Here is Puck's view on life. Sort of. May sound confusing in the beginning, but will eventually become understandable by the end. BTW the guy, Greg, is played by Justin Gaston. I noticed him in the background of an episode (he was shirtless, how did I not?!?!) but he didn't have a name, so I name him Greg. POV=Puck (of course)

Chapter 2

The locker room seems quiet. Lonesome. Feelingless. Like me.

I feel out of it. Out of my head. Out of my body. Out of the human race. Out of life.

No one would expect me to think this deep.

I do.

I may be this horny as fuck guy with a nice chest who fucks cougars, but I have emotions. But I'm not one of those cliched "Bad boy with a heart of gold", I'm just human. I don't feel much. It's just physical. I have emotions, and I can think, but I keep this persona. To break away from it would be weird. You know? Balance is better.

I can feel my abs clench as I sit curled. Reminds me of sit-ups on the field. And Finn. But that's old news.

Finn. I'm not gonna lie, he's fit. Really good looking. His face is quite adorable and his body is well built. I've seen it before.

And it's a body. Which is why I don't feel bad. Just this physical yearning. Lust. I've wanted him for a while. And I had him. There. Done.

And when I hear his voice, something else other than my physical wants kick in.

I can't place my finger on the exact word, so I'll have to get back to you.

The same thing happens when I stare into his eyes. That short glimpse, that one connection that lasts a lifetime.

Why would that make me feel different from his abs?

Is it because his voice and his eyes are direct connections to his soul? The most personal part of his self, am I attracted to that?

No. Life is physical. There is nothing underneath the skin. No words between the lines.

I want to fuck Finn again. That was fun.

Someone walks into the room. I look up. It's Greg. He gulps. Why does he gulp when he sees me?

He sits next to me and he connects his eyes with mine. It feels to abrupt, to wanting. Pushy. I get this feeling from many. Does it mean I may be a pushover?

His black hair fringe falls in front of his blue eyes. His darkish stubble surrounds his cheeks, upper lip, and chin. For a second, he looks...good.

So I slowly bend closer. He smiles, slightly questioning. His lips are extremely close. I wait for him to stop me. His lips are there, millimeters away. His lips, red and plump, are begging to be kissed. Sparks connect between the lips.

I feel his lips move as he questions, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Gay chicken."


"Pretend to be gay, and whoever cracks first loses. You lose."

"I'm not gay though." He says it so angrily like any stereotypical heterosexual scared about their sexuality would say. I can't believe I have to pretend to act like them.

"It's acting. If you're man enough to do it, you won't chicken out."

"But guys don't act gay. Faggots do."

"The body is the body. What's the matter if a guy fucks a guy? We're not in love. It's just sexual release. Is there a problem with feeling good?"

He smiles awkwardly. I go back in, pretending to be all serious. I'm curious as to where this will go. I get all the way and he becomes more serious. He looks at my lips and I at his. Same position. I freeze. And laugh. I lose.

He takes it differently. He pounces on top of me and starts kissing those lips he was desperately staring at. I give in. I guess I'll just go with the flow. I know it's a hard thing to do, seeing as I have to fuck this nice hottie who is unaware of his flaming homosexuality and that I have to help him with it (making him even hotter), but I have a job that I must do. It's a service, and I don't care.

I feel his cock bulge. It rubs against mine. He begins to grind against my thigh, where my cock is not. Oh well, he should know his anatomy.

He pulls off my jersey and I do the same to him. I must admit, he is extremely ripped. He's got a good chest and ripped abs, but his head is full of hot-air. A total idiot. Oh well. I'll still fuck him. A nice quick fuck to ease my mind. And to prove to myself that I can fuck a guy without feeling what I feel for someone else. Ugh...too confusing...

He plants kisses down my stomach ( and touches my growing erection inside my spandex. Spandex sounds so gay, even though football players wear it. Well, it does nicely assentuate my large package. Everyone likes staring at my crotch when it makes that form fit.

He gets down to the bottom of my stomach and kisses me there he slips my tight pants off with my underwear. I feel the trouser snake escape and fling upwards. A flash of cold hits it.

Heehee. Trouser snake. What a funny word. I love naming my dick things like trouser snake.

He wraps it in his large hands. Which can mean only one thing. I have something large to play with later when I'm fucking his brains out.

He rubs it for a little while. Not that long. I feel something slimy touch it. I know immediately. I look down, and he has half of it down his throat. Man is he fast. And horny. He coughs and gags. That whore knows what he is doing.

Eventually he gets this speedy rythym of his head bobbing up and down with a nice suction to it. For a guy who's never sucked a cock before, this guy knows how to do it.

I push him up and plant him on his bare back. I hear a smack. I like it. He does too.

I awkwardly rip off his spandex. His large and hard shlong flips up as well. I was right. I knew I was.

I pull him towards me and place my stiffie at his entrance. I grab the thing at full mast at an awkward angle and my hand gets covered in his spit. Good sign.

I rub around, trying to get him to relax and to moisten him up. I hold onto that large chest.

I slowly push forward and inward. His toes curl behind me. His fingernails stab into my ass. I'm doing it right.

All the way in and looking at his face, all squished up in pain, I soothely whisper, "It's all right. It'll feel good."

I slowly thrust, picking up speed. His face changes too. It begins to relax as he feels pleasure. And then tightens from excessive amounts of pleasure.

Eventually, he is yelling, "Faster. Harder." Although not really yells, more like breathy chants and demands.

My sword throbs at his command. I must do it for him. It's all for him.

I thrust harder. Push deeper. His nails stab me. I like it.

My palms lie on his reddened chest. His palms grasp my ass cheeks.

I go faster. He moans. He loves it. I love it. It's hot. A nice release.

I grab his cock and start rubbing he gasps. No one could be nearer to climax.

I am too.

I lean in and dominate. Echoes of me plowing into that wanting ass get me hotter. I can feel it on the tip of my head.

And with him, it shoots outward. His cum lands on his face and he looks like a whore. Both of our jaws drop at the shock of such pleasure. Moans escape us. It feels good.

It ends and I bend down. "That was some good sex," I say.

He starts to cry.

This is why people think I'm the bad guy.

"Why the hell are you crying?"

"I'm going to hell. I'm a queer."

"No you're not. A guy can have gay sex without being queer. You gotta be in love to be a queer. This is just bodily lust. I'm not gay."

"Shut up, you faggot. I bet you like my body, don't you?" Anyone saying that with tears in their eyes and a dick up their ass could never be taken seriously.

"I do. You're pretty hot. Which is why I fucked you."

"You came to the devil's temptation."

"What the hell is splattered all over your face?"

"You're unsavable. All you care about is lust and sex and tempation. You are damned and there is no purity in you."

"Sex is the purest thing in the world."

"You whore."

"You narrow-minded fuck."

"I will not be tempted into your dirty ways."

"We just fucked!"

He pulls me out of him and walks away with his clothes, trying not to sob. What a jackass. I'm not gay. I don't have those types of feelings for a guy. What I do is sex, not


That's the word.

Oh, fuck.