The secret of the ooze

by BRK

Jerry brings home a strange plant that produces, as it turns out, a truly remarkable lube. Using it he also attracts the interest of his sexy, well hung roommate.

Added: Jul 2015 2,736 words 14,658 views 5.0 stars (4 votes)


Jerry could not believe this. He had never been this horny in his life and there was no fucking lube to jerk off with.

He made a circuit round his room again, yanking out his nightstand drawers and dresser drawers, checking behind the headboard and rifling the bedclothes, but he knew he wouldn’t find it. He knew it was all because of Olly, his insanely hot fucker of a roommate. He’d been hiding Jerry’s jackoff lube lately, just for yuks. Sure, just because you’re uncut and don’t use lube when you’re rubbing one out, and just because you’re the world’s most gorgeous underwear model (which, seriously, he actually fucking was, Jerry reminded himself with a kind of frustrated awe) and just because you’re perfectly built and apparently don’t own any shirts, go ahead and grin your wonderful dick-hardening grin at the rest of us!

Not that he was wearing shirts much lately either. Or anyone else in the building, for that matter. That was kind of the problem. Fuck! Why did the six hottest guys in the building all have to come home at once and squeeze into the elevator with him? And breathe on him, and innocently rub the warm skin of their hard, bare, well-muscled arms against his? Sure, Jerry was a personal trainer and saw plenty of very sexy man-flesh every day at the gym he worked at, Stax. But enjoying the view while spotting at the bench press for a cute soap star trying all-out to make his on-screen wardrobe tighter across the chest was not the same as a slow, cramped elevator right with six shirtless Adonises who were practically incandescent with beauty and sex.

Jerry grabbed his fat, eight-inch cock hard through his jeans and moaned. He had to whack off, right now. He almost wished he was his younger brother Johnny, the gymnast with the ten-inch long sausage of a cock. Johnny claimed to love sucking himself off so much he never bothered with his hands anymore, and though Johnny loved to tease Jerry about everything, Jerry knew Johnny didn’t make shit up when he did so. He didn’t have to.

Jerry squeezed his cock harder through the denim, his thoughts flitting frantically through increasingly unlikely options. He caught himself wondering whether there was butter in the fridge. Okay, it would work, but, ugh. Cold and, well, weird. He thought of toast the next morning after knowing his dick had been in the butter and shivered. Soap or shampoo? That shit would chafe him. What about—

His eyes fell on the funny little cactus on the night stand and his mind paused. It wasn’t really a cactus, he reminded himself, because it wasn’t spiny like one, but he didn’t have another word. Desert succulent? At any rate, it looked more like a cluster of thick, light-colored cucumbers, the one in the middle bigger and thicker than the others. He’d bought it on a whim last Thursday at a table outside the drug store—the other drug store, the one that no one really went to because the prices were too high, but it had the pomegranate flavor of the sugar-free drink mix he liked—because it was completely unique, all lonely amidst the tiny potted ferns and listless miniature ficuses and such.

The old Japanese guy manning the table had been keen for Jerry to buy the lonely little tube-cactus, though he steered the other couple that wandered through his wares to the more conventional flora. Maybe the venerable dude just likes the way I look, Jerry thought with amusement, scratching his bare chest idly. Old Japanese guy said it was a “no-brainer”, water it just a little once a week and light from a window in the room would be enough, and Jerry had bought it more or less impulsively. His white-and-wood room needed a tough of happy green. But when he’d gone back the next day to ask more questions about care and feeding, the table was gone, and no one inside the overpriced pharmacy knew anything about “the Japanese guy with the plants”—or, apparently, the joys of smiling occasionally.

On the bus ride home on Thursday with the “no-brainer” in his lap, enjoying the heat of the sun warming his bare shoulders through the window and the way his soft, wavy blond hair was long enough these days to usually be brushing against his well-conditioned traps and delts, he’d been examining the way the sunlight made the plant’s dark green exterior look richer and more vibrant when he noticed something odd: the plant’s central tube-thing had a drop of thick, cloudy liquid right at its apex, as if it were seeping the translucent fluid out of some tiny orifice. That had to be what was happening—it was leaking out. In fact all of the—what should he call them? cucumbery things? tubes? cactus-gherkins?—had tiny white fleshy spots near the tips that were a bit damp and felt saturated and squelchy to the touch. He touched his index finger to the thick gobbet of liquid on the main cylinder, expecting the substance to feel tacky, like sap, and was surprised to find it was very slick, almost frictionless.

Wow, Jerry now remembered himself thinking, hearing the words echo in his mind as he stood there in his neat-as-a-pin, sun-dappled bedroom strangling his aching fat hardon through his jeans, this would make a great lube.

In a trice he was around the bed and on his knees next to the nightstand, still strangling his cock through the fabric as he stared at the plant. It was one of only three things occupying the nightstand: an old-fashioned banker’s lamp he used as a bedside reading lamp, a box of tissues (nearly depleted, he observed with slight chagrin), and, sitting pertly in its terracotta pot, the cucumber cactus plant, and its smooth central protuberance was covered in slick, translucent goo.

He caught a slight whiff and leaned in to see if there was an odor to the ooze, and it was faint, but there—a sharp, woodsy smell that seemed, excitingly, to churn his balls as he breathed it in. Even as he took in a breath, tasting the scent a little more and feeling his churning testicles react in a way that was very slightly thrilling, he noticed another tiny dollop of the substance surge out of the top.

Now that he was examining his acquisition he noticed some faint lettering inscribed in the side of the otherwise ordinary terracotta pot. He leaned a bit closer still, enjoying the effect on his balls as he breathed in more of the scent, and squinted at the small but clear incised letters: vivat crescat floreat. Jerry frowned at it a second longer and shrugged. He didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded encouraging. Licking his lips, he started unbuttoning his jeans with his left hand while reaching for the ooze with his right. He was able to collect a good tablespoon’s worth on his fingertips. It was cool and smooth, and best of all still perfectly frictionless, like it was designed for the use to which he was about to put it.

Before he knew it he was sitting one the edge of his bed, his dark blue Baldwin jeans and rust-red Mack Weldon underwear pooled around his ankles. He wrapped his ooze-slick right hand around the fat, eight-inch erection sticking straight up from his groin and gasped. Pleasure flooded through him like a cascade of dye shot at high velocity into a tank of water. His balls seemed to swell and tighten at the same time. He felt intoxicated, suffused with lust for the pure taste of euphoria that came from his ooze-lubricated hand wrapping around his steel-hard boner. He began to stroke and lightning shot up his spine with every motion.

Normally he laid down on the bed to jack off, fantasizing random images of the intensely beautiful, primally arousing men that seemed to surround him from dawn to dusk, home, work, and play. But he did not lie down, and he did not need to fill his mind with hot guys. Not even the brace of bulging, friendly hunks in the elevator that had driven him to a state of urgent arousal. Not even Olly, except peripherally, the way he always danced around the edges of his unconscious. No, Jerry sat exactly where he was, stroking as if each pull meant his orgasm would be just that little bit more intense. He was consumed with the simple, overpowering sensation of perfect, insanely potent self-stimulation.

An eon of raw, intoxicating joy later, though probably barely a minute or two had passed, his balls began to roil with what felt like a testicular tectonic shift. Jerry cried out involuntarily. The orgasm came hard on its heels, and it tore through him like fire made of ecstasy. His mind emptied and all he could see and feel was his cock, his big, hard, heavy cock, how it felt weirdly huge in his hand, swelling itself to prepare for a truly epic eruption of cum and soul-deep physical elation. Hot cum cascaded over his cheek, his chin, his hard, thick, hairless pecs, again, and again, and again

He came back to himself a few moments later, panting hard, tingling with sheer, profound exhilaration coursing like stray arcs of electricity across every fiber and bone of his being. As his world reluctantly came back into focus, Jerry had a strange sense he was being watched. He looked up, turning his head to see an astonished Olly standing in the open doorway to Jerry’s room, the outline of his impressive and mostly chubbed cock unavoidably obvious against the fabric of his dark gray boxer briefs, which happened to be all he was wearing. A small, dime-sized dark spot had developed near the end of his cock, just where it seemed to want to wrap around his hip.

As their eyes met Olly swallowed. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” he told Jerry, his voice sounding a bit hoarse.

“Dude,” Jerry said, feeling overcome with awe at what had just happened to him, “you have to try this lube.”

Olly stood in Jerry’s doorway feeling completely flummoxed. Hearing his smoldering-hot, lusciously muscled personal trainer roommate come in he’d decided to give up on his monthly binge-watching of every past season of Arrow, which is where his laptop seemed to like to gravitate whenever he was in his room at a loose end, and go and get some real-life eye candy and maybe store up some jerk-off imagery for later. Olly’s hot, hard-bodied roommate only seemed to be getting hotter as the weeks went by, as if his workouts didn’t so much grow his muscles as magnify their beauty and perfection.

Even the fact that Jerry wore more clothes than he did—Olly liked to joke that he was a “method” underwear model, making Jerry’s ensembles of snug tee shirts and even tighter jeans look positively Mennonite by comparison—just served to highlight Jerry’s hotness and drive Olly to distraction. It was actually starting to become a problem on his shoots, because being around his own personal hunk-on-a-stick, Jerry—with the remaining dozen or so inhabitants of their building being eerily gorgeous and intoxicatingly sexy as well for good measure—was making Olly half-hard nearly all the time, like he was now. And as he was a grower, his already hefty meat, just the right size and shape to make a drool-worthy basket no matter what brand of skivvies he was modeling, was starting to quite literally get in the way. The last few shoots, only genuine cold showers and exiling any remotely hot and built guys from the studio (these tended to remind him of Jerry) had gotten the job done.

He’d expected to see Jerry lounging in his room, or maybe even watching a little TV on his own laptop, which would have been cool—a couple of times lately Jerry had invited Olly to join him in watching the Korean dramas he was addicted to lately, and they’d hurled up close together indulging in some playful groping and a little harmless necking—two hot, horned up guys appreciating each other’s beauty, no big deal. What Olly hadn’t anticipated was Jerry sitting there on the edge of his bed, pants around his ankles with his whopper of a thick, hard cock jutting rudely up toward Jerry’s grinning face, globs of hot wet cum sliding from his cheeks and chest, looking like he’d merely primed himself for round 2.

Round 2. Olly knew without needing to make the decision that he had to be part of round 2. Just standing at the door he caught a whiff of Jerry’s heady musk under the clean, springlike cologne he wore, and something else—something earthy and inviting, like an herb-garden discovered deep in a rain-drenched forest. Olly took a deep breath and, again without much conscious thought, pushed down his boxer briefs and let them fall to his feet. He stepped out of them, moving toward Jerry, whose eyebrows climbed upward a bit and his smile becoming and awestruck O, particularly as Jerry dropped his bright blue eyes to Olly’s freed cock. The meat in question, thick and eager, was rapidly assuming its fully hard position, straight up and almost spanning the long length of Olly’s perfect seven-pack abs.

Wordlessly, Olly sat down on the side of the bed to Jerry’s right. He indicated the “lube plant” Jerry had seemingly just endorsed, and Jerry wordlessly held the plant toward him, cupping the pot underneath with one hand. Olly took a large dollop in his left hand, taking in how warm and slick and welcoming it felt, then gently but firmly wrapped his hand around Jerry’s big, iron-hard erection. Jerry gasped and quickly followed suit, wrapping his plant-lube-slick right hand around Olly’s much larger cock. Olly shuddered. This sap, this ooze, this whatever it was, was the best, most spine-tingling sensation his cock had ever experienced.

They began to stroke each other in tandem, their movements in perfect sync as they stared into each other’s eyes, knowing they were sharing the same transcendent experience. It reminded Olly of that video of really buff identical twins jerking each other off while gazing into each other’s eyes—watching that had almost been his first gay jerk-off, and the reminder made him smile. That kindled a smile on Jerry’s sweet, gorgeous face, and somehow they were kissing hungrily as they intensified their stroking of each other’s cocks.

Their hands and cocks seemed to be of one mind: when Olly shifted to short strokes gripping Jerry’s head and upper shaft, Jerry was already doing the same. When Olly indulged in long, languorous drags up and down Jerry’s long shaft, Jerry was even then doing the exact same thing to him. Their tongues danced as their free hands roamed faintly stubbled cheeks and firm, heated skin, their long, toned legs pressed hard against each other. And then they were cumming, fiercely, jizz splattering their torsos and faces as they had to stop making out just to get air, their foreheads pushed hard against each other as they panted. Olly felt an orgasm so powerful it was like a torrent of hot, pure, cum-like pleasure roaring through his entire body. Jerry’s cock came and came along with his, swelling as if it were desperate to push the cum out, and when they were finally finished cumming Olly was aware of how hard his cock still was, how it felt like it was standing bigger and harder and prouder than ever, and he grinned around his huffs, enjoying the matching gusts of Jerry’s breath across his heated face. He hadn’t slackened his grip around Jerry’s cock in the slightest, and neither had Jerry on his.

“Do this again?” he rasped, though it wasn’t so much a question as a need.

“Fuck yeah,” Jerry answered immediately, his eyes shining as they met Olly’s, and they began to gently kiss again as Jerry reached with his free hand for their strange and wonderful new lube.

Flashback posts:
Saturday Flashback: July 2015

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