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WARNING: This story is NOT FOR CHILDREN. It contains SEX of the HOMOSEXUAL nature that might BURN YOUR EYES AND IMAGINATIONS. Don't read if you're not allowed to, or if you don't want to. Don't say I didn't warn you. * * * Condensed from: Pennyworth, August J. The God Myth: The True History of the All-Powerful Being. New York City: Franklin House Publishing, 1996. "Legend tells us of an ancient Sorcerer, as old and infinite as time itself. Already a being of considerable power, he spent his days honing his mind until all the secrets and mysteries of the universe were clear to him. Because no mortal can contain such knowledge, the Sorcerer ascended to a level beyond human; not quite a god, but much, much more than a man. Throughout this, however, the Sorcerer retained much of what made him human in the first place; he was inquisitive, thirsty for knowledge and liked to help wherever he could. He was also, as is common in those that live as long as him, a bit of a trickster and partial to practical jokes. All in good taste, of course, and never to anyone's detriment, but he couldn't keep himself from interfering in the business of others. Once he saw a group of humans struggling to construct a monument to their king; he appeared to them in the guise of a foreigner and taught them how to use pulleys and ramps to build their great limestone tombs, which in turn made them greater and more awe-inspiring. The king, impressed by the results, wished to reward the scholar who made such a structure possible, but no one could say for sure what became of him. Another time, the Sorcerer taught the art of craftsmanship and stone-working to an aspiring civilization that lived on a remote island in the middle of an almost infinite ocean; they erected massive stone carvings of his face all over their land, but in the years that followed, none of them could remember anything about him apart from that. Indeed, research (and a little guess-work) shows us that there is almost no culture on our planet that was not meddled with by this powerful being; some more than others, but all have felt the presence of his guiding hand. Lately, however, if my assumptions based on the evidence at hand are correct, he has turned his gaze to the affairs of individual mortals in an attempt to improve the overall quality of life of the population at large..." The bright green eyes stared directly into my soul. Enjoy yourself, they seemed to say. It won't last forever. What? I asked desperately. What won't last forever? But the eyes were already fading. Have a nice week... they said, without making any noise. And they were gone. I woke up from the dream. It was a nice one. I liked the eyes, they were friendly and pleasant to listen to. I wasn't too worried about the sense, or lack thereof, that the dream made; dreams never make sense. When they do, that's when I get worried. Besides, I've had some pretty freaky dreams in my day, both awake and asleep, and this one was fairly enjoyable. There wasn't much to it, though. I remembered those piercing green eyes and not much else. But, then again, I almost never remember my dreams, so this was a step forward, right? I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. Its bright red numbers informed me that the time was 80:8, which made even less sense than the dream. Upon closer examination, I discovered that my clock was upside-down and balanced precariously on my cell phone. I spent the next few minutes trying to remember what I did the night before, with little success; I vaguely remembered a party at a friend's house, someone with a large bag of dried mushrooms, and then (as far as I could tell from the foggy memories I had of it) I became the captain of a Russian nuclear submarine somewhere in Antarctica. I still couldn't see the motivation behind the odd placement of my clock and phone, but at least I understood how my brain was (or wasn't) working at the time. Things were slowly making more sense. I turned the clock over and looked again; this time, it said 8:11, and I was happy because it was finally speaking my language. That also meant that I had nineteen minutes to get to school. Shit. Not that I actually cared about getting to school punctually, but my parents get pissed when I'm late, so I have to at least leave the house on time. It's a ten minute walk to school, so that meant I needed to leave in... Nine minutes. The clock shone 8:12 steadily in my face. Eight minutes. Shit. I leaped out of bed onto the floor and promptly fell back in because the carpet was littered with stray colored pencils. I didn't have time to ponder how fucking bizarre that was because I now had seven minutes to leave. Showering took longer than I expected because of some gross-looking brown slime that had presumably congealed in my fur the night before; when I got out I had three minutes. I dried off with the industrial air dryer my parents had invested in (it really did save a lot of time). Two minutes. I didn't bother combing my long, white head fur because, honestly, it looks better messy. Also I didn't have time. One minute, screw my teeth, I'll brush them later. I pulled on some clothes: some briefs, a pair of dark green cargo shorts, a black t-shirt with a band logo on it (I later discovered it was AC/DC) and some black socks and shoes. I like wearing dark clothes because they contrast nicely with my white and grey fur. Zero minutes. Here it comes... "Dylan! You're going to be late!" The piercing shriek that only my mother can emit echoed around the house like an obnoxious siren. I grabbed my bag (which I had thankfully gotten ready yesterday, in anticipation of just this situation) and sprinted down the stairs, two at a time. Quickly grabbing my keys, I practically flew out the door before the only female in the house could say anything. I jogged for a block before slowing down, certain I was out of visual range of my parents. I took it easy for the rest of the walk to school, and actually got there just on time, much to the surprise of both me and my first period teacher. I sat in the back of the class, like I usually do, next to my buddy Dan. I realized I was missing some crucial information, so I leaned in close to him. "Yo, Dan," I whispered, "what class is this?" "Math," he replied. "Fuck." I hate math. I hate it with a passion. A deep, fiery passion that lives at the very heart of my soul and never seems to die down. I could already tell this day was going to be great. Dan whispered, "Crazy party last night, eh?" This triggered something in my scrambled brain: yes, Dan had been there. I seemed to recall that he had been my first mate on the Russian nuclear submarine in the Antarctic. Or was it a pirate ship? My brain wasn't being very helpful. Let me just stop right there for a moment and explain that my brain and I have never been on very good terms; even when I was young I sustained a whole bunch of self-induced head injuries. Now I take every opportunity I can get to melt it with drugs and alcohol, but it never seems to do the trick. I continue to do well in school despite my best (and quite formidable) efforts to the contrary, and my brain keeps dropping big words like "formidable" and "contrary" on me when I don't even ask for them! The people who say pot makes you slow have clearly never met me; somebody should probably tell the FDA. Dan was talking, and my brain told me to shut up and listen. Let me stop again to explain that listening to Dan was not something I didn't enjoy doing. If you can work through the double negatives, you'll understand that I like him a lot. Dan is a big horse, but not the kind that dresses in leather jackets and rides motorcycles; he's much nicer that that. In fact, that just about characterizes him: Dan is a nice guy. A big guy, but nice just the same. The kind of guy that you want on your side for both physical and emotional support. And he's great at both. Dan was still talking, and now I felt bad for not listening. "... and Ben was wasted as all fuck. I'm assuming you don't remember much?" "Nope," I said, grinning half-heartedly. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't. You pretty much just sat in a corner mumbling about cannons." So maybe it was a pirate ship and not a Russian nuclear submarine in the Antarctic. The submarine seemed more fun, though. "I take it you got home alright?" That's another awesome thing about Dan: he's always concerned for your well-being. At least, retrospectively he is. I didn't remember him doing much to help me at the party (apart from possibly being my first mate, although I didn't trust my memory of that), but it's the thought that counts, right? "Yeah, I made it home. I did some pretty weird shit when I got there, too," I replied. Dan laughed. "Like what?" "Daniel!" a shrill voice cried out. We both jumped and jerked our heads to the front of the class, where the teacher was looking straight at Dan. That conversation ended there. It wasn't ‘till a few hours later, in Drama, that I began to notice a painful chafing in my crotch area. I tried every method of getting rid of it: the "subtle, through-the-pants adjustment", the "hands-in-pockets undie stretch", even the "stand up, sit down", which got a lot of unwanted attention from those around me. No results. There was nothing for it. I needed some privacy if I was ever to feel genital comfort again, and that meant a bathroom break. Also I had to pee. Drama is pretty much the only class I like, so I felt kind of bad leaving in the middle of it. I still left, but it made me feel slightly worse as a person. I made my way to the bathroom, conveniently located at the exact opposite end of the school from wherever you are. I entered it, and quickly found my favorite stall (it's important to have a favorite toilet stall so that you can get angry when it's occupied or dirty, because getting angry over little things like that is a good way to stay sane). I went inside, locked the door, and dropped my shorts and my briefs. Now, this is where my story starts to get weird (or weirder, depending on your point of view), because, when I dropped my briefs, my cock and balls dropped with them. They dropped, not in the all-important, coming-of-age, boy-becoming-a-man kind of way, but in the far less common no-longer-attached-to-my-body kind of way. In fact, so unattached were my genitals to the rest of me that they flopped out of my briefs, which were around my ankles at this point, and rolled into the next stall. I stood there, quietly shocked, for a few moments, staring at the empty space between my legs. I had no idea of what to do about this, so I did nothing. I continued to do nothing for several minutes, at which point I heard the sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway. I quickly bent down, reached under the dividing wall, found my junk, yanked it back into my stall and sat on the toilet. After a few tense moments, the footsteps passed by the bathroom door and I was left to marvel at what just happened. I was holding my own disembodied cock and balls in my hand. And I really had to pee! I gave what I was holding a thorough examination: it appeared to be as awesome as it always was, no more, no less. In fact, it was exactly the same as it always was, right down to the fact that I could still feel with it. The only difference seemed to be a new patch of skin at the base of my cock, right where it normally connected with my body. There was also a totally blank area where things used to be between my thighs; now there was just a flat field of fur. Most people, at this point, would have begun to freak out, at least a little bit. Part of me wanted to do just that, but another part, the part that spent most of its time under the influence of something, was used to confusing and frightening situations. And it knew that when things are going downhill, bodily functions take priority. And I still really had to pee! I figured it couldn't hurt to make sure that everything was still working, so that's just what I did. I stood up, turned to face the bowl, aimed my dick and let loose. Lo and behold, it worked. I wasn't sure how, but it did. A heavy stream of yellow liquid burst forth from my disembodied dong, and I felt the built-up pressure in my bladder lessen considerably. It was time for another inner dialogue. What the fuck is going on here? asked the boring, sober part of me that wanted to freak out earlier. I dunno, replied the other, groovier part. It's pretty trippy. Of course it's trippy! Our penis has fallen off! The sober part was getting angry. Don't forget our balls. Our balls fell off too, said the other part, which didn't really help. That makes it worse! Clearly, this is some kind of medical emergency! Relax. Are we bleeding? I looked down at myself. No. Are we dead? There was a pause while my brain considered this. No. Then we're probably ok. It seemed like good enough logic to me. By this point, I'd finished pissing and was ready to explore my new toy. I wiped the tip carefully, then flushed the toilet and sat down on it again. The first thing I tried was to put it back where it belonged. I lined everything up the way it was supposed to be and pressed. Nothing happened, but then, I hadn't really expected anything. I continued trying to push my bisected halves back together for a while, but nothing continued to happen and I gave up eventually. It was at this point when I looked at my watch and noticed that it had been half an hour since I left class to "go to the bathroom"! Someone might get suspicious and come looking for me! I decided that the best course of action would be to skip the rest of the day and go take a nap in a park or something, just to clear my head. I could forge a note from my parents tomorrow saying that there was a family emergency of some kind that made me have to leave early. Except... Except my bag was still in Drama class. Fucking shit on a stick. My best bet was to go to the window in the classroom door and signal Steve, the guy I knew best in that class, to bring my bag out. It was important that the teacher not see me, but he could probably sneak it out when she wasn't looking. Except again... Except what was I going to do with my cock? I held it in my hand, feeling angry. It pulsed slightly with my heartbeat, even though it had no business doing so. I tried shoving it in various pockets, but it always caused a distinct cock-and-balls-shaped bulge. I couldn't hide it in my hands either; it was too big (damn you, above average penis size!). I eventually realized there was only one way to get it out of the bathroom, and that was the same way it came in. I stepped back into my briefs and shorts, which were still lying on the ground of the stall. I pulled up the underwear, holding my junk in its rightful place on my crotch. I brought the blue briefs up as far as they went, then snapped the elastic waistband right around my hips, delicately securing my penis and testicles within the fabric cup. I pulled up my pants, buckled everything up, opened the stall door and stepped out into the outside world. The experience of trying to walk normally while your reproductive organs bounce around your underwear threatening to fall out at any moment was an entirely new one to me. I think I managed ok: there were some near disasters where they almost escaped, and on one occasion my balls got caught in the elastic, but there was nothing that couldn't be fixed by a subtle manual adjustment. It was all really awkward, though. I arrived at the class I was supposed to be in after a few minutes' walk. I pushed up against the window so I could see the whole class. I spotted Steve soon enough, and waved frantically to get his attention. The guy next to him noticed me, and got him to look. My bag, I mouthed exaggeratedly. What? he mouthed back. My bag! I mouthed, pointing downwards. He gestured towards it and looked up for confirmation. I nodded, then mimed bringing it to me. He looked at where the teacher was presumably talking, then put up his hand. He said something to her (I couldn't hear through the door) and got up, deftly hiding my bag behind his back. When he was out in the hallway, he handed it to me. "You wanted your bag, right? What's up, man?" "I'm going home," I replied. "I don't feel well." "Why'd you need me to bring you your bag, then?" "You don't understand. I really don't feel well." I put the emphasis in a way that I hoped would indicate what I meant. "Oh, I get it," he said, grinning. "Hope you feel better soon." We fist-bumped (I know it's called something else, but I like ˜fist-bump') and he went back to the class. I hoisted the bag around my shoulders and set off, back the way I came, still trying desperately to keep my dick in its place. And that's when I saw him. His name is Aiden and he's a jet black panther. He sat in front of me in English, Literature and Science because our last names are close together and he's really smart and funny and he laughs at my jokes and his laugh is amazing like gentle thunder and he's got the greenest eyes and an awesome ass and he's the sexiest person in the history of the universe. He's the only guy I've ever gone goopy for, and I swear to god he'll be the last because it makes things so complicated. And there he was, at a locker in the hallway ahead of me, changing his shirt. Part of me was ready to call it the best day ever, but another part realized that there were repercussions to seeing this. A simple equation: Me + Hottest Guy I've Ever Seen â€" His Shirt = Full Boner in .2 of a second. Shit, I thought. Now is not the time. He had his back to me, and he was taking the shirt off slowly, as though he was really enjoying it. That gave me time to watch the toned muscles in his back bend, stretch and flex as he pulled the shirt over his head. He brought his arms back down, threw the garment into the open locker, paused, turned to me and smiled. My heart melted, and so did my voice, stomach, motor skills and brain (take that). He was talking, and for the first time in a while, I listened and held on to every word. "Hey, SnoBro," he said, grinning warmly. SnoBro, I thought. What an awesome nickname. "Hurr... hi," I replied, securing my reputation as World's Most Eloquent Snow Leopard. "What'cha up to?" he asked charmingly, as always. "Not much," which was the understatement of the millennium. "Going home, actually." "Oh?" he said, checking his watch. I took the opportunity while he was distracted to check out his awesome chest; Aiden was a swimmer, and it showed on his body. I loved every little detail of him. His muscles were big, but not too big; insanely toned without being huge. I loved the way his midnight fur would get even darker in the shadow under his pecs or between his abs; I wanted to run my fingers over every inch of his body, and I wanted to remember what it felt like for the rest of my life. Of course, at this point, I was harder than a math exam printed on granite. That wasn't good, mostly because of the precarious nature of my genitals. In fact, I thought I felt my dick poking through the leg-hole of my briefs and going down my leg a bit. Not good. Aiden had finished looking at his watch. "It's not even noon," he said. "What are you going home for?" "Uh... family emergency of some kind. I just got a text from my mom," I lied. It was a lot harder to lie to Aiden than to anyone else, for some reason. I shifted my weight uncomfortably, which was a bad idea because it caused the rest of my dick to slip through the leg-hole. Only my balls remained within the confines of my briefs at this point, and that wasn't going to last. "So, uh... yeah... I gotta go... because of the... emergency..." The words seemed to dribble out of my mouth. Why couldn't I keep a cool head about this? "Oh, yeah man, go," he said, genuine concern showing in his eyes and his voice. "I don't want to keep you from your family." Of course, Aiden could keep me from my family any day of the week for as long as he needed. All I wanted at that point was to stay there forever in that otherwise empty hallway with the unbearably sexy panther that the gods had obviously sent just for me. But, I had to take into consideration the fact that my reproductive equipment was about to fall onto the floor, which would no doubt cause a scene. Normally I would have leapt for joy if Aiden noticed my cock, but finding it on the ground wasn't really the way I wanted to break the sexual ice with him. "Oh, no, I mean... I don't really... I should... um... bye." Once again, just call me Mister Eloquent. I started off down the hallway, away from him. "See ya, Dylan. I hope everything's ok." He was smiling again, that wonderful smile. I tried smiling back, but I think it looked like I was sick. I walked as fast as I could while simultaneously trying not to look like I was walking any faster than usual. The bathroom came up on my left, and I took the opportunity to duck into it. Just in time, in fact, because my balls finally slipped out of my briefs and the whole package began sliding down my leg. Unfortunately for me, my shorts were very loose, and it took no time at all for my cock and balls to flop out onto the bathroom floor below me. Wasting no time, I bent down, picked them up and dove back into my familiar favorite stall. So, we're back where we started. I listened carefully to make sure there were no other people in the bathroom. I was satisfied after a few minutes, so I left the stall and went to the sink to wash off my cock, which, after all, had done quite a bit of rolling around on the floor recently. It was still rock hard, of course; the image of Aiden with no shirt on was (and still is) permanently etched in my memory, and my dick was having a real good time because of it. I carefully adjusted the water temperature so that it was not too cold and not too hot, then rinsed my junk carefully. Of course, the attention from both my hands and the water did nothing to abate my raging disembodied boner. Once it was satisfactorily clean, I dried my cock off with the hot air drier, which was a slightly painful but really, really awesome experience, then wrapped it in paper towels so that it wouldn't get damaged in transit. I carefully placed it in my bag, in the outside pocket so that it wouldn't get crushed between books or bang against my back, then did up the zipper, ready to go. And then I had an idea. I was still really, really, ridiculously horny, and there was no other place where I could really take care of my problem, apart from home, and I wasn't going there for a while. In fact, the bathroom seemed like an ideal place to be right now... I went back into my favorite stall and closed the door. I opened my bag and pulled out the brown paper towel package. I unwrapped it slowly, carefully, to reveal the prize inside: A cock. My cock. Why hadn't I thought of this before? I was holding my own cock in my hand like a dildo; a living, fully functional and completely realistic dildo. This was going to be the most fun I'd had in ages. I removed my boner from the paper towels and brought it up to my face to examine it. I'd never gotten that close to it before, and I had to admit that it was pretty damn awesome. At just over 8" in length, it was not a size to be laughed at, and its pitch black color contrasted real nicely with the white fur covering my balls. My junk and I were meeting face to face for the first time, and I liked what I saw. I licked the tip, enjoying the salty taste of the pre that was dribbling from it. I kept at that for a while, stimulating my dick until it was physically impossible for it to get any harder. I moved on to my balls, which I took one at a time into my mouth, rolling them around with my tongue and enjoying their unique flavor. The left one, I soon discovered, was slightly sweet, while the right one had a taste that was more bitter; I enjoyed moving from one to the other and comparing the two. Finally, I got back to the shaft and, after licking around the tip a little more, I began to take it in my mouth. I'm one of those people who enjoys giving head just as much as receiving it, so you can imagine how great I was feeling at this point. The sensation of having your mouth full of a long, pulsing, delicious cock at the same time as having your cock in a warm, tight and inviting mouth is really something that everyone should experience at least once. The fact that I had complete control over both was an added bonus. I sucked my cock like my life depended on it, the intensity of which made me start to facefuck myself by moving it in and out of my mouth with my hand. I rammed all 8" of my dick down my throat and let my balls rest on my chin. Then, with both hands free, I unbuckled my pants, slid them and my underwear around my ankles, and got a large, rounded marker out of my bag. I repositioned myself slightly, then shoved the marker up my ass for added stimulation; it wasn't ideal, but it reached my prostate and that's what counts. I spent the next few minutes fucking myself in the ass with a marker, fucking myself in the mouth with my own dick, and giving myself the best damn blowjob ever. I could feel the pleasure of contact with every nook and cranny of my mouth on my cock, and, because I knew what it felt like, I was able to adjust my tongue and throat work for maximum stimulation. Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so they did. I felt my orgasm approaching rapidly, so I picked up the speed. My tongue lapped furiously in every direction at the dick which was jackhammering in and out of my mouth so fast you could barely see it, while the marker ground into my prostate with the same rhythm. I could feel the end getting closer, closer, closer... Closer... ... Ecstasy. ... Pure, white ecstasy. I shot load after load of my cum down my own throat, swallowing and relishing every drop. I continued pounding my ass with the marker, but that was just an automatic reflex; my mind, body and soul were consumed by this incredible orgasm. It seemed to last for hours, although it can't really have been more than a minute or two. All I know is that my cock didn't stop shooting the entire time. I sat there, on the toilet seat, with a disembodied cock dumping cum into my stomach and a marker stuck up my ass, and I loved every instant of it. Eventually it was over, and I reached up and pulled my cock out of my mouth. There was no mess to clean up; I'd shot everything down my throat without spilling a drop, and my tongue did a great job taking care of the last few spurts as I pulled out. I carefully removed the marker from my tailhole, cleaned it off with some toilet paper and put it back in my bag. I wrapped my cock back up in the brown paper towels and placed it in the outside pocket for safekeeping. I pulled my underwear and pants back up, noticing how weird it felt to have nothing at all between my legs. With that, I shouldered my bag, opened the stall door and stepped out into the hallway just as the lunch bell rang. The sudden onslaught of students trying to leave the school to go to the fast food restaurants nearby made for a perfect getaway opportunity. I made my way to a secluded park a few blocks away from the school which few people know about, lay down on a convenient bench, and fell fast asleep. * * *

So, there we go. I find it amusing that I've been working on the sequel to Jake & Alex for 2 1/2 years, but this popped into my head two weeks ago and it's already done. I really enjoyed writing this one, and I really like the characters, so there's definitely a series here. The way I see it now, there's gonna be seven chapters, and the next one should be up fairly soon, assuming I get started immediately.