd 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.
âWooooo.â Tyler jumped up, cheering -Iâd never seen him that energized.Â
âFuck!â I simply remarked.
Bradâs words came to mind: this is a place of published historians, and yet weâre 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.
âWhat was that, Jeff? I thought you were a proâŚ?â he said, standing near the TV. âAnd yet⌠I canât hear anything now. Nothing. What happened? Too much archive dust on your tongue?â
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.
âAlright, alright, Iâll let you admire my elbows, as promised.â
Tyler smirked and silently accepted my tease this time, no response.Â
Did I go too far? Did I hit too close to home? It wasnât obviously my intention to embarrass him over something like this⌠Iâm no pot and heâs no kettle.
He just stared at me for a few seconds, his tall figure easily towering over me.Â
âAre you familiar with glass architecture?â he casually asked, but I could tell there was a catch in that question.
âI donât think I amâŚâ 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.
âWell you should be.â he stated. âSince you seem to live in a glass house.â
I pretended to have no idea where he was heading with this.
Maybe my overthinking side was onto something after allâŚ
âAnd yet here you are, throwing stones as if your walls are made of concrete.â
The beer stopped having any taste, âcause my mouth got dried up. Needless to say, Tylerâs 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 Iâm gay and Iâm happy to share funny or weird stories about my experiences, and theyâre all more than willing to listen, but this kink, like many other kinks⌠itâs 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 didnât look mad or weirded out, for now at least.
âWhat did you see on my laptop this morningâŚ?â I sighed, no need to pretend I donât know what heâs talking about.
The skater laughed a bit. âI only saw a few frames but I believe it was a this big, tall stud destroying someoneâs face with his farts in some kind of office.â
Yep, thatâs the one. Whatâs funny is that I didnât 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 âfriendâ) just found out about my fart fetish, and he seems oddly chill about it. My heart was racing fast, I was terrified, but I didnât feel in danger or anything like that. I turned red however, âcause the embarrassment was off the charts -something that Tyler noticed.
âHey, you can relax.â he said. âI basically told you I donât give a shit this morning, right before coffee.â
âSo you were talking about me when you said something about Napoleonâs being kinky.â
âSort of. I wasnât playing the part, I truly believe everything I said, so you can stop holding your breathe and relax.â
âAnd yet I feel like you want me to leave.â I had to make sure.
âTrust me: if I wanted you to leave, youâd have known.â
A few moments of silence followed, only broken by Screaming Eagles, well, screaming something about perseverance and determination⌠I donât know this is one of their newer songs, which Iâm 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 canât expect a straight guy, or any guy I just met to be honest, to be just so casually chill about this.
âLook manâŚâ I said. âI donât want any trouble.â
Tyler looked a me, amused and puzzled. âWhatâs that supposed to me-â
I cut him off. âI can let you into the Archives, if thereâs something you need for your paper. Just, please, donât tell anyoneâŚâ
He laughed, mockingly. âWhat⌠whatâs going on here⌠you think Iâm blackmailing you?â he stood up, looking confused by what I just said. âDo you think I am some kind of creep?â
âWhat?! No!â I immediately responded, noticing his tone getting more serious. He almost sounded offended, even. âItâs just that⌠come on Tyler. No oneâs that open minded.â
He took a sip of his beer, staring down at me. âSo you think Iâm like the King of open minded people simply because I didnât kick you out of the house? Is the bar that low?â
The so-called âbullyâ seemed more puzzled than anything else.
âI do think itâs really gross and weird, if that makes you feel better, ok?â he said, but didnât sound mean spirited. âBut hey, I like weird, weird is fun, maybe not my kind of fun all the times⌠but what do I know, Iâm just the elbow guy.â he joked.
I didnât want my overthinking side to take the wheel, but I couldnât stop being mildly suspicious. What if Ted⌠wasnât right but⌠was onto something at least? No, this canât 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 heâs actually very different. Dammit, my head is exploding, I didnât know Iâd find myself in a situation like this⌠in Westfork of all places.
âSo⌠thatâs it? You just donât care?â I simply asked.
âAre you disappointed that I donât?â he laughed. âCome on Jeff, itâs 2025, open your mind.â
Something in me sparked a chain reaction that made me actually angry. I couldnât help but thinking this guy was toying with me.Â
âAnd you-â I stood up and stepped in front of him, with the intention of speaking face-to-face (literally). That was the intention at least. â-are a bit taller than I remember.â
Tyler was unfazed. I sat back down, no need to get aggressive. I didnât drink much, but being nervous didnât 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.
âMaybe another losing session in Trekken will clear your mind.â he teased.Â
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.
âI donât know. Iâm kind of mad at you.â I joked. âAnd Iâm gonna channel that into my gaming skills.â
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.
âBy the wayâŚâ Tyler said. âTold ya Iâd find a way to return the favorâŚâ
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.Â
At first I didnât 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 wasnât just the fart that made me hard: it was the the whole package. I loved Tylerâs 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.
Itâs not like I find any fart in any situation to be hot: yes I have a fart kink but itâs not always âactiveâ, so to speak.
I couldnât believe what just happened, to put it simply.Â
Not even in my wildest, gross fantasies I could imagine this happening.
âWhat the fuck.â 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 didnât seem to care.
âYou have weird ways of returning a favor.â I observed.Â
âSays the fart fetishist.â he remarked. Once again, he didnât see mean-spirited as he may sound.
âTouchèâŚâÂ
We put our gamepads on the small table and opened two more beers, silently toasting to whatever the fuck was happening in that room.
âThen again⌠I told you, you donât owe me anything, let alone this.â
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.
âWhy did you help me?â he bluntly asked, again.
âWhich time?â I smiled.
He smiled back. âBoth.â
A few hours ago I probably wouldâve just said, âBecause it was the right thing to do.â Kind of clichĂŠ, yeah, but as true now as it was then. Still, I canât really pretend thatâs the whole story, or that Iâm some kind of Saint.
âI 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.â
The skater snorted at that last remark, his beer almost shooting out of his nose.
âThe second time it was more serendipity I guess. You seem cool, you got cool ideasâŚâ Tyler was looking at me amused, fully aware that I was still omitting some details. âAnd 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 youâre gonna hear from me.â
Yeah I donât care anymore either.Â
I donât even feel embarrassed.
Tyler laughed. âFuck off, man.â
âExcuse me?â
"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, thatâs just me being socially ineptâŚâ he explained, then smiled at me. "But yeah, Mark and Brad thought you might like me. I didnât. Thanks for making me lose the bet."
Iâm not a fan of messing with peopleâs feelings⌠but that wasnât 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.
"Donât think badly of themâŚâ 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 Iâm just terrible at figuring out if someoneâs into me or not!"
I stared at him for a few seconds, then I couldnât help but laugh. This guy is weird, and I know thatâs bold coming from me. And sadly, I too like weird. Of course heâll 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 heâs 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.
âIâm glad youâre having fun.â he said, the sarcasm so sharp it could cut through the air.
âIâm sorry man. Weird is fun, you said that.â I recalled, wiping some tears off my eyes for how much that made me laugh.
âThatâs bold coming from you.â he teased. Yep, thatâs also what I thought.
âDoesnât make it any less true.â
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 anotherâŚâ
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.Â
After 11 seconds, silence again (even the Screaming Eagles playlist got shushâd).
That was unironically one of the best farts I ever heard. It sounded⌠juicy, and given who the farter was, Iâm surprised I wasnât 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 wasnât as bad as I expected.Â
âStill convinced you have to return the favor⌠like this?â I said.
âYouâre absolutely right.â Tyler remarked⌠then stepped closer to me. âAfter what you did for me in the last few days, the least I could do is this.â
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 wasnât even on my spare bingo card. I donât think this would be on anyoneâs 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 Iâm 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 didnât even oppose to him grabbing my head like that, and just enjoyed the show.
If I took this whole âreturning the favorâ thing as seriously as he did, then after this fart Iâd be the one in debt. Beyond my wildest kinky dreams.
And.
It.
Was.
Still.
Going!
16 seconds perhaps?
And itâs 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.Â
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.Â
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.
âCan you imagine if I said yes?â he joked.
I didnât need to imagine anything.
Not anymore.
â â â
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 Iâm not biased). I enjoyed Tylerâs 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.
âWasnât me this time.â Tyler promptly joked, focusing on the rolling.
I coughed some smoke out because of that.
âThunder Tyler⌠a well-deserved nickname.â I commented.
Thatâs the name I heard Brad use the other day at least. I wouldnât be surprised if that sparked from his farting skills, but Iâm sure thereâs more about it.
âNot the whole story.â 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.
âSome 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 didnât even do it on purpose, donât even know how it happened, but the nickname stuck as you can tell.â
âFascinating.â I commented, finishing my cig.
âBut yeah, those idiots quickly found other uses for it.â
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, wasnât pretty either.
âFuck.â he whispered.
âThat sounded painful.â I said. And the smell didnât help.
The smell of tobacco mixed with the gas lingering in the room, creating a deadly combo for my lungs.
âWestieâs shitty coffee having unpredictable effects even hours later. Youâd have loved hanging out with me when I was pulling all-nighters for my paper ahah.â
He also got wasted last night, canât ignore that either.
I took a poof of my cigarette, bewildered by how chill Tyler was being about my kink. I didnât feel derided or anything, quite the opposite actually. Plus, he was a human fart machine, each rip being loud and proud: canât get any better than this.
âDid you ever have any experience with your kink?âÂ
Tylerâs question was oddly more serious than it sounded, but I couldnât 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.
âA couple of times, yes. Last time with my ex, pretty chill guy.â
âSo this is literally your first time with a straight guy.â he observed. âScandalous.âÂ
I laughed. âWhat about your kink instead?â
âNo comment.â he said, finishing his cigarette, smoke surrounding his face.Â
âHey, I answered your question!â
âNo one forced you to answer.â he remarked.
âFair point.â 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.
âBut yeah, some girls thought it was odd, nothing to write home about.â he explained. âYour kink is much more peculiar.â
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. Tylerâs 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 didnât. As silly as it may sound, given the context, I didnât want to cross any boundary⌠but the temptation was strong.
Heâs such a hot man. Rough-looking, but extremely kind and gentle. Cultured, playful, open-minded. Hold on a second, Iâm gonna put my clown make-up on for the next one: tall. As I said, the fact that heâs 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 didnât move, letting the stench coming out of his ass torture me a bit more.
âI guess I should say âthanksâ?â I asked.
âHow polite.â he played along.
Another fart suddenly erupted, loud, proud, a bit more high-pitched than the previous deeper ones, and shorter, about 3 seconds.
âUnlike me.â he snorted.
Iâm gonna plant my face down there, yep, Iâm gonna do it. I canât take it anymore. That ass is way too tempting.Â
No, I will respect boundaries, doesnât 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 wasnât kidding when he said that he was gonna return the favor in small doses, âcause this time the fart was not a huge thunder, but rather a series of short, loud toots. He didnât 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 Westforkâs 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 didnât lost count) turned out to be a more âclassicâ 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 didnât 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.
âAlright, even though you didnât owe me anything, let alone this.â
âYou mean this?âÂ
Yet another quick, short toot.Â
Is there something in Westforkâs water?
No, we just said it was the coffee.
Though Iâm sure this guy got talent either way.
âAs I was saying.â I remarked, after his ass stopped interrupting me. âI hereby declare that weâre even, ok?â
Tyler was unfazed by my words and kept working on his cigarette.
âNo, weâre not even, not yet.â he said, the most serious he ever looked. âUnless you want me to stop of course.â
Please donât 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.
âDonât tease me with a good time.â
Wait, did I say the quiet part out loud?Â
Judging by Tylerâs smirk, I guess so.
He put his cig on the small table and stood up, easily towering over me.
Didnât 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.
âWhy are you doing thisâŚâ I quietly asked, expecting a different answer for some reason.
âOh you know⌠just because.â he answered. âAlso, Iâm a bully I guess.â
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: Iâm 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 manâs 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 âcause 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 guyâs ass as heâs masterfully ripping a fart so loud, and so long, Iâm surprised I didnât 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 guyâs talent.Â
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.Â
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, didnât 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 someoneâs 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 didnât 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.
Iâve 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.
Weâre way past 10, thatâs for sure, and I forgot what clean air feels and tastes like. Didnât 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, weâre both weirdos I guess.
Couldnât be happier.
The fart stopped after 17 seconds, followed by Tylerâs 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.
âAre we even now?â I asked, one more time.
He smirked. âWeâll see in a bit. Iâm brewing a big one.â
âA big one?â I asked. âSure, because those were so sma-.â
âYou have no idea what Iâm capable of.â he cut me off, whispering.
The stench lingered all around me. Well, us.
But I was so used to it I didnât 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.
âLay down.â he then commanded. âOne final trick.â
He was being assertive, though it was clearly part of the âshowâ.
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.
âThanks for everything, Jeff. Iâm gonna miss you.â 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 couldnât resist anymore.
I was gonna cum on the spot if I wasnât careful, but feeling the fart-quake all over my body didnât help.
10 seconds, the fart gave no signs of easing out. Instead, it got even louder and raunchier. Whatâs up with Tylerâs stomach. Whatâs 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 didnât stop: it just moved into my new broâs ass to assert dominance.
I laid down there, getting a face-full.
I once again wondered how I even got there.Â
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 âjust becauseâ.
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 âreturn the favorâ as long as he wished.
He didnât have to do it, but Iâm 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, itâs not like Iâm 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 didnât even need to ask the question.
âYeah, now weâre even I guess.â he simply said, scratching his left ear. âEven though, letâs face it, it will never be enough.â
âDude.â I said. âI just did my job.âÂ
âWhether you like it or not, Iâll always owe you one.â
âMy pleasure.â poor choice of words, given my boner, but you get what I meant.
And luckily, so did Tyler.
âOkay, I hope you donât mind but I gotta open the windows now.â
Canât blame him. Even I was gasping to get some fresh air.Â
I canât even imagine how it must feel for him: the living room was gas chamber.
âOh not at all!â I replied. âI was gonna do the same believe me.â
Some actual, real, fresh, cold air got inside, and I remembered what autumn felt like. The calm after the storm.
âPizza?â 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, weâre supposed to eat something for dinner. Totally lost the track of time.
âHow could you possibly want to eat after all of this? Also, your stomach is a mess!â
âIâm hungry.â he shrugged.
âOk.â that was enough for me. Plus, Iâd never say ânoâ to pizza.
âDeal. Thereâs a place just outside Westie that makes very good pizza. Letâs go.â
I canât leave the Old Birch like this. Iâm rock hard and smell, well, like shit. You donât get to smell nice after you got showered in farts by a talented man like him.
âThereâs something I have to deal with first.â
Tyler smirked, knowingly. âDown on the right.â
I didnât 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 didnât care.
He sure doesnât, why should I?
The bathroom was surprisingly clean, considering how messy the rest of the house was, but I didnât 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 didnât 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 couldnât take it anymore I swear.Â
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 wasnât going to happen.
At the end of the day, it doesnât 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 Iâm gonna respect them.
A friend, however? Be my guest!
Kink or not, Iâm 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 âcause I left my glasses into the other room, yet everything was clear, everything was good.
â â â
Didnât take us long to reach Westfork gates.Â
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, âcause it felt relevant.
I spotted the pizzeria sign just across the street (good, that means I hadnât 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.
âYou werenât kidding. Itâs really close.â
âYeah, the locals figured out Westiesâs got awful products, so they all set up shop nearby.â
Flawless business logic.
âPizzaâs on me, by the way,â I said, picking up the pace.
Tyler smirked. âTrying to get me in your debt again?â
I turned towards him, walking backwards.
âAnd I havenât even told you yet: Monday at lunch break Iâll be waiting for you at the Archives.â I added. âAll the sources you need, right at your fingertips.â
I donât know why I was doing this.
Maybe, unconsciously, I was matching Tylerâs whole âreturning the favorâ 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.
âAlright, Jeff. Iâll let you help, no strings attached.â He gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. âBut this pizzaâs on me.â
He sped up too, passing me with ease.
Okay, now it had turned into a race⌠a very mature race.
I swear weâre all published historians here!
Not bad for my first few days on the job, huh.
And Iâll admit it, if Ted hadnât helped me haul this huge weirdo into my apartment last night, none of this wouldâve happened.
Whoâd 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 itâs a stereotype, maybe itâs 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.