And I'd pull my knees to my chest and watch Louie's face go all closed-eyed and slack-lipped, and watch Louie's stomach muscles bunch up and relax over and over (like an accordian playing "Lady of Spain" double time) as he fucked me. Or I'd do Louie, holding one of his small, perfect feet in each hand, sucking his slightly cheezy toes as I worked. Or we'd beat off in each other's face, talking dirty at one another like the boys in the blue movies ("yeah, Baby, beat that thing!"), and laugh self-consciously afterward.
Chapter 60 of Larry Duplechan's Eight Days A Week: