Author: admin

It’s been a couple of months since I was able to get eaten out and dicked down and breeded really good and I’ve been craving it ever since. It’s been really busy for me with my job and personal life that I really haven’t had the time to surf online or even had any luck finding any guys. It was around 9pm on a Friday night and I was off from work and got home and felt an overwhelming feeling of horny-ness. I went on my usual site Sniffies to find any local guys but nobody responded to my messages. I decided it was time to jerk off again until I checked one more time before switching my safari window to porn and found a new message. A guy not far from me said “I want that ass”. I got more turned on and responded “come and get it”. I told him I couldn’t host since my parents were home and I didn’t feel like driving anywhere but I could host him outside of my apartment in a dark corner spot that is quiet and discrete. He said sure he’ll pull up and he’ll let me know when he arrives. I take a shit out of excitement and anxiety and clean around it real good but couldn’t get the chance to shower since he got here in a matter of minutes. He messaged that he was by the lobby and I met him down there and had him follow me around back. He was a pretty tall, around 6’2 Spanish guy with a little bit of a belly. He was quiet and just wanted to get down to business. There wasn’t really anybody around and we made it to the corner where there are some rocks and branches but a good amount of space for me to do what I needed to do. He put his back against the wall as I began to crouch down into a squat position and pull his sweatpants down. He uncut soft cock is there with his hairy balls drooping lower than his dick. The smell of must hit me immediately from his dick which just turned me on even more. I took his dick in my mouth as I cradled his big balls until it got hard in my mouth. The guy had his head tilt back in enjoyment and moaned as quietly as he can to avoid any suspicion. His cock got hard relatively quick and grew to a good 6 inches in my mouth. I took his cock deep in my throat as I was able to lick his balls while keeping his entire cock in my mouth. He didn’t want to touch my head and was letting me do whatever I wanted to do. I then took his dick out of my mouth and looked up at him and said “do you eat ass?” as he looked and shook his head yes with a exhaling smile. I was able to bend over on a rocky ledge by the building and pull my pants down to just below my cheeks so he could pull it right up if someone were to come suddenly. He still had his dick out as he crouched down a bit to shove his entire face into my ass and took one big long sniff. He then began to chow down and lick in and around my hole so good I felt my cock cumming all over itself. He fingered my ass a bit too in between and then stood up and slapped his cock against my cheek. He spat on my hole and his cock one time before he tried to force it inside but it was a bit too tight. He kept trying until he finally got in. Once his head squeezed in there I let out of a gasp. It felt amazing and he was able to slowly yet gracefully plow my ass. As each stroke went, he went deeper and deeper and harder and harder. He slapped my ass hard and it made NOISE. I heard noise coming from one of the apartments above the corner of the apartment. A couple of people came onto the balcony to check as we stayed quiet and hid. We moved a bit out of the way with his dick still in me. Since we moved deeper into the corner it was hard to fuck so he pulled out of my ass and I turned around and put him in my mouth to finish him off. I tasted all of my juice and shit that was all over his cock from fucking me raw and dirty. He announced he was going to cum so I pulled him out of my mouth and had him cum all over my face. I rubbed it all over my face and mouth with smiles as he proceeded to put his dick away and left suddenly in a hurry. My asshole was dropped with juice as my pants were still down and around my knees. I noticed I finished all over my underwear and knew I’d have to change it or throw it out soon. 

“You don’t have to do this, Travis. You were given other options to get through the Sigma Nu hazing phase.”

“But this is the most interesting one, and will give me the strongest position in the fraternity,” Travis answered. His friend, Nelson, a year ahead of him at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and already a member of the Sigma Nu university jocks fraternity, wasn’t meant to be there in the Ron’s Place gay clientele roadhouse on West Poplar Street on the northern edge of the university town. As soon as he’d heard that Travis had taken the most demanding option the fraternity hazing committee had given him, he’d followed Travis to the roadhouse.

Travis was a sophomore transfer from the University of Miami, where he’d gotten into trouble for this and that in nonacademic activity, but was good enough of a lacrosse player for other universities to give him another chance. The “nonacademic activity” had focused on rough gay sex, with Travis willingly having been on the receiving end and the university shrinks not having been able to convince him this was self-destructive.

Nelson was a star on the Razorbacks’ basketball team. He was a top and had matched up with Travis as soon as Travis had arrived at the university. Their relationship was complicated, though. Nelson was into Travis, but Travis was into more dangerous sex than Nelson would give him.

Travis and Nelson were at the bar, on stools next to each other, at Ron’s Place, drinking beer. The roadhouse was for gays—but for leather gays. It was a favorite watering hole for gay bikers. Trim, dancer-like, prepping-looking, good-looking guys with long, frosted hair like Travis were magnets for rough-and-tumble biker types who buzzed around Ron’s Place. You didn’t come to Ron’s Place looking like a submissive without expecting to be rough fucked—even gangbanged.

“What exactly were the instructions?” Nelson asked.

“I was to come here and piss off a couple of bruisers—and take note of and describe the consequences,” Travis answered.

“Suicide,” Nelson said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Surely they had something like streaking from Union to Old Main on the list.”

“Yeah, but there were points. Pissing off a couple of bikers at Ron’s Place gave the most points. Do this once and there won’t be another round of hazing.” He didn’t add that it might involve rough gay sex, but that had as much reason going for it to do it as getting instantaneous respect as a bad ass and acceptance in the fraternity was.

In any event Nelson’s plea had come too late. A waiter came up to the bar, said something to the bartender, and the bartender drew a draft and slid it in front of Travis. “Compliments of the two men in blue at the back table,” he said, and moved on down the bar to serve another customer. Both Travis and Nelson swiveled around to take a long into the far dimness of the smoke-hazed room.

“Shit. Cops,” Nelson said. “And big bruisers too.”

“Yes, they are,” Travis agreed, with a grin.

“But, shit, Cops,” Nelson repeated. “And in a leather club. One of them’s looking at us—at you. This isn’t a good idea. They maybe are here looking for male prostitutes to run in and they’ve decided that’s you. I think we should—”

“I like it here just fine,” Nelson said, giving the cop who was leering at him a saucy look back.

The cops’ presence might have accounted for this being a light attendance night at Ron’s Place, which was when most trouble here erupted—when the pickings were contested. They were sitting in isolation, and, although none of the leather guys were hassling the two cops, they certainly were giving them a wide berth. It wasn’t just that they were in blue and had weapons hanging off them. They were biggest, baddest-looking guys in the room.

And they were offering Travis a “come sit with us at our table” drink. Having cops sitting in a gay dive was, in itself, intense situation fodder, but they’d singled Travis out.

His response to the situation was that he took the proffered mug of beer, lifted it up, gave the two cops at the far table a grin, and, bringing the mug out to where to hovered over floor rather than bar, turned the glass over and let the beer pour out on the floor. It wasn’t that gaspy of an event in normal circumstances. Ron’s Place was a real pigsty. A lot of beer had gotten sloshed onto the floor. But these were two cops confident in themselves to be sitting at table in a gay bar, making a pass at another, young guy.

Nelson gasped, and the two cops, already mean looking, took on expressions of surprise and outrage. “Fuck. Now, you’ve done it,” his hissed. “Those are cops—fuckin’ cops, Travis. We can’t stay in here. Let’s get out of here.”

“You need to back off, Nelson. I don’t want you to get involved in this. And I didn’t ask you to follow me here. The instructions are to piss guys here off, not to flirt with them. Pretend we don’t know each other. Stick it out on your stool and show interest in someone else.”

With that, Travis came off his stool. He looked meaningfully over to a table in the corner, where the two hunkiest senior fraternity brothers who had been sent to observe and verify were seated. He gave them a nod and then he slowly stretched as if he didn’t have a care in the world, turned, very obviously flipped the bird to the two cops who now were standing up from their table, and slowly walked out of roadhouse, climbed into a car, and drove out of the parking lot.

The two cops stomped out of the roadhouse as well.

“Fuck,” Nelson, who had turned to a middle-aged guy beside him who had been trying to strike up a conversation, muttered. The two fraternity guys at the corner table, having seen enough to fulfill the hazing challenge, rose from their table and left the bar.

“That’s what I had in mind,” the man said, with a smile. “Fuck,” he said, in case Nelson hadn’t got the reference. “How much will it take for you to come out to my car and hump me?”

Nelson gave the man a shocked look and just rolled off the stool and headed for the exit. Before he could get there, two beefy leathermen jumped up from a table near the door and intercepted him.

“Listen, guys, I’m not looking for trouble. Just let me leave,” Nelson said.

“Were you with that good-looker with the frosted hair,” one of the leathermen said.

“Yeah, and I need to get to him now.”

“Was that a guy named Travis Taylor?”

Nelson stopped and turned around. “Yes . . . how did you know? Say, were you . . . ?”

“A guy named Craig hired us to take Taylor on a ride—some sort of fraternity test, we were told. We were supposed to pick him up here, but he left quick.”

“Let me get this straight. You were supposed to pick him up here and fuck him?”

“Hell, no, not fuck him. We were told just to play with him and make him think we were going to do that and take him back to the Sigma Nu fraternity up at the university and leave him on the lawn naked. We weren’t supposed to fuck him. But he’s a real cutie. You telling me he’s really gay and maybe—?”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Nelson exclaimed, pushing beyond the two leathermen and exploding out of the roadhouse entrance and into the parking lot. He saw the blue light and siren go on in the departing police cruiser as he ran for his car.

* * * *

Travis took off in a top-down 2018 black Fiat 124 Spider sports car, going something like fifteen miles over the speed limit east on West Poplar Street, intending to turn left on North Garland Avenue after taking a slight jag on Janice Avenue. North Garland would take him straight south into the University of Arkansas campus. The cops behind him had other ideas. They turned on the blue lights and siren of their police cruiser, came around him before he could turn south on North Garland, and forced him across the Janice-North Garland intersection and further down Janice, where the houses had stopped and they now were between two farm fields, each separated from the road by a ditch and a line of trees.

Travis pulled the convertible over to the side; the cruiser pulled up behind him, training a spotlight on him; and the two cops he’d flipped off at Ron’s Place popped out of each side of the cop car. The one exiting the cruiser on the road side strode up to the driver’s door of the Fiat, Billy club in hand, and the other cop came out with his pistol out his holster and walked up to the back of the convertible.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Travis asked sweetly, assuming they were into roleplaying in the fraternity hazing test. He knew he’d sped away from Ron’s Place, so he knew that at least that could be a problem in an actual traffic stop.

“Damn right there’s a problem. There’s a problem, isn’t there, Larry?” the cop called back to his partner, who was approaching on the passenger side of the vehicles.

“There sure is, Pete,” came back the answer.

“Was I going too fast? It’s late at night. Nobody’s around.” He looked around for the first time to realize that, in fact, he’d driven onto what was a rural road. No one was on this stretch of the road or was likely to drive down here at this time of night unless they lived in one of the farmhouses further down the road—if there were, indeed, any houses further down this road.

“Worse than that. You’ve got a taillight out,” Pete said.

“There’s nothing wrong with the—” Travis cut that off as he heard the tinkle of the plastic when Officer Larry punched out the right-rear taillight cover of the Fiat.

“Hey, this is a borrowed car. Go easy on it. You’re going to charge me with—?”

“I’m charging you with pissing us off. You want to step out of the car, son?” Pete said.

“Really, if you’ll just tell me what the real problem is,” Travis said, not so sure of himself now.

“You resisting authority, boy? I think he’s resisting authority, Larry.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me,” the other cop answered.

“Your chest camera working now, Larry?”

“Naw, the piece of shit keeps shorting out. And yours?”

“Mine’s stop working too. Fancy that,” Pete, the lead cop, reported.

Travis understood the implication of that and began to sweat. “No really, I’ll—”

Pete smashed his nightstick against the driver’s door, creating a nasty dent and scratching the paint. “I said fucking get out of the car, boy.”

Travis got out of the car. “Do you want my license and the car registration?”

“What I want is for you to come around to the trunk, bend over it, with your arms spread and your hands on the trunk, and spread it. What I want is for you to assume the position and take it. You’re such a smart-ass faggot that I know you’ve done this before. What I don’t want is any smart-ass crap from you.”

Travis was out of the car, but he wasn’t moving. Pete lashed out with a fist that clipped the young man’s cheek. But it didn’t have a lot of force behind it and it more shocked Travis than hurt him. The follow up of a fist to the stomach gave more pain and had Travis double up and drop to the pavement. Pete reached down, ran his fingers into Travis’s long hair that had come out of its ponytail band, and pulled him, groaning, back up onto his feet.

“I said go around to the trunk of this fancy little car of yours and assume the position.”

Quaking, Travis was dragged around to the back of the Fiat by the hair by Pete, while Larry appeared on that side of the vehicles and nudged him along with his nightstick. The young man leaned over the trunk of the car, spreading his arms wide and pressing his palms into the metal surface. Pete rapped his nightstick against the inside of one of his calves, with a “Spread ’em, sweet cheeks,” and, trembling, Travis widened his leg spread.

“Think he might have a weapon on him, Larry?” Pete asked.

“I don’t have—” Travis started to say.

“Shut the fuck up, faggot,” Pete growled. “Whatya think, Larry?”

“He just might,” Larry agreed.

“So, I’ll stand ready and you frisk him.”

Larry stepped up behind Travis and ran his hands intimately all over the young man’s body. “Well, whatya know,” Larry muttered. “He’s hard.”

The two cops laughed. “Ya think he wants us, Larry? Think he knows we’re both hung muvahs?”

“Yeah, I think he does,” Larry answered. Travis moaned. The fact was that he did want it. This was exactly a scenario he’d dreamed about.

The young man panted and moaned as Larry, standing close behind him, reached around, unbuckled and unzipped him, and pulled Travis’s jeans and briefs down to his knees. Larry was all roving hands then, moving them all over the young man’s body until they focused in on his cock and balls. Larry grasped and rhythmically squeezed Travis’s balls with his left hand, while he stroked the young man’s cock off with the other. Pete was standing close in too, muttering dirty words, and rubbing his nightstick over Travis’s thighs and buttocks.

“If he wasn’t a faggot wanting it, he wouldn’t get hard like that, would he, Larry?” Pete asked.

“No, I don’t think he would,” Larry agreed.

“So, he wants to be fucked.”

“Yeah, I think he does.”

With a groan and a sigh, Travis came for them, splashing cum on the rear bumper of the car. Within seconds, he was crying out, screaming at the night in surprise and pain. Pete had greased up the nightstick, exchanged positions with Larry, and was working Travis’s hole with the end of the club. The young man’s chest collapsed onto the trunk of the car, and Larry grasped the back of the young man’s neck, holding his cheek pressed to the metal.

Pete managed to get the head of the stick into Travis’s ass—Travis wasn’t exactly a virgin to taking a man’s cock up his ass—and Travis lay there, whimpering, as Pete fucked him with the stick, gaining an inch and then another as he worked the shaft. The nightstick was a good eight inches and most of it managed to get inside Travis as it worked his ass.

After a while, Travis heard the unbuckling and unzipping—of both men—and the snap of a condom being sheathed. Then the nightstick came out to be replaced with Pete’s thick cock. Pete’s beefy hands held Travis’s hips in place and Larry continued pressing down on the young man’s neck. He brought his own face down to the surface of the trunk to where he could look directly into Travis’s face and catch the expressions of the young man being fucked.

After Pete has tensed, shot, tensed, and shot again, the two exchanged positions and Larry fucked Travis with a cock that wasn’t as thick as Pete’s, but was longer and plowed deeper.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Pete commanded as Larry withdrew and the two cops moved off to lean on the hood of the police cruiser, have a smoke, and share laughs.

Trembling, but more satisfied than either of the cops could know, Travis remained, collapsed, on the trunk of the fiat, panting, moaning low, and doing an all-point mental check on his condition. So far, so good. And cocking had been good. And, oh how exotic and erotic that nightstick play had been—thick, hard, demanding, mastering.

As they were returning to Travis from their smoking break, Pete and Larry weren’t shy about discussing their ongoing plans within his hearing.

“I think he wants us to share him now,” said Pete.

“Yeah, I’m sure I heard him begging for that,” answered Larry.

Travis whimpered a “Please, please,” and the two cops laughed. They both had their dicks out and were stroking them as they approached Travis from two sides. There was no escape for the young man. Chances were good they misinterpreted his meaning, though, assuming he was begging for mercy they wouldn’t give him when, in fact, the prospect of being doubled by these two big brutes excited Travis. This was just the rough-fuck experience he craved.

Pete pulled Travis up off the trunk of the Fiat far enough for Larry to maneuver under him, back to metal. Travis panted and moaned as Pete held him over Larry and Larry worked in getting his cockhead in position and penetrating Travis’s channel. Then Larry clutched Travis’s waist between his hands, holding Travis in position, while Pete saddled up behind the young man, mounted him, and penetrated. Travis groaned, dug his knees into the metal of the car trunk on either side of Larry’s hips, and gave little yipping noises as Larry held steady with his cock buried up in Travis’s passage and Pete, one hand cupping Travis’s chin to pull the young man’s head back into his chest and the other palming Travis’s belly, provided the thrusting power to a three-way ejaculation.

If Travis coming as well as the two men gave them a clue that, on some level, this was arousing to Travis too and he was able to get off on it, it didn’t come up in conversation.

When they were done, Pete pulled Travis off Larry, carried him—Travis limp as a ragdoll—over to the side of the road, and rolled him into the ditch.

After a little bit of “and that does him, the pissy little faggot” repartee, the two cops readjusted their clothing, climbed into the police cruiser, and turned off the blue light and the spotlight. The cruiser backed quickly toward the intersection with North Garland Avenue, was pointed south toward the university area, and all that was left by the Fiat 124 Spider convertible were the sounds of crickets and low moaning from the ditch at the side of the road.

* * * *

“Travis, are you here? Where are you?” Shit. Did those cops take him with them?—if they were really cops. Nelson was wondering that—whether they were real cops—as he stumbled up to the Fiat in now what was nearly total darkness. He’d seen a little bit of what they’d done. Would real cops do that to a guy? He switched on a flashlight and turned toward the ditch next to the car when he heard what might be a moan.

“Here. I’m here,” Travis answered, pulling himself up to the edge of the road. “Fuck, wasn’t that something?” he declared as Nelson went to him and handed him the pair of jeans and the briefs he’d found on the ground behind the Fiat, not failing to notice the busted taillight.

“Are you OK? Did they really fuck you? I couldn’t clearly see what was going on from where I was hiding—but it looked and sounded like—”

“Yes, they really fucked me. And what a ride it was. Got to have me more cops,” Travis answered as he gingerly pulled on his briefs and jeans. “Shit, I didn’t know you could do that with a nightstick.”

“I’m not so sure those were real cops,” Nelson said. “I was hiding back there beyond their car and I got a good look at it. I don’t think it was a real cop car—not even an unmarked one. It was just an old Chrysler and the blue light was a portable one, like volunteer firemen have.”

“No, I don’t think they were really cops either. They didn’t ask me for my license or the car registration. They just got down to business—rough business. They just were reacting to me pissing them off at the bar.”

“I’m sorry that you—”

“No, it was great, really. And I can understand they wouldn’t be real cops—just some guys Craig got to act like cops for the hazing.”

“Those weren’t the guys Craig got for the hazing,” Nelson said.

“What do you mean?”

“The guys Craig set up were left behind at Ron’s Place when you were chased out by the guys dressed at cops. These guys were someone else—someone you really pissed off back at the roadhouse.”

Travis laughed.

“And look what they did to your car,” Nelson said. “The taillight was done here. I heard it bust. And is the gouge on the driver’s door new. Did they do that to your nice car?”

“No, they didn’t do this to my car.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This isn’t my car. This is Craig’s car. His dad just bought it for him. I say it serves him right for setting up fraternity hazing like this.”

“Craig let you borrow his car his dad just gave him?”

“Not exactly. The keys were in the ignition. I don’t have a car. It was Craig’s scene, so I decided he could provide the transportation. He needs to learn not to leave the key in the ignition.”

“You are one messed up dude, Travis.”

“Thank you. You don’t happen to own a nightstick, do you?”

“Shit, Travis. I guess you know you are in a heap of trouble. You sorry you did this?”

“Not sorry at all, no. And I don’t give a shit. I got great sex, and Arkansas needn’t be my last university stop. My old man wanted me to come here from Miami because the scholarship was the best. I’d rather be at Ole Miss, anyway. And, yes, it was worth it. Those two bastards gave great fuck.”

Incredible. My dad and I have been going at this for a very long time. Nearly eleven years, if my calculations serve me correctly…and with no foreseeable plans of ever slowing down. This being unapologetically fucking like straight horn dogs in this great thing we call our love affair. And when I say my dad, I’m not using a euphemism. I very well mean my dad, my father, my old man. Of course, when most people first hear this, they want to tongue-and-cheek my words. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. Because regardless of how well and fit my dad looks from years of amateur bodybuilding there is no way to easily overlook our twenty-five-year age difference. But what annoys me most is that instead of looking and listening–being that I am the spit image of my dear papa with nearly the same hard-line baritone–is that so many people want to trail off into fantasy land and deep-down role-playing alley where everyone wants to scrub away the obvious, that he and I are truly blood. So let me once again dissolve any doubt: Colt and Robert are father and son. I came from his very brew. I was one of tens of millions of sperm in the semen he blew into my mother’s womb. No, he wasn’t an absentee father. We didn’t reunite later in life and found out we were related after we hooked up. He didn’t groom me to do or be anything other than the outstanding man I am today. No devious intents, no lascivious lures people often concluded getting the sense of our lustful bond. He tried his darnedest to keep his need for dick as far away from the family as he could. He did such a great job of this I swore the bastard was homophobic. That he would’ve thrown me out of his house if he ever found out about the harem of piccolo players I’ve collected around the neighborhoods to service my hefty nine inches. I was constantly horny from pumping iron. Like Dad, I had an incredibly nice body to show for it and a ton of cocksuckers into short guys with real beefy muscles. Moreover, I didn’t want to disappoint my dad further by slipping and getting some girl knocked up derailing my future.

As I later learned, Dad wasn’t so much ashamed of being gay as he was reconciling the polar face-off that was his life. There were discernable shards of guilt he carried from his natural machismo that directly went against his constant need of tooting up his rear in need of a thorough plough. In short, my father is a power bottom.

Fortunately, I wouldn’t have come to learn any of this if it wasn’t for me slipping up. Dad caught me one night after work with a face full of divine ass getting ready to give his little stepbrother the ride of his life for his twenty-second birthday. Dad saw everything, from the first vigorous pump to the last without opening his mouth. My cock had just spit its first batch of icing onto those cakes, slowly coming back to my senses when I looked over and saw the horror on my dad’s face. If it is true orgasm is another word for little death, then I experienced a few of them in that moment looking over at Dad. Even with ribbons still shooting from my cock, he marched towards me with muffled words erupting from his throat as my life flashed before my eyes. I came back to a little with Dad’s younger stepbrother rounding up his clothes and fleeing in embarrassment, apologizing. I came to even more with Dad bawling, begging me to give girls a chance. That life would be easier on me going down the straight and narrow rather than getting my needs met in dark holes. More than anything I wanted to stop the tears streaming down his face. I started shouting, but I ended up grabbing his face and kissing him. Strangely, he kissed back. We went back and forth, stop and started, before my hand slipped to feel his exposed cock. In hindsight, it was always exposed; slick from the leakage it stirred watching me fuck another guy. We got lost in our passion, forgetting our other bond. Soon, I had his clothes off, his slightly haired torso over the side of the bed. And with the help of some lube, I pushed in, urging him to push out without need. And in a deep quivering sigh, with me deep in his channel, I sated the very need he’d been searching for his entire life.

Before then, I thought cracking open a virgin was the best thing ever, of making some snake charmer whimper in spades over my dick. Of course, after a lifetime of making his hole available for every creamstick that came along, Dad was far from the tightest hole I ever rode. That said, he learned how to welcome a guy in and had me to shoot the most powerful double hitter I can remember.

Although I was ecstatic about having a new hole inside the house to ride, the stranglehold of guilt imploded on my dad the second he was forced to expel the seed of his seed out of his well-used hole. He didn’t threaten to throw me or his stepbrother out, but he definitely encouraged us to look for other places to live if we insist on carrying on like we had. Citing he couldn’t participate in our abomination, as if he was never apart of it.

For a while, I took my old man at his word, looking for rooms around town. When I got ready to move, he circled back around making sure I didn’t forget about his gorgeous ass. We played this cat and mouse game for an entire year before he finally gave in.

Even before my parent’s divorce was finalized, it’s been me and him. As we moved about from place to place deciding if we wanted to live as father and son with our love affair in the closet or like lovers who were secretly father and son. About six years ago, we concluded we didn’t give a shit, and after I lease was up on our last place we bought a home together, striking the unique balance of being both father and son and lovers.

As father and son, he was and will always be my head, the man that took care of me when I was unable to do for myself. As my partner, it definitely splits like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When he’s not fitted on my dick, he can be the hard ass he was bred to be. When he is riding my cock, he can submissively fall in line like the bastard I’ve come to love and thoroughly enjoy fucking.

I might’ve forgotten this uncomplicated truth when I started getting my gym ready. I had spent years working as a personal trainer to save up enough money to open up my own state-of-the-art facility. The humble thing for me to say is that it is my nature to want to help others to be their best versions. Much like getting into the sport of muscle and fitness, I had my selfish reasons: I wanted access to the best gym equipment along with a place to house it without shouldering the entire financial burden alone. I didn’t mind sharing. And in my willingness to share with others, I was even able to install a boxing ring and an Olympic-sized pool.

I thought Dad would’ve jumped at the chance of joining me in this venture being this was his expertise. But sadly, he politely declined. He said growing up in a gym, he hated every minute of it with his old man telling him what to do at all times: Go clean this. Go get this. Strangely, his most abhorrent memories are some of my fondest, watching Grandpa Dolph spot him lifting those massive plates on a single bar. One more push, Colt! It wasn’t long before he and grandpa were spitting mad and cussing trying to outdo one another about who actually succeeded in the task. It was because of that aggressiveness I was able to secure my harem. So, I left him be with his regular job and handful of side hustles when the opportunity presented itself, agreeing to carve out some time for him on the weekends.

Of course, when starting a new business, it is easier said than done. Couple that with the occasional jerk off sessions I gifted myself throughout the day to keep my head in the game on far more important matters.

Even after I finished getting the gym ready months ahead of schedule, I had to hire employees and get things ready for the grand opening. After getting those things together, I got jammed putting together a launch party. My original goal was to open New Year’s Day, a symbolic gesture of a new and most profitable beginning. It was then brought to my attention it would be best if I gave myself a little more time to work out any kinks in the system. I thought opening an extra month ahead of schedule would suffice. I was then told it would be best for me to start running my commercials then and open up an additional month ahead of that.

Life would’ve been copasetic if the Monday I was to officially open the gym didn’t come after Sunday November 1st, the day after Halloween, the Saturday Dad and I agreed to throw our party. It didn’t make much sense to invite people over for the costume party on Saturday and then turn around and invite them to another party on Sunday, though I could’ve hid it under the guise of a game day football party. While our guest list was slowly coming off life support due to the revelation of our relationships, I wasn’t going to strain it even further by stressing the few people we had left in our lives to attend both functions. So, while it was nothing groundbreaking to combine the events, it was sort of ingenious to have my gym sponsor our Halloween party two days before its grand opening.

Two weeks leading up to the party, I had second doubts. My original plan sounded better, to christen the opening with the party the day before or to change the party venue to the gym, giving tours of the place in between. Dad reassured me the current plan was the best. “Son, do you really want some tipsy people playing around with your gym equipment?” Sounded reasonable, right? Dad further convinced me he was so in love with the idea of combining both parties that he even extended the intended budget. Soon his lie and support unraveled right before my very eyes.

After promising me forever he was going to handle the party end of things while I put in the finishing touches at the gym, my old man disappointed me at every turn. He told me he was going to pick up the specialized items with my new gym’s name and logo forcing me to do it two days before. And rather than him apologizing for cramming my schedule even more he started riding me about all the things I needed to get done for the party. That wouldn’t have been such a problem if we didn’t sort this thing out a million times over weeks earlier, even going through countless drills over the summer to see if we overlooked anything in particular.

The party felt like a complete rush job the day before. I looked over every detail again and again, which surprisingly took fourteen hours. And just in the knick of time, I managed to stop by the big box store to pick up the bulk of the essentials.

Once the day arrived, I felt great. I got more done before noon than I planned on, leaving me more time to relax and unwind since my “free” Sunday was scheduled to go out to the farm to pick out some delectable knickknacks with Dad along with a few other romantic errands.

A decent nap and a nice romp before the party should’ve been the only things left to do. Apparently, it was not. After going through the motion of interviewing a housekeeper to clean up before and after the party the week before, even going so far as to leave Dad the funds the week of to pay and tip the lady generously, Dad decided at the very last minute he didn’t feel comfortable having a stranger in the house while neither of us was around. That meant no nap for me. I had to now run around and tidy up, and after tidying up set up the decoration he swore he would set up since this party was his thing. In spite of my frustrations, I still held out hope for a little catnap. No sooner than I could taste it, Dear Old Dad thought it was time to have a little meltdown worrying about the things we’d already taken care of, from the endless liquor and liqueurs to the bountiful platter of wings and cheeses; chips and dips; and other finger foods.

I thought the bastard had given up fighting me on everything when I discovered he had one more round left in him: He demanded to see me in my costume. “C’mon, Robert!”

“No!” I barked.

By then, I was just angry at my dad. He did nothing towards this party other than get on my nerves even though it was his brilliant idea and I was covering the bulk of the expenses. I had set aside money to have someone else take the load of cleaning up so I didn’t have to, giving him time to decorate and here I was doing both! If he didn’t want to have the party, I could’ve done my own thing. If he didn’t want to decorate, I could’ve gotten one of my employees to do it, or help. Then, to top off my aggravation, I had to run around the night before and the day of to get some stuff for the party.

“You have to check to make sure nothing is wrong with it.”

I cut my eyes at him.

If the man wasn’t both my lover and elder I probably would’ve let Colt have it. Then there was a part of me that knew deep down I could never. But there was also a part of me that knew I would soon enough, too.

I wasn’t being contrary. I’d checked my costume several times over since I got it, hence the handful of jerk off sessions I had back at the gym. There was nothing to check with my costume because there wasn’t much to it. I’d always enjoyed showing off my prime physique, and this Halloween soiree was no exception.

“You know what. I think I’m going to crash.” I finished my thought in a firm, deep tone.

Dad wanted to start not getting the hint, so I put a stop to him before he started up.

“Like I said, old man, I’m going to lay down for a few minutes undisturbed before I’m totally out of commission tonight, tomorrow, and the day after that. And everything you need to do or whatever idea is roaming around your head you’re free to do it without me!”

Of course, Dad was still rambling, but he was doing so to my backside as I headed off to our bedroom to follow through on my threat. Making sure I locked the door behind me.

I fell into our bed and for an entire ten minutes slept soundly before I was woke up with thoughts swirling in my head. Was I being a bastard? No! Why was he being such an asshole?

I was about to let my mind rest to follow through on another round of sleep when it hit me. Dad wasn’t just an asshole. Dad just needed his asshole tended to.

It had been more than two weeks since the last time I fucked Dad.

If we went more than three days without doing anything it was a cardinal sin. To go without for as long as we had was an absolute tragedy. Well, that explains a lot!

I started to feel guilty. My hand served as a nice substitute for some ass and throat in a bind, especially after I caught a glimpse of my immaculate pecs and abs in the crosshairs of my massive arms and legs in my costume. But his fingers were no substitute for my long thick cock pumping him into bliss.

 

I shouldn’t have called him ‘old man.’ Dad was a sensitive being on the heels of sixty in a couple of years much like I was to being thirty a few years back.

Nevertheless, I was still too drained from the week to do anything, even with my cock tormenting me for a quickie for a good rest. I rolled onto my side and drifted off to the fantasies of all the freakish things I would do to him once I got up from my nap.

When I went to unlock the door after my nap, I was surprised to find Dad on the other side of it coming my way. I startled him. He looked like he wanted to say something but quietly brushed right passed me through the bedroom onto the master bathroom.

“Got to go?” I trolled Dad.

This was his way of silently confronting me and he knew I knew he knew it. We had another bathroom and a half in the house. He just so happened to need to use that one? So obvious you need dick!

I looked for him to slip up and respond. He didn’t. He didn’t even let out an annoyed grunt to let me know he was very mad or quite horny. I egged him on and told him he had a great future behind him in those sweats and I looked forward to seeing it up close and personal on the elliptical every morning at the gym. Though he said nothing, I felt his smile burn through the back of his salt-and-pepper dome.

“What? You’re not going to say anything to me about my costume, old man?”

I was fully dressed in it, looking great by the way, and nothing? As I announced to him earlier there wasn’t anything to check because there wasn’t really anything to it other than to show up decent for the public in my birthday suit. I toyed with a variety of things that were going to show off my muscles and vicariously promote my gym at the same time, but I finally settled on going as a Spartan.

Absent of its rich red flowing cloak, the bulk of my costume rested with the greaves atop the sandals since I could pick up and put down my metal shield, helmet, and spear, and still make my intent as a warrior known. Of course, the bracers and the pteryges were a given as well, though, if I wanted to, to show more of my commanding thighs, I could strip the latter down to a pair of dark brown leather briefs.

“Nothing?” I asked stationed in the doorway of our master bathroom.

“Stepping into the shower, Dad gave me a nice glimpse of his meaty calves and chiseled cheeky derriere. He didn’t even turn to look my way. Though, he gave up his stronghold by biting his lips and quick glance back at the mirror gave him away. Dad had always been an utter whore for my tight frame and handsome face, claiming I had all the right stuff looking like him, only as a top.

I considered hopping in the shower behind him but held off on that notion. That was exactly what he wanted, and me, too. But because he was being such an ass today, I wanted him to pout a bit more since it had been such a long time since I delivered him his daily dose of strong cock.

I swiped a bottle of lube from the dresser and made my way through the rest of the house to check up on things, knowing I had plenty of time to kill before I made my move. Dad was a fan of steamy hot showers, and we lucked up on the only house in the world to sate that need three times over. He was coming to me, I decided; squeaky clean, I might add.

That he did in nearly a fraction of his usual time and me threatening to hand him the water bill when it came. He came out with a towel around his hard waist. Playing unfair, I see. He knew I was a tit-sucker for his big nipples and wide hairy torso, another delectable jack off sure to get me over the hump every time.

“No time to put on any clothes, eh?” I commented standing next to the spread.

He flashed a smile before jerking his head, reminded he was still mad at me for it being such a long time. Dad got exactly what he came for: my undivided attention. Before he could snatch it away like some golden prize, I reached for a napkin off the table and dabbed his back of a fain rivulet still tricking from his broad neck.

“You missed a spot.” I whispered sweetly, running my arm under his to show him the wet stain on the printed paper just to let him know I was the true master of this game.

The gesture spun me back into the past. Back when Dad finally gave into this, into us.

Back then, Dad and I had been going hot and heavy for about eight months on and off with the occasional icy chill of guilt that washed over him. Just when I thought I had finally gotten through to him, that we could make something much more out of our incessant fucking, Dad reverted to one of his cold spells. Usually, I would wait around for the frost to thaw, but after a couple of weeks, I said fuck it and started training clients by day and pumping eager cocksuckers by night, sometimes two by two. I was done with this little cat and mouse game of ours since I got over the incestuous hang up three fucks in, why couldn’t he? I coped the best way I knew how. I had just about completely let go of Dad and I having anything special. And when I finally moved out of the house, I had just about given up on Dad and I having anything at all, even being father and son. Because the best my wallet could afford was a room on the other side of town, I left the bulk of my stuff at home occasionally having to stop by to pick up one item or another I needed.

One day, I had to pick up something. I lined it up to where I knew Mom was going to be at home and Dad was going to be out. As parents do, they worked it out so the reverse could happen since Mom hadn’t a clue as to the cause of our latest quarrel and wanted us to work it out. Dad tried to be polite. I was annoyed more than anything. He tried to talk to me like we had fallen out over something so trivial, like differences over our favorite sports team or something. Even more, he tried to talk to me like we hadn’t fucked like dogs in heat over the past few months, as if that wasn’t the crux of our hang up and the emotions behind it.

Dad tried to tell me how wrong it was for us to be together like that. I didn’t fight him like I wanted to, but I didn’t agree. I let him have his opinion since he had every right to it. Then he turned around and put a move on me telling me it felt so right, though. I think he thought I was just going to give in because hard cocks think of nothing more than busting loads. That he was going to get his sweet ass pumped once more, either to cure his addiction or put a period at the end of this chapter on us. Same difference.

I wasn’t going to give my old man the satisfaction. It was one thing to be used by a cocksucker, that was mutually beneficial, but not if the cocksucker was my dad. That was a different draw, an emotional one established from the very start. I started to walk away. He grabbed my arm. I pulled away. He snatched it even harder. I snatched away even more. He pulled me in, angry and in lust. I wanted him to draw me in for a kiss, but he was obviously too chicken to do that or to admit that he loved me in a different way other than father and son. We continued this dance before awhile before our passions ignited and we were on the ground wrestling. Neither of us could really bring ourselves to truly hit the other. Yet, there was an aggression there that needed to be handled, a release that needed to come about.

I got on top of Dad. Just because he was chicken, didn’t mean I was. I pinned his arms to next to his head and kissed him. Thought he resisted readily trying to fight me or go for my strained cock, he gave in. Once he did, I was in his arms like I’d so desperately wanted to be the night I left and so many nights thereafter. We petted heavily, starting to sweat in clothes. We were soon out of our shirts and everything else. I remember intimately his thick digits busying themselves at my crotch, trying to work my fly down. My helping him along shucking off my pants and helping him out of his before the two of us were grinding our erections together and me lifting to lodge my cock down his throat.

I thought I had Dad. Fucking his mouth while clutching the nape of his neck, but he proved even with me appearing to have the lead, that he was the one in control with his most powerful suction. I should’ve known better than to go up against a professional cocksucker like my dad, but I truly savored every moment and enjoyed unloading in him while he devoured every drop.

Thank goodness for an awesome recovery time! While he was happily drunk off my hard cock cider, I rolled him over and had at his ass. Eating it and then beating it with his chute open the bury myself deep in it, arching his back and spreading his legs wide like the whore I would come to enjoy fucking repeatedly. He eagerly accepted everything I gave him and just when I thought I was done pounding his ass into oblivion, he then gyrated back.

By the time I lost my second load into him, Mom pulled up into the carport. We rushed to get ourselves together. Nervous about getting caught and looking at him look like he’d just finished working out, I foolishly grabbed some newspaper nearby trying to wipe some of the excess sweat off him. It did a halfway decent job of that except for every puddle of sweat it got rid of it left a smudge of ink behind.

A few days later, Dad showed up on my doorstep looking for a place to crash. He could no longer be with Mom when I gave him what he needed. He left her the house in the divorce, and we got an apartment together bouncing around for a few years. Then we got this place. Able to start a new life after accepting we could no longer run away from the old one.

“I know it’s been a while since I gave you what you needed, Dad.” I offered after pushing aside my pteryges and my briefs to let my hardened cock breathe on his towel-covered ass. “Let me give you what we’ve both been yearning for.”

I reached underneath him and pulled at the knot holding his towel at his waist letting it fall to the ground.

“No.” Dad protested playfully, reaching down for it with his ass in perfect aim. “We got the party to think about. So many things to do before–

My breath kissed his ear. I then reached for his face and pulled it towards me. My intent was to go for an innocent smooch to persuade him. It had been so long since we shared a pure unadulterated caress that it grew into a long lingering smack that had us biting each other afraid to let go. And once we did, it left us completely speechless. How dare I forget the taste of such sweet lips? Such a sweet pair I laid next to every night?

My hand was on the small of his back when I uttered, “It’s your duty to remind me what I got next to me. You can’t let me get so wrapped up I forget that nothing is more important than us.”

Dad kissed me again, this time quite gingerly. “That’s my goal…after this part is over with.”

Dad pulled away. I pulled him back in, tut-tutting. “My first mistake was putting off ‘til later what could’ve been worked out right now!”

I slobbered him. Dad didn’t pull away, knowing he always got quite aroused when our mouths were covered in the other’s spit.

“You make a very convincing argument, Rob. But we’ll have to wait a few more hours before we can really get into it.”

“I know.” I let him pull away. He took the bait. I spun him around and pushed him against the table. “I plan on doing that, too.”

“But–

I spun Dad around towards the spread. “You know goddamn well you don’t give a fuck about this party.” I reached for the lube I sat nearby and slathered my exposed cock with it. Dad froze, gripping the table underneath him in anticipation. Our routine was nothing new in this regard. He knew I was going to smear some across his pucker. When and how was the question, thumping my greased dick into his crack, I said, “If everybody showed up right now you wouldn’t give a shit. Either you’d leave them all at the door or let them come through and watch while you’re getting reamed out. You know why, Dad?”

“Why, son,” I felt his hole palpate just underneath my cock.

I curved my cock just over his hole. The way he pushed out left me little choice but to go ahead and shove the tip on in. “’cause this right here, this is the most important thing.”

He cooed, arching his back while his muscles danced inviting me deeper into him.

“Hard ass whore!” I snarled after I drove in the final inch a few moments later.

Balls against balls, I rocked my cock in his channel pushing the limits of the lube by pushing deeper in and pulling back out to where I kept the head stuck. I pushed in again. He let out a baritone yelp. I was nowhere near satisfied with it. Dad was holding back. And I didn’t like it when he held back. Neither did he, but I understood. It had been a while since he was allowed to let go, let loose and fight for this cock with his ass. He knew what he was for cock and I knew how to bring it out of him just so.

I pulled back again, holding steady mid shaft before I slammed back in, ramming it for good measure knocking down his walls. I did this a couple of more times listening to him strangle against his screams. “Oh fuck! Fuck!”

I was jackhammering his hole in no time, just like he liked, like real men fuck. Just like he said when he was first turned out by cock in the sauna of grandpa’s gym. Dad gasped and groaned on my cock and at the fear that our fucking, the way he was pushing and pulling the table to keep steady was going to send the spread flying onto the floor on the other side.

I didn’t give a fuck.

“Bring your ass back into it.” I growled.

Even though my wording was off, he knew what I meant. His walls came back on my cock and his ass muscles started clamping down on my cock real good.

“Hungry ass, motherfucker!”

I grabbed him firmly by his waist and walked him over to the couch in the den.

“Since you’re so damn worried!” I ejected him off my cock and tossed him forward, watching him belly flop onto the couch.

In no time, I was back on top of him sating his lust, palming his back to keep steady as I grinded his steely buns in a rhythm that drove him absolutely crazy.

“There you go. This ass is my ass….” I began to croon nastily in his ear, teasingly.

The harder I pounded the more he begged and pleaded. Each time saying my name and telling me how good it was to have me inside of him again.

“I know, papi. I know. I missed you, too!”

“Rob, Rob,” he kept murmuring in bliss. His words were no more soon after, just sounds erupting from his throat. Cries that came with every thrust.

His throat was left parched after awhile replaced by the deafening squish that came about from his steady pounding. Even though Dad was left without sound, his sphincter found it strength hungry massaging my cock begging for my load.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I screamed dumping my seed into his greedy ass.

Once I was spent, I collapsed onto his back, lying there with nothing left to give. Dad laughed at my defeat, feeling like a man that his ass could knock the sail out of my cock.

“Next time just remind me when you need some dick.” I conceded.

It had to be a Wednesday, because it’s my day off. I wouldn’t have paid any attention to the ad otherwise.

“Picking vegetables in a field an hour from downtown. Must be in fair physical condition with a desire to spread good will. Proceeds go to Mama’s Big Kitchen. Bring lunch and a comfortable pair of shoes. Bottled water furnished in abundance. The Mama’s Big Kitchen Singers will furnish the soundtrack for your all day excursion into feeding the masses, as well as feeding each other. We need all the hands we can get. Call Kara Payne.

Kara Payne could have plugged a hole in most offensive lines, should there be one for a two hundred and twenty pound woman with a remarkable smile that could melt the polar ice cap. She also had the most exquisite ebony skin I think I’ve ever seen. Even at over two hundred pounds, Kara was truly a lovely woman, but big.

I approached the converted school bus half asleep on the Wednesday morning of the picking. It was somewhere around dawn. I’d walked the mile from my place to wake up. If given the chance, I usually sleep until noon, but I don’t get that chance often.

Why I showed up in response to the ad, I can’t be sure. I’m not a do-gooder by nature. There was something about this request that appealed to me. It lacked the high pressure appeals you might catch on TV.

I know that there are hungry people in the world and even around Charleston. My mother reminded me of them every time I refused to eat my peas. If I watch television for a few hours, they show horrible pictures of starving children to get your guilt gland working, and then they tell you how you can feed the world. I turn those appeals off.

I knew Mama’s Big Kitchen was close to where I lived. I heard they did a lot of good during the current recession. The once a day evening meal had been stretched to breakfast, the late afternoon meal, and anyone who stopped in could get soup and a sandwich.

The ad stimulated my “I can do that” gland. I liked the sound of it. Fresh air, exercise, and do a little good at the same time. It did sound like an adventure.

Kara firmly shook my hand before she’d let me get on the bus. She gave me her biggest smile and thanked me for coming. How could anyone be that nice at six in the morning? It was obvious Kara loved her work.

Kara talked with some people that sat near her up front, after she sat in the driver’s seat and steered us onto the country road that would take us to the farm. There were probably three dozen of us. We half filled the bus and were spread out from front to back.

I watched Charleston’s final urban sprawl fade into a pleasant landscape of greenery after about five minutes of riding. By the time we got going good the sun began to climb, giving everything a radiant glow. It was going to be a nice day.

Once we turned onto the farm driveway, the bus stopped beside the house that you couldn’t see from the road. A man and two teenage boys ran from the kitchen door of the house and climbed on board, smiling and shaking Kara’s hand.

There were big smiles all around. The farmer told her which of the many splits behind the house she should take.

The bus moved slowly on the uneven dirt road, until it opened up with several fields divided into three sections. Each field had bushel baskets scattered in the rows at even intervals.

We sat on a small rise above where the picking was to be done but it was easy to see where we’d be working. We’d passed barns and silos behind the house but the fields were wide open and there wasn’t a structure to be seen.

The fields were exactly what I expected. Most of what was there looked sparse from where I sat on the bus. I’d have been more encouraged if the vegetables were hanging heavy in the field. Harvest was the month before and we got what was left and what had grown in the time since the harvest.

By the time we arrived beside the farmer’s field, people were acquainted and talking to each other. We all knew this was where we were about to go to work and the energy level had begun to rise. Having never been a picker before, I held back judgment for the moment.

So far I wasn’t impressed, but little impressed me. I’d been around long enough to know better than to get too excited about things I didn’t know anything about. It was far easier keeping to myself and reading books than running around all the time. I’d socialized more while in college, but all you had to do to socialize was go out your dorm room door. Where I lived, you were prudent when it came to picking friends.

Coming to a farm to joining others to pick food was an exciting change of pace. At the end of the day I was free to go back to my life and feel good about it.

I brought gloves, sensing some types of picking might require more care than others. I didn’t want to risk doing damage that might keep me from working efficiently at work the next day. In The Grapes of Wrath, picking was a grueling sunup to sunset labor. I didn’t imagine anything that intense, but being careful was good.

The farmer stood in front of us as and directed the proper number of people to the head of each of what was three separate fields. His short instructions were clear and concise. All we did was pick and fill the baskets. Everything else was the job of him and his sons.

“We have peppers over there, squash in this field, and several acres of tomato plants and spinach, and kale are growing back since harvest. Take your time. At the ends of each field we have cases of bottled water delivered courtesy of Fresh Water Inc. I had to say that.”

I ended up in squash. There hadn’t been a freeze and there was a lot more healthy ready-to-pick squash than I thought. It took a couple of hours for me to start closing in on the closest pickers to me. Even when we were still too far from each other to talk, I was happy for the company.

I paused to look around after filling another basket to the brim. People were closing in toward the center of the fields. There was singing. In the middle of it was Kara. I didn’t recognize the songs. The idea of singing had me smiling.

I watched the hands of people moving swiftly to pick the vegetables. There was a rhythm in their motion. Instead of bending to pick each item, they moved in a stooped position, picking a spot clean and sliding to the next spot.

When I looked, just across from me were two fellows a bit younger than me. With their backs to me I was able to follow their motions as they put squash in the basket between them. With their backs turned there was no opportunity to engage them in conversation, but I wanted to talk to someone.

They were still quite thin and spry and they worked with dexterity. Even though they were faster than I was, there was something odd about their movements. They two moved by keeping their knees bent. I tried it and figured you had to get accustomed to the awkward posture.

I decided to put my gloves in my pocket and see if I wasn’t faster without them. It did give me the feel of what I was picking. The texture of squash was distinctive to the touch. I could probably identify it in the market with my eyes closed. I picked a while longer before I stopped to watch my fellow pickers who were moving along with me, now that I used their technique.

I looked down the row and saw six bushel baskets of squash I’d filled. There was a lot of it and I suspected it had mostly grown since harvest. After filling another bushel basket, I stopped again to look at the two fellows who were directly across from me now. Their backs were still to me. I tried to think of something to say to get their attention. We weren’t here to socialize but a little conversation would help the time to pass as we picked.

I don’t know where my mind was, but I guess I stared for too long. Their ease of motion fascinated me. There was an adroitness that wasn’t in my motion, and their motion had a rhythm to it. As close as they were to each other, they didn’t bump or interfere with one another.

They talked quietly from time to time. It sounded like business.

“You missed one. Further out from where you’re picking.”

“If it had been a snake, I’d be snake bit,” was the reply.

I was sure they came together. They wore similar plaid shirts. They had similar colored slacks, but the brush and weeds didn’t give me much of a view below their waists. What I saw in their crouch was all back and their backsides, neither of which was very large. I felt my ass and knew I was beginning to put on a few pounds from when I was that svelte.

There was no doubt they came together and were good friends. They touched as they worked and they were comfortable touching. A lot of people were made uncomfortable when they touched each other, even in casual activities. These two weren’t like that, which didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was kind of nice to see.

It was one of those conclusions you jump to without thinking much about it. I was already writing their story before speaking a word to them. I did live in a world of literature, where everyone has a story. When you don’t know the story, you write one for them. It does sound foolish.

They were here doing the same thing I was doing and doing it like they’d done it before. The big difference was they came with someone and I came alone. There was nothing wrong with striking up a conversation. We were all doing the same thing, but I couldn’t seem to get them to turn around so we could see we were together in a fashion.

I did know they were doing something good for other people. Doing something for those who’d fallen on hard times was honorable. Even if they were in a constant state of need, I was sure that in the richest country in the world, no one should go hungry, and here we were making sure some didn’t. It was a good place to get to know someone.

The idea that families couldn’t feed their children was what pushed me past worrying about it and made me decide to do something to make a difference. Patting myself on the back for knowing instinctively that it was unpleasant to go hungry gave way to the knowledge I was doing something.

Seeing the two young men across from me made me annoyed with myself for not doing something sooner. It was while watching them that I was made aware that these two men, far younger than me, had given far more than I was capable of giving. As I watched, my understanding of what I’d seen in their motions was explained in full.

I could pick and I was picking, but I became determined to do more than even this. I wasn’t going to wait to see an ad. I planned to go to Mama’s Big Kitchen and volunteer to do what needed doing. I would get involved in making things better where I could. I’d quite waiting for it to suit me.

“Iraq!” the fellow with artificial arms said, as I planned my future.

Of course they were picking so close together and I hadn’t noticed the hooks at the end of his long sleeve shirt. His motion did look unusual, but I hadn’t figured out why until now, until he turned to face me, and it left me feeling odd.

I was looking right at him but only saw him after he spoke. I didn’t notice when he stood up and turned to face me. He may have spoken before I heard him speak. The words embarrassed me.

“Speak for yourself, Bryan. Afghanistan! That’s where the real war is. That’s where Bin Laden was when they hit us,” the guy with artificial legs said.

It is surprising how fast your assumptions and misconceptions can be blown away. Seeing the two men facing me, each was a double amputee. Each smiled without sounding the least bit bitter.

“I’m Bryan. This is Kelly. He thinks he fought in the only war we were ever in,” Bryan explained.

“Hi, I’m Jackie,” I said, feeling really self-conscious.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Kelly said. “I forget I have them. I can do almost everything I did before. I can stay bent at the knees all day and never feel it,” he said, chuckling at the image.

“These are my picking arms. I’ve got arms with real hands I use when I’m doing my regular work,” Bryan said. “I still like these for some things.”

“What do you do?” I asked, made curious by the comment.

“Cook! I’m a baker if you want to be technical. I have my own business. I mail order special desserts.”

“Oh,” I said, having nothing to say about that.

“These are my first prosthetics. I kept them because I knew they’d come in handy. I never guessed I’d be in a farmer’s field picking squash with them, but they make this work easy. I just need to be careful not to squeeze the sqash too hard or it’ll be squished squash for sure.”

“You’ve done this kind of work before? I like the idea of doing something to help out.”

“Yes, I do this a couple of times a year. I did what I could for my country when I went to war. Now I want to do what I can for the people who are having a hard time. No better way than to bake for Mama’s Kitchen and picking the food that feeds the people,” Bryan said.

“We’ll be eating these vegetables over Christmas,” Kelly said.

“I’ll bake up a storm too. Can’t help myself. Mama puts on quite a spread for the holidays. Once she tasted my baking, she let me do the desserts. That freed up part of her kitchen to do more cooking. She makes sure I have everything I need. Keeps me busy. She did more to make me feel whole again than any prosthetic could.”

“All the help gets to party late into the night after all the meals are served and everything is cleaned and ready for the next morning. Nothing like celebrating a job well done,” Kelly added.

“Sounds like family to me,” I said, not having any sense of the larger purpose for the picking until now. I’d been lucky enough to meet guys who knew all about it. Both Bryan and Kelly seemed like happy guys.

“I suppose we are like family,” Kelly said. “Most of us don’t get home for the holidays. When I began taking vets over to Mama’s, we added up to quite a few mouths to feed. She gave us our own section for “her” soldiers. She named it Battalion Headquarters and had a sign painted. The guys got a kick out of that. It made us feel welcome.”

I looked down the row at the bushel baskets of squash we’d filled. I was surprised at the number. Knowing some of it would be eaten at Christmas made me feel even better about my contribution.

“I saw the ad. I figured it was my day off and I wanted to…. I figured I could do this,” I said, humbled by what the two veterans had already given and amazed at their spirit.

When we got our lunches off the bus, we collected some bottled water from where it had been stacked at the end of some of the rows.

Kelly took the last bottle out of a box and he put it on the ground and using his prosthetic feet flattened it, reducing it to a small piece of trash. His shorts went to his knees and his legs were a gray alloy. It gave him the look of a Hollywood future man. It made him look powerful.

I wondered if a clever movie director might put out a casting call for Iraq and Afghan war vets to become the alloy army he sees in his futuristic apocalyptic feature. It wouldn’t require long makeup sessions to create a futuristic looking army.

When we moved back to where we’d left off picking, a tractor with a flatbed trailer hitched behind was parked in the row. All the full baskets of squash had been loaded.

Bryan and Kelly leaned up against the giant rear tractor tire. I leaned up against a stack of bushel baskets. It really was nice to relax after all the bending and reaching.

“I wonder if the baskets go back on the bus with us?” I asked, thinking it would be crowded if they did.

“Steven’s Trucking picks up the baskets at the end of the day. They take it all to the warehouse behind Mama’s. It’ll be used for meals in general and they’ll finish all this over the holidays. Mama is tireless,” Kelly said. “She’ll be beating the bushes for ham and turkeys once we get back,” Kelly said. “No one that comes to Mama’s will go hungry this year.”.

“I’ve learned a lot from Mama,” Bryan aid. “When I first got an apartment at the hospital, nurses came in to cook for me. I wasn’t used to these,” he said, lifting his arms. “Before long I was cooking up a storm. I’d have nurses over to try my meals and make suggestions.

“I wasn’t sure about how much seasoning to use. They’d say, ‘add a little more of this, a little less of that. I salted everything. What did I know. They all agreed, ‘less salt.’

“One nurse was the daughter of a baker. I bet you can’t tell where this story is going. I knew nothing about baking, but Morgan loved baked goods.

“She got recipes from her father. He was originally from Germany. I got strudel and coffee cakes. The people in his town had to be depressed when the baker went to America.”

“I bet. Both melt in your mouth,” Kelly said. “Only one way to know how good.”

“It was all kinds of good stuff to go with coffee. I do love my coffee. The holiday cookies will be served to the kids with their meals at Mama’s for Christmas.” “

“I do wicked butter and almond cookies. I love the smell of gingerbread sticks, but you can’t beat Christmas cookies with milk. That’s Kelly’s favorite.”

“Oh yes. I remember those,” Kelly said. “I got a lot of those with my meals, when I was still healing. After army chow for so long, everything he cooks is fine. I must admit the sweets are my favorite. I could have lived off your baking, even before you got good at it.”

“You two met at the hospital?” I asked. “I sensed something more intimate than friendship.”

“Roommates,” Bryan said. “They put Kelly in with me because I had recovered from my wounds and was mentally preparing myself for a new life. Kelly refused to talk to anyone. He was despondent over the mountain he had to climb. He saw no life without legs. They thought my upbeat approach might help him. He hated me.”

“You were hopeless,” Kelly said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He made me go to the cafeteria to eat in those days. They’d been bringing my food to me. He would fill my plate up and bring it back to me and I’d ignore it. Then he’d eat his food and begin picking at mine. Do you know how I hated that? You never gained an ounce either.”

“Yeah, well you weren’t eating it. Why waste good food? I’m using the word food in the pejorative. When it’s all you get, it’s all you got. That’s why I wanted to learn to cook. I never wanted to depend on cookie cutter food again,” Bryan said.

“That first meal you fixed me wasn’t anything to write home about. Once I was healing, they put me in the same apartment with him. I got to learn about his cooking by being served the results. It was different than army food.”

“I love you too, Kelly. Without being there, I wouldn’t be here. You don’t complain anymore.”

“No. No complaints here. You are an artist when it comes to food, my love. I probably wouldn’t have recovered without you cooking for me those last few months. I forgot how miserable I was being around him. He refused to let me pout. Then I found what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. That helped things. Life had meaning then. Before that I was taking up space.”

“Yes indeed. You were a different person once you began trying to help other soldiers. You went from a grumpy asshole to an excited energized bunny. Nothing better to give you hope than to offer hope to someone else. Guys saw you for the first time and they realized that you’d been there. They knew you weren’t just blowing smoke. Wounded warriors appreciate hearing it from one of their own,” Bryan explained.

“What did you decide?” I asked. “What kind of work?”

“I counsel vets in trouble. Basically I answer the phone and make it up as I go along. Lots of vets have difficulty communicating once they come back to the world. It’s not easy being a soldier in a war zone. Coming back to a country that doesn’t know we are at war is even harder.

“I’m on the list of counselors and when my number comes up, they call me to talk about it. Then it is up to me to figure out what is needed and how best to get the soldier to accept what I think is needed.”

“You’ve been there and know what they’re experiencing.”

“Pretty much. I can take an educated guess. Sometimes they hook me up with the hard cases someone else can’t crack. The guys like me, don’t think they want to communicate. Been there, done that. I can usually relate to them.”

“Nights are the worst,” Bryan said. “Most of us can get through the days okay. The phone’ll ring at one or two in the a.m. He takes the call in bed and gets up to talk. He’ll go down to the kitchen. If he’s not back in bed in an hour, I go down and fix coffee. I start baking for the next day. I slip him treats right out of the oven. It’s a wonder he isn’t big as a house.”

“Roger that,” Kelly said happily.

As they ate, they sat close enough to be touching one another. When they talked, they laughed at the same time and looked one another in the eye. They weren’t just comfortable being together, they acted like they belonged together. I liked them. I liked seeing how close they were. Theirs was a gentle interaction.

They were at ease with each other. They didn’t try to disguise their closeness. Listening to their story made it obvious what created their bond.

“You live in town?” I asked, making conversation and being curious.

“We have a lovely place out near Big Mama’s. Not far from where we caught the bus,” Kelly said.

“Just far enough off the main drag to be quiet, but close enough to walk to most places we go,” Bryan added. “It was a foreclosure. A contractor picked it up for his son. He was a soldier. It has ramps, extra wide doors so a chair can go in effortlessly. Most houses jam chairs up.”

“What happen to his son?” I asked, then wondering if I should have.

I chewed my liverwurst sandwich with Swiss chess and waited to see where it went.

“Arnie’s father used to bring him to Big Mama’s Kitchen. He’d heard about Battalion Headquarters at the V. A. hospital, where his son goes. There are vets at Mama’s all the time. Bryan and I didn’t really have a place then. We were at Big Mama’s a lot,” Kelly said.

“We ate there at least once a day in those days,” Bryan said.

“It was obvious Arnie, he’s the contractors son, needed help. His father was doing all he could but Arnie wasn’t helping. I think his father came to Big Mama’s rather than take him home to sit alone.

“I was already approved as a phone counselor. Mama knew all about it. She makes a point of talking to anyone she sees a second time. She knew we were living on the street and she talked to Mason, the contractor, about his son. When Big Mama sees a need, she takes care of it if she can. Arnie was my first face to face counseling job.

“I’d seen them in there. I wanted to go over and speak to them, but I wasn’t sure I should. There was nothing to say Arnie was military. He was in a chair. He broke his back in an explosion and a rollover in Afghanistan. It left him less than a happy camper.

“Big Mama gave me her seal of approval to see if I could do something, since it was my field. I went over to see if another vet might draw him out a little.

“Turns out I knew the place where Arnie was injured. We talked about the army. I talked anyway. It helps to have something in common. He knew my unit.

“We talked for hours after lunch the next day. He acted glad to see me. His father sat at a table nearby and drank coffee. He didn’t want to crowd his son.

“By the end of that first week I got a smile out of Arnie. He’d come before lunch each day and his father waited for as long as Arnie wanted to stay. That man must have had a powerful love for his son. You could see his agony.

“His father told me one day that Arnie was starting to talk at home. He mostly asked questions about his father’s business. Mason never knew Arnie had any interest in the business. He’d grown up with a builder and at twenty he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He didn’t know how to ask and it took me to get him talking again.

“A few days later Arnie’s dad came without him. He wanted to talk to me. He told me all about the house for Arnie. He said he was going to buy the four houses on the same block. All repo houses.

“His original plan was to flip them. Now he decided to remodel them and give them to wounded warriors. He wanted me to come and see Arnie’s house. I thought he wanted me to give him suggestions or see what I thought of how he’d made it to fit his son’s needs.

“He knew Bryan and I were always there together and he said for me to bring Bryan. There we were standing in the middle of this house that was all new inside.”

“Great kitchen. Everything placed for easy access. I thought of how I’d love to be able to cook in such a kitchen,” Bryan said. “I didn’t have a place to cook at the time.

“Mason tells us that Arnie doesn’t want the house. He wants to live at home with his mother and father. He wants to learn his father’s business. He doesn’t want a place of his own. Then Mason lowers the boom on us. Arnie says to give you boys the house. I know better than to argue with my Arnie.”

“Could have knocked me over with a feather,” Kelly said. “We’re just standing there. Two homeless vets and we don’t know where we’re going to sleep that night. We’re both lucky to be alive and then another vets father gives us his house. Anyone says this ain’t a great country doesn’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“He gave us his son’s house,” Bryan said. “Just like that. He’d had a bed moved in for us that morning, so we did end up with a place to sleep that night.”

“He told me that I gave him his son back and he’d never be able to repay me, but he thought the house was a good start,” Kelly finished. “I don’t get paid for counseling. I’m a volunteer. Go figure.”

“It’s a few blocks from Mama’s. We still go there to visit with her and our friends. I take her baked goods every day.”

“Excuse me. I take the baked goods to Mama’s each day,” Kelly corrected.

“Yes you do and I love you for it.”

“I don’t mind at all. I don’t want you wasting time when you can be fixing me a nice dinner.”

They both laughed. It made me feel warm all over.

“I live about a mile from Mama’s,” I said. “About the same from where we got on the bus.”

“We’re neighbors,” Kelly said. “We’ll have you over for coffee and whatever goodies Bryan makes for us.”

“I’d like that very much,” I said, feeling good about his invitation and the stories they’d told.

“We’ll no doubt see you at Mama’s at Christmas. She invites everyone who gives their time to the Kitchen. Christmas night we take over the place and have a party. It’s one of the best parties of the year. Only trouble is we’ve got to be out of there so she can be ready for breakfast the next day, Someone is always hungry,” Bryan said.

“Mama sounds like quite a woman,” I said, thinking I wanted to meet her.

“None like her,” Bryan said. “She truly loves people. A lot of us love her back. At Mama’s a lot of lives have begun to heal.”

I felt like I’d made two new friends by the time we were ready to leave. Kara was waiting at the door of the bus to shake each hand and thank her pickers.

“Well, you don’t look any worse for wear. Thanks for coming today. We love seeing new faces,” Kara said. “You’ve now earned yourself an invite to Mama’s Big Kitchen any time you want a bite to eat or just to sit and visit a spell. You don’t be no stranger, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I won’t. How will Mama know me? She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“Mama knows you now, honey. Mama spends most of her time cooking and supervising the kitchen, but I also drive the bus and pick the food when need be. Mama will remember. Thanks again and you come on by Christmas. I reckon we serve a thousand people at Mama’s over the Christmas holiday.

“There’s always plenty of room, plenty of work, and plenty of good cheer. You make sure you come on by and visit with us Christmas night.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Mama,” I said.

I should have realized that Mama’s Big Kitchen would be run by a big woman. She was as jolly a woman as you’d ever want to know. She obviously loved what she did.

I would stop by Big Mama’s Kitchen often. I’d go with Kelly and Bryan once a week. I learned a little something about cooking from Mama and Bryan. I learned all about washing pots and pans, getting them ready to be used right away.

There were always good things cooking at Big Mama’s and it was one big family I’d found, when I went to pick vegetables on my day off.

Now I have something to do anytime I feel like getting out of the house. So, if you’re looking for a place to go at Christmas, stop by Big Mama’s.

Everyone is welcome there.

You feel guilty taking that pause, stepping out of your flip-flops and rolling your bare soles onto the sugary white sand. You pull off your tight sweaty shirt and let the bright Venezuelan sun wash over your rich dark flesh as you continue to stroll along the quiet beach next to your new guy friend. Renzo, the bodybuilder, the one with the muscles so huge, so robust that is actually stretches his skin, isn’t really your friend. You met the bulky god less than an hour ago hopping into your friend’s car outside of his apartment. As far as you can tell, like you, he isn’t a regular player in this social fold. He is, at best, a fair acquaintance your friend got his other friend to scrounge up for you because he too is also fluent in English, so you don’t feel like a complete dunce for being monoglot in this foreign place.

You are from the States, the US of A, Home of the Brave. You are The American, the one that represents the epitome of Western Civilization. Be it good or bad. The American, a strange new burden on your shoulders considering back home in the fishbowl you’re often treated as anything but. Here, you are forced to carry the weight of your homeland. All foreigners are. Your friend and his friends are from around here, from Maracaibo, a leap south of Hispaniola. Renzo is from here, too. Though, he calls Southern California home whenever he isn’t back here checking on family affairs. Your friend’s friends think the two of you should be the best of friends because of this. They have a hard time getting that he lives on one side of the country while you live on the other, as you explain the wilderness slightly north of the concrete jungle they’re familiar with from films; two different worlds. Amazingly, with the help of your excellent translator, you share a ton of interests with the group. That is, everybody except for your translator. You two strangely have much in common but nothing to talk about, as the two of you continue to babble in your native tongue because there isn’t much else to do tramping along the shore. Not when you’re surrounded by a handful of good-looking, brown men to the left while to the back of you with lustful tensions brewing between you and your translating bodybuilder.

Renzo is the stuff fuck dreams are made of. So you’re very much into him—even his receding hairline. It isn’t everyday you come across a guy like this, one that isn’t just a fantasy on your computer screen. One that is blessed with those toned, massive thighs and those big, tight glutes that petrifies your dick without mercy. Plus, he’s got this nice stubble that is begging to bud into a thick, comely beard and a striking mustache. Renzo would be damn near perfect if not for his height. You’re not tall, but he is so short that you almost have to bend double just to look at him. He doesn’t mind looking up at you, of course. He has a happy-go-lucky smile on his face and in his celadon eyes that says so. Everybody around feels the connection. Your friend tries to slide you his spare key to his car and to the apartment so you can slip back to his place with the bodybuilder so you can “take care” of him. You want to go. This is what vacation sex is all about, right?

Everything in you says yes. You try to find a way not to say to your new friend let’s go somewhere and fuck, though that is your intent. You ponder and think. You finally pin down the right words, the right phrase, that is both raunchily seductive and gentlemanly-like.

Then, like a paralyzing headache, as you’re about to utter these very words, the guilt rolls over you. Those pair of eyes burn against your broad, dark back and the weight of everything behind those laser beams get the best of you.

Don’t you fucking try it, bastard! You feel his very words slap the back of your head like a heavy sack of nickels, even though your ever-handsome shadow is a few paces behind you, and, as far as you can tell, he hasn’t parted his mouth to say anything sneering.

Moises. You glance back to see if he is looking. He is, of course, but he lets on indirectly taking in the vast lake alongside his walking buddy.

Moises is your friend’s longtime best friend and current roommate. He is the one that visited you guys when you and your friend were paired fraternity brothers shared a room. Your jaws dropped, your tongue wagged, your eyes watered, and your dick dripped a steady transparent stream in your briefs, which three washes couldn’t get the weight out of. How in the hell did you not know about a place, a country, that gave birth to such phyne-ness? You still remember the day like it was yesterday. He came into your room with his thick sexy accent and helped himself to your bed while you were still in it, falling asleep clutching onto you like you were his favorite teddy bear. Everything happened so fast. You thought it was a dream. You said nothing. Went along with the program and drifted off to sleep with him under you. He tried to be slick though, massaging your dick through your sweats when he thought you were knocked out. The look on his face when you cracked open your eyes. Man, you scared the shit out of him! Moises jumped, trying to flee. You pulled him back, giggling at his maladroit lure. Moises, the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on, looked at you like he wanted you to kiss him real bad. You went through with it nervously, but even still you couldn’t believe that shit. That this was happening to you!

After two hours of heavy petting, Moises made you reach for that dusty off the nightstand. You never had a dude put a condom on you before. You never had a guy with such a vice-grip hole that ever felt so good. You never had sex in a room with a guy and his best friend over there tossing in the other bed looking real pissed.

You never forgot about Moises and that hot, sweaty wonderful weekend. You asked about your dorm fuck buddy every time you spoke to your friend over the years. When your friend said that they were roomies now, in this place off of Lago Maracaibo, it was the only place stuck on your mind. Moises. Your driving force for coming down here. If the boy was phyne back then, and Instagram pics showed he got better with age, and you had a little extra money and time to spare in the sun…whew! Really, what do a guy like you know about South America outside of general stuff? What do you know about it other than what your frat brother hipped you to? Aside from the fact that thirteen years ago, it delivered the finest piece of caramel tail you ever had in your life!

The feeling must’ve been mutual. Your friend picks you up from the airport, drives you back to his place in the boondocks, only for him to tell you that he will be back in a couple of hours. You’re more than a little pissed after toting your suitcase up four flights of humid stairs, keyless, and unsure if you got the right apartment number. You ring the doorbell, praying that there is someone on the other side. You’re greeted at the door by a familiar mug—that is better than ever in person—pulling you inside by your waist. A pair of hungry lips mauls you, fingers undo your shirt; he kneels in front of you, and undoes your belt. He is so fucking hungry for your dick he takes you down to the base, gurgling and choking on it, flossing his teeth with your pubes. You try to ease his fear. You’re not going anywhere for two weeks. Shit, you stopped jerking off for a good three weeks just so that when you saw his ass and it happened to go down like it did back then, you could shoot the mother load wherever he wanted it.

You should’ve known after six hours and four condoms something was up. He wasn’t letting you nowhere near that front door. You didn’t mind. You were with Moises, the willing sex carnival that haunted your fantasies for years.

You didn’t know when you rolled out of bed the next day, sometime after noon, and looked out at the communal pool of their apartment complex. There were more guys out there like him. You had no way of knowing that while his gorgeous handsomeness was like a rare jewel visiting you back then, on his home turf, he was just average—average. You weren’t complaining. Moises was still phyne as hell. You weren’t being greedy looking around. You were just curious to see if you could sample a few more sweet caramel pieces before hopping on an eight-hour flight and a two-hour drive back home at the end of next week.

****

“Moises and Renzo are sort of competitors in the same department, if you get my drift,” your friend of seventeen years warns in his whimsical accent at the end of the breezy afternoon. This after your friend graciously pulls you aside from the crashing waves. “My roommate is far choosier whereas muscle boy here is more inclined to take anything that comes along.”

“Meaning?” You have to ask. You know you’re more than something that comes along.

“You’re planning on stuffing your sausage in his tight little bun, right?”

Your cheesy smiles give away your intent. Especially now since your friend incidentally confirms those buns are tight for your hard-on.

“Well, my friend, that’s all power bottoms requires. Ask anyone, including Moises, and every one of them can attest to that. I bet if we ask Renzo to take us all back to his apartment, he just might—again.”

You shake your head. You like freaky-deaky stuff. Half your porn collection is a shrine to gangbangs and stuff like that. You also know that you go to bathhouses and sex parties for that; San Francisco or Atlanta or Milwaukee for that kind of action. You don’t vie for a position in the middle of paradise. “No. No.”

“I’ll tell you what then, my friend. Make good with Renzo tight and head back with him home, so you don’t have to endure the pestering wrath of our salty friend.”

You sigh. “Won’t it just fester?”

Your friend chuckles knowingly. “Renzo do have a spare bedroom. If you can make him grunt like you do Moises most days, he might keep you if you weasel your way in good enough.”

“And if I meet someone else?” You find the hole in his logic.

“Even better,” your friend says to your surprise. “He probably hopes you luck up on a mistake that works in his favor where to two of you share him.”

You have a light bulb moment.

“Why can’t I have the two of them?” You ask yourself more than him.

Your friend laughs.

“I’m on vacation, right? Anything is possible on vacation, right? I have a boatload of condoms.”

“You’re crazy, my friend.”

“I’m a fucking genius! Moises can’t feel like I’m choosing Renzo over him if he’s the one throwing in the towel.”

Your friend starts to chuckle. That light switch turns on in his head and he understands your self-promoted genius. It maybe a long shot for you to get your wish sure, but if you do then it will be a fantastic thing. If not, you might lose out on both love affairs tonight, but you’re free to scout out other guys for the rest of your trip.

The more you think about it, the more it seems real and doable for someone that has never engaged in a threesome, much less one where both men will bottom for you.

“That you maybe, my friend. That you maybe.” Your friend agrees with your brilliance.

****

“Alonzo,” your friend interjects late into the evening right before you find your nerve to pull both men aside at your request. “Can I holler at you for a moment?”

You pull away from the two souls that can make your night to speak with a friend that has nothing else better to do.

“I was thinking maybe you’re biting off more than you can chew.” Your friend cautions.

You want to strangle him. He is attempting to derail your plans, though deep down you know he is looking out for you. He knows of your conundrum, both here and abroad.

You’re running away from your problems as is, back there. No running to gather more here.

The satire of both stories, you laugh.

Here you are trying to engage a couple of guys to be with you at once and back home you have two guys that already want to be with you.

Here it boils down to Renzo and Moises, a hit or miss opportunity. At home, it is like walking a tightrope with little room for error.

Back home, you are madly in love with one man. You share a deep connection with him that is certainly unexplainable. You never had sex with him. You never even kisses or hugged without a roomful of partygoers, and yet there is something undeniable there, between the two of you. You don’t believe in the hogwash of soulmates or “the one,” but if you did, he resembles everything you believe in.

Then, in the other corner, you have your best friend. You get along with your best friend, obviously. You have a deep connection with him, too. You can spend hours on the phone with him talking about anything and you hang up feeling inspired by your connection. So what if you didn’t meet in a traditional manner. So what if you hooked up using Yahoo Messenger when it was the thing, looking to get your dick sucked. So what he gave you the best blowjob of your life time and time again and sucked you bone-dry and left you wanting more. Even outside of that and the memories, there is a powerful tie, and still waters run deep.

Your brain says there is a lifetime of contentment here. You can be happy here, with him—just him. Your heart says he isn’t the one.

You want them both. Scarily enough both men want what you want and aren’t afraid to compromise in your favor. Both men are open for you to have a relationship with both. Fulfill the needs not met by the other.

Your best friend should be your lover. You doubt yourself after the biggest hurdle has been cleared. Love isn’t twenty-four-hour bliss. Love isn’t passion. So what, your best friend is also a big dick bottom, total bottom. You don’t have thoughts of getting fucked often, but when you do you those needs need to be met…

You second guess yourself. The man you’re obsessed with should be just that. He hasn’t been tried and proven true. He can stay the unbridled fantasy of your mind. Sure, he’s a total top with a double-digit dick. He is so big that size queens turn on their heels and run off. There are so many other things to do, he says to you.

You take a deep breath. There are so many other things you can do.

“Look, I’ll be fine,” you find the nerve to say to your friend. “I’ll deal with home stuff when I get back home. Now, I’m on vacation mode. I’m going to do what vacationers do—have my freakin’ fun!”

You make your way back over to your two prospects. You think your exit might have been more dramatic, much cooler had you had some shade to throw on as you walk into the tropical night. You recover nicely by buying one of those fruity cocktails with the umbrella and the straw that you wouldn’t dare be caught with back at home.

You take a sip. You offer the muscled shorty a sip from your cup. He is more than delighted to show his rival he’s got you. Is it worth buying him one, too? His fish mouth over the straw suggests certainly. Oh, that fucking fish mouth! You surprise your hosts by offering Moises a sip from the same cup, too. It is easy for him to be difficult after he sees what his competition has done. You ease the tension by taking another sip more and implore him to do the same after you. You ask the same question again: Is it worth buying him one as well? He flirts with his mouth and eyes.

If you’re not sure about your intent before, you sure are now.

You agree to buy both a drink each with the condition both hold your drink—make sure it is safe. This seems to work. A little tension lingers, but this seems to work. You get the drinks and come back. There is a change in the air. Trouble’s a brewing. You get a little scared. You get fearful. Abort! Abort!

Something washes over you. A calm, a peace. Something quiets the screaming in your head. You’re mildly nervous as you approach the two guys. You remember if they show their asses out here, there are other fish out there in that vast sea. You’re on vacation, right. Curacao and Aruba are a plane ride away. You catch your breath at this thought. Then you see them share a giggle.

What the hell is going on?

“While you were off, we came to this brilliant conclusion.” Renzo smirks taking a sip out of your old cup with puckered lips. “If you can’t beat them—

“Join them.” Moises completes in sync.

“That is, if you’re up for the challenge.”

Your mouth drops. Is he—they—saying what you think they’re saying?

“Well, that something you have to ask Moises, here, about,” is your glorious comeback.

You see a spectacular sparkle in his eye. Moises bites his lips and eyes the prize he has grown fond over. Renzo beams…and beams…and beams.

****

Everybody this concerns is onboard, and the lightened mood is quite noticeable amongst the men. What changed? A lot, you want to tell them with pride. You have one guy laughing and groping you under the table to your left, another guy laughing and groping you to your right. Behind, twisting your neck to give your attention you have another problem, your good friend and his friends planned a full night. You can’t up and leave, even if you wanted to. You and Moises and Renzo were picked up by your friend. So, the three of you are stuck.

You keep your cool nevertheless, though your dick is revved to go. You surprise yourself. You don’t try to weasel your way out of leaving early, though the later you stay out the more tired you will become. You’re halfway tempted to pull some telepathic shit. (You honestly think two mortal enemies came up with the idea of joining forces on their own?) You could tap out. Ask your friend for his car and let him ride back with his other friend. No. You don’t do that. Though, it might be beneficial to you both. You take his roommate off his hands, freeing him up to bring someone else home without any interruptions from roommate or visiting friend.

Why are you cool then? You’re cool because you have everything else figured out. Renzo has the space and lives close to where you are and where you want to go. It does make sense however for you to go back home with Moises. You have two condoms on you now, but you also have an unopened variety pack back at the apartment. Moises has his car there. He can drive the two of you back to Renzo’s place, giving him time to spruce up for company.

Even with this coolness, you’re still antsy. What can go wrong? You start to let those bothersome fears wash away as you try to hold back your laughter. This, when you find out that the “infamous” disco that your friend is dragging you to is located in the basement of some shopping center. You want to laugh even harder, be The American, when it seems that you’re the only guys in the place. What kind of country bumpkin shit is this? If you were back home….Your snickers die off the more the place fills to the brim with more gorgeous brown men at once. It is like watching a balloon fill with helium. It goes from nothing to something in a matter of seconds. Now it is ready to pop. Music blaring. Strobe lights flashing. If you didn’t know this before, you know damn well now. The male modeling game in America is totally rigged. These fancy caramelo motherfuckers up in here!

You look. You don’t sample. Damn, you want to sample—really want to sample—but you don’t sample. Caramel is your favorite sweet, too. So you know how hard it is! You have guys left and right grinding the big beautiful caramel rears on your dick and some daringly bold to hump your leg with their caramel sticks right there on the dance floor. You fight hard to go with the flow. You already got two in the pocket. You fight…and you fight…and eventually you give in—in a major way. You’re about five seconds from whipping out your dick, possibly throwing back some ass on this bald, bearded, six-foot-three piece of solid brown beef.

Then your cavalry rides back in to reclaim their prize. You lost them awhile ago because they got etched out by the onslaught. That doesn’t matter now. They’re back in your corner. You’re back at home, encased like hardened chocolate to silky smooth caramel, just the reverse. You love this crazy-ass feeling. Two bodies pressed against your sweaty frame. Moises blowing warm breath in your ear, kissing you on your neck far more sensual than you ever remember. Your dick is on brick at the innocent gesture. Renzo got you covered. His hand is behind the waist of your shorts stroking your dick with his incredibly heated hand. You can’t get enough. You feel the pre-cum boil out. Drip. Drop. Drip, drippity, drop. He pulls his hand out and tastes your salty cream.

Another hand invites its way into your pants. You close your eyes and ride the feeling.

You open your eyes a few moments later, still indulged in the same wonderful caramelo flavors. Except this time you have another light bulb moment when you see your friend over there conversing with this willing participant he is making it with. You run it by Moises, then Renzo, and they smile in agreement. You go over to your friend. You know he has met someone that he can take home tonight. Your friend can either go back to his apartment or escort this guy back to his place. You don’t care. You want him to drop the three of you off at Renzo’s place with the catch that he picks to the two of you up sometime tomorrow.

He agrees.

Before you know it, you’re piled in the back of his car. You got both guys making out with you back there. Your friend is the chauffeur. His future one-night stand ogles in the rearview mirror. You can’t say you don’t care. You do. You give him a show to remember. You give him something that gets his engine revved up so by sometime tomorrow over breakfast or lunch you and friend can really swap some freaky-deaky stories.

It feels like forever in getting there. At most, it is like a twenty-minute ride, if that long. It isn’t until we step into the coolness of his apartment that it hits us how sticky the three of us are from the club, from the car. Renzo offers we take a shower. Threesome in the shower? Anyone? Damn South Americans and their little-ass bathrooms! Renzo hops in the shower first, then Moises after he comes out; both unabashed in their birthday suits. You hop in next. Cleaning off and planning your delicate balance of not giving one more attention than the other. You hop out squeaky clean with the fantasy of your two caramelos making nice and you joining in. You find your two promises pieces of booty sound asleep.

You should be furious at this, waiting all night for this. You smile instead. It has been a long day and you’re not as young as you used to be. You’re a little tired yourself, and they left just enough room for you on top of the bed to squeeze your damp frame in between theirs and call it a fucking night.

****

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been out. You presume it hadn’t been terribly long. The window suggests it is still dark outside with the room cast under a steel blue glow. You feel well rested nonetheless, as if you just broke the spell of deep sleep. You stir a little out of habit. Your legs have nowhere to go, and then you remember. You lie back down. You try not to wake either soul to the side of you. You look to the left. You turn and skim the right. You caress the naked contours of each taut casing with your eyes kept to explore more. You hold off. You glance up at the ceiling. You try not to think about what you’re thinking about. Moises and Renzo are sound asleep now. You know this is about go to go down soon. You’re antsy still. You think about your friend, his nerve come dawn. You will be deep into your groove and he’ll show up first thing to pick the two of you up. Out of spite? Maybe. You’re here unnerved yet again by this strange place. Your friend is over there in the comforts of home. You feel a little jealousy stir within you. You’re almost certain your friend is finishing up his thing with his guy right now, if not in it for a second round or three. Lucky son of a bitch! You take a deep breath—one more for good measure—and let it all go in one cleansing exhale. You think about other things: the guys, the scenes, the day, your vacation, getting here, being here; right here. There are two fine-ass caramel chews to either side of you and are yours, without opening your mouth, pledging their bodies to you—and only you—their many carnal delights for the night. And, both are setting aside their petty feud, jealousies—whatever you might call it—just for you, and only you.

You chuckle. If you thought this worked in your favor before imaging their fueled competition with one another! Your dick, your very pleasure is at stake.

You can’t help it. Your dick shoots up like an old car antenna. You want to touch it. If you do, you know you’re doomed to waste your first load of the night in your hands, across your stomach. You unwittingly stretch your arms to the side of you and onto them. A hand finds a kneecap. Another grasps a bulging calf. You should pull your hands back. You don’t. You’re not trying to wake them up, but having your hands there bring you comfort that this is real. You lay there—hands on them. Your thumb strokes the odd flesh. You yawn. Soon enough you drift back into a cozy sleep.

You aren’t out long. This you know for sure. Your hands barely slip from their places onto your sides when the all-too-familiar stretch of an arm falls across your chest, the one that begins to clutch you tight like a teddy bear. Moises and his staple move? Yes, but not. Not him. This time it is Renzo. You try to lean into it, into him, because if you do you might stir him awake, and the other one after that. You bring your head to his, opened eyes aligned with closed eyes, licking your lips to tease sleeping muscle beauty with a kiss. You are just about to go for the kill. Then, a palm falls flat on your shoulder. You assume it is a total fluke. That is until you start to feel fingertips drum on the rounds of your shoulders. You slowly turn to find a face wide awake sexily grinning back at you. You don’t hesitate. You reach for him, for Moises. Moises brushes his lips across your lips again and again before you give in and roll on top of him with his legs slightly parted to fit you.

Several minutes in, you are heavy into it, deep into making out. You forget about your translating bodybuilder sleeping to the side of you, the one whose apartment you’re making out in with another guy. You are here in this moment with your original fantasy man, with Moises. He looks at you with that look. You see he’s ready, but with a slight reserve. You know why, without him cluing you in. You remember. You have a couple of condoms in your pocket in your pants on the floor, there on the other side of the bed. It isn’t like the bed is huge. It is almost a wonder that your sleeping friend hasn’t arose already. You slide off of Moises, slide off the bed, and tiptoe over to your pants where you retrieve the condoms and sit them on the nightstand next to you. Your hand hits something there, a transparent jug with clear gook inside. You chuckle, once you figure out what it is: a gallon-size jug of lube with a squirt pump, two-thirds empty. You squirt some generously into your hands. You are ready to spread some on your dick when you feel something pleasurable and wet already in its place. Moises is sitting up taking care of you.

His mouth is wonderful like always. He knows how to fellate without a hand on his head, though he thoroughly encourages it always. If it wasn’t for the lube. You let him have his fun for awhile, his way, then pull out. You smear the lube still in your hand over your dick. He opens up one of the condoms for you and stretches it over you. He lies back down and rolls his buttcheeks up in the air. He looks for you to reach over him and push for another squirt of lube, to make him slick. You pin his legs back instead. Eating his cakes just like he likes, burying your face deep inside his pristine crack, motorizing your cheeks against his cheeks, and snake your tongue around his sensitive center. You smack his ass. He yelps. You dart your tongue and add your lips. He twists his back and rolls his caramel butt back onto you.

His English has always been broken, very broken. That has always been part of his charm. You hear him curse in Spanish and Portuguese, as you also here “Daddy” and “fuck me now” rather clearly in English.

You tease his hole with your dick. He gasps at the sensation—winces at the coolness of the lube spreading over him. You remind him tenderly to breathe, to calm down. You aim your dick at the spot and graciously spoon it in, little by little, before there is a good shove and a quarter of your dick is left hanging out of his hole.

Grunt, hiss, gasps, motherfucker! You let him savor the invasion. Moises soon catches his breath. His hole sucks you in like a vortex. You get ahead of this. You bury yourself into him before he gets the chance. Your balls are kissing fleshly crack. You hold it there for a minute or two and take your position, grinding deeper until he gives in and his throat gives the call. That tight hole gives completely away just like that, before you pull back and push back in. It has nothing to do with size, as it does familiarity. His hole knows your dick and what it can do. It gives up the fight for the ride.

You stroke, he strokes back. You roll him on his side. His leg is somewhere to the side of yours with you holding the other one off somewhere over there. You get him to hold his own leg and feel his hole in a different light. That light that drives you crazy and makes you want to give him your first load, the way it clasps over you.

He cries a little, pushing his hand against you. You weren’t lying about this feeling; his ass feels really good to you this way. You’re going strong, though, almost to the point of no return. You flip him back onto is back to ease the whimpers.

You build him up slow grabbing him by his ankles, so when you see his toes curl and the soles of his feet flushed when he really starts to call your name you truly know you’re working him over into a daze. You push down on his thighs, underneath his knees and go for it. You have the bed shaking, him speaking in tongues, and then you offer a brief interlude of you leaning over to kiss him, letting him know he is more than a fuck sleeve to you. You ride him still, stud to mare, like nature intended, legs parted with a nervous chuckle on his end. Moises throws his hand behind his head, whimpering and groaning, grabbing his dick and stroking vigorously against the other stroke, your stroke, until he explodes all over himself.

You admire the white pool you helped extract out of him. This, out of courtesy, as you and he both know you don’t give a damn about his relief. It is your relief that you want. You stop though, after you started again, with him working on his second load, as you feel a pair of hand massage your broad back.

You let Renzo nibble on your ear, massage your chest, thumb your nipples. You want to stay inside of this hole forever, but you don’t. You greet the new mouth with a kiss, and a roll him back onto the bed. 

Renzo pulls the condom off of you without missing a beat. He wipes you down with a warm rag he pulls from somewhere almost in the same stride. You’re too into making out with him to pay him any mind.

He goes down on you. He licks your chest and sucks your nipples. He tongues around your bellybutton and coils around your dick and teabags your balls.

Moises refuses to be excluded from this fun. He kisses and sucks your nipples, too.

This feels good. This feels beyond good. This is spiritual. Especially when you got mouths kissing, slurping, and sucking on your dick as if it is the only thing in the world.

You drift, with your eyes closed. It is all good. You feel all good. You don’t even miss the second mouth until it finds itself on your nipples again and disappears from your chest.

You open your eyes. You no longer feel a mouth tugging on your balls separately anymore. You feel a hand stroking your dick with lube and another condom being slapped on.

You slip back over into the bed, onto the pillows for support.

Renzo doesn’t waste time with pageantry. He doesn’t even want you to get him warmed up. He slaps his muscled rear down on you with one hooting howl, one you’re sure burst through some windows and some walls and perhaps turned on a few lights in the surrounding apartments nearby. You try to tell him not to hurt himself, that you aren’t in any rush. He tells you he is okay. He is sadistic that way, Renzo beams. And he is on you, riding you like a cowboy riding a mechanical bull. He won’t be defeated. He will hang on bouncing up and down until he gets his money’s worth. Every. Last. Drop. You don’t mind him using you this way, a dick for his hole. God knows you mirrored his fucking many times over the other way around. You don’t mind that. You do mind that he believes he is in control, of this, of you, and you can’t have that.

You instruct him to turn around on you.

He takes delight in this. Renzo twirls on your dick without getting off of it. He makes you feel every angle of his hole that is still so amazingly tight that if he goes any faster you swear you’re going to lose it in the condom inside of him.

He gets in place. If he wasn’t getting off on this before, he is now. Whorishly leaning back, taunting you with his nipples and his lips slightly out of kiss, riding you for every bottom bitch that ever had your good dick up inside of them. Renzo, the bastard, the bodybuilder, still thinks he is in control. You pick him up. You put him on his knees, somewhere over across the room on his wide dresser without pulling out. Somewhere between here and the bed, Renzo has gone from extremely tight to well stretched with his first and second rings gone away somewhere. You pull out, push back in. You can’t help but to chuckle. His hole is like fucking Jell-O now, as he groans to the penetration trying to get back that vice grip he had on me before.

Renzo isn’t in control anymore. Moises laughs at this. Moises snickers at the bulky body writhing underneath yours. Resistant to surrender, resistant to giving in with your hands tight on your thick shoulders and your foot propped up somewhere next to his elbows.

You’re really fucking him now. You’re out to show him how a real man really puts his whore in his place. You work your dick in and out and round. You pound and impale, thrust and stroke, plough and dig. You force him to beg, plea, and bawl over your dick. You are deep in his soft guts. Each time you slam in hard you swear your ball is next to follow suit. You are plowing the hell out of him. It isn’t about you and your pleasure anymore. It is about making his glorious night. About making him feel that he wasn’t getting any less than you were giving your other lay. In fact, you’re giving him three times more. Moises you can’t do like that. Moises you have to deal with again for a few more days, Renzo not so much after daybreak.

The squishing of me fucking his worn hole is deafening. It is all you hear throughout the room, these loud slurping sounds like water in a washing machine tossing around clothes. Renzo is owned. You know it. He knows it. Moises knows it. So, his moaning and groaning and whimpering and whining aren’t anything new. It is a part of the package. But this wheezing breath and these sniffles following that are. Your instinct is to slow down, assess what is going on. He begs you not to. He implores you to go, keep going, and go harder. You do. Harder and harder you go. That wheezing turns into lingering grunts and a yell that doesn’t quite make it out of his mouth and he heaves and heaves and heaves.

Moises laughs, looking at something underneath your propped leg. “Slut!”

You look at him strange. He looks back at you.

You quickly get that your bottom has come, and he did so without even grabbing himself as he needs his arms to support himself on the dresser or risk going into the wall.

That doesn’t matter now. His hole is tightening up. It is milking you good.

You can’t hold back any longer! You can’t hold back…you can’t…

You pull out and snatch off the condom, giving both time to get on their knees in front of you and you wield out the mother load. You shoot ribbons and ribbons of cum out over their faces, so white and thick and long that it looks like misplace icing.

You heave like you heard before. This is unreal. It feels like your balls are wrung dry and yet there is more coming out…and out…and out.

You close your eyes. You feel a mouth and another mouth on your balls and this overwhelming synchronicity that your dick and balls aren’t ever without a mouth.

And then, everything turns to black.

****

Five days after this magnificent rendezvous, you lay awake on your place on the couch in this apartment in this strange land. You reflect on past events and chuckle at your new daily routine. Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, just before Moises heads off to work as a bartender at one of the hotels, he pulls you off your place on the couch and escorts you to his room. Nights when he is gone, after dinner and conversation with your friend, Renzo comes by to scoop you up so you can indulge him in another escapade, bringing you back to the apartment just in time for him to watch you and Moises go at it. And, in between, as whorish as it may sound, you sometimes make your way down to the pool where you meet some other pieces of caramel delight that you sometimes tend to go off with.

You reach down in your suitcase and shake the newly opened condom variety pack you just bought a few hours ago, minus two condoms. You don’t feel guilty anymore. You’re on vacation after all. Rest will come soon enough at this going rate.

A booty text dropped on my phone from a musclehead I’d met at the Olympia Fitness and Performance Weekend in Vegas last month. “In Boston.” was all it said. One magnificent sweaty gun, flexed, with a tuft of sweaty dripping pit hair was the photo he included.

From where I live outside of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, it’s over an hour into Boston at the best time. Winters add ten or fifteen minutes to that. But there I was mesmerized by that huge ball of rock-hard muscle —— and the memories of a month ago in Vegas.

You know how they say, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”? I’m about to violate that sacrosanct covenant.

Remembering Jack the muscle bitch.

A month ago it was typically frigid cold out, many of my clients reduce their sessions in that week before Christmas to concentrate on holiday preparations and I needed a break. A bud of mine who has a muscle targeted supplements store had planned better and had a room at the Venetian for when the Olympia Fitness and Performance Weekend was being held there. He’d got me interested in it earlier last year when he came back with stories of forty or fifty thousand mostly men, mostly muscled, mostly into muscle in one place. The stories he’d told had us both hard but he and I don’t swing that way, so we sent a couple of booty texts and got ourselves a muscle bitch to help us out.

Afterward he’d asked if I wanted to go to the next one. He’d even take care of the registration if I’d wear his store gear and promote his online business he had started. We’d agreed to split the convention discount room with him IF I could get cheap air, neither of which came with his invitation. He looked it up while we sat there still smelling of sex with the muscle bitch and found us air fare cheaper than an Uber to Logan for the flight!

Now as I think about it I should write about the Las Vegas Uber driver we had some five-star service from and then some, if you know what I mean.

The Las Vegas experience wasn’t what I had expected exactly. It was a full-blown trade show with less accent on muscle exhibition than I would have preferred. I am not knocking it and will go with Don again this year if he offers.

One of the Weider models caught my eye in particular. Against their type he was tall and showed hairy arms, pits and the part of his pecs that were visible from his tank tops. I caught his eye too and got wide and inviting smiles from him when we passed one another.

“That stud wants you,” Don nudged me after we’d run into him walking to the exhibit hall.

“I wish!” was my comeback with a laugh.

“Bud, he did everything but drop to his knees,” Don joked.

“I must have missed all that,” I joked and gave Don’s well-developed shoulder a push.

“He’s not wrong,” I heard from a familiar voice behind us. I turned so suddenly in our walking that the Weider stud plowed right into me. Damn was he solid. And DAMN did he smell GOOD.

“Excuse me the clumsiness!” he apologized unnecessarily. I just stood there dumbfounded. I have great gaydar with the “is he interested” upgrade and I’d missed it. He one firm hand on my chest and his other firmly wrapped around my upper arm. Both were hot as blazes. His piercing brown eyes with green highlights blazes as well. “You okay, Stan?”

Using my name took me off guard too. Then I remembered my convention type badge. “I’m okay. And I’m sorry. It was my fault.” I finally scanned his name tag and said, “Jack.”

His hand felt my hard bicep and tricep and he grinned without either of us taking a step back. His hand on my chest also made a rub over my pec and caught my nipple which went right to my balls. I’m sure my breathing was loud.

“I’m glad,” he said still grinning. “Not just that you’re okay but also that it was your fault.” He winked and my dick was inflating.

Don had stopped walking and stood a few steps away. “I’m going on in. I have a meeting set-up. You really don’t need to be down here for anything I had planned for a couple of hours, actually until a late lunch at three,” he said not subtly. Then said, “I won’t be up to the room before that.” If that wasn’t enough he added, to Jack, “He’s a tough one to please, but my guess is you have what it takes to satisfy Stan.” His grin was more of a smirk and he raised and lowered his eyebrows twice when he looked back at me when he walked away.

I turned back to Jack, feeling flushed. I knew I had to be blushing. “He’s —“

“A great wingman?”

Jack’s deep voice was smooth and oh so full of suggestion. It made me shiver.

“That too,” I answered.

We stood there like that grinning at each other until it got awkward for him apparently. “So,” he said and waited.

I won’t say I was entirely comfortable that my buddy had basically brokered my hookup with this muscle-head. But my dick was telling me not to mess-up the opportunity. That switch in my brain flipped.

“You think you’re man enough?” I asked him in a low voice.

“Yes, Sir, I hope to be!” he answered without hesitation. He also emphasized the “sir” which told me all I needed to know.

“Venezia tower,” I told him.

“Lead the way, Sir,” he said unnecessarily, as I had already started walking.

To him behind me I said, “No get in front of me. That way I can watch your ass all the way there and enjoy what I’ll be using when we get there.”

“My pleasure, sir,” he answered, already passing me.

Good choice on my part. His slacks were well-tailored for his very well-developed glutes. The bounce of each with his steps was mesmerizing, and six murders and a forest fire could have been going on along our path and I wouldn’t have noticed.

We got on the elevator with several other people but were first and at the back. I reached down and rubbed his butt-cheek and pressed my middle finger into his crack and found his hole. He hummed a note of satisfaction and moved a little to grind into my probing digit. The elevator was too fast though and despite four stops before my floor we were there too soon.

I gave Jack’s butt a push but didn’t remove my hand as we left the elevator. He didn’t resist nor did he mention what the people still in the elevator thought.

We walked the hall like dancers side by side, me leading by my hand on his ass. When we got to my door I realized the card key was in the wrong pocket and I had to use the hand on his ass to get it. Rookie mistake!

Once inside I walked directly past the muscle-head who’d stopped just inside the door. I took a seat in an easy chair with my back to the window. “Strip and show me what ya got.”

“Yes, Sir!” he agreed eagerly and stepped up close in front of where I was sitting.

Without ever breaking eye contact he slowly removed his badge and tossed it onto a desk near his side. Then he pulled up his tank and then pulled it over his head and more carefully laid it over the back of the desk chair, only briefly looking away from me for long enough to lay out the shirt.

Jack’s upper body had obviously been perfectly honed and steroid-enhanced as obviously as his exposed arms and shoulders and the muscles of his torso straining the tank. But the reveal make by breathing stop for a moment. Short dark chest hair across massive muscle-tits then tapered downward with the drastic taper of his v-shape to his tight waist. A very hard looking six-pack and the beginnings of his cum gutters were included in the muscles that danced for me as he moved. The glimpse of dense hair in his pits had my balls churning. Too many body builders shave who don’t even compete. To say I like my men to look like men to the greatest degree would still be an understatement.

Jack unbuckled his belt and then unbuttoned his slacks. When he went for his zipper I stopped him. “Shoes and socks first!” I ordered sharply.

“Sir!” he quickly agreed.

Jack uneasily bent and pulled one foot up and unlaced the knot in his dress shoe, pulled it off stumbling just enough to need to steady himself on the desk and then carefully set it on the floor. He then pulled his sock off and let it fall into his shoe. I enjoyed the sight of his naked wide foot with dark hair down to his ankle above it.

When the muscle man had both shoes and socks aligned on the floor he stood again in magnificent muscular splendor facing me. “Shall I continue now, Sir?”

“Guns. Show me,” I told him.

The musclehead struck a double gun flex which made my dick jump.  He rotated his wrists and the sinew and muscles in his forearms, biceps and delts undulated.  His thick neck showed every artery.  I realized I was rubbing my tight crotch only after he had.

Jack began to cycle through additional poses showing-off his magnificent upper body.  Arms up, down, one up and the other down, flexing his dramatic pecs and then turning his abs into an animated washboard, rotating at his tiny waist.

Somewhere in there I’d opened my pants and freed my straining hardon.  Had I not I feared damage from its bent confinement.   Jack’s eyes were wide when he saw my size and his eyes met mine with a moment’s hesitation.  Then that passed as his attention maintained my eye contact while he continued showing-off.

If his pants were bothering him he showed no sign of it.  He had begun swiveling, bending and lowering himself, and his pants showed themselves to be of a fabric which accommodated the strain.  It also showed the definition of his quads to an effect which had my dick snot flowing freely down my thick veined shaft.

“Pants,” I prompted him.

The muscle head’s show was briefly suspended as he complied.  He was quick and efficient and folded his slacks and bikini briefs (no judgement!) neatly as he had his shirt.  In a blink he was fully exposed and posing again.

In that blink he became a muscle boy in my eyes.  His dick was small to the point of potential distraction and his balls were far from that, more like peas in an oversized sac.  The muscles he had so carefully cultivated recaptured my attention with no effort.

“Turn,” I told him.

Again he complied immediately.  His back was vast and a study in symmetric perfection.  His legs from butt to ankle were promising of an energetic hold on my waist or aggressive bucking back into my fuck.  His feet were disproportionately small for his stature and drew my notice to his hands and fingers which mirrored the proportion.  He could use both on my rod when the time came.

Jack’s muscles were mesmerizing as he continued to cycle through poses and flexes. But my hard rod needed more.

“You have me worked-up, boy!”

In a break from his pose cycle Jack bent over from his waist, grabbed his coconut-sized calves and stuck his head through his spread legs to grin at me.  “I certainly hope I am, Sir,” he told me.

His beautiful hole was darker surrounding his pink opening.  No bleaching for this muscle bitch!  And his magnificent glutes, his strained forearms, his hams — my balls were on fire.

I got up from the east chair and shed my slacks and kicked off my shoes all into a careless heap. My jock strap was wet and gooey from the volume of my pre when I roughly pulled it aside to free my rod. I took another step and a half and jammed my head against his puckered intake port and smeared my juice against his resistance.

“Condom, sir?”

“You want this cock or don’t you, boy?”

“Sir, I — “

“YES or NO, boy?” I snarled and pushed into him harder.

He didn’t answer with words.  He took a breath, I felt his pucker push toward me and then he pushed back with his butt onto me. “Holy shit,” he hissed.

I stood my ground and allowed him to push himself at his own pace. I didn’t have to wait. After the initial push and the flash of searing heat engulfing my helmet, Jack let forth another long moan as he pushed back steadily until his butt was tangling my pubes by grinding into me.

“Dude! That’s one big fucking cock on you.” I waited a beat and then he was back. “Sir.”

I couldn’t wait any longer. I planted a hand at his waist and another on his shoulder, and I began a withdraw and then an insertion. He cursed continuously as his tight hole gripped the length of my throbbing rod. From my side it felt like I might lose some skin but clearly he didn’t mind so why should I?

It wasn’t long until we were both grunting like boars, rutting hard and fast, sounds of sweaty flesh smacking clapping as background. His hole’s enjoyment was shown in the messy juices my Rod was churning inside him along with my pre which was flowing. He was still tight as hell and I wanted to ask him when the last time his hole was used if I remembered afterward.

“Fuck you’re huge!” the muscle bitch huffed as he rammed back into my thrusts.

“You’re tighter than an otter’s pocket!” I replied. The phrase was once said by an army mate referring to a very tight ass he’d used.

“When did you last fuck an otter?” he shot back and I felt him clench harder on me and caused my head to nearly pop out. It also caused my balls to start the blast-off sequence.

“Who gives a shit? I’m going to fill you full of my babies in about a minute.”

“I fucking want your baby batter, Sir!”

“Oh fuckkkkk here it — “ I couldn’t finish because it seized me and I went rigid with my rod planted deep. Lights flashed behind my eyes as the dam broke inside me. I was blasting so hard my body spasmed.

“That’s it, daddy! Pump me full! Oh fuck yeah,” the muscle boy yelled.

I came down slowly and gradually. When I went to pull out he said, “Please, Sir!” and clenched hard. I felt some of my cum and his ass juice pushed out when he did it and it sluices over my sac.

“It’ll take me some time,” I told him.

“Is that a promise, Sir, that there’s another where that came from?”

He let me pull out without answering. But he pounced on my softening member and went at the job of cleaning me up with intent to do more than that.

“Good boy,” I told him and looked at my watch. There were hours before I had to meet Don downstairs.

Back in the present.

My Rod was stiff and leaking looking at the photo Jack texted and remembering the first part of our Vegas hook-up. I texted back: “If that hole is still as tight as it was a month ago boy then I’ll stretch it out for you!”

“Yes, Sir!” was his text back almost immediately. He followed with his hotel, room, and how long he’d be in town.

I awoke one morning to the following text … From Matt == WOW. Now i see ahy my mom has been so happy for all these years!

It took me odd guard completely  Matt is my 33 y/o stepson. He had to move in with his mom and I after a falling out with his wife. I just was not sure what he meant by this. So one day we were Home alone i had to ask.

“Hey Matt. What was that text about?” “Well Dave” he said “I needed to take a shower . Didnt know you were home. Didn’t know you slept in the nude either” he said with a sly smile. For background we are in the process of doing some remodeling and the only functional shower was in our master suite.

“Sorry bout that. Did not think you were home”. Its cool he replied.  “Matt, why were you commenting  on my dick” Well he said “Been in a bit of a dry spell.” I kinda knew that, but still why

“Dave I went to the local ABS a few days ago and discovered the gloryholes” came his reply.. I had to chuckle a bit, as I had discovered them almost 40 years ago. I had to ask “what happened?

“Well I heard about the holes, just wasn’t sure if the stories were true or not. So I popped some money in, and within a min the guy in the next booth was motioning to me. I was hesitant at first, but a week long load, and the porn I figured why not? So I dropped my pants and stuffed my dick in the hole. That dude was good. He had me squirting out my load within a few mins. He was  just as good as any woman I ever had.”

I was surprised how open he was about this. Little did he know, I had many similar encounters myself. I enjoyed receiving as well as giving. I said “Matt thanks for being so open about this. Many men have had the first taste of m2m loving this way. I can not, nor will I judge you for this, as I too had similar experiences in this way.” His eyes widened at this revelation.

“Dave, weren’t you scared someone would see you going there?” “Yes Matt, so I made arrangements to meet people in private.  “Did you enjoy the experience?” “Very much so” was his reply. “Well then perhaps I could help you with your problem?” “Really!!! So to prove my point I sat on the sofa next to hm. put my hand on his crotch and began massaging his cock. His eyes closed and I hears a slight moan  come from his throat. Since he seemed to be enjoying the feeling, I nuzzled  his neck and opened his pants and freed his hardening cock from his pants. “OOH that feels good” I pulled my face from his neck and put my mouth near his now rock hard cock  .I opened mu mouth and slid the head of his 6 inch cock into my mouth, savoring the taste as well as gently swirling my tongue around it . His moans grew louder.”Ahh fuck that feels so damn good” I gently cupped his balls as I slid his shaft into my throat. No words came  from him, just louder moans Faster and faster I began sliding his delicious cock in and out of my mouth. His hios began rising up to meet the tempo of my sucking. He grasped my head in what seemed to be an attempt to get me to stop. I refused and kept at it. I could feel his balls tightening, and shortly there came a very loud moan, anf he was flooding my mouth with his sweet cream. I happily swallowed it down, and cleaned his cock with my mouth. Soon his cock softened, and he was able to speak. “My God, how did you get so good at sucking cock?” “A good deal of practice” was my reply. “You can get to be as good as i am with some practice”;

     “Dave, I dont know if I could suck another guy off” “Well how about you just ouch me and see what you think’ I replied. So I stripped off my clothes and placed his hand on my now raging boner.He began to hesitantly run his fingers all over my dick, “It Is kinda weird but it it does feel nice” he said. I laid back closed my eyes and told him “keep stroking me. It feels so good to have someone handle my dick”. Soon I felt him cradle my balls, just as I had his. I let out a low moan and  soon i flet the warmth of his breath at my groin “Oh yes Matt, please put my dick in your mouth. Slowly I felt his lips around my cock. He didnt put but an inch in his mouth, but what he had he awkwardly worked on sliding it in and out. After a few minutes of his sucking I could fee; the cum bubbling in my balls.Not wanting to surprise him, between my moans I said “Matt, Im gonna cumm. He did not  pull back until the first spurt entered his mouth. He started to gag, and pulled away letting the rest of my load land  on my belly and crotch. “Matt that was so good for a first time” He retreated to his room without saying a word. Quickly I cleaned myself up and went to join him in hie room.

     “Whats wrong?” I asked. “I..I can oit believe I did that. I dont know what happened” was the reply. I told him “You got caught up in the excitement of what was going on. It felt really nice to have you suck me. Did you like what you did?” Matt replied “yeh I did. It was kind of weird, but It also felt nice.” I told him I understood and would not expect this to happen again.  “Dave I think I want to try sucking you off again. I want to male you feel good, and I want you to make me feel good.”  Over the next month we sucked each other off at least twice a week. Matt eventually reconciled with his wife, but we would get together several times per month, sucking each other. We have even graduated recently to fucking each others ass. 

In this new work remotely or work from home climate, my job opportunities grew 100fold, I’m a IT tech guy, I was instrumental in helping my company set up monitoring software on our remote company laptops. For 9 months I reprogrammed or purchased 300+ new laptops with our exclusive software. I was so inundated with this job, plus virus and bug fixes, the tracking software, although the entirety of the programming wasn’t being utilized to its fullest. Sure we got automated reports of sales vs. calls, hours of use, quantity of use, but it didn’t give us breakdowns of work vs. personal, for that we needed physical monitoring where our team (which incidentally was also working remotely) could scan thousands of actual live screen shots taken throughout the day. With me being in charge, I was also charged with monitoring my own techs, which were also monitoring everyone else. Other than the techs, the employees assumed there was some sort of monitoring in place, but weren’t aware of the sophistication of the software, especially since at the introduction, we didn’t utilize it as fully as we could. Our company did however base reviews of employees based on statistical numbers provided by the system.

 After several months under my belt and all of the initial glitches cleared up, I found myself with more time to dig into the capabilities of this new system software, Because of remote working many employees had some opportunities to put in after hours work and increase their productivity in their spare time , yet others did not. Many took the time to do less company work and goof off as well. I began to explore the screenshot activity and it didn’t take me long to find many streaming services, shopping sites, personal use and porn sites being used by our employees. Some shopping and streaming sites were deemed acceptable, those purchasing or using it for background music, or research, but most were unacceptable uses of company time and property.

 Several team members blatantly abused the system, this included their kids use, and abuse, homework you tube, tic toc, and of course porn, a lot of porn, straight, gay, fetish, and yes illegal. At first I only tracked the abusers without official reporting, but I soon realized our vulnerability as a company and brought it to the people at the top. I was assigned to relinquish ALL my daily duties to others, and my primary duty now was to monitor including a feature I discovered, live monitoring, while I shed all of my other duties to my underlings except for advisory issues that come up.

 I began with the small spreadsheet that I started several months ago, and decided this would be my starting point, our new software had recording capabilities as well, while most of these features were carefully locked away from even the members of my own team. I had an erupting sense of guilt knowing that I’d be spying on colleagues good and bad and I needed to be honest across the board, I was going to lose a lot of friends and good people. Our upper management team was the only ones that knew about my tasks at hand, and they laid down values to violations and “Punishments” if you will range from reprimanding to firing and a few “let that one go” situations. I cataloged it all on spreadsheets and I needed to collect proof to be sure, initially this made me so paranoid and guilty, I felt like a secret spy and great shades of the book 1984.

 My first few days, I flipped through the various probably 100 IPs, and it was 9AM, 8 hours later I was addicted, as most of the day I just flipped though each laptop like a TV channel, I began by logging through desktops, if I saw a questionable one, I screenshot it and saved it to my file, one girl had her work screen as her main window but had 7 or 8 other windows open, I could switch those open windows to my screen as well, yup shopping and chat rooms and texts as well as email both personal and business. No major violations, but certainly abuse.

I could also switch on the cameras, Whoa some of these work at home dress codes should be banned, let alone hair and makeup. I found myself getting voyeuristic and enjoying the shows, I even snapped recordings and screenshots, that I kept in my own file, Hell I knew I was the most experienced IT guy and no one else was capable of let alone unlocking the features that I was using.

 After the first few days nothing terrible out of the ordinary showed up and I certainly wasn’t going to damage anyone reputation based on some personal issues, and management also agreed to let those minor things go by, of course I had to compare the stats reported by the other members of my team to my list to see if the allowable personal stuff was interfering with their workload or performance. All in all it was a fair evaluation, but I still felt very guilty about what I was doing.

 Occasionally I’d check and monitor “active” computers after hours, to my surprise some of our team members were indeed working after hours or catching up and some of this activity also helped remove “Negative” points from their daily use, all in all, I have to say the company was being fair about it, in addition all team members were given specific rules and regulations on home working and they each signed off on it, but like most, who reads all that stuff?

 I also began cataloging where I thought the machines were being used and if they moved them around much, most team members worked from the same spot every day, their kitchen, living room, or bedroom desk, but there were some who worked at a coffee shop, gym, pool, hot tub, car or friends houses. Most of these locations were simply an educated guess on my part, logging a screen shot, IP and then linking them to my spreadsheet

Well some nights I found porn use, which I usually followed by checking the camera, most times it was teenage kids who snuck into mom or dads room and were checking things out, most of the time I would log the site and put a future block on that computer settings and never report it, I did however keep it in my personal file, just in case I needed to pull it up for future reference, I’d date it and report what I did to resolve the issue and why I never reported it, I figured that would cover my own ass if it ever came into question, and I even discussed it with one senior manager who agreed with me. I think he knew it helped to ease my mind on what we were doing as well.

 One night I caught one employee’s older teenage son watching gay porn and when I flipped on the camera he was butt fuck naked jerking away. Damn he was hot and I work with multi large screen monitors, so I brought the site up on one and the camera on the other, and now I was in full voyeuristic mode, holy crap what a rod this kid had, I spent most of my time watching him as he beat that meat to a pulp, as he leaned further back in his chair and I had a full view of everything. I’d guess he had a swimmers body, cut nicely. And shaggy blonde hair that flopped into his eyes as he rested his chin into his chest, while his tiring arm jerked away with one hand and his other squeezed his nipple, to top it off he licked his lips just before he came, and cum he did, it was like buckets of cum and he sat back relaxed and exhausted while he scooped up globs on his fingers and tasted a bit, then he fingered it around his chest before grabbing his shirt and wiping himself clean, he quickly logged off and shut down the computer, but not before I recorded it. I jerk off to that video at least once a week now.

Another guy has his laptop in the bedroom apparently left open on a desk, but facing his bed, yup you guessed it he and his wife or girlfriend were going at it, and boy they kept it going for what seemed hours, and she looked like she could give one hell of a blowjob. Again these were not work related abuses, they were just people who just didn’t understand about leaving their machines on and open and I just was taping in from time to time. So these type things when I came across them were just filed in my own file.

 I caught one woman selling Tupperware and Lu La Rue during business hours, and another guy dealing drugs. We had side gigs going in Avon, Tupperware, car sales, real estate, Makeup, you name it, and selfies, oh my god the selfies, these people were so damn vain it was embarrassing. It was apparent I was going to need more storage space and I didn’t want any of this personal stuff on the company servers so I invested in some large solid state drives.

 I did catch one girl who was so prim and proper during the day that actually ran a sex chat room from her machine, that one went in both files, at the time I ended the recording she had earned 34,000 tokens whatever they were worth. LOL. Needless to say she lost her job, but I was confident she would quickly find another, probably in a better line of work than we provided her. Incidentally I was tasked with cleaning out her laptop to “original” company status for a replacement employee.

 I found most of my IT team were reporting inappropriate use by searching history and personal folders that employees were maintaining, so as those reports came into me, those were the people I went the extra steps on recording screenshots and videos, helping me narrow my random searches, and my addictive “channel” like surfing the coworkers. My work became a reality show, and I would soon find that we might lose more employees than I thought possible, such perv’s we have working here, and I laughed at that thought thinking about myself. That thought brought my mind in an unexpected direction.

 One night I “Channel surfed” the upper management team. Most of our employees were just numbers to me, but I was flirting with a few select members of management, I personally knew them, yet were they exempt? Why would they be? I figured what’s fair is fair, but do I report it? Am I jeopardizing my own job? Low and behold I came across Rodger, he was in his mid 30’s, single I believe, the epitome of a high school jock type, I flipped his camera on and the laptop appeared to be in a large bedroom probably on a table or desk. To the rear right of the screen, I could see a door to a bathroom and the bed on the left. He was sitting typing away on his own report, visibly shirtless, I could only see him from the nipples up, but his chest was smooth and his shoulders defined and pronounced, he had a strong neck, mighty fine facial features, a squared off chin with beautiful dimples, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He was fairly new and I’ve only had occasion to meet him a few times mostly at board meetings where we discussed going remote and when we had office days that we were both in on the same day, I didn’t know him well.

 As I was fascinated with watching him I noticed his lips moving so I amped up the sound and sure enough he was talking to someone off screen. The conversation was something like dinner will be ready better wrap it up Rodg. It was a male voice, Rodger got up I then saw him in his tighty whitiey briefs as he bent over clicking the save and closed down the app, stood gave a stretch now point blank center screen was his bulge, a prominent one at that, then he walked away and the light was turned off. Intrigued I left it on one screen while I continued to compile and work on reports compiling data turned in from my team from today.

 At about 10PM I noticed the light come back on and a guy who wasn’t Rodger was tugging his shirt off as he kicked his shoes to the wall. He said “Hey babe I’m hitting the shower and then bed, gonna join me”?

A quick response “Be right in” in reply as Mr. anonymous unbuckled his pants, sitting on the bed removed his pants and socks, he stood and walked toward the bathroom and the light came on I could hear the water running as Rodger entered the bedroom still in those briefs and his back towards me and he bent over as he removed them giving me a bird’s eye view of such a luscious crack and smooth tight ass.

 Then he did a jog toward the other guy standing in the doorway giving each other a kiss and hug as I watched his hands caress Rodgers ass pulling him into himself. They retreated to the bathroom and took about a 20 minute shower together. I watched intently as I imagined what they were possibly doing in there, when both emerged clad in towels, I heard a TV out of sight presumably nearby the computer as they dropped their towels and  hugged, then Rodger pushed the other guy to the bed. Damn I wish I had camera control or telephoto because the TV drowned out the small talk conversation, but soon the action took over as Rodger was giving his mate a beautiful blow job.

 The two obviously knew each other’s likes and dislikes as their play seemed perfectly orchestrated as they switched back and forth until finally Rodger mounted his fine boyfriend or husband and began fucking him and I mean fucking him hard, the two were hot and sweaty and the shine of the athletes body sweat glistening in the light had me jerking off royally myself for the 3rd or 4th time. Rodger yelled he was ready to cum to his friends disappointment as he yelled “No not yet wait and the two split as Rodger yelled “I’m Cumming” and his friend swung his mouth to his dick sucking everything he could from it, Rodger collapsing over his friends back before they both fell flat on the bed. After a moment or two Rodger got up and began sucking his buddy off and his buddy was just moaning and groaning in pleasurable ecstasy when he yelled he was Cumming and Rodger took all of his spunk before finishing in a hugging kiss. His friend got up turned out the light and darted his half rigid dick past the screen as he apparently grabbed the remote and climbed into bed snuggling up next to Rodger.

 Many a night I checked on this camera and actually caught several more shows. I accidentally slipped at one meeting and asked him about his boyfriend, he acted surprised and said he didn’t have a boyfriend but his husband was fine. From that day on the computer was off and closed at bedtime and I only caught him working. He must have suspected something, knowing some of the things I brought to light in our meetings.

Can you imagine what else I saw? wouldn’t you like to know? LOL

“Are those two motherfuckers going at it again?” Ralo, my agitated cellmate asked of the growing snickers coming from the neighboring cell. He was up, bare ass and all, performing his late-night ritual of pissing directly into the chrome toilet. His liquid serenade ended with a loud snort that always stirred me out of sleep.

I rolled over onto my side catching the lonely light coming from the open-air corridor watching him pump away at his burgeoning erection. He should’ve derived pleasure from the act, but it soon became apparent that his body longed for another, our neighbor Ahmad. Ralo had once been a third to their twosome, when Fatback, an enraged Buddha-like character, thought it would be best to keep his prize Arabian to himself. And it didn’t help matters there was only a thin wall the separated the lovers and the spare.

Catcalls began to congregate as Ahmad and Fatback turned their foreplay of laughter into heaving grunts and exaggerated yelps. Ralo, still detached from pleasure, began pumping violently to their rhythm when I startled him from mid-stroke by saying, “Let it go.”

Ralo didn’t spat his usual smug response of “fuck off” as his hand simply moved from his crotch over to his trimmed red Irish beard, slowly making his footsteps towards me and the cots. “Just pissing proud, my friend. Piss proud and prosper!” Ralo startled gravely.

He drove his foot into my cock and kicked up to get to his. His coarse Irish brew followed. “I’m starting to think you like waking up just to get a look at my ding-a-ling.”

“If only you had one.” I taunted.

Ralo was only an inch or two shy of my bull hung, which by any standards in and out of prison was still pretty huge. Because of so many years living in the same cell, we were almost one in the same except for the every few edges I boasted over my dear friend and the few he held over me. Where I was blessed with length, Ralo made up for it in girth. This is how we were able to obtain the nickname “Bottles” and “Beer Can.”

“It’s bigger than that damn Buddha over there.”

I thumped the back of his slender bed. Ralo could’ve easily thought I was being playful with him that time of night. But I meant it as a warning to lower his voice. He may’ve been right about Fatback. I was never able to confirm or deny the allegation. Besides, that wasn’t the point. The last thing I wanted to do was to pull Ralo from under an infuriated Fatback like I did in the canteen the week before when the Buddha claimed Ahmad as his sole property. Thought I was confident that Fatback was too busy honeymooning with his new wife to hear a word or to even care for that matter.

“Hadn’t you heard, Ralo? It’s the motion in the ocean, not the size of it.”

“As many waves in that fucking ocean, Alistair, Ahmad should be swimming well!”

Ralo and I cackled.

Ralo and I got along with no trouble. That wasn’t always the case, though. The very thing that kept us at odds for so long was the very thing that pulled us together. We were both misfits within a wall of misfits. He was a generation removed from immigration raised in the roughest part of New York, and I was a mulatto bred in a lily-white town in New England. Other than great scores and fast money, we really didn’t have much in common. Despite the paths that landed us behind bars, we grew to respect and eventually love one another during our tenure.

“Who told you that?” Ralo asked me.

“Bert, over there,” I said speaking of our third cellmate. “He told me the very first night I wanted to give him a proper meat injection. I taught the boy he could have the best of both words.”

Beer Can interrupted. “And the poor kid has been a-dick-ed ever since!”

We roared with laughter at the expense of our junior.

Other than being a young nineteen-year-old cellmate consecrated with a very plump derriere, Bert was also green-eyed when it came to Ralo and me. Bert was slow–not quite mature enough to appreciate our bond. Even though I never used the term in lockup, everybody–even the warden–knew Ralo and I were an item. We just never confined our connection to monogamy. Albeit, we had a stronger tie than most who claim there were strapped at the hip. While Bert had a problem not being the one and only in my life, Ralo was just the opposite failing to understand why the rest of the prison system didn’t heed to our deal.

“Oh, baby, don’t be like that.” I called out to Bert, turning his back on us facing the adjacent wall.

I skinned the covers from my unclothed frame unveiling my long, juicy hard-on that was probably offset by the noise next door or my nude partner.

“I guess you should make nice with Young Bertie.”

My bare feet agreed with Ralo moving across the cold cement floor. I said to Bert, “I guess I have to make with you, huh?”

Bert turned back onto his side and nodded his gorgeous face in my shadow. He began to inhale deep around my acrid pubes before sticking his tongue inside my elongated piss slit and continued down the shaft, licking my balls and came back up to suck on my mushroom head with his puckered mouth forcefully. Bert even went further licking the underside of my dick using slow strokes along the big vein. Finding myself getting highly aroused, I grabbed the back of his neck and guided my link down his gagging throat.

“Deep throat, motherfucker,” I egged on.

Bert obliged. By the time I finally coax his throat with my sweet jizz, my feet were nicely warm to the contrasting floor.

“Want some?” I asked Ralo, letting my limp deck rest in the cocksucker’s orifice.

I thought I would cheer up Ralo with Bert, even if I knew perfectly well that my cock server didn’t want anything to do with our other cellmate. But since it was an unwritten rule that Bert would do as he was told, I didn’t fret. On top of his raging jealously, Bert was very superficial when it came to looks. Despite the fact that Ralo had an incredible body, he wasn’t handsome in the least. His utterly ugliness grew attractive the more you understood his coarse nature; handsome in a doggish way, an old inmate once called it. Unlike me, who took years to finally see it, Ahmad saw it right away. Ahmad was queer and queerly beautiful to the streets, so his value only increased behind bars. Ralo wasn’t anything of a kind, leaving more than an intense attraction mixed with a mutual envy. Bert, unable to see this rough splendor in his own cell, left himself open for Ralo to seize his at any given opportunity.

“Sure. Why the fuck not?” Ralo swung his feet over the bunk.

His feet pounded the cold cement etching his way over to the third cot.

“Then, come get some, motherfucker!” I said easing my still-sensitive one-eyed monster out of Bert’s mouth.

Without waiting for a proper invite, Ralo reached over and poked Bert’s asshole through the thin prison sheets to find it already greased. Bert let out a roar of protest while Ralo demanded that he “get on your stomach.” Bert obliged. Ralo peeled back the covers and mounted Bert, shoving his dick against his tight, fine-haired buttonhole. Bert quivered as Ralo slowly fed him his inches to the hilt.

“Shiiit!” Bert screamed into the pillow.

I was already reclining on my cot massaging my newest hard-on when our neighbors in the next cell were just finishing up. Looking over at Ralo, I could tell he found his inspiration to give Bert a long deserving deep fuck amongst the catcallers and dog barkers.

Bert tried to ease the pleasure pain churning in his ass by squirming forward in his cot. He was fully impaled and locked under the strength of his top to move anywhere. Once Bert accepted that Ralo was drilling him for the long haul, pumping harder and deeper than the last, Bert began to grind back, trying to get him to ejaculate sooner. By the look of it, Ralo was closed, but stopped shy, and then flipped the teenager on his back. With his feet on his shoulders, Ralo fucked him, sadistically plowing his reddening ass, reddening his thighs. His balls slapping the hole with Bert conceding to the assault by spraying his salty load over his stomach causing Ralo to pull out and spray his over Bert’s already dry-cummed face.

A week and a half later, Ralo and I had been using Bert simultaneously for our carnal pleasures. It was becoming painfully obvious that Bert and his bunghole were becoming quite loose from the frequent pounding we were tag teaming on him. Because, as most would say, Ralo and I were lovers, I couldn’t very well ask him to leave my cumdumpster alone. Ralo was already hurt by the Ahmad and diligently trying to make both Ahmad and Fatback jealous with his feverish humping.

My cellmates along with a host of other inmates were scattered about the commissary line, buying things with our book money when I paid attention to who was standing in front of us. Fatback. He was standing behind Ahmad, who was shamelessly pressing his backend against his “husband” causing inmates and guards alike judging by the tents in their pants. When they got to the front of the line, Fatback took his place next to his wife and ordered necessities and other items for the both of them. The casher tallied it up and told him his account were several bucks short of the items he wanted.

“Shit!” Fatback rattled.

It was well known Fatback had connections on the outside that always put money on his books. It was even said by one of the cashiers many years ago that he could live quite comfortably for five years on the money he had on the books. That was more than ten years ago. I naturally assumed that it was the same today.

I asked, “Out of coins, Fat?”

Fatback went onto explain he hadn’t converted his prison credit of cigarettes–gold behind bars–into solid cash through behind the wall deals with guards and hustlers. If I had been any other inmate, he wouldn’t have given me that kind of intel. But he did because he thought he had an equal, a confidante in me. Other than Fatback, it was also well known that my father and his wealthy suburbanite family members frequently kept money on my books since I took my bid for them.

“Can you help me out, Alistair?”

“Sure,” I paused, watching his face light up. His brightened face fell when my mind went to work. I uttered, “Pawn over Ahmad for a few tricks.”

Fatback sat on it for a moment. And even though he did this, his reaction was still abrupt when he smiled in agreement, particularly for someone who didn’t believe in sharing. We shook hands on the deal. I purchased their items on top of mine that I had set to purchase for Bert for his sportsmanship with Ralo.

As soon as we got out of line, Fatback asked, “When do you want to collect, Alistair?”

“Right now is fine with me.” I gleamed.

After dropping off my things, I escorted Ahmad into my office in the faraway stairwell as Fatback made his way back to his cell with their things. Contrary to popular belief, most sex behind bars is consensual. Most inmates, those who were doing serious time, adopted the mentality that rape is necessary when the very art of persuasion wasn’t doable. Meanwhile, if a man couldn’t be persuaded or “flipped” as we called it, it was much easier to obtain a soul through hustling services than taking the risk of getting fingered and thrown in the hole for several days.

As I walked down the stairwell behind Ahmad, I was short of playfully smacking his bubble bottom. I guess he felt this vibe, too, as he playfully made sudden stops along the stairwell urging my stiffened dick against his mounds.

“You think you’re slick, don’t you, Arab?”

“I could be, Mr. Bottles,” he beamed.

“Bottles. I haven’t heard that in a while. Alistair works just the same.”

We made our way to a secluded landing. Ahmad turned around, and in the instant his mouth sought mine the lights went out and our ears were flooded with the sounds of sex. Before I could tell him my intent, my jumpsuit was open and his warm breath was over my privates. If I wasn’t hard before, I was then.

“Look, Ahmad, you don’t have to do that.”

I felt his darted tongue flick the tip of my dick. “I want to,” he said thinly with his accent.

He engulfed me without another word. I was too in awe of his oral skills to push him away. It had finally registered to me what the fuss was all about. Ahmad wasn’t just sex for Ralo. He was an experience. It was quite understandable why the fat man wanted this boy all to himself. It also deepened the reason Fatback willed Ahmad to me with a glorious smile, too, because he was just too powerful for one man.

When the sensation became overwhelming, I followed my instincts. I stood Ahmad up and faced him against the wall, pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. I kissed the back of his neck as my sodden dick pressed against his hungry hole. We both felt good as I eased into him. He drew me all the way in, giving me the go-ahead to use him strictly for my pleasure.

Our jackhammering grunts and groans interweaved with those around us as we unloaded our semen.

“And to think you didn’t want any of this, Mr. Bottles.” Ahmad heaved.

“It wasn’t that,” I breathed, feeling a little flushed myself. I felt him turn between me and the wall. “It was just that….”

“I know you asked for me for Ralo.” Ahmad read my mind.

That was my intent, my only intent for asking for Ahmad.

“But that’s no reason for you not to try out the merchandise for yourself, now is it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I tried not to inflate his ego.

“I know you wouldn’t, Alistair. But I would–-so I’ve heard. Besides, he

wouldn’t mind the way he’s been pounding away at your boy.”

“Lights out!” The guard yelled.

Every light except for the primary lights in the open-air corridor went off. Once I knew the guards had made their rounds, I slid open our cell door. Being most of the inmates on our block were well-established, civilized prisoners, if there is such a thing, the guards never locked our cell doors. They only made sure that they were closed before they left, giving us free range to move from one cell to the other, a privilege we never abused due to the fear of the hole looming over our heads.

Ralo and Bert stuck close behind me as I quietly slid open the cell door belonging to Fatback and Ahmad, who were sound asleep in their cots. I directed Bert to wake Fatback up with a blowjob, in which he did, bringing a silly smirk to the overweight man. Ahmad sleeping on his stomach on the bottom bunk received a hard swift smack on the butt I wanted to deliver to him earlier in the evening. He turned to face Ralo and me with a grin, mouthing, “It’s time to collect already?”

I nodded.

Ahmad dragged himself down from the cot to the floor where we were, wearing nothing more than some tight-fitting pink briefs that showed his excitement. When he fully awoke, he smiled at the blossoming Ralo. Ralo held Ahmad in his arms for a moment. They eventually kissed with Ahmad announcing “threesome.”

“Awesome!” Ralo smiled.

“All-some!” I corrected, being ignored for my corny, ill-timed joke.

Ralo and I undressed as Ahmad stripped his pink briefs. Fatback was already nude along with Bert, but they came to stand around us anyway. Taking the lead, I stood Ahmad in the center of us facing me. I ordered Bert to grab one leg while Fatback grabbed the other. I held his underarms for support, burying my dick deep down his throat.

“You know what to do.” I said to Ralo.

Ralo positioned himself right between Ahmad’s legs, reading to ram his dick into that tight ass. He looked at Fatback and asked if he had any grease.

“Vaseline’s in the usual place.”

It seemed from that line alone that whatever tore the two of them apart was being sown back together.

Ralo inserted a greasy finger into Ahmad. He whimpered, complaining it was cold. Ralo laughed, saying he could fix that, sliding two and three fingers out of Ahmad’s hole. Once the Vaseline was warmed, Ralo pressed in Ahmad’s crack the thick lubrication sliding further into him. With Ahmad bouncing off our dicks, he seemed pretty satisfied with his midair flight. Everybody had their turn with each of his openings, including Bert, leaving ropes and ropes of thick cum down and across Ahmad’s body.

We placed Ahmad on the top bunk, the one belonging to Fatback, wiping his body clean of cum. After relaying how much fun we had, Fatback ordered we “leave the two lovebirds alone.”

Ahmad climbed down from his bunk.

Bert, Fatback, and I made it back over to our cell where I spooned Bert on Ralo’s cot just above our snoring guest.

In the coming days, Fatback couldn’t deny the genuine love that Ralo and Ahmad had. So rather than give up his stake in him, he allowed for the three of them to have a relationship together. This caused Bert and me to exchange cells with Fatback and Ahmad.

In the long-needed rest, Bert’s hole snapped back into its tight form, firmly gripping me with each stroke he and I shared in our new private cell.

Growing up in a small town in southern Maine; especially looking back, was such a simple time. The four streets that made up my neighborhood; named after ivy league schools and running parallel to each other, were all I knew.

The expansive park sitting perpendicular; and directly across from those streets, had two baseball diamonds. One was reserved for men’s softball games. The other still has professional dug outs, stand seating, a concessions and an announcers booth above it. In the summer, you could hear little league games being called throughout the neighborhood.

Each field sat at opposite ends of the parks length. In between them: a three net fenced tennis court, a double sided court divided by a concrete practice wall, twin basketball courts and a well equipped playground. From my upstairs bedroom window, this view stretched before me; as if the Earth ended beyond the line of homes and trees that bordered behind it. Idyllic as it was; even then, it felt a little like a backdrop, especially after the incident.

Like my parents, the neighborhood was blue collar; but comfortably middle class homes. Mine being particularly sheltered due to my devoutly catholic upbringing. I was not; so much as my upbringing was; but it sometimes left me a little late to things and a little out of step. For example, I remember the first time a friend showed me his Dad’s hidden stash of dated 80’s Penthouses and Hustlers.

I m sure my eyes were as big saucers. It certainly was a curious in between time; and I was blown away by them. We had access to “wordliness”, the internet etc; just a lot of oversight and protections. I had my share of friends around the block. We all similarly shared the same wholesome experience, except for one.

He wasn’t really a friend of ours; not even in our age group. He lived two streets away in the only tenement building in the area. It was a rundown place he lived in with his mom and brother. His name was Mike. He was my older sisters age. He was heavy set, had a buzz cut, thick glasses and always seemed a bit greasy.

We knew more of him then anything else. Even then, there was something off-putting and somewhat obnoxious about him, despite how friendly he was. His tenement sat across the street from the little league field and was exactly where the bus to my catholic school stopped everyday; from there it was a five minute walk home.

It was on one such day. I was an adolescent with slight freckles and mopishly wavy hair. A bit of baby fat still clung to my hips slightly, but otherwise slim and fit. Someone called my name. He was standing behind his door.

I hadn t spoken to him in years; and he only looked like a larger version of the memory I had of him. Thick glasses, heavy and sweaty demeanor. I think back to what a near cliche he was. He called me over and I reluctantly approached. I didn’t want to be rude. He made quick small talk then told me he had something to show me.

I couldn’ t imagine what it might be or that I ‘d be remotely interested. Despite all misgiving, in I went though it may be unfathomable to anyone else. Painfully niave? Yes; but something else was being tapped into….

I stepped into a kitchen with old creaking linoleum covered floors. The interior was muted dark with pulled shades. An absence of light that was as metaphorical as it was physical. The floors were slightly tacky.

A sour staleness hung in the air. It occurred to me that I had never been inside that heap of a place and wondered why I was. He told me that something had happened and that my sister had told him to look after me, while he led me to his room. None of that made sense, of course; but there i was looking at his dingy room.

A shabby unmade bed against the wall. He told me to sit down as he closed the door. I was ready to leave, wanted to; but I sat instead. He made small talk and asked me how my sister was; after just telling me he spoke to her. He coaxed me to lie back.

I was confused and resisted slightly. He pressed me slightly back and I gave in, yet again. He said while we wait. We should play a game. He placed a pillow on my face. I pulled it back; but again, gave in. I was scared now; but mostly of my own acquiescence.

I layed there feeling silly; as he rambled on. I then felt my belt buckle being worked. I jolted up, pillow sliding. He regained his control of me again. I lay there breathing nervously, as he worked my belt loose. I had never played “doctor” before or any of those “show you mine games”.

I was embarrassed. I remember screaming at myself to stop things; but I felt heat too, that I didn t understand then. Soft tingles too, as he gentle worked my pants down and off me. I remember pulling at them for a moment, gripping them; only to have them relinquished from me assertively. My hands returned to my sides gently. I felt weightless.

He moved my shirt up next to my neck. His hands slid back down over my nipples and It felt like a shock. I think my hips bucked slightly in response. He made a point to flick with his thumbs again. I saw lights flash and breathed wetly into the pillow.  I may have whimpered slightly. 

It felt… like nothing I d ever felt before.. I had no idea what he had just done to me; but it felt amazing .. and dangerous all at once. It left me feeling floaty, adrift and my resistance numbed. I was vaguely aware of my …boy panties … being worked slowly downward. My hips almost complicitly lifting as he snaked them off me, leaving tingly trails in their wake.    It was the cool air, though it felt like a sauna in that room, on my bare heated skin, that signified I was fully exposed to him. 

There was a sudden intake of breath and a low groan from him. I know now it was a lust filled and yearning sound. I lay there for what felt like forever under my pillow. My heart hammering in my chest.  I could feel his eyes on me. I was embarrassed, ashamed to be so open to anyone like that; let alone him..at the time.  It felt surreal. I felt  awkward and lay stiffly w my arms at my sides; even as contrary images of the reclining centerfolds I d seen  flashed in my mind.  

Now, as the submissiveness of the situation washes over me, I hope that he was pleased by what he saw. I think even then, a part of me did too. I sensed movement as he un dressed. The bed shifted suddenly as he mounted it, … prepared to mount me.

The pillow was suddenly pulled from me, wrenched away unceremoniously. What had been my undoing at first was now my last line of protection, something to hide behind. Like everything else? Now casually tossed aside. Bereft; and suddenly feeling more vulnerable than ever as my blinking eyes adjusted incredulously to his nudity filling my field of vision.  He loomed before me upright on his knees like a naked mountain. At the time; he was the first person I had ever been aware of being naked with.  I slunk back into the yielding mattress; wishing it could swallow me. My rounded, fearful eyes darted up to meet his face. His glasses were gone. Our eyes met.  Without the exaggerated lenses; they were softer; but narrowed with a furtive cold heat as they drifted over me.  His led mine. My eyes drifted down the slopes of his chubby frame. Neck, chest and arms sculpted by his developing masculinity. He was dark and swarthy toned, sprigged with coiled, kinky hair all over. With revulsed fascination I followed the thickening trail of coils; down past his naval to a full nesty bush. So different than my own hairless contrasting softness, curving ivory and pink. I was up on my elbows now with a raised knee. I was shocked back up to him after glancing a hard thick dong.  He smirked back at me. A curious mix of self gratified male satisfactions: pride, lust, newfound vanity.. His hands slapped suddenly against my upturned chest.  I gasped out a final weak “Noo”  This  time mauling them.  I fell backward with a whimper. 

There was a moment; and then he was on me. I was already recoiling to push, fight and resist. His weight came down on me first as he necked me. I pushed back against him with all my might . I locked my elbows. He was much heavier; but I was ready now finally to fight it.

We struggled until he finally swept my left arm away in frustration. My wrist thudded against the wall loudly. I was struck suddenly with the gentleness in his tone and concern when he thought he may have hurt me; even as he handled me like a wild animal.

My other hand slipped off his sweaty shoulder. His size did the rest we lay naked together as he ground and poked against me. I resigned to it angrily and awkwardly. Unsure of what I was supposed to do now. and sensing the same from him.

He slid and moaned against me. His shallow breathing.. in my ear.. “you re so soft..” I kind of remember him saying as he held my wrists.. and his cock kissed and rubbed into my belly button. I felt a sticky trail forming; but wasn t sure if it was my imagination or our mixing sweat.

I was still resisting as best I could, until his thick thighs pried mine apart surprisingly, masterfully. I wasn’t aware then being so caught up. I recall now how easily he opened me up to him. How my wanton thighs flew open to accept him. What a rush!

His body began to sync into an awkward humping rhythm. The old bed springs began to screech gently to his weight and mine. He kissed my neck, then my cheek; groaning that he’d been “waiting for this for so long with me.”  

As nature began informing him;  his nature was informing me. His movements swept me up.  My tender body  began to move with his; no matter how unwillingly.  The increasingly rhythmic rolling of his hips rewiring me more than I could know then or would know later. He encouraged me with ‘sweet nothings, urged me to relax and let go; that he wouldn’t hurt me. Sensations and flashes: the way his thick bush of hair engulfed my smooth untouched privates,  his length and balls pressed against me, ended past my naval.  His belly pressed  into mine.  The coiled coarse hairs dusting his body prickling and tickling my sensitive chest, nips, against my legs and inner thighs. The heated friction between us made me slick for him. His heavy ass began to buck. The gentle buffing of his pubic nest became a heated urgent scouring, raw, exasperating my virginity.  The springs were screeching in response. His weight caused my haunches to slap back turning me into a slick tight, tingling groove of flesh for a man to ride. Barely fighting it by then  I was a confused wreck of emotions . I held on to him and his need for dear life, moaning with him. I was slipping below him and feared a smothering.  A hand clung to his neck and back. Another gripped the back of an upper arm.  I looked up and saw his head bobbing in time to his frantic humping, eyes tightly closed, mouth o shaped and gasping. There  was no penetration thank god. A hand came down and suddenly yanked a slim thigh, gripping below a cheek, curving me into him. Oh God..  He sudenly stiffened. I again felt a sicky hot release from my neck to “my belly. I wasn’t entirely sure he disn’t pee on me.

He slowed his pace. We lay there. He holding me; both of us breathless. Exertions cooling, my anger, confusion; now disgust with myself returning. A whirlwind of confusion of what just happened and how? All the storm that a trauma can bring . 

I didn t say a word as we dressed like lovers. He made more talk. I was silent. I know he was gaging me. He was worried of what I might do or say. I could read it now, thanks to him. He got what he wanted; my innocence. What’s more I could tell he was worried because he wanted me back.

He tried to tell me in his own way that he wanted to see me again. He even gave me candy?!? And offered more of it to see him again. I was out the door and hoped he could see me smashing it on the street in front of his house. Im sure he did.

My walk of shame was a march. I got home and found the wetness of his cum clinging to my shirt, stainingthe length of it. Like a good catholic, I repressed it and resented; even hated Mike. I never told anyone; and fretted over my sexuality. Was I still “straight”? Did he “make” me gay.

The first time I made myself cum, though. It was to Mike; or the idea of him. I tied my own hands and played that way till I released. I began to look at the sluts in my friends porn mags; and imagine being one rather than be turned on by them.

I knew I was attracted to women; but he had awakened something inside me too, something fierce and dark. I was sexualized and saw myself; as if for the first time. . I looked in the mirror and saw that little bit of hip my babyfat gave me and a thick little bubble butt. I liked the feminine appearance it gave me and wondered if Mike had, too.  

I wondered if thats what he saw when he’d watch me. I hated to think it; but the idea that I was just some naive cocktease all along: HIS cocktease. Well, the emotions and feelings were tumultuous. It wasn t long before I was fantasizing about being in situations I couldn’t control with actual men. I came hardest that way and the shame was devastating.

To this day screeching bed springs makes me think of one thing and I get incredibly hard. I began to Cd, slightly, sister’s panties and heels to give that thick little booty some lift off .

The first time a year or 2 later that I imagined going over to his house while dressed made me cum without touching myself. I was a wreck over it; but it became an idea I actually had to wrestle with not doing. The idea of showing up, strictly as a pleaser for this ..person. I probably have never processed him , it, properly.

What I do know is that for better or worse, Mike gave me eyes to see the world as it is and can be. I’ve processed as much as I can thru exploration and discovery, in life and sexually. I know its wrong and I d never idealize the memory; but Mike remains to this day as one of my most seething encounters with a woman or man. I still think of him; and yes longly when I do.

I wonder what I ‘d have become; if I’d gone back to him. I wonder now; even hope he thinks about me from time to time. I ve allowed myself finally for a few years now: to embrace what he has given me, to forgive him; and most importantly, myself. What he did was wrong; in ever way, but he still TURNS ME ON SIDE WAYS. For awakening this sexual demon inside me, I stroke to Mike with all my hate; but cum with all my love.