Can I Fuck Your Chest?

by Sean

I brushed the hairspray and fake nails that is Queens off me, and told the cabby to take me to my boyfriend's house. When the driver lisped, "Where to, honey?" I knew I was in for one wild ride.

"You're not gay by any chance, are you?," I says.

"No, no," he lies. "But I live with lots of gay folks. Why? What do you need?"

A blowjob. Any warm hole will do, actually. "I need to interview a top."

"Good luck finding one!" He says, absolutely proving that he's queer.

I laugh. "You just met one" I reply enthusiastically.

He seems interested, but I am a little turned off that he keeps saying that he's really not gay. One minute he's asking how big my dick is, and the next minute he's being like that preacher who just got caught with crystal meth.

Like if he denys it enough, it'll somehow come true.

We sit in silence for a while until I ask, "Hey, you want a Vicodin?"

"Oh my god, thank you. What do I have to do for it!?" I could hear his smile.

A free ride, I think. "Nothing," I say," He ended up giving me a free ride anyways.

To my boyfriend's house.

But the pill REALLY got him talking. He asked why I get them, and so I told him, and then he started telling ME about all HIS health problems. Let's talk about him! He was born with Pectus Excavatum, a disorder that left him with a skeletal bump on one side of his chest, and a divit on the other. "Like, would I be able to fuck your chest," I say?

"When I was a kid you could have!"

"..."

I felt it, and it's only barely there. Not enough to make him a freak.

He says, "When I was a kid, I used to put cereal in there, and then I'd drink out the milk."

I ask, "Can you suck your own dick, too?"

"No, no," he says, "But not for lack of trying."

"I can," I say.

"Lucky!" he shreiks, "Let me see, and I'll give you a free ride,"

So, I did. Right there in the backseat on the Cross Bronx Expressway.