Everything Changes, American Pie series, Steve Stifler/OMC, exploration, kiss, new, fingers, tonguewildlinggirlFebruary 3 2014, 04:13:00 UTC
Complete story is here because of character limit.
Stifler felt trapped. His work at the investment firm was all he had going on in his life right now, and he was miserable in it; his boss was a prick, it was plain boring and the pay was just above average. He longs for the high school days in which girls would throw themselves at him and the party never stopped. But now the party had ended, and he had to learn that this was his reality. And that reality sucked.
Steve Stifler was always a winner, yet in this work and in this life, he felt like a loser.
He started trying new things, spicying up his life, searching for something that could possibly put some meaning, and perhaps some fun, in this dull, pathetic new life he led.
Eventually, he made a routine out of that idea. Every Friday after work, he would go down to a different bar and had a few beers all by himself. It was a good change, he met cool bartenders, usually heard good music, sometimes he even had more than a couple beers and got completely wasted, resulting in a terrible hangover during Saturday and occasional vomiting.
Everything took a spin when he went to a particular bar one Friday night.
In retrospective, it wasn’t hard to figure out it was a gay bar from the minute he walked in, the signs were clear, but for some reason he ignored those signs and went for an empty stool by the bar.
He ordered a beer, which he quickly was done with, and as he was going halfway through his second this guy appeared. This guy, with his short black hair and dark brown skin and fine suit, took the audacity to claim the seat next to Stifler and order something to the bartender without even asking. There were plenty of empty seats far away from him, so Stifler just had to ask.
“Who told you you could sit next to me?”
“I thought I’d try my luck” the guy replies, receiving his beer. “Thank you.”
Stifler tries to ignore him and concentrate on his drink, but he can feel him next to him, his stare fixated on him, like it could see right through him.
“I’m Dave, by the way.”
It takes a moment before he gives up his identity. “Steve.”
He’s not sure how it happens, but conversations starts between them immediately after that, and fast. Dave has a way of getting to him through words, like he knows exactly what’s on his mind. He worked at a law firm, as an assistant to some bitchy boss he hated. Stifler could totally relate to that, and they both raised their drinks to that.
The beers keep coming and the conversation intensifies. One thing leads to another, and Stifler finds himself riding the elevator to this guy’s loft (which was pretty fucking fancy, by the way), and he’s not entirely sure how that happened.
Stifler had quite a lot of alcohol on his system now, but he was almost completely lucid. He knew what was going on, he was going to enter the appartment of a guy he met in a gay bar, and yet he didn’t stop to think about the implications of that sentence. He just went in.
He offered him a drink, and Stifler asked for more booze, which Dave happily complied with. The two sat with new beers on the leather couch, and Stifler was just about to ask for the tv remote when he found Dave’s mouth was on his mouth.
Instead of declining it, Stifler welcomed it, and he’s not sure why but he let his tongue slid into Dave’s mouth. And he was soon glad he did. The pleasure, the incredible sensation of ecstasy that overcame him as soon as their tongues met and struggled for dominance in Dave’s mouth was comparable to absolutely nothing he had felt until today.
Dave moved forward, and Stifler fell with his back on the couch, Dave on top, the beers long forgotten on the floor, miraculously not shattering into a million pieces in the short fall. Stifler started getting rid of the suit, while Dave’s hands went below Stifler’s shirt and started caressing his ripped abdomen. They had to stop to get off their tops, and now bare-chested the make out sessions could continue.
Stifler felt trapped. His work at the investment firm was all he had going on in his life right now, and he was miserable in it; his boss was a prick, it was plain boring and the pay was just above average. He longs for the high school days in which girls would throw themselves at him and the party never stopped. But now the party had ended, and he had to learn that this was his reality. And that reality sucked.
Steve Stifler was always a winner, yet in this work and in this life, he felt like a loser.
He started trying new things, spicying up his life, searching for something that could possibly put some meaning, and perhaps some fun, in this dull, pathetic new life he led.
Eventually, he made a routine out of that idea. Every Friday after work, he would go down to a different bar and had a few beers all by himself. It was a good change, he met cool bartenders, usually heard good music, sometimes he even had more than a couple beers and got completely wasted, resulting in a terrible hangover during Saturday and occasional vomiting.
Everything took a spin when he went to a particular bar one Friday night.
In retrospective, it wasn’t hard to figure out it was a gay bar from the minute he walked in, the signs were clear, but for some reason he ignored those signs and went for an empty stool by the bar.
He ordered a beer, which he quickly was done with, and as he was going halfway through his second this guy appeared. This guy, with his short black hair and dark brown skin and fine suit, took the audacity to claim the seat next to Stifler and order something to the bartender without even asking. There were plenty of empty seats far away from him, so Stifler just had to ask.
“Who told you you could sit next to me?”
“I thought I’d try my luck” the guy replies, receiving his beer. “Thank you.”
Stifler tries to ignore him and concentrate on his drink, but he can feel him next to him, his stare fixated on him, like it could see right through him.
“I’m Dave, by the way.”
It takes a moment before he gives up his identity. “Steve.”
He’s not sure how it happens, but conversations starts between them immediately after that, and fast. Dave has a way of getting to him through words, like he knows exactly what’s on his mind. He worked at a law firm, as an assistant to some bitchy boss he hated. Stifler could totally relate to that, and they both raised their drinks to that.
The beers keep coming and the conversation intensifies. One thing leads to another, and Stifler finds himself riding the elevator to this guy’s loft (which was pretty fucking fancy, by the way), and he’s not entirely sure how that happened.
Stifler had quite a lot of alcohol on his system now, but he was almost completely lucid. He knew what was going on, he was going to enter the appartment of a guy he met in a gay bar, and yet he didn’t stop to think about the implications of that sentence. He just went in.
He offered him a drink, and Stifler asked for more booze, which Dave happily complied with. The two sat with new beers on the leather couch, and Stifler was just about to ask for the tv remote when he found Dave’s mouth was on his mouth.
Instead of declining it, Stifler welcomed it, and he’s not sure why but he let his tongue slid into Dave’s mouth. And he was soon glad he did. The pleasure, the incredible sensation of ecstasy that overcame him as soon as their tongues met and struggled for dominance in Dave’s mouth was comparable to absolutely nothing he had felt until today.
Dave moved forward, and Stifler fell with his back on the couch, Dave on top, the beers long forgotten on the floor, miraculously not shattering into a million pieces in the short fall. Stifler started getting rid of the suit, while Dave’s hands went below Stifler’s shirt and started caressing his ripped abdomen. They had to stop to get off their tops, and now bare-chested the make out sessions could continue.
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