by Jordan Castillo Price

“Cripes, Paul. You’re such an ass.” I swear, you can’t even carve a pumpkin with this guy. He thinks everything’s one big joke.

Another strand of pumpkin glop beaned me in the chest.

“Paul, I mean it.”

He smiled at me from across the table.

I glared and started tracing the design onto the pumpkin again. More pumpkin guts thwapped my cheek.

I straightened up and Paul cringed just a bit. Still smiling.

“You’re dead.” I grabbed a handful of pumpkin innards and lunged for his side of the table. Paul broke into that laugh of his--a little crazy, and all the more infectious for being so real. I closed in on him fast and would’ve had him, if not for the pumpkin-slimed floor.

I went down hard.

Paul flopped down on me, grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t worry,” he said, shoving my shirt up. His hand was cool and slick. “You’d have to change clothes anyway.” He fumbled with the buttons on my jeans for a second and then pushed his wet hand in. Then his mouth closed on my cock, warm--nearly hot--and I felt seeds slip through my fingers as my fist clenched tight.