Pissing Contest

by R. Macleod

Through the cinderblock wall the band thrums faintly from the other room. We're all in the cracked, brackish bathroom, hands on our zippers. In the toilet there's a can of Natty Light, neatly folded in half, floating lazily. I can tell that all of us want to piss on it and see if we can make it sink, but everyone's too embarrassed.

Finally I say, -Listen, you guys can all piss together, but I'm trans and I gotta squat, so I'm gonna go first.

My friends nod with jealous understanding, and I yank down my shorts and crouch over the bowl, taking a quick look to line the can up under me. The satisfyingly juvenile sound of my piss tinkling against the tin makes me grin. Then I see that everyone else is grinning too, sharing the private grins of boys who are taller than me. I'm about to ask what's up when I hear zippers going down and see dicks coming out. It's like being lined up in a Wild West execution, the barrels of six dicks appearing from camo, cotton and denim and firing a barrage of the smell of sweat and mosh pit hard-ons. And all my friends are still smiling to each other as my stream trickles to a nervous halt.

I say, -What? the way people say it in movies right before they get whacked with a semi from off-screen.

My friends start jacking off at me. They all come in close so their shadows clash under the dirty light, mohawks and liberty spikes creating shadow puppets in my lap. They're laughing and talking high above me, but it's hard to hear over the slap of palms on cocks. I brace my arms against the walls and open my mouth to the nearest thick one. His piercing clicks against my teeth before it nudges through. A hand comes down to cup the back of my shaved head and push me forward, shove my nose into wet hair. Other cocks brush against my face, anxiously vying for their turn. My head is yanked away and directed to another cock, smaller but longer and tasting like damp cotton. I only get a sip of this one before I'm on another, held back so my lips and tongue can go to work on the head, filling my mouth with sweat and salt.

I look up and two of my friends are making out, a third yanking hard on another's nipple rings. Someone else stares down at me so hard I think his gaze will crush me. He shakes his head, and I wonder what I did wrong until I remember: everyone is jacking off but me. I reach between my legs. I'm surprised not to feel rock hard inch after inch like everyone else has, only my own body straining under the peer pressure. But it feels good and that's what counts. If I screw my eyes closed I can picture it different, picture my own cock, and in my mind everyone's naked and I'm kneeling and I'm a little taller and my facial hair isn't so patchy and uncertain. But when I open my eyes again reality is better than that because it's real, it's six punks crowding over me in the contaminated bathroom of a local show, and no one gives a shit what's between my legs because all they want is my mouth on what's between theirs.

Someone swings their balls against my face and I gulp them down. A big hand pushes mine away and goes at me itself, surprisingly competent, like they've done trans boys before. Electricity rockets up my spine and sends me wavering to my toes. I don't know how they manage to be so democratic about putting their cocks in my mouth. The tastes overlap, blending into a unique mix, all the most personal parts of everyone. Dudes jerk each other off while they wait their turn. Two guys kiss so hard the veins stand out in their necks. A thick finger slams up inside me and I shout because I'm going to come but I don't want to be first. But I can't help it, so I let it rip with the slightly sheepish satisfaction of being the first to get off, chowing down on another cock to cover the moans as the hand pulls away to attend to its own parts.

Someone shoves me back against the toilet tank and comes, a business-like line of jizz rocketing between my legs into the water. The new dick in my mouth is thickening and pulsing with the envious desire to shoot off too. A black hand aims a white cock at my face and then there's jizz hot and thick against my forehead. Someone comes against my chest and the dick in my mouth goes off down my throat. Its owner pulls out and aims the rest of his load into the toilet. We chuckle as it rings against the beer can. The last remaining guys get the same idea and they shoot off almost simultaneously, two streams becoming three as the can sinks sluggishly, like an ancient submarine, into all the jizz and beer and piss and water. Jizz runs down my face with my sweat as we're still, breathing hard.

Someone pounds on the door and shouts hoarsely, -Whatever you punks are doin' in there you better not be thinkin' of doin' it again, Ôcuz I gotta fuckin' leak!

We laugh as pants are zipped, as I'm tugged back to my feet and slapped and pushed a little. We tramp back to the show, and I can tell there's still jizz on my face from the jealous eyes of punks lining the wall, admiring the group of us as the bathroom door slams and we hear the next guy in the bathroom swear, and someone else in line mutters, -Damn. I *knew* I shoulda gone first.