Jeff and Scott - Part 1 A Collaboration from Kyle D and Me

 Jeff and Scott  Part 1

When the office manager called everyone together in the main lobby,

Jeff had no idea the purpose was to single him out for honors.

Balloons and streamers had been strung about, and there was even a big

cake. This award was a big deal, and the veep for marketing intended

to get all the mileage out of it he could. When he dramatically

called Jeff's name, and scores of eyes, the adoring female ones and

the envious and admiring male ones, turned to our modest hero, Jeff

turned crimson from hair follicles to neatly pedicured toenails. Not

that anyone could see most of that blush, of course—he was wearing his

business attire, complete with strong, no-nonsense jock as underwear.

It was the only way Jeff could be reasonably sure his wayward

ten-inch boner would not break free and make a sexual spectacle of him

at any inopportune moment.

With his characteristic shy demeanor, which was such a turn-on to all

the women, Jeff strode forward, head slightly down and a lock of his

dark hair falling over his eyebrow in that incredibly sexy way you

can't duplicate intentionally. Passing by big feminine smiles, winks,

and side glances at unsettling cleavage, Jeff's agitation increased as

he moved forward. Two of the women, Sharla and Yvonne, both of whom

Jeff had bedded a time or two, actually groped his ass surreptitiously

as he passed. He turned, looking over the sea of upturned admiring

faces, and then it happened—his cock, which he had been aware was

growing and firming and creeping upward in the confines of his jock,

suddenly ballooned into a raging hard-on under the pressure of his

nervousness, and its head, the size of a ripe plum, popped out of the

elastic of the jock pouch on the left side. Now, normally, this would

have been no huge deal. He could have sneaked his hand down casually

and tucked the miscreant drooler back into its place, or tried to.

But in front of all these people, Jeff froze, a stiff smile blanketing

his handsome face. And in the moment of his delay, the trouser-snake

seized its opportunity and slithered from its basket, not, however,

languidly down the trouser leg where it could be concealed within

fabric, but, being stiff as a day-old cadaver, it poked straight

forward into the light-weight wool of his pleated pants leg. Did you

recall, dear reader, that this is a spitting snake? The flow of

seminal fluid began as soon as the meatus hit the fabric, resulting in

a dime-sized, then quarter sized dark spot. The rest of Jeff became

almost as petrified as his over-achieving male member as it tented his

trouser leg conspicuously.

Morgan, the vice-president, was oblivious, but he was the only one.

He was looking right into Jeff's mortified face, on which Jeff had

plastered a stupid smile. He droned on about the division's

achievements and Jeff's irreplaceable contributions thereto. Looking

past him, Jeff could see grinning faces, hands over whispering lips,

and big masculine smirks all around. He spotted Jake near the back,

his own grin half sympathetic, half admiring. Jeff feared he was

going to have to make a run for it. But Morgan was detailing the

award he had won.

The gist of it was that Jeff would attend a one week conference in New

York City, where he would be officially presented the company

achievement award. There was a cash prize, too. The reservations

were made, both for the airline and for the accommodations in New

York—at the Hotel, several cuts above the company's usual lodgings.

He would also have a generous expense account for entertaining himself

in the city. Downside—the junket was for one, since he would be busy

all day every day, except that for the last couple of days, Mr. Morgan

himself would show up to claim his proper credit for all Jeff's hard work.

Jeff hardly heard most of this at the time. He was too focused on how

to get his hard-on to subside without erupting. All he needed was a

quarter cup of man milk to come spewing into and through his

light-colored pants in front of all these people. He tried to think

of math problems and baseball statistics. But his eyes fell on Raven

Woods' ample bosom, and that was the end of that.

Morgan seemed to be winding down somewhat, but not quite finished.

"Th-th-thank you, Mr.Morgan. I will try to represent the company

well." And with that, Jeff grasped the envelope Morgan held forward,

pumped his hand briskly, and bolted for the door. He could see Jake

holding it open for him as he waded back through the sea of admiring,

beaming, lusting faces. Now there were many more pats on the legs and

butt than before, as both men and women sought to delay Jeff from

taking his bulging boner out of their sight. After all, many of them

had been hoping for months or years to see this famous male unit for

themselves, but Jeff kept it so carefully under wraps.

He almost made it. In fact, only the people on the perimeter of the

crowd, almost all men, many from his department and Jake's, witnessed

the dam burst. It almost looked like someone had thrown an egg

against his trousers—only from the inside! The creamy essence stained

and oozed down the front of the slacks, as Jeff's throat also emitted

an involuntary sigh and stifled moan of release.

"Holy shit!"

"What the fuck?"

"Did you ever see…."

"Damn, a hoss load for a hoss delivery system!"

Jeff's co-workers were pretty impressed, judging by their murmured

comments among themselves. He didn't stay to accept congratulations,

though. He was in a rush for the john.

Thank God, it was the end of the work day! At the break-up of the

meeting, nearly everyone returned to their stations to gather up

belongings and head for the elevator. A few men did stop in the men's

room to piss first, but Jeff took refuge in the corner stall to wait

until the coast was clear. Finally, he could hear the sounds of just

one guy scuffing around near the urinals.

"Damn, dude, I gotta admire the way you cum." It was Jake's voice.

Somehow, over the last few months, Fate, it seemed had made Jake his

most intimate friend. But Jeff was relieved to hear his sympathetic

voice.

"Just think of something, Jake. How can I get out of here? My pants

are ruined!"

A sports bag slid under the stall wall.

"Put on my running gear, and go out as if you were just going out to

jog a bit. Then go get in the car and head home. I'll bring your

stuff by in a bit."

Jeff slid off his wet pants and handed them over to Jake.

"Well, you can come out of there now, Ace, everyone's gone."

There was a pause in Jeff's stall. Jeff hated having anyone look at

his naked body, which had attracted stares since puberty. But then,

Jake had seen him naked, hard and shooting so many times now. He

opened the door and stepped out in dress shirt, tie, socks and shoes.

Jake whistled and looked him over admiringly.

"One of my favorite outfits," he offered.

"Oh, shut up."

Jeff's jock was soaked, too, by now, so off it came. Lot of good that

had done, anyway! He stripped off his tie, and slipped out of his

shirt, handing each off to Jake as he did so. Then the undershirt and

socks, and he stood naked in front of his friend.

"Just go on out like that," suggested Jake.

"Yeah, right."

"You might as well. You somehow manage to wind up naked once these

things begin anyway!"

Jeff did not distinguish that bit of truth-telling with a verbal

response. His withering look was sufficient.

"I'm outa here." Jake gave a nod and spun around, and he was gone,

bearing all of Jeff's clothing in his arms.

Jeff rummaged in Jake's bag, and in a moment he was clad in Jake's

slightly aromatic tee shirt—or half tee shirt, since it was torn off

just below the tit level—his yellow shorts with split side and NO

liner, and his socks, with slightly-too-large running shoes. Well, he

was only going to the car. He had to admit, the smell of Jake's manly

sweat was a little intoxicating….

OH NO! Jake left with his car keys still in his funky slacks! Jeff

slumped over the lavatory and gazed somberly into the mirror. In his

reflection, he could clearly see the outline of his long, dangling

dick in the front of Jake's shorts. With the head of it hanging out

the inseam.

III.

Scott Johnson stood naked and dripping wet beside the changing room

bench in front of his open locker. Mark was still in the shower, and

Scott would just as soon get dried and dressed before his hunky friend

came parading out to make remarks and jokes about Scott's own buff

body and meaty dick or his large, low-hanging testicles, which were

now warm and super-relaxed from his shower. He began to towel himself

briskly, causing his male equipment to swing alluringly. His dick

began to swell a bit, but not alarmingly, and he was still alone.

The radio on the intercom was between programs, and Scott heard the

announcer's voice intoning the news that it was time to reveal the

winning number in this week's mega-bucks lottery. Though Scott was

not a regular purchaser of tickets, this week he had gotten a few,

because the payout was up in triple digits. He reached into his

slacks pocket to fetch his wallet and check out his numbers while he

had this convenient opportunity.

"That's 3—13—32…" the announcer read off. Fuck, Scott had those

numbers on one of his tickets. And so it went, all through the list—

Except for one! Scott was one digit away from a humongous lottery win.

Just then, Mark came flopping and dripping toward him out of the shower.

"What's up, man, your dog die?" Luckily, Mark knew that Scott did not

at present own a dog.

"No, look here," said Scott, for the moment forgetting to be modest

and turning to show his ticket to his friend. I came this close to

winning that fuckin' lottery. Is that the story of my life, or what?"

But Mark was beaming. He clapped Scott almost painfully on his brawny

shoulder.

"You chump! You don't have to have EVERY number to win, bud! You

should get a big payout out of this, even if there is no big winner!"

Scott, not being much of a gambler, hadn't even thought of that.

"Here, call this number and see what you won" Mark was rummaging

through his own gym bag for his cell phone.

"OK, just let me get my pants on."

"Pants, shmants, buddy, we're talking some serious money here." Mark

was craning his neck to read the number off Scott's ticket as he

punched it into his phone pad. "Here, it's ringing," and he thrust

the receiver at Scott's face.

So Scott had little choice but to stand there naked in the locker

room, with a naked Mark beside him, and conduct his business with the

detached female voice at the lottery headquarters, while six or eight

men in towels wandered by, totally incapable of passing without a good

long look at these two Greek gods displayed so casually before them.

As he waited on hold a couple of times between different agents, Scott

became increasingly aware of his nakedness and of the other guys'

admiring looks. He really wished he could get a towel around him at

least! But with the phone in his hand, he just had to stand there

naked and submit to being admired.

At last, he got a deep-voiced woman who actually knew what was what.

"Yes, ma'am. Oh, really, that much. I will, I'll do that. Yes,

thank you." He ended the call and turned to Mark with a stunned look.

"How much, fucker? What is it?"

"A hundred thou and change."

Mark whooped. He flung his arms around Scott's chest and gave him a

bone-crushing bear hug, pressing his entire body against Scott's, dick

to dick.

"Fuck, man, whatever happened to a handshake?" Scott's head spun.

The locker room began to go hazy, and he suddenly had to sit down.

For once in his life, he didn't really give a shit that he was sitting

naked on the bench in the locker room, displayed for all to see, with

Mark standing right beside him, his hefty male unit inches from

Scott's nose.

A hundred thousand dollars!

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