THE TWO-HEADED MONSTER

     My name is Bradley Haakonson.  This is a strange
tale to tell you, but I wanted to let you all know about
the first, unusual, time I ever fucked Steve Ronsini.
     Steve was a really cute guy, with his nice build he
got from playing tennis (no body-builder, just a nice
bod) all covered with his deep black hair, even on his
back, and a thick coat on his legs and stomach.  I had
never had a chance to check out his equipment, even
though we were roommates.  We met at college being
assigned as dorm roomies, and got along so well, we moved
into an apartment together at the beginning of my
sophomore year (his junior year).
     Steve and I played tennis together, and he jokingly
nudged me into a diet to get rid of the twenty pounds
that made me just a bit flabby.  By the time we moved in
together, though I was at 150 pounds, and just as nicely
built as he was, though I'm blond and smooth skinned.
I always joked that he should give me some of his hair
and he always replied that if he could, he would.
     Steve and mine's greatest joy, though, was science-
fiction.  We bought books and read each other's, so that
we had an unlimited supply.
     Then it came time for the science-fiction convention
in town.  Steve had been planning a costume for us,
drawing diagrams and so on.  His first plan was a
centaur, with one of us playing the rear end, but that
led to an argument about who'd spend the convention in
the dark of a pantomine horse's rear.
     So Steve got a brainstorm and came up with the two-
headed monster.  He was going to make it with four legs
and four arms, but when we tried it out a few weeks
before the convention, we found we couldn't walk.  Not
to mention that the costume, made from rubber, was damned
hot.  Scratching was impossible.  So Steve sorrowfully
turned it in and we almost didn't do it.
     I was the one who insisted.  I had spent that brief
time with my body rubbing against Steve's body (he
claimed it tickled, and it sure did me), the two of us
just wearing our tennis shorts.  I wanted to do it more,
because we'd spend the entire convention, three days
nearly, in that costume.  Costumers got in for less if
they stayed in costume.
     So I showed Steve my idea and he agreed.  Two heads,
his and mine, but only two arms and legs.  I would stand
behind him, and our feet and legs, bound together with
rags, would thus walk in unison (Steve had a few inches
of height over me, so my knees would just about lock
inside of the bend of his.  I would keep my arms inside
the body, and Steve made me promise that I would scratch
him where he itched, in exchange for him feeding me.  A
slit in the bottom of the costume would let us use the
bathroom, with each other's cooperation, without having
to get out of the costume (important, because getting in
properly took most of an hour).
     The costume was, fortunately, easy to remodel.  We
ended up with a very baggy body, which we stiffened into
a round-bodied alien with thick legs and two arms.  My
head rested on Steve's neck, and we would use make-up for
a ghastly effect, antennae and all.
     On the day of the event, we rode with friends, Steve
sitting on my lap, my hands resting, after a time on his
thighs.  Steve grunted when I did this, but didn't
protest.
     I realized then that I had a hard-on.  Just the feel
of Steve's body on mine, his hairy legs caressing mine
all the way down to the calves, his feet touching mine
on the floor of the car.  I kept it the entire way to the
convention.
Please realize that, at that time, I hadn't really
figured out I was gay.  Growing up on a farm, my contact
with women had been brief, uncomfortable things that
didn't make me face any part of my sexuality.  I just
figured it out, on that ride.
     Of course, then I had to face my feelings about
Steve.  And his about me.  We were affectionate and
intimate with each other, or we'd never be in this
costume like we were.  If I had to be gay, why not find
out for sure with Steve?
     We had some fun with the hotel clerk, claiming to
be only one person.  Steve and I had rehearsed it, and
so we could talk most things in unison.  Finally, she
called for the manager, who took one look at us and heard
the story, and said, "If they never take off that
costume, even for one minute, we'll count them as one
person.  But warning, guys," she shook a finger under our
noses, "everyone I've got will be watching you, the
maids, the clerks, everyone.  Take one step out of that
costume, and you have to pay for two people."
     Once we were done, Steve whispered to me, "I gotta
go take a leak."
     "Yeah, me too." I said.  "Where's the restroom?" I
asked the manager.
     She gave directions, and actually had a male clerk
follow us in.  "I want a full report on how they manage
it." she told the clerk, a big, black guy who grinned.
     Inside the restroom, we had to squat over a toilet,
which let me go easy enough.  But Steve, with his arms
outside and strapped into the costume, couldn't get his
shorts unzipped.
     "It's an inside job." I told him in a whisper.  And
I reached around, unzipped his shorts for him and took
out his cock (no underwear!  But I wasn't wearing any,
either.  The costume was damned hot).
     It was rock-hard, from holding in the piss, I
assume.  I couldn't see it, of course, but it was a good
handful.  Call it seven inches, for it stuck out past my
palm a good ways.
     Steve concentrated, and finally got his cock soft
enough to release the yellow flood.  He pissed for nearly
a full minute, then I gave it a few, friendly shakes to
get the last drops out, and tucked it back into his
shorts, zipped him back up.
     The clerk shook his head at this.  Coming back out,
he told the manager, who looked at us with a victorious
grin, "They stayed in their costume."
     She snarled and stalked off.  The clerk looked at
us curiously.  "Though I'm wondering how you're going to
handle the other half of that."
     I was wondering, too.
     "We'll manage." Steve said.  "He's my best friend."
     And so we left to enjoy the convention.  Steve was
quick to get me to scratch him where it itched, so I got
to feel of his inner thigh ("Just under the balls,
Brad."), his stomach ("Just over the navel.") and his
steel-hard pecs ("Right on top of the nipples.  Both of
them."), with Steve guiding me every time.
     And Steve helped me eat a burger and fries, us
sitting again, my cock nestled between his ass cheeks.
I got a hard-on again.  What I was going to do while
sleeping, I didn't know.  I always beat off before going
to sleep.
     Finished, he wiped my mouth free of grease with a
gentle hand.  "Thanks." I said.
     "You can pay me back." Steve said.
     "How?"
     Steve whispered in my ears.  "My balls itch like
crazy."
     Oh, God, here it was!  How would I be able to handle
this?  "I'll have to unzip you." I whispered back.
     "Go ahead." Steve said, as we stood up (a well-
rehearsed maneuver, we had trained ourselves on this).
     I unzipped that tight, white, small piece of cloth
he called tennis shorts again, and reached into them
again.  I felt his cock with a spot of dampness on his
cockhead.  We were teenagers; precum was a constant
thing.  I reached under it, and began to scratch his
balls, loose in their sack.  They moved around so much
that I didn't stop to think, just grabbed his cock in my
left hand and pulled it up straight, away from his balls
and my right hand.
     And it grew, stiffened in my hand.
     "Uh, that's enough, Brad." Steve said.
     I stopped scratching, but took his cock in both
hands.  "That feel good?" I asked him, jacking it slowly,
in long strokes.
     "Stop it, Brad." Steve hissed at me.  "We're in a
public place."
     "So who's going to see?" I asked with cunning.  The
costume was stiff, my stroking hands and his stiff rod
made no movement at all in the rotund rubber costume.
I speeded up my strokes, two-handing him.
     Steve groaned as I flogged his cock for him,
panting, he rested his head on my shoulder, lying back
and moaning his gratitude.  And with a muffled whimper,
he shot his load into the suit, with audible splatting
sounds, that coated my hands and arms with the backlash.
     Finished, I helped him sit down, my hands still hold
of his limp cock, while he caught his breath.
     Rested, he looked at me.  "I can't do yours." he
said.  "I can't reach into the suit."
     "Let's go back to the room." I said.  "I know how
you can repay me."
     And Steve, there in the restaurant surrounded by our
friends, kissed me and said, "Let's go."
     Up to our room, with the manager riding the elevator
with us.  "Just keeping an eye on you guys." she said
sweetly.  "Okay for us to open your room in a few
minutes?  Just to be sure you aren't cheating?"
     Steve started to argue, I could tell, but I stopped
him.  "Not at all." I answered.  "Open the door anytime
you want."
     In the room, Steve groaned. "We never should have
tried this!  Now we don't get a damned bit of privacy!"
     "We won't need it." I said.  "We're the two-headed
monster, remember?"
     "But then how...."
     "I need my pocket knife and that jar of Vaseline."
I said.
     I used the knife (in my suitcase) to cut the shorts
from both of us.  A maid entered with towels just as I
tossed Steve's cut shorts onto the floor alongside mine.
She smiled at us, and left.  "Checking up on us." I
commented as I fished in my suitcase for the Vaseline.
I had to reach through the slit at the bottom with one
hand as we squatted over it, no easy thing.  I was
working from feel and memory of where I'd put it.
     "Now how do I get to pay you back for that terrific
jerk?" Steve wondered.
     He still hadn't caught on.  "Why did you think I
wanted the Vaseline?" I said as I brought it up into the
suit and snapped off the lid.
     I slathered one finger and slid it between his
buttocks, aiming for his ass.  It was lower down than I'd
always imagined.  But who the hell knows exactly where
their ass is?  You sit on the pot and it takes care of
itself.
     I found it and slid the finger in gently.  Steve
groaned as the knuckles made bumps at his tuckerhole.
But he loosened up as much as he could, making room for
my finger.  "Mmmm, that feels great!" he said as I got
the entire finger in.
     I only had a vague idea of what to do, from reading
porno stories.  I was remembering one where the guy was
buttfucking the girl.  Men and women are identical that
way.  My next step was to coat all my fingers, and stick
two in this time.
     Which I did, with difficulty.  Steve hunched
backwards at my hand, obviously loving the whole
experience, making small animal sounds all the while.
I decided that he'd get to do me right after this damned
convention.  I should explain that money was tight.
Paying for only one person meant more fun at the
convention, and the opportunity to buy more books we
wanted.  We weren't going to set one foot outside that
costume.
     I had even a tougher time getting three fingers in,
even though I held them together in a triangular pattern
to do it.  But after about a half-hour of trying (and two
more visits by the maid, I wondered what the manager was
offering to get such devotion out of her?  Extra money?
No matter, she only saw two guys standing in their room,
with one making funny noises.  That costume was all-
concealing!), I finally got all three buried to the base.
     "Oh, damn, Brad, I can't take much more of this!"
Steve groaned as the maid left.
     "You don't have to." I said, as I dipped my cock
into the jar, and coated it liberally.  "My cock isn't
any bigger than three fingers."  And I gently inserted
my hard dick into my best buddy's ass.
     Steve groaned as I slid it in, his ass muscles
working over my cock, a welcoming feeling.  It felt
terrific!  I soon had it all the way in, and began making
slow strokes in and out.
     Steve walked us to the bed, and fell across it, my
body on top of his.  "Fuck me, Brad, fuck me!" he moaned.
     I was happy to oblige him.  I grabbed one tit in
each hand for leverage, as I plowed into him, pumping him
hard and fast, his ass rippling in pleasure.
     The maid entered again, gasped, and left in a hurry.
I didn't think she'd be back, but I didn't care.  The
whole damned staff could watch if they wanted.  I was
fucking my best friend.
     The bed squeaked in protest and we got a lot of
green make-up onto the pillows, but I fucked Steve for
fifteen solid minutes before the come built up in my
balls, which warned me of the explosion.
     "I'm about to come, Steve." I gasped at him.
     He looked at me, his face soft lines of pleasure.
"Give it to me, Brad." he begged me.  "Load my ass with
your come."
     And I did, feeling my balls unload a huge shipment
of come into his ass.  And Steve came as I did, "Oh, God,
man, you're coming in my ass!  I can feel it!  Uhh!" and
he shot another load into the rubber suit.
     We gasped a while, me resting on top of his furry
back, then got up and repaired our make-up.  I tucked the
jar of Vaseline into an inside pocket we'd made, to carry
books we bought and such.
     The rest of the convention was terrific.  I kept
Steve's ass busy the entire time.  Every time I felt
horny enough to go again, which at 19, was every hour on
the hour, I'd lube up my cock and stick it in.  Walking
down the corridor, right under the manager's wrinkled-
prune-faced eyes, I'd fuck my friend and lover.  In
between times, I'd check his cock, and when I found a
stiff one waiting for my touch, I'd beat him off.
     That costume stunk by the end of Saturday, stunk of
come and sweat, but we trotted up onto the stage during
the costume contest, and as Steve told them the little
story about two heads being better than one, I was
fucking his lithe ass and beating him off.  I don't know
how he found the breath to do it, but he stumbled getting
off the stage because he was coming again, right in front
of two thousand people watching us.  I waited until we
were outside to find a quiet nook, and finished fucking
him then.  We didn't win a prize, but who needed one?
     I got to feel Steve's cock in my ass as soon as the
convention was over.  We'd never stepped out of our
costume, and it smelled like it.  It lay on the floor of
our bedroom while Steve was laying on top of me, his
hairy chest brushing my smooth one with my legs around
his waist, his cock firmly buried.  We didn't sleep at
all that night, because I learned then how good it felt
to be fucked.  I wanted him to fuck me all night, and he
did the best he could.
     That was fifteen years ago.  We still have the
costume.  We use it to show to people who ask how we met
and we have to answer, "It was a two-headed monster...."
                        
                        THE END