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Lee Russell is not a woman.
He's obviously a dude. Neal doesn't have any illusions about that. Russell dresses like he gets his clothes from build-a-bear or some shit, but it's not like he's wearing skirts and pantyhose.
So Neal Gamby just needs to accept the fact that he wants to fuck a dude. One dude, specifically. Honestly, fuck is a strong word. If Russell just wanted to suck him off that would be plenty, and that’s barely even gay. Everyone has a mouth.
Russell doesn't look like a woman, but sometimes he does something. He swishes his hips like he might as well be wearing three-inch pumps, or he pouts those unnervingly shapely lips of his. Even those stupid fucking skinny cigarettes he smokes. Gamby sees that shit and it confuses his dick, or something.
Russell is pretty in ways he only really thought girls were before.
But it's not like he's picturing Russell as a girl. It’s not like when he got confused by Legolas in Lord of the Rings. He doesn't have that to fall back on. Hell, he can see the outline of Lee's dick in half the pants he wears. And even when he's slutting around in some tight little workout t-shirt he just looks like a decently in-shape guy. A decently in-shape guy wearing workout leggings that also show the outline of his dick.
Russell can't possibly be doing the dick thing to get at Gamby. He's been wearing those pants for years, but ever since they formed their alliance and started hanging out together so much, it seems like they're getting tighter.
Gamby might just be looking more. That's on him.
If it was just his tight pants or just his annoyingly kissable lips or just the way he crosses his legs and lounges like a cat when they're sitting around planning shit, that would be more manageable. Gamby could find some porn, maybe get whatever specific hang up it was out of his system, and move on. But it's all of it.
Lee Russell has fucking bewitched him. He wouldn't put it past Lee to have some kind of voodoo doll or animal sacrifice pit in his backyard for exactly such a thing, but he doesn't think that's it. Unfortunately, Neal knows all too well that no one needs magic to trick his dick into something against his best interest.
Fucking--or even just fooling around with--Russell is without a doubt against Gamby's best interest. The dude is kind of unhinged, for one. And for two Gamby doesn't even know if Russell would be into that. He does have a wife. Gamby’s not even sure if he would actually be into it. It might be like one of those fantasies people have where someone eats them or drains their whole bank account or inflates them like a big balloon, or whatever. Something to think about and beat off to but never actually do, because actually doing it would be fucking crazy.
The worst part is that Russell has begun to notice. It started when he caught Gamby gawking at his ass. Which, again, on him. But Lee was bent over his desk pretending to give a shit about a lesson plan when he looked over his shoulder and said, "Take a picture, Gamby--I'm sure your spank bank needs a refresh anyway."
Gamby had barked, "Shut up, Russell," and then, "I was just distracted by how bad those pants look on you."
"Oh," Russell said, turning around and facing Neal, "is that it?"
That would have already been weird. Normally Russell would just tell him to fuck off and probably take a dig at him.
Lee slinked his way into Neal's personal space and turned around again, his back arched, one foot popped up on its toe. "Tell me, what’s bad about them? Get a good look. Be specific."
Gamby swallowed. "All of it--just like, legs, butt--the whole area. Busted as hell."
"Oh shoot," Lee said, turning back to face him and giving him a put-upon little pout. "I'd take 'em off right now, but I don't have anything to change into. Ain't that a shame?"
Lee Russell was a witch, because in an instant the image of those lavender pants slipping down his slender hips was beamed right into Neal's brain.
"Love the feedback though," Lee said, even though he obviously didn't. His mouth was pulled into this artificial sweetener smile that put Gamby's teeth on edge. "Very queer eye for the straight guy. Go off, queen!"
He was obviously trying to make fun of Gamby, but he was doing it with the same voice he used to charm the rest of the faculty into eating up his bullshit.
"I'm not queer," said Neal, glowering, even though he wasn't actually sure if that was true at this point. He had no idea who to ask. Normally he'd probably ask Russell. Or Dayshawn, but Dayshawn would know who he was talking about immediately, so that was out.
Lee's face fell back into his usual bitchy neutrality, and Gamby felt his shoulders relax an inch.
"I'll cancel the pride parade," Russell said, without any real venom.
"Don't do that fake shit with me," Neal said, surprising himself a little. "Like I'm just some teacher you're trying to talk into more unpaid overtime."
Lee looked at him like he was working on a math problem. No fractions or anything hard, but something that took a second of actual thought to solve.
"Then don't insult my wardrobe, you fuckin' caveman."
"Sorry," Gamby said. "The pants look fine. Normal." Normal for Russell anyway, so that wasn't a lie.
Lee took the file he was pretending to look at and tucked it under his arm. Just before popping out the door he said: "And don't look at my ass unless you mean it."
"What the fuck?" Gamby asked the empty office.
Now, for the last couple weeks, whenever Russell catches Gamby's eyes lingering a little too long, he just holds up his hand and mimes like he's taking a picture. He does a little click with his tongue to mimic a shutter sound, and that just makes Gamby think about his mouth, which doesn't help.
Otherwise, it’s mostly the same, which is maybe more confusing. He and Russell are still hanging out, still working together like normal, still meeting up in the woods to strategize. Russell doesn't make any moves, but it's not like he's pulling away either. He still seems just as comfortable around Gamby, which he guesses is a relief. Maybe their--whatever their relationship is--can survive Neal just being a little horny for him. It doesn’t have to change anything.
Gamby kind of assumes that's that, until one day he's checking his texts in the shitter.
It's from Lee, and there's a photo attached.
Why is Russell sending me a picture of his belt buckle? Gamby thinks, before tapping to enlarge the thumbnail.
Russell's belt buckle is technically in the photo, but at full size it's clearly a shot meant to highlight his dick--that fucking outline, anyway. The beige jeans he's wearing might as well be vacuum sealed, and Gamby is wondering what it would feel like to brush his knuckles over it.
His own dick twitches at the thought, and he briefly considers just cranking one out right here, but jacking it in the faculty bathroom, pants around his ankles with a floater already in the bowl is a little debased, even for him, so he calms the fuck down and reads Russell's message.
Caught u looking at the flagpole this morning. Figured I'd send you the pic myself so u don't need to keep stealing glances all day. My eyes are up here, Gamby 👁👄👁 🍆
The fact that Gamby has no idea if Russell is flirting or busting his balls is probably a red flag.
As he’s staring at the emojis, trying to come up with a response, another message pops into view.
Find me in the woods after 3rd period
Well, that could mean anything.
The emojis that pop up a few seconds later can only mean so many things.
🍆🧎💦💦💦
Gamby never responds, but when he gets to their clearing, Russell is leaning on the old school desk smoking a cigarette.
“Look who decided to show up,” he says. His voice is already testy.
“Yeah, real busy today. All the girls are PMSing all over the halls.” That isn't true, but he'd heard once about periods syncing up and ever since he's been a little afraid it would happen with the whole school.
“Gross,” Lee says, taking a last drag from his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it under his toe. The last puff of smoke curls out through his lips, and Gamby is feeling extremely normal about it.
“So,” Gamby says, resting his hands on his hips and studying the sticks and dirt around his feet, “what did you wanna talk about?”
“This ain't about what I want, Gamby.” Russell is walking around him in a slow circle, like he's a cop in a cop show and Gamby is the perp who's going to talk.
“It's the sordid desires swimming around in that thick skull of yours that interest me.” As Russell says it he swirls his finger at Gamby's eyeline, poking him in the forehead on “skull”.
Gamby slaps his hand away. “Enough with your riddles, witch!”
Russell stops, caught off guard and annoyed about it.
“What?”
“Did you bring me out here to suck my dick or make fun of me for wanting you to suck my dick? Because it's not actually that gay, since everyone has a mouth.”
Russell laughs a little maniacally.
“Who said anything about me sucking dick?” Russell looks offended, like he wasn’t the one sending dirty texts an hour ago.
“The--emojis, fucker!”
He smiles his big toothy smile, and puts his hand on Gamby’s shoulder.
“Not my fault you got the wrong idea. The only one sucking anything is gonna be you, sweetheart.” To illustrate his point, Russell grabs his own junk through his pants and squeezes.
Neal scowls. “The fuck I am. I'm not gay.” Russell's hand is still on his dick, kneading it a little, like he's trying to warm it up. Gamby's mouth waters like he just saw something appetizing or like he's about to throw-up.
“Oh, so that wasn't you staring at my cock this morning? And right now?”
“It's not my fault you wear those distracting tight-ass jeans like you're one of the teen pregnancy risks trying to show off her camel toe!”
“Only you find them so distracting, Gamby.”
“Like you don't talk about my dick constantly! Fuck you, Russell.”
“Only if you ask nicely,” he says, and then kisses the air.
“Disgusting!” Gamby says. “Yuck! Only a–a disgusting idiot would want to fuck you.”
“Present company included.” Russell tosses it off like an afterthought, still so unruffled. It's making Gamby feel crazy.
“Stop trying to turn this around on me,” Russell continues. “You're obviously gettin’ a chubby just thinking about it. I'm just giving you the opportunity to expand your horizons a little.”
Neal weighs his options. If he thinks about it, the damage is already kind of done. Russell already knows he’s interested. And if they do this, it’s not like he’s going to say anything. He has a wife. If they don’t, then Russell will probably just keep throwing it in his face. So really, he’d be stupid not to suck his dick.
“Fuck it,” Neal says, “let’s do this.”
The look on Lee Russell’s face is the same one he gets when he’s about to commit a felony, which, actually, this maybe is, being so close to a school--shit--but it’s another red flag that Gamby is, for the sake of his boner’s curiosity, going to ignore.
“I don’t think I’m even gonna like it,” Gamby says, because that definitely makes it less gay, and he doesn’t want Russell to be offended if he finds out it isn’t his thing.
“Well there’s only one way to find out, Neil Armstrong--” Russell says, unbuckling his belt and opening his pants, “--one small step for you, one giant leap for dicksuckin’ kind.”
Gamby shrugs and gets down on his knees.
Russell pulls out his dick and starts stroking. Gamby's head is already swimming. It's real. It's not some fantasy he's beating off to because it's hot and impossible.
Russell's pubes are a closely trimmed triangle peaking out from under his sweater vest. His dick is--well, fuck--it’s really nice. Looks like something you’d get out of a dick catalog. Tasteful length and thickness, but normal, not practical joke sized. A nice blood-flushed fleshy color, darkening at the tip. Couldn’t ask for a better starter dick, Gamby thinks.
“Shit, Gamby, your fat ass is lookin’ like you wanna gobble this shit up.” Russell stops stroking and holds his dick by the base, waving it under Gamby's nose. “Be my guest, you little piggy. Just keep those teeth away from me. Don't get too excited, or I won't let you do it again.”
Gamby hears it, but everything Russell's saying sort of drifts into the background, like a semi-hostile, bricked-up bee buzzing around a room. Gamby is trying to psych himself up.
“Shut up, Russell. I don’t need your commentary.” he says, and then Russell is just staring down at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Actually,” Gamby says, “keep talking, I think it's helping.”
Russell gives him another tooth-filled smile.
“It's alright, baby. Just give it a little taste.”
Gamby sticks his tongue out, and there's a little bead of pre-cum at the tip of Russell's dick that is making his mouth water and freaking him out a little.
Eventually he gets sick of staring at it and licks it up in one quick swipe. It tastes like not much, which is a relief.
Russell hisses softly, squeezing himself. “That's it. Don't be scared. It won't bite.”
“I'm not scared. You're scared, bitch.”
“I'm quakin’ in my loafers, Gamby. Come on, let's fucking go.”
Russell's being an impatient little shit, but it gives Gamby a kick in the ass to actually open his mouth and go for it. He takes the head in one go, its weight heavy on his tongue. It already feels awkward and cumbersome to have his mouth so full. He feels dumb as hell.
“Ohhh, fuck, Gamby–yeah, yeah, just like that.”
That doesn't make him feel dumb, though. That makes him feel--kind of hot? Which he hadn't really expected, insofar as he expected anything. He swirls his tongue over the tip, and Russell groans. Holy shit, is he the Michael Jordan of dicksucking?
He decides to go for broke, bracing his hands on Russell's thighs, taking his dick until it hits the back of his thr--
“GHUGHCH,” he says, gagging so hard he has to pull back completely so he doesn't puke all over Russell's nice beige pants. Gamby manages to avoid hurling, the urge dissipating almost as quickly as it rose in his gullet.
Russell's laugh is a little breathless, but there’s a shade of concern in it when he says, “God damn, Gamby! You good?”
Gamby coughs weakly, and he's a little dizzy, but he shakes it off.
“I'm fine,” he says, “you just moved or something. It's fine!”
Russell snorts. “I didn't move one centimeter. You just couldn't wait to get me aaallll the way down that fat whore throat of yours, could you?”
“Shut up,” Gamby says, and then, “Keep talking, but stop being such an asshole.”
Gamby brushes Russell's hand away and replaces it with his own on the base of Russell's dick. It's--dammit, he knows what a dick feels like, but he's still surprised by the weight of it, how unyielding it is in his grip.
Still, this already feels better, like he’s got some control over the situation. He takes the head in his mouth again and works his way down slowly, letting his hand come up to meet him when he gets about as far as he can.
“That's right, baby,” Russell says. “You got this.” He's got his hands on his hips, leaning back on his heels and watching Gamby with an intensity that makes his own dick throb in his pants.
Gamby finds a rhythm, finally. He bobs his head up and down, and his hand is getting covered in spit, but that’s probably fine. He closes his eyes, trying to focus. He keeps the pressure of his hand firm as it rocks up and down, maintains some suction as well as he can while the repetitive, wet sounds play in his ears. He’s still not sure if he loves it, but this blowjob stuff isn’t the worst thing he’s ever done to pass the time.
“Fuuuck, you really get shit done, don’t you, Gamby?” Russell says, and his fingers brush over Gamby’s, where his free hand is still bracing on Russell’s thigh. “Knew I could rely on you.”
Gamby is struck by the horrifying urge to thread his fingers with Russell’s, to squeeze his hand like they’re in some inspirational movie and about to agree that they do it together or they don’t do it at all.
He slips his hand out from under Russell's and instead has it join its counterpart on his dick, using both to stroke him and give his jaw a rest. If Russell notices Gamby's brief panic, he doesn't show it. He only lets his head fall back, blowing out a breath like he's been working just as hard.
“Don't give up now,” he says when his head finally lolls forward again. “I'm so fucking close I can taste it.”
Gamby takes him in his mouth again, jumping right back into a quick up-and-down. Russell’s dick gets harder, somehow, and it makes Gamby feel like the hottest motherfucker in the world. Russell stops stringing sentences together, just sort of moaning and swearing while Gamby drools and lets him thrust in time with the bobbing of his head.
“Oh, fuuuuck, I’m gonna--” Russell says, and then hot, slightly salty jizz is filling Gamby’s mouth. In a panic he decides to just swallow it, because anything else feels like it would be too much of a mess.
“Holy shit,” Russell says as the last few twitches of his dick peter out. He pulls out, and there’s one last little bead of cum on the tip. Gamby doesn’t want it to get on him, and he doesn’t want to mess up Russell’s pants, so ducks his head and licks it up.
A surprised laugh escapes Russell’s throat like it snuck up on him. “You are too much,” he says dreamily.
He’s tucking himself back into his pants when he says, “Fuckin’ knew you would swallow, you thirsty bitch.”
“You didn’t know shit, asshole! It just made sense. It would take longer to spit it out.” Gamby says, and Russell rolls his eyes at him.
“Whatever,” he says, “get your ass up.”
Gamby does, and his boner is tenting his pleated slacks. “Uh.”
Lee Russell fucking winks at him, and gets down on his knees.
He takes Gamby’s belt off completely, tossing it away like it insulted him personally. When he starts opening the fly of his pants Gamby says: “You said you weren’t--”
“Shut the fuck up, Gamby. I know what I said.”
He tugs Gamby’s pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh, immediately taking his dick in his hand and stroking it aggressively. Gamby barely has time to say, “Oh, uh--okay,” before Russell drags his tongue from the base to the tip and wraps his lips around the head.
“Holy shit,” Gamby says, “have you done this before?”
Russell pulls Gamby’s dick out of his mouth and says, “You are so fucking stupid, Gamby. Lucky for you, all your brains apparently went into your fat cock instead. Jesus fucking Christ.”
Gamby would tell Russell that’s he’s the stupid one, but he engulfs Gamby’s dick again, taking him deep enough that some distant, higher reasoning part of Neal’s brain starts to wonder how he’s even doing it. He can feel Russell’s throat flexing around the head, and it’s too fucking much.
Luckily for him--and probably for Russell--that doesn’t last too long. He sacrifices depth for speed, sucking Gamby like his dick owes him money and jizz is the currency of choice at the Bank of Russell. Or something. Fuck. Russell looks up at him, and Gamby is struck by his eyes. The warm hazel tones, the delicacy of the lashes framing them.
“Fuck, man, you’re so pretty.”
Russell makes a wordless sound that could be offense or could be life-altering lust, Gamby really can’t say, but he keeps slobbering on Gamby’s knob, so he doesn’t worry about it for very long.
Gamby is embarrassingly close to busting already, and he searches around for a distraction. He looks at the trees, which are boring as shit and do nothing to distract him, and then he looks back down at Russell. His eyes are closed now, which should be better, but the way his lashes fan out over his cheeks combined with the look of genuine focus on his face is really, really distracting--or, like, the opposite--in the worst way.
“You’re really good at that,” Gamby says, the words barely coming out coherently. “Oh god, you keep doing that I’m gonna nut.”
Russell moans around his dick, like Gamby blowing his load is the hottest thing he can imagine. He cups Gamby’s balls and gives them a testing squeeze, which makes Gamby swear and his hips flex forward involuntarily. Russell holds his tongue out flat and slaps Gamby’s dick on it a few times, which feels weird but not bad and looks weird but also startlingly hot. Everything about Russell is startlingly hot, and when Russell takes him back in that filthy, pretty, overactive mouth again Gamby feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, the pull in his gut.
Russell takes him right to the edge, and just as Gamby starts cumming, Russell pulls his head back and pumps Gamby’s dick with his hand, white-ish spurts of semen hitting him on the cheek, the bridge of his nose, and finally his chin.
His eyes flutter open, staring up when Gamby’s finally spent, and it feels like a punch in the gut. Instantly he can tell it’s one of those images that’s going to be burned on his brain forever. He’ll be a senile old man in the nursing home yelling over his broken hearing aid about the translucence of the jizz catching the sun and making Russell look prettier than one of those sparkly vampires all the girls were flicking their beans to. This shit is dire.
Russell wipes his hand over his face and licks the jizz off his fingers. He takes his pocket square and cleans up any remaining streaks before folding it back up and tucking it back in place, looking like it never got disturbed in the first place. When Russell stands up, his eyes are a little watery and his mouth is redder than normal, but otherwise Gamby probably wouldn’t guess that he’d just been sucking dick in the woods.
Gamby’s wondering if he looks at all presentable when Russell grabs him by the chin and kisses him. It’s open mouthed, and Russell smells like cum, but Gamby kisses him back unthinkingly, his hands clutching at Russell’s waist as he leans in.
Russell makes a strange sound against his mouth and breaks the kiss, smiling at Gamby. “Easy, tiger,” he says, and pats Gamby on the cheek. “Put your dick away.”
Gamby looks down, startled to find his pants are still half off and his now-flaccid dick is flapping in the breeze. He gets his shit back in order while Russell lights a cigarette.
Russell sits on the dirty ground mattress, legs crossed at the ankles while he puffs away. Gamby sits next to him. For a few seconds, it’s actually kind of nice.
“Let's get one thing straight, Gamby. This don't mean shit. Just because we sucked each other off doesn't mean I wouldn't throw you in front of twenty buses and sell the video on dvd-blu-ray to be principal. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, same. Obviously.” Gamby is pretty sure he means it, but the image of Russell getting hit by a bus is way less funny than it was a hour ago, for some reason. Fucking witch.
“Great,” Russell says, taking a deep pull from his cigarette. “With that in mind, same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Gamby says, “obviously.”
—