Author: admin

Chapter 24

Duplicates

As February passed and March arrived, Harry returned to Washington to conduct business in the congress, after we campaigned the final two weekends in the month.

No more hard campaigning was scheduled until April. Everything went fine and I was becoming accustomed to being on stage. It wasn’t so much something I liked as it was something I did. Knowing the end game, I did my best for Harry’s sake.

I still wasn’t thrilled about leaving Dylan and Ivan, even when it was for only a day and a half. It was at most a couple of weekends a month, until October, and then it would be constant until election day. I told Harry I was on board for whatever he needed me to do and the end result would be worth any inconvenience in my life.

Nothing suspicious or dangerous had been reported at the cove.

The Cove Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop was finished inside and out. It was a colorful addition to the cove. J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen was completed and most of the kitchen equipment was inside.

Popov was busy discussing the menu with J.K. They were after the best dishes to be prepared in advance, refrigerated, and heated quickly while maintaining quality and flavor.

Ivan preferred J.K. make the decisions on what food to offer. Ivan would run the shop and supervise the employees with Taggart as his right hand man, but J.K. had a reputation to protect. Most of what Ivan knew about food came from eating it but he wanted the best possible menu to serve the visitors to the cove.

*****

On Ivan’s birthday we got cleaned up and dressed in our most fashionable clothes. After a fine birthday lunch, without Mama revealing what would be served for dinner, Ivan, Dylan, and I headed for the Buick. I instructed Ivan to drive to Fort Myers where my birthday gift would be given to him. I had Ivan park around the corner from our destination.

We walked down the block and stopped in front of the photographic gallery.

“I know this place,” Ivan said. “We’ve been here before. We came here to get our pictures taken on my eighteenth birthday. The picture on your nightstand.”

My plan for Ivan’s birthday developed while I was on dives. That weightless atmosphere allowed my mind to wander. It wandered to the last time we spent his birthday together. The plan was to adapt that birthday to his thirtieth birthday. Once I decided on the gift, I kept it to myself for quite a while.

I would duplicate the outing as closely as I could manage with one little exception. Actually, it was becoming a rather big exception. Dylan was growing fast.

When Dylan said, “I’m not a child,” his size was on his side.

At the front door of the gallery, I told Ivan the details of the birthday gift I was giving him. He smiled.

“Sounds OK to me, babe. We aren’t exactly teenagers any more.”

“I’m nearly a teenager. Does that help, Daddy-O.”

“It does,” Ivan said, mussing Dylan’s hair.”

“Oh, Daddy-O!” Dylan fussed.

*****

Our first stop was at the photographic studio to have our picture taken. Dylan was wide eyed. Before telling the man what we wanted, Dylan was giving him the third degree.

“How’d you get this effect? It’s remarkable. None of my pictures look anything like this,” Dylan said, showing us.

“That’s done with a fish-eye lens. It’s a special effect. Most special effects require a special lens to achieve.”

He went over to a cabinet that required a key to open. It took a minute before he brought back a box with a red velvet interior. In the box was the lens.

“Wow!” Dylan said. “It causes a refraction of the light. It bends in a way where the center is totally focused and to either side there is a blurring of the image the farther you get from the center.”

Dylan was fascinated by the effect the lens would create.

“How mush does a gizmo like this cost?” Dylan asked.

“This one was approximately two hundred and fifty dollars. We don’t sell them but it’s the best one for our purposes. Since most of our work is studio portraits, it’s suited to get the effect you described at weddings, birthdays, special events like that.”

Dylan looked at me lens again.

“Your birthday’s coming soon. Sounds like that might be birthday and Christmas,” I said.

Dylan didn’t blink.

“How many lenses do you have in there?” Dylan asked.

“Forty or fifty. We can achieve most effects people want.”

Dylan wasn’t done yet and the photographer walked with him down the corridor to the studio where he’d take our picture. Dylan stopped every few feet to ask about a picture. He wanted to know how this one was done and how that one was done.

The photographer was a patient man. He described in detail how each photograph was taken. Dylan would stand and stare into the picture to imagine the technique the man described.

When we got to the studio, the large camera on a tripod got Dylan’s attention.

“The tripod steadies the camera to get the best picture,” Dylan said.

“It does. Essential for studio pictures. No need to risk running a picture with a sneeze or an itch. This camera is over a thousand dollars. It never leaves the studio. It’s strictly for portraits like the one I’m about to take of you.”

“You develop them yourself?”

“I do. Come next door. I’ll show you.

We walked back into the hallway to a small room one door down. Their were negatives everywhere. Some were dangling with a clothespin holding them in a way that allowed them to dry. There was 35mm film, pans, chemicals, lights, and more than enough doodads.

*****

Dylan hadn’t asked any questions about the photographic lab on Sea Lab, but I knew what came next. He’d just been introduced to the world of developing film. Until then he was satisfied with me developing the film he shot.

A few weeks into his photography adventure, I introduced him to a role of black and white film. He wrinkled his nose. When he saw the results in black and white.

The trip to the photographic studio was a turning point in Dylan’s photography. Seeing the quality of the detail in black and white pictures, he began asking for black and white film and his pictures were far more distinctive in black and white.

Dylan began working with light and shadow in a way he never had before. By changing the light, it changed the character of objects he photographed. I took Ivan to the shop to recreate a day that took place months before Boris was lost.

We left with Dylan better educated in what he could make his Nikkon camera do. Ivan had a sense about what Dylan would like. The camera was the best gift he could have given our son.

I never imagined when he opened that box at Christmas, and the expensive camera came as a surprise to me, that Dylan would become fascinated by the art of photography. The man at the gallery took Dylan farther down that road.

As I watched a door opening in Dylan’s mind, whatever he wanted, within reason, I would provide. I wanted him to have enough experience in life to know what he wanted to do and what he wouldn’t be caught dead doing.

Bill Payne once told me, ‘Do what you love, Clay, and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

I knew it was true. I’d never done a day’s work and I knew how blessed I was. I could provide whatever Dylan required. I was a man of means and I would spare no expense giving Dylan what he wanted or needed. That way he would find what was right for him.

Going back into that studio, I felt like Ivan’s birthday would probably end up with Dylan being the biggest winner on our trip to Fort Myers.

*****

With Dylan between us we stood in front of a similar backdrop to the one we stood in front of for the first picture. The photographer entertained us with stories and quips that made us laugh, smile, and appear serious. I picked the picture with the three of us smiling.

I looked at Ivan and he nodded his approval.

“Two of this one,” I said.

I figured one for my bedroom and one for Ivan’s bedroom. I hadn’t figured on any more.

“I’ve got a picture of my mother and you over my bed. Shouldn’t I get one too? I’ll put it beside her picture?” Dylan said.

“Make that three copies. We’ll pick out the frames when we return,” I said.

The man changed the order from two to three copies of the picture.

“I like the one with us laughing,” Dylan said.

“Two and one,” the photographer asked before making any more changes.

“No, keep the three and add the one our son wants. I’ll give one to my mother on her birthday. She doesn’t have any pictures of the three of us together.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

I gave him the money for the four pictures and I put a substantial down payment on four frames. We’d pick out what we wanted when we picked the pictures up.

We walked a block from the photographic studio and we stopped in front of the jewelry shop.

“We are recreating my eighteenth birthday,” Ivan said.

“We are. You get to pick the ring. I picked last time,” I said.

We looked for the identical ruby rings we once wore as teenagers. I had mine at home and I stopped wearing it when I was diving so often. As salty as the Gulf is, it wouldn’t do gold any good. Ivan’s ring was somewhere safe. He wasn’t sure where it was safe.

We hadn’t discussed taking Dylan along when we went to buy matching rings, but Dylan was with us and we decided we could explain it to him in a way that wouldn’t bring up too many questions.

Underestimating my son was easy for me. I kept seeing my little boy when I looked at him. When I was ten, I could barely tie my own shoes and when I did, they refused to stay tied. It was a different world in Tulsa. I was a small fish in a big fish tank. Being childish was an art form for me and my friends.

Dylan was more adult than some of the adults. I don’t know what accounted for it. I’d like to think it was my fine fathering. Realizing what a joke that was, I accepted I had a gifted son, and as Ivan and I tried to decide what to say if our son asked about matching rings,

Dylan seated himself on the floor in front of the wedding ring display case. We stood behind him as he examined each set of rings.

“This one,” he said after ten minutes.

Ivan and I stood silent.

“Those are wedding rings,” I said for no particular reason.

“This one,” he said, pointing and looking over his shoulder at us.

“You aren’t getting a ring, kiddo,” I said.

“I’m not stupid, daddy. This one. These are identical. They’re nice without being showy.”

Ivan and I looked at each other. It was a bit in your face but he did come in with us. I liked the ring. When I looked at Ivan he nodded his approval. I was buying them so it was my turn to talk.

“The one our son picked out,” I said, biting my tongue.

The man behind the counter followed Dylan’s finger. He didn’t look twice when he reached his hand in the case to take the box.

“Make sure I get the right ones. This one?”

He picked up the box.

“Yes, sir,” Dylan said.

“Beautiful rings. It has eleven diamond chips set in platinum,” he described. “Guaranteed to last a lifetime.”

He smiled at us.

He turned the box so we could get a closer view.

“I want two of the man’s style. How long before we can pick them up?” I asked. “We’ll be back in Fort Myers a week from today.”

“Come back to my work station. We’ll get your sizes. The jeweler who will do the work isn’t here today. He’ll fit the rings and they should be ready on your trip back to town next week, if we have two of the style you want in stock,” he said. “I’ll give you my card so you can check before you come over.”

He handed me his card.

“That works,” I said.

He checked his stock and measured our ring fingers. We followed him back to the front counter.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked.

“Two hundred and twenty-four dollars each, plus tax, but we can give you our ‘happy wedding day discount’ we have in effect this week. Twenty-five percent off,” he said, giving us his biggest smile..

Writing out the numbers on a sales slip, he handed it to me.

“Sounds like a good deal,” I said, opening my wallet and counting out the cash.

“Congratulations,” he said as we headed toward the door.

The three of us said, “Thank you” at the same time.

“You think he knew?” Ivan asked, following up with, “It’s my birthday.”

My lover was quick on his feet but our son was nobody’s fool.

“I think he knew,” I said. “I don’t remember if it was the same guy as before,” I said. “Twelve years is a long time.”

“Me either,” Ivan said. “It was the same guy who took our pictures before. I remembered him. He has a presence that’s hard to miss.”

“Happy thirtieth birthday, Ivan,” I said.

“Yeah, Daddy-O, You’re getting old,” Dylan said.

“I’m getting old at the same rate you are, junior.”

“We went to the movies that night,” I said. “With Mama expecting us for your birthday dinner, no time for a movie.”

“You’ve made me proud, honey bun. Thank you, and to think this time last year we weren’t even on the same continent,” he said.

“Don’t remind me. This arrangement seems much nicer to me,” I said.

*****

As if one political campaign wasn’t enough for one worn out marine biologist, in April I introduced my sister, Lucy Olson, to a local audience. She’d launched her run for the state legislature.

Harry didn’t attend. He wanted Lucy to have the stage to herself. She was running for Harry’s old seat in the Florida legislature.

Harry would make several campaign stops in our district, his congressional district. He would appear beside Lucy after I introduced them. It was how he showed his support for her candidacy.

My sister was smart enough to hold her own with the political class. She’d shine as a legislator and bring her knowledge to the table with her desire to assist the people who needed help.

Lucy taught for a few years after college, She wanted a first hand look at what the people in her district needed. When she spoke to the parents of her students, she asked them what they thought.

Several current members of the legislature came to campaign beside Lucy. They remembered Lucy’s visit to the legislature when she put some older legislators in their place. The younger members asked her about running for the legislature. As a young dynamic woman, the younger members of the legislature saw her as the kind of fighter they wanted on their side. Lucy would fight for the people who would benefit from government assistance, while letting the powerful fend for themselves.

It was a new day. Campaigning for Lucy was easier than going full tilt with Harry. Lucy stayed within a couple of hours of the house. We could make two or three stops on the way home for dinner. Campaigning for Lucy meant sleeping in my own bed. It also meant mingling in the crowd to chat before and after an event.

*****

Ivan finished the Cove Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop in April. Right after the final shelves were stocked, Ivan began grading the area west of the boat ramp for the cove beach.

Harry knew a contractor, one of his supporters, who was opening a new housing development a dozen miles away. He would soon finish grading the streets if the weather held. He would let Ivan use the grader for the cost of transporting it. Harry offered a discounted list of services he talked over with Ivan and there would be free passes for the people living in his new development. They could come and use the cove beach and have access to a dining experience at J.K.’s. “I told them about your fishing boat and the shop where his residents could buy whatever they needed for an outing at the beach.”

“Harry,” Ivan said. “Before you offer free passes to the beach, shouldn’t we have a beach?”

“That’s what the grader is for. I got you a grader and good advertisement for your business. When’s the grand opening?”

“Grand opening,” Ivan said.

“You are offering a vacation paradise for vacationers. You need a grand opening to allow them to get a good look at what you have to offer, Ivan.”

Ivan laughed when he told me about the conversation.

“He’s a good man to know,” Ivan said.

“To vote for too,” I said.

“I guess I better register to vote. If politicians really wanted us to vote, we’d register to vote in our senior year of high school. When are we better informed than when we graduate?” Ivan asked. “There should be a mandatory government class for seniors. It would make sure that kids soon to be eighteen know what’s going on.”

“I’ll mention that to Lucy. Registering to vote before you leave high school. Then you are registered until you leave the state,” I said. “None of this, ‘I don’t like the cut of your jib, so you can’t vote.’”

*****

It took the first day for Ivan to be able to use the grader with ease. By the second day large sections of undergrowth began to disappear and the beach began to appear.

The removal of the jungle west of the boat ramp left a speckled colored dirt and brown sand on what was to be the cove beach. It was ugly as beaches go but better than the jungle it replaced. That in itself was quite an improvement. The wide open spaces made the cove look larger than before. The campsites with fire pits were large enough for each site to feel like a camper had a private beach.

I made sure I was there when the grading began. I brought fresh lemons and let J.K.’s people make lemonade by the gallon. Each time Ivan returned to the boat ramp end of the world, I refilled his glass with lemonade. Taggart and Kramer drank their share.

It was in the nineties every day that week. I sure hoped the summer wasn’t that hot.

*****

In spite of it all the cove was at peace. Kramer was still working for Ivan. Popov was still on shore when his fleet went to sea. I saw him from time to time but he rarely came over. He always seemed to be on his way somewhere.

If Carlos Santiago was in the area, no one we knew had seen him. The watch continued. Once it was routine, I didn’t even notice the cars moving in and our of the driveways, but it was difficult to miss the boat parked out back of the house.

I figured it was closing on the time when someone said, ‘That guy is long gone. He no longer seems to be a threat.’

I knew the time would come. I didn’t know how I felt about it. Maybe he was gone and in some other state or country.

Maybe he wasn’t.

*****

Popov left footprints on the cove beach, which told us he was alive and well and keeping his eyes on things. He’d gone to see his dredger operator operating. His introduction to the southwestern Florida operations manager took him to the source.

“Mr. Operations manager, how much are you charging Captain Popov to be carrying off sand for you.”

“Captain, you can have all the sand you want. Leaves less for the state of Florida to pay someone to haul it away.”

Harry’s contractor, seeing the result of Ivan’s labor with the road grader, put two of his dump trucks on hauling one load of sand a day from where it was dredged to dump on the cove beach.

This schedule allowed Ivan to spread the sand evenly for the length of the beach. As more sand came, the ugly speckled soil was buried deeper in the hopes it would stay buried.

Ivan was going great guns and he’d be ready for the May 1, “Come to the Cove” grand Opening.

The fliers went out and ads were placed in local papers and a couple of monthly magazines touting Florida as the place to vacation and live the carefree life the weather and natural resources provided.

Harry, ever the businessman, mentioned the conservancy, the Gulf, the cove, and the cove’s beach in our late April campaigning.

When I sailed Sea Lab into the cove, I no longer recognized it. If the Fish Warehouse wasn’t directly ahead and unchanged, the cove was entirely different from the year before. The year Ivan returned.

The white sand made the cove sparkle. The Cove Dive, Surf, and Bait Shop stood out in the middle of the hill beside the cove beach and J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen stood like a bookend facing the new shop and the beach. Sidewalks connected the two shops to the parking lot and the six stairs that took you to the dock.

While Ivan waited for the sand, he used the grader to smooth a pathway from the end of the cove beach to the Gulf of Mexico. This made it easier to walk from the beach to the Gulf.

I had become thrilled by Ivan’s creation. I’d known the same old cove for fifteen years. Ivan turned it into a jewel. A family or an individual could come for a day or a week. If they planned smartly, they wouldn’t need to leave for the duration of their stay.

As Ivan was creating the beach, at the top of each campsite Taggart and Kramer were building the fire pits. Tagggart’s brick work made the next identical to the last.

Kramer wandered a lot, alternately assisting Taggart and walking near where Ivan was working. He wore long pants now. You wanted denim if you were going to get near the undergrowth.

Where ever Carlos Santiago was, he wasn’t at the cove, which suited me fine. It had been four months since the last event at the cove. It was beginning to look like we were safe.

I felt safe. I felt absolutely giddy when I arrived at the cove and looked around. I’d vacation here if I didn’t live on the Gulf five minutes away. I’d enjoy coming here just to feel what I felt when I took it all in. Someone should have thought of this years ago.

*****

On two Saturdays in a row Dylan was allowed to come to the cove. We had relaxed and whatever danger there was seemed remote to me after moths of quiet peaceful days.

Dylan sat with Ivan in the grader as he smoothed out the newest truckloads of sand each afternoon late in April. Everything was done but the fire pits and adding more sand for the beach. The only thing Ivan had to do was say, ‘Enough sand.’

Before the first campsite a hundred feet down the beach from the boat ramp, Ivan graded a large open section of beach. This was the public beach. People could come and spend the day and have their own spot without anyone being crowded. This small section of the 4000 feet of beach created a picturesque beach beside the boat ramp and the Cove, Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop. From the cove entrance it looked impressive.

At the far end of the campsites, Ivan graded a similar sized beach where anyone could feel comfortable. That beach was a short walk from the Gulf.

I don’t know if Ivan was still carrying his gun. I didn’t want to know and I didn’t ask. With Kramer close at hand, I wasn’t worried.

With opening day being extended to a week and on the Saturday the grand opening ended, there would be free hot dogs, balloons, and ice cream from 9a.m. To 3 p.m.

Ivan was ready to show people his shop, his boat, and his cove. Rumor had it that Popov would be in attendance.

Popov was using J.K.’s sloop to search for Big Carlos. If the gangster was on his boat anywhere within a few dozen miles of the cove, Popov would have found him.

Popov would take the day off to attend the grand opening.

*****

“…And if you come to the cove, it’s a mile and a quarter southeast of the conservancy, you can meet the local people, enjoy local seafood, and walk the cove beach to the Gulf if you like. It’s a special place and a way for people to escape their fast-paced lives and enjoy life. Come to the cove, you’ll enjoy it. I promise you,” Harry said, ending each campaign stop that way in April.

In spite of the advertising in the weeks before the official opening, being off the beaten path, we expected mostly locals to come see what Ivan had built.

It was exciting and getting outside opinions was good. We saw what Ivan was building every step of the way. We saw it when we thought it came to a halt in December, but it was only a short time before Ivan began working on it again.

It was finished now and no one expected it to turn out so well.

*****

A week after Ivan’s birthday, we returned to Fort Myers. The picture turned out beautifully and we each picked a frame for our picture. Dylan’s would hang next to the picture of Sunshine and me. Mine would sit beside the original picture of Ivan and me on the nightstand next to my bed. Ivan’s went on his nightstand next to his bed.

The rings were even more beautiful than I remembered. We each tried ours on to check the fit before putting them back in the box. This was more than a friendship ring. This was more than I’d ever imagined. As grand as I believed it would be, the ring was much more. It went beyond the feeling and the hopes. This was real. Our love was real, and while forever was a long time, I accepted our love could last as long as the rings lasted. I could handle that. I was up for that.

We sat on Ivan’s deck that night.

I slipped Ivan’s ring on his finger.

He slipped my ring on my finger.

“I love you, Clay. We’ve been down some hard road. At times I worried I’d never see you again. As miserable as that was, this makes up for it. It’s more than I dreamed was possible.”

“No matter how rough the road, Ivan, we know our love can endure. I didn’t know I could fall in love with you again, but the truth is, I never stopped loving you. I never stopped wanting you. This is my dream come true. If we could be married, I’d marry you.”

We hugged. We kissed.

We made love.

*****

One afternoon before dinner, Pop was home early. Ivan was done with the beach and merely needed to finish stocking as orders arrived from wholesalers. He did want to put a shine on the Daddy-O to show her off on opening day.

Pop was home early, which always gave me pause. I didn’t think I was in trouble, but I wasn’t sure. Nothing I’d done would cause Pop to come home before closing time at the conservancy.

“Clay, Ivan, come into the den with me,” Pop said.

We followed my father into the den and he closed the door behind us. He didn’t wait. He immediately went to the brandy. He set out three glasses. He filled each to the brim.

My father stepped in front of Ivan, offering him the tray. Ivan took a glass of brandy. My father moved to stand in front of me. I took one glass of brandy. He went to put the tray back in its place, taking the final glass for himself.

He sat facing us.

“This isn’t easy for me. I’m from a different time. The role of men was far more strictly defined. Coming here from Tulsa was a shock to the system for a man accustomed to the quick pace of life.”

Pop made no effort to sip from his brandy and we followed his lead. Holding that brandy, I was worried I might spill it. My father wasn’t a man who said much about anything. He said what he thought and he said no more. This was not that.

“The rings,” he said. “This is a conversation your Mama is better suited to have with you. But there is her God. We have seen Mama is no longer in lockstep with her God. There are things she can’t do because of him. She realizes it’s her doing while she doesn’t know how to do anything else.”

The rings was the topic. What came next was anyone’s guess.

“I’ve never taken my wedding ring off. When I was sick and lost so much weight, your mother put a piece of tissue around the inside of the ring so it wouldn’t fall off. I would no more have taken that ring off and set it beside me on the nightstand than I’d have tried to fly out the window,” he said.

“Seeing those rings, and here’s where I’m going to have trouble. I know what those rings mean. Mother and I talked the night you came to the table with them. In a different time, maybe in a different world, we’d celebrate what those rings mean and the fact you love each other enough to want them. I wish things were different. I wish things were easier. Clay, you’re my youngest son and Ivan is like my son. Mother and I want you to be happy, no matter what anyone else might say. No matter what ridiculousness is spouted that keeps you from expressing your love openly. We’ve known you love each other since you were boys. You aren’t boys any more and you’ve put on those rings and your father hopes you never take them off. We hope you are happy, and that’s my toast to my sons. To your happiness,” Pop said, lifting his glass and tossing the brandy back into his throat.

Ivan did likewise.

I gritted my teeth and tossed back my brandy. It furnished my gullet with a delicate warmth. It hadn’t been that bad.

Later Ivan described the same sensation to me. It had made him high but it passed by the time we were at the table.

We were all there and except for the sounds of the silverware, there was little talking. At a point when the pace slowed, I said what I had to say.

Lifting my water glass, I said, “To the best parents in the world. Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Pop. I love you very much.”

Toasting my parents with water might not be seen as proper but I did a lot of things that weren’t considered proper.

I suppose that’s why I lived life my way and let the chips fall where they may.

*****

In my 20’s I was a wild child. I grew up on a farm in Kansas in the middle of nowhere. After high school, I went to a community college and worked on my family farm for a few years trying to figure out what I wanted to do. The year I turned 21 I got a scholarship to Loyola in Chicago. That was the first time I was ever on my own. Just living alone and getting to walk around my apartment naked was a thrill. I actually spent most of my time at home naked, only putting on clothes when someone was coming over. I made a few friends at school, but my best buddy was a guy I met at the gay beach when I first moved to town. We spent most weekends going to bars or the beach in the summer. Ric was my age but had grown up in New Orleans so he had been exposed to a lot more stuff than me. After the first year, we decided to get an apartment together to save money. We had our own bedrooms so that when we hooked up it wasn’t weird for each other. He was constantly trying to put me in new situations that would push my limits or embarrass me. I think he got off on watching my face turn red or seeing me stumble over words. We had started off as friends and then became fuck buddies. Neither of us was looking for a relationship, so when we would go out we would hook up with guys or just go home together at the end of the night. 

When he first started pushing my limits it was pretty tame. For instance, the first time I remember being shocked by him was not long after we met. We had already slept together so obviously we were comfortable around each other. We had been lying on the beach for a while and then waded into the water to cool off. We were just over waist-deep in the water and looking back at the crowded beach checking out the hot guys. 

Ric waded over behind me and subtly slid my swimsuit down to my knees. At first, I was shocked he would do that in public, then I felt the thrill and let it stay around my knees. He moved back in front of me and started giving me a hand job. That was the first time I remember him pointing out how red my face was from embarrassment. 

But the thrill of being almost public and the expert handjob had me going along with it. Once he knew I was into it he pushed me a bit further. He dipped down in the water in front of me and slid my suit from my knees to my ankles. Then in a quick motion, he pushed me backward in the water and ripped my suit off over my feet when I floated backwards.

I was laughing when I went under the water … turning an all-new shade of red when I resurfaced trying to get my footing again. To my surprise, Ric was quickly backing toward the shore with a huge smile on his face. I tried to go after him but had to stay under the water as it got more and more shallow towards the beach. He backed all the way up and then with a devil’s grin turned and walked back to our towels carrying my swimsuit. He casually tossed it onto my towel and grabbed us two new beers. He walked over to a group of guys standing nearby and started up a conversation …leaving me standing out in the water, heart pounding, face red, and to my surprise a raging boner so hard it almost hurt.

After a few minutes, Ric headed back toward the water with a group of six guys close behind him. I started to panic and moved a little deeper to hide my hardon from view, moving out to where I was about chest deep. They got closer and closer…the thrill made my dick throb. When they were about mid-thigh deep they stopped and started chatting again. I tried to act like I was busy looking around when Ric yelled and waved me in to get the beer he brought me. 

I felt my face flush again and my heart started beating faster. This was the power Ric had over me. I just started wading closer willing my dick to get soft, but no luck. When I was about waist-deep Ric was smiling ear to ear. Then he made a show of calling me loudly ” Hey! Come here…I want you to meet these guys!” And then he held my beer out towards me to come take it. I was flustered and so I tried to stay below the water as I moved toward him. Once I got about halfway, there was no way to make it any further without standing up and exposing myself to the new group of guys. Ric was loving it! He started to talk loudly and include me in the conversation so I was forced to interact.  He even waded out a little deeper until we were about six feet apart, with my beer extended out in front of him. He knew I couldn’t come any closer without exposing my bobbing dick. Again he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear ( and chuckling at the same time) ” ..come here and say hi..don’t be rude!”  Ric waded a bit deeper until he was close enough to hand me the beer. As I took the beer he slipped his arm around my neck to hold me in place. At this point, I was barely pubes deep in the water and the tip of my dick was bobbing just below the surface of the water. With his arm around my neck, he turned us back towards the new guys and called them over to meet me. I went full red face as they got closer and closer the guy in front extending his hand to shake mine. I nervously reached out and took his hand just as he glanced down and saw my hard dick below the water. 

The interaction instantly changed with a big smile spreading across his face. As the other guys came up behind him they were forming a wall of muscle between me and the beach. With Ric’s arm around my neck and the new guys shaking my hand, they pulled me another step forward towards the new guys, and with that, the tip of my dick broke the surface of the water. Ric took another step and the new guy twisted and pulled me another step until my dick bobbed out of the water and I came into full view. The only thing keeping the entire beach from seeing me naked was the five guys standing in front of me. My face was bright red and Ric loved it.

Each guy introduced themselves one at a time, shaking my hand and looking me up and down to take in the view. Nobody even asked why I was naked. They just acted like it was normal. I stood there trying to keep up with the conversation while my mind was racing. The excitement kept my dick hard and with the water level just below my balls now, I was on full display. Ric held me in place with his arm around my neck facing the beach. The six guys stayed in a line facing us with their backs to the beach. As we chatted Ric kept moving me closer to the guys bit by bit and they would back up slowly. Before I knew it we were all standing knees deep and a few other guys had waded out past us and took in the view of me naked. I was so embarrassed but turned on at the same time. I tried to maintain eye contact as we all talked but I could tell they all kept glancing at my dick. Out of nowhere, Tim, the first guy to shake my hand, said: ” ..dang dude, you’re leaking pre cum like a faucet..” My heart jumped into my throat as I looked down and sure enough, there was a line of cum stretched between the tip of my dick and the surface of the water. To my shock, Ric said ” yum! ” as he reached down and scooped it onto his finger then stuck it into my mouth to suck it off his finger. My dick bobbed from excitement and the guys voice their approval of the little show. A minute later Tim reached down and caught another drop then lifted it to my lips. I was surprised myself when I let him slide his finger into my mouth. 

Then it became a game. Ric reached down and grabbed my dick to milk out more, saying: “..someone catch it ..don’t let it go to waste!” and they made a game of taking turns feeding me my precum. Ric’s with one arm around my neck and the other hand slow milking my dick was keeping the pre cum flowing ….and the guys got into feeding it to me. The milking slowly picked up speed until my breath started to get faster and my eyes were starting to roll back in my head. Tim was quietly creating a porn soundtrack by saying  “…fuck yeah..that’s so fucking hot. cum for us…let us see your cum face…” and on and on. My inhibitions were lower with all the beer we had that day and the next thing I knew I was approaching the point of no return. My stomach muscles were flexed and my knees were shaking. My hips were rolling in time with Ric’s tugs on my dick and the guys were continuing to grab the pre cum and finger my mouth with it. 

I felt the electricity of an orgasm start at the base of my spine and arched my back trying not to cum. Ric quickly let go of my dick and moved my hand to take over. I was in the haze of pre-orgasm and instinctually took over pounding my dick. But now faster, just the way I like, rubbing and twisting over the head with each stroke. Ric moved behind me and latched onto both my nipples from behind to tug on them. I threw my head back on his shoulder and started beating my dick frantically. I could feel my balls pulled up tight as the water lapped against them. I grunted loud as the first blast of cym rocketed out of my dick. I heard a new voice say ” what do we have here! ” and my head snapped forward to see two new guys wading up to us as the next cum rocket left my dick. I locked eyes with the new guy as spurt after spurt left my dick. 

With each blast, my strokes slowed until I was slowly milking out the last drops. Finally was just left holding my dick in one hand and my beer in the other as the crowd of guys looked at me. Slowly the orgasm faded and post-nut clarity started to sink in, causing a new level of embarrassment. They were all grinning ear to ear as Tim said ..” let’s get some more beers..” then turned toward the beach with everyone starting to follow. Suddenly I was exposed to the beach. Ric whipped his baseball hat off and covered my dick with it. I grabbed it and tried to get my still-hard dick and balls covered as Ric took off to the beach as well. 

I rushed after them barely covering my dick and balls. I rushed back to our towels mid-beach giving everyone a clear view of my ass on the way. I finally made it and got my towel around my waist when Ric sat down beside me on our blanket. The other guys had wandered off down the beach leaving us alone. I told Ric I was going to fucking kill him, but he just laughed. He knew I enjoyed it.

After this adventure, Ric continued to push my boundaries of public nudity and embarrassing situations. His big turn-on was to get me naked someone and then jerk me off til I came. Sometimes it would be just us, sometimes he liked other guys to watch and join in teasing me. Every time I acted like I was shocked, but it was a game we played. The shock may not have been real, but the embarrassment I after I nutted was always genuine.

I lived in Chicago for a few more years with Ric. Our little adventure was a weekly occurrence and we got pretty bold. We could be just walking back to our car after going to a bar and he would pull me into a dark alley, strip me naked, and make me jerk off for him to get my clothes back. Or he would invite guys over to our apartment off Scruff. He would pick guys based on their desire to stay fully clothed while I stood in the middle of the room facing them and jerked off. At first, it was hot guys and I would cum pretty quick. Then he would start inviting over guys I wasn’t necessarily attracted to and it would take me longer to nut and I would be even more embarrassed afterward. Then he pushed it further by inviting couples, then three or four guys. 

Eventually, I was more the party favor. We would be out at a bar and he would invite guys to come home with us to watch the “jerk off show”. They would never get naked and he never let guys touch me. He made sure I only came if I did it myself. Towards the end, he started to experiment with dildos. He would secretly bring one out with us and then when he pulled me into an alley he would not only make me jerk off, but he would have me lean against a wall, car, or dumpster while he dildoed me. He would fuck my hole and I would jerk off until I came for him.

Eventually, I got a new job and moved to Fort Lauderdale and he stayed in Chicago. At first, he would fly down every few months and we would relive some of our fun. But as time went on we drifted apart.

Living in Fort Lauderdale was great because it was an easy trip down to Key West. I would go down three or four weekends a month and stay at different clothing-optional guesthouses. It was a rotating crowd of guys from all over the world coming to Key West to be slutty for a weekend. I had no trouble finding guys that wanted to play into my kinks and even explored a few new ones.

One of my early trips to Key West will forever be stuck in my mind because I still fantasize about it occasionally. I was dipping my toe into bondage and CBT. Nothing too extreme, just being tied up and jerked off or using ball stretchers during sex. On that trip, I had brought a new ball stretcher that had just come in the mail. Up to that point, I always used a rubber or silicone ball stretcher, so if things got too intense I could just slip it off. This new toy, however, was made from two solid pieces of metal that were attached by actual bolt screws. You even needed a special little tool to get it on and off.

I was staying at resort called Island House which was about a 15 minute walk to the gay bars located on Duval street. The first night I went out on that trip I decided to wear the new ball stretcher. It took some work to get into it, but eventually I had it locked on and then I got dressed in some loose cargo shorts, flip flops and a tanktop. I put the little wrench tool in my pocket with my id and credit card, just in case it got uncomfortable and I needed to get it off. Each night they have a happy hour around the pool to meet other guests and I always hit that for the free drinks before heading to the bars. I met this fun that evening that was visiting from Germany. They looked like two sterotypical leather daddys that had stepped right out of a porn. Both were super muscular, furry and flirty as hell. 

Our flirty happy hour conversation turned sexual in no time and I shared that I was trying a new ball stretcher that night. They of course wanted to see the toy in question, and after a couple cocktails we wandered to the far end of the pool with my back to the crowd and I unzipped my shorts and pulled my dick and balls out to show off the new toy. The attention had given me a semi-hardon. The took the opportunity to grab my dick and move it to the side to ‘inspect’ it closer. Really it was just an excuse to hold my dick and play with it until I was super hard. After some more flirting they invited me to join them for drinks at the bars. I put my dick away and we headed out for the walk to the bars. It was getting dark at this point and the gay bars were starting to come alive. My favorite place is called Bourbon Street Pub, because the back patio bar is men only and there is super hot bartender that always works that bar. 

We did our bar hopping that night and eventually ended up back at the resort. When we got back we just stripped down, threw our clothes on a patio chair and got in the pool naked. We swam and groped and played until it was super late. They invited me back their room, but I nicely declined, thanked them for the fun night and headed back to my room to get some rest. 

When I got back to my room, to shower and get ready for bed, I discovered that sometime in the evening the tool to get my ball stretecher off must have fallen out of my pocket. I went into a bit of panic mode. I raced back out to the pool to look around where we threw our clothes, with no luck. I knew the bars were closing so I went back to my room. I ended up showering and then sleeping in it that night. The next moring I was having breakfast when the German couple joined me. I told them what happened and they offered to help me retrace our steps to try to find the tool. By late afternoon I was really starting to panic, becuase there was no way to get it off without that special tool and I was really hoping I could order a new one. 

As we were walking back to the resort, one of the guys had the idea of visiting the local leather shop to see if they sold the same style stretcher. It was a great idea and we headed to Leather Master Key West. There was a handsome guy working behind the counter and I quietly explained to him what had happened. He said it wasn’t the first time something like this has happened, and he would try to help me out. The store is small so he came around the counter and asked me to give him a look at the style. I dropped my shorts and he knelt down in front of me to take a look. My balls were red from wearing it all night and my semi-hardon had not gone away since last night. He had to move my dick around to try to get a look at all sides and figure out how it was locked on. After a few tries he stood up and said he needed to get better access. Without even asking, he grabbed me under the arms and sat my bare ass up on the counter, and told me to lean back on my elbows. Desperate to get it off, I did as he asked. He slid my shorts off over my tennis shoes leaving me naked except my shoes and tank top. Next he lifted my feet up on at a time onto the counter and asked me to spread my knees so get could get a good look at the screws holding it together. In hindsight, I’m not sure it was necessary, but he said he still couldn’t quite see and he asked the German couple to stand on either side and then he pushed my knees to my chest and had them each hold a foot in place. 

This new position not only put my dick and balls on display, but it also spread my asshole open right in this strangers face. The German couple was loving it and started talking about my tight pink hole. My face went bright red. One of them even reached over and started lightly tapping my exposed pucker to point out how tight it was and that made my dick go rock hard. The shop worker was loving it too. 

After some exploration, he said he thought he might have a tool in back to get it off and walked away into a back room. The German guys just held me in place on the counter, leaning back on my elbows, knees pushed to my chest with my hole now exposed to the store. I remember feeling the airconditioning on my exposed hole. I feltwave of shock shoot through me as the front door opened and a new couple walked in. With the counter right in front of the door, they were welcomed by the two burly Germans spread my hole for display and my cock laying flat and hard on my stomach. The shop worker must have heard the door because he popped his head out of the back room and said ” hey ..come on in guys! We are just doing a little demo of a new ball stretcher. I was mortified as they walked up to get a closer look. It was an older couple that I had actually seen at the resort – and they were all grins at my situation.

The shop worker finally came back out with a bag of tools. He took his place between my legs and set the bag next to me on the counter. He reached inside and pulled out a small bottle of lube and my eyes went wide. Without pause he said ” I’m going to need to lube you up so I can twist the ball stretcher and get to the screws. ” with that he popped the lid and squirted lube all up and down my dick and balls. He sat the bottle down and basically started giving me a hand job working the lube over my dick and balls. He paused to squirt on more lube a few times before it was running onto my stomach and down the crack of my ass over my hole.

One of the new guys was more than happy to jump in and say ” oh! it’s going to get on your shirt, let me help…” he zipped around the counter behind me and pulled my tank top up over my head to expose my chest and then slipped the arms over my shoulders until it was hanging behind me. With that he returned to the font to get a better look. By this time the shop worker was really focused on lubing up my cock and balls and was pausing every few moments to twist the stretcher. The whole scene was crazy and I was sweating, heart pounding and starting to breath faster from the stimulation. I was snapped back to reality when one of the German guys pointed out the lube running over my hole. He reached up to wipe it away, but instead he just started rubbing in small circles over my hole, telling the other guys he would just massage it in so it didn’t go to waste. The sensation made me groan and that got everyone going. 

The shop worker noticed how I was enjoying the attention on my hole and stopped what he was doing to say…:” maybe I can reccomed another toy while you are here…would you like that?” I could only focus on the hole massage and moaned “..sure ..uh ..ok ” He stepped away and then came back with something in his hand. I heard a click and then buzzing sound before I felt a vibration replace the finger on my hole. This made a new moan leap from my throat. He took that as encouragement and started gently probing my hole with the vibrating probe. 

I was already so far gone that my head just fell back as I enjoyed the sensation. A few more squirts of lube and he was probing my hole a few inches deep and then all the way out each time. He started giving a demonstration to the other guys telling them how the vibration would help relax the muscle. His probing continued as he started to demonstrate how to aim for the prostate, then how to use different speeds and depths to work the whole muscle. Without missing a beat he reached into the bag with his free hand and pulled out a larger dildo. He kept his probing going while he asked one of the Germans to squirt some lube on the new toy. 

Next he started to explain, and then demonstrate, how you should gently start alternating the two toys to further loosen the muscle. He was pulling the probe all the way out an instantly pushing the fat head of the new dildo in a little bit, then deep with the probe, then stretch with the dildo head, then deep with the probe then deeper with the dildo …and back and forth and back and forth until the dildo was also going a few inches deep each time but, stretching my hole wider.

He was a master at what he was doing and I was lost in the sensation when he said ” here ..give it a try..” With that, one of the new guys reached up and took over the toys. The shop keeper just stepped back and started coaching over his shoulder. Telling him faster, deeper , slower , aim for the prostate…this went on and on until the stranger had the hang of it. He as getting creative and trying new things until his buddy stepped up and demanded a turn. He was not at skilled and the shop keeper had to work with him to refind the rhythm until I was moaning again. 

I was really getting into it when the Germans each decided they needed a turn as well. I laid there and gave myself over to the sensations. I was so horny that I was unapologetically grunting and moaning. They were even encouraging me to get into and tell them I liked it. I was so into it, I was shocked to feel my body start to tighten up and the first edge of the orgasm approach. This brought some instant clarity when I realized I was about to cum without event touching my dick.

The shop keeper got louder and was really coaching the German to work my hole as he noticed I was getting close. My eyes were locked on the guy working my hole. He was drinking in the look on my face. Over his shoulder I saw the shop workers face light up… It was like a idea hit him and he disappeared for only moment and then was back to take the Germans place. He took over the larger dildo and set the smaller probe on the counter. Then he reached up and pulled my dick forward so it was pointing straight up a the ceiling. He didn’t stroke it, just held it in the upright position with one finger. It dawned on me what he was doing just as he asked one of the other guys to take over the dildo. 

The fucking continued as he made a show of lubing up a long skinny metal rod by rubbing it in the pool of lube on my stomach. Then he slowly positioned it over the hole of my dick. I felt the cold touch my piss slit and then watched in shock as he let the weight slide slowly deeper into my dick hole. Once it was an inch deep he started a slow fucking of my piss slit. The sensation was overwhelming. My asshole was taking a slow deep fucking with the dildo and now my dick hole was taking a slow fucking. The sensation was so foreign that it froze me on the edge of orgasm. It felt like I was riding the edge of a wave of electricity …the one you feel right before you shoot a load…but it stretched on and on. Every muscle in my body was flexed and I was sweating and moaning with my mouth open. I watched as the shop keeper coached one of the other guys to step up and take over sounding my dick. Once he coached them into a rythym, he moved away once more and then returned with a larger dildo. I was panting and moaning with my mouth open when he raised the new larger dildo to my lips and applied a little pressure to tilt my head back. Then he kept the pressure on until my lips parted and I opened my mouth to take the dildo down my throat. 

Just like he did with my ass and dick, the fucking started slow and then got deeper and deeper until I was gagging with each slow deep thrust. 

I had a moment of clarity when I heard the front door open again and a group of voices come in. There was a commotion and next thing I know I was hearing a crowd of voices. I couldn’t look up becuase of the throat fucking. It wasn’t until I looked to the side that I saw the mirror on the wall and the crowd of guys now gathered around watching me get every hole fucked for a crowd of strangers. the gaging was making tears run down my face. Spit and drool was bubbling out of lips around the dildo.

The shop keeper passed off the throat dildo to a new guy and then took over my dick again. He removed the sound and started to jerk my dick in time with the other fucking. With the sound gone, I felt the orgasm rise again. This time there was no turning back. My body convulsed and I felt the first blast of cum leave my dick and then splash back down on my chest, neck and face. He quickly reached up and pulled the dildo out of my throat before the next blast. Then lifed my head up so I was looking into the faces of the crowd as the third blast left my dick. He held me there while he milked out load after load. The ass fucking never stopped. They kept working me as I squirmed – until finally my dick was shriveled and super sensitive. Only then did he stop jerking and let go. Then he reached over an pulled the dildo out of my ass. 

The sudden lack of stimulation was a slap in the face. Everyone was quiet as I laid there covered in cum and lube with all my holes worked over. He reached into the bag again and with a quick tap and twist at my balls the stretcher fell away into his hand. 

He was all smiles as fell back – exhausted and spent. I felt something cold touch my dick and slide over it. A second later I felt my balls gripped, pulled and followed by a snap should. I found the strength to raise my head to look, just as he finished securing a cock cage around my shrivled dick. My eyes got wide and he reached up, with the help of the Germans to bring me into a sitting position on the edge of the counter.

He looked me in the eyes and handed me the ball stretcher. Then said “we’ll see you back here tomorrow at 3pm and I’ll show you how to get that cock cage off”. Then he turned to the guys and said ” alright guys…next demo is tomorrow at 3pm..bring your friends!”

That is the end of part one…if you want to continue hearing more about this story, be sure to leave plenty of comments and tell me what turns you on the most!

The theater angel was close to climax and Kirk was riding him hard to a finish. The fifty-three-year-old Theo Aristades, Greek trucking magnate, in New York for the closing of the yet-again Broadway revival of Hello Dolly that he was financing—thus designating him a theater angel—lay on his back, letting Kirk, twenty-eight, with movie-star looks, blond, blue-eyed, frosted hair, and the body of a dancer, straddle him. The younger man undulated on the hirsute, solid, if a bit paunchy Greek’s hips in a cowboy ride. Up, down; back, forward; all around the town, Kirk rode the thick, hard erection, panting and moaning. This was the angel—the financial backer—for the play he was in. He knew to give the man a good time and top billing. He didn’t mind in the least riding a cock this old as long as it could maintain an erection and build a line of credit.

He had agreed to let Aristades wine, dine, and bed him for the financial benefit to the show he was in, but once there, Kirk was enjoying what the old Greek could do.

Kirk leaned forward, facing the Greek’s head, his fingers buried in the salt-and-pepper curls swirling the man’s beefy pecs. Under a magnificent head of wavy hair, the Greek was so craggy-faced and weather-beaten that he was commanding. He made no excuse for his shaft, even in the need for some help from pills. He didn’t need any excuse for how big it could get hard. He obviously had earned his billions the difficult way. He took his pleasures hard as well. He held Kirk’s waist between his hands and assisted in rising and lowering the young man’s smooth, dancer’s body on his cock.

Kirk was nearly half the Greek’s age and Theo was making him shudder and moan. He’d make the honey cum hard too.

“Ah, I do believe your moan and shudder are genuine—that you are finding this Greek not so bad,” Aristades said.

“Yes, you’re fuckin’ good.” Kirk moaned deeply. “Yes, yes. It’s so big. You are the master.” He’d made the mistake in an earlier fuck to call the man “daddy.” That didn’t go over very well. Aristades was not acknowledging getting old. Theo had made Kirk pay for that. He’d ridden the young man into the sheets and kept on riding after Kirk was exhausted.

They’d been fucking this time for nearly twenty minutes. The man had remained in rock-hard erection and Kirk rode him with abandon. It was amazing the Greek held the erection this long. Kirk assumed he’d taken a pill to manage that, but he didn’t care. He loved being stretched and reached at great depth, and he liked riding older men. This was doing it for him. He wasn’t just doing it just to please the play’s angel—and thus the show’s producers as well.

But he was doing it to please the play’s angel and to keep the support money for the production coming. He knew this meant he’d have to keep the angel coming as well.

Aristades cried out, “Aftó eínai. Erchetai!—This is it. It comes!” and then, making Kirk hold motionless, leaning back, arms dangling at his side, in surrender mode, the Greek, throbbing cock buried deep in the anal passage, tensed, jerked, came; tensed, jerked, and filled the bulb of the condom.

Immediately after coming, the Greek rolled Kirk off to the side, held him in close embrace with one arm, grasped the young man’s cock with the other beefy hand, and jacked him off vigorously and mercilessly. The bed had bounced and its springs had screamed while Aristades pounded the young man. It did it again as the man jacked Kirk off. Kirk panted, groaned, and writhed as he could in the man’s embrace to his own ejaculation.

After Kirk came, the Greek released him and jerked the spent condom off with one hand, while moving up in the hotel bed to lean against the headboard. He reached for a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and lit up. He dropped the condom off the side of the bed, not showing any care for who would be disposing of it and where. It wouldn’t be a shock for the room attendant to find it on the floor in this hotel, which Aristades had picked for being near the New York theater where Hello Dolly was in the last gasps of its performances and because the hotel would rent rooms by the hour.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that?” Kirk murmured.

“What? Get you off so fast?”

“No. Smoke. In bed.”

“Poio eínai to próvlima?—What’s the problem? I paid for a smoking room.”

“That’s not the point. It will kill you. And you’ll burn the hotel down.”

“You Americans. You’re here to save the hotel from fire. Why do you think I let you come into my room and have your way with me?” He laughed. Kirk managed a smile. “I always smoke after sex.”

“I’ve noticed.” It wasn’t the first time the two had left the theater during preparations for a performance to come to this hotel for a quickie. Aristades demanded continuous servicing for his investment.

Aristades wrapped an arm around Kirk and brought the younger, smaller man into his body, but he continued enjoying his smoke. Kirk lay there, contemplating, his right hand making little swirls around the curls on the Greek’s left nipple, waiting for the cigarette to be finished, not particularly pleased that it took time away from sex. Kirk was highly sexed. Getting it from Theo was fine with him.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “It was six years ago today. Valentine’s Day. In a better hotel room than this one, I must say. It had snowed nearly a foot. I think maybe I came here with him because I liked the reindeer-hide boots he was wearing.”

“What? Valentine’s Day six years ago. What about that?”

“You asked me when I last danced on stage in a play. That was when it was. A Valentine’s Day performance. The last performance of another revival. Brigadoon, I think. They didn’t have to replace me. There at least was that. Not nearly the tough dances and acrobatics as in this production—but more than for plays previous to it. With each production, Claude and I were adding more complexity in the dance. But that was long ago and far away—well, not so far. It was in a better theater than we have now, though.”

Without letting the Greek pursue the point further, Kirk was off the bed and in the bathroom. When he returned, shuffling a bit, he was dressed in his white cotton, long-sleeved shirt above skinny jeans and reindeer-hide boots, looking oh so fuckable, and reaching for his jacket.

“It hasn’t snowed as deep now that it did then, but the city is in white, looking clean. I love New York in the snow.”

Aristades had stubbed his cigarette out but was resting his back against the headboard of the bed.

“I love young, willing men, with holes that stretch quickly,” Aristades said.

“How romantic for Valentine’s Day,” Kirk said, with a small laugh.

“At my age, romance has become a thing for the past—for memories.”

“It needn’t be that way,” Kirk said.

“With a honey like you, I can almost believe it.”

“I’m not doing this—with you—for the production support,” Kirk said. “Perhaps the first time, but not the times after that.”

“I won’t ask for more.” This sex with the young firecracker who worked on the production he was backing was an indulgence he didn’t want to give up, but, at his age, it took a lot out of him. He was still in erection and was stroking it with one hand, half hoping Kirk would come back to bed and ride it again. The pills were expensive. He should get the most work out of them he could. But he was only half hoping for another round. He wasn’t happy about having to use pills now to keep it up. And, with them, the erection was able to take this longer than his heart would. But, what a way to go. And you couldn’t get any better than Kirk. What a sweet, tight ass—and the sounds of surrender he made during sex were very satisfying for an old man.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed Kirk, standing by the door, providing an answer to the momentous question Aristades had asked him before they had sex.

“Just like that, you can so definitively answer a question that important?” he asked.

“Just like that, yes,” Kirk said. “I gave a lot of thought into what I’d say if I were asked that question again. I made a mistake when asked that question once before. I don’t want to make that mistake again. Now I’ve got to get over to the theater. Last performances and Sal’s still making changes that affect the dance routines. I’ll have to reblock some of them, I’m sure. He has no idea how hard that is.”

* * * *

Eight Years Earlier

I came to New York at nineteen from Philadelphia, giving myself what I thought was six months of financial backing to be able to do more on stage than I was doing where I had been training in dance, music, and acting for a decade. I misjudged the reality of the New York theater. I hadn’t been innocent enough to think being willing to go under men wasn’t a plus—because it was. At every corner I reached, there was a man who was willing and able to give me a little boost for a bang. But I misjudged the cost and the opportunity.

What I thought would be enough backing cash to last for six months would, I quickly could see, only last for three in New York. I could stretch that by finding a sugar daddy offering room and board, I reasoned. But there was so much on offer in the New York theater that I was only finding men good for a meal or two and a bit of cash. Besides, if I was going to make it in Broadway, that would take all of my effort and concentration; sugar daddies demand attention in exchange for their sponsorship. I could sleep in a hotel room or a man’s apartment, but that didn’t negate my need for someplace to call home myself. I quickly learned that four guys could—and did—live in a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan together, but that didn’t change the three-month-limit reality.

And then there was opportunity. I worked up my way to doing well with dance in Philadelphia. There were, like, a million good women dancers to each man, especially men who could do Broadway as well as classical dance, in the Philadelphia theater. I was especially fortunate because I’d gone to a special high school, one with a nationally competitive gymnastics program. The American musical theater was entering what we called a “Circ du Soleil” stage, where spectacular gymnasts were sought for stage productions, even—or especially—for revivals of musicals from the 1940s through the 1970s. The number of men who could do these gymnastics as well as having training in dance, singing, and acting was limited. I could do it. If you could do backflips across the width of a New York theater stage, you had an advantage.

So, living in the theater in Philadelphia was doable, if not lucrative enough to make a guy rich. In New York, though, I found this was not so much so. I found that one reason I could have clear sailing in Philadelphia and other cities at this arts level was because the real talent was going to New York. And in New York, the competition was fierce—very fierce indeed. It favored the New Yorker who had lived, trained, and networked there from the beginning. Nearly everyone I saw achieving a breakout role on the New York stage was closely related to someone who blazed the trail for them.

Out-of-towners needed something more than excellence in the basics to make it. I did have the gymnastics background. I could do either backflips or cartwheels across the width of a New York theater state. That helped tremendously. But there were two advantages, plus extraordinary good luck, that saved me from beating a retreat to Philadelphia with my tail between my legs at the end of three months. I was incredibly good-looking and fit and I was willing to take the cock of any man who could and would give me a leg up in the New York theater. In particular, I could take an older man and convince him he was the best cocksman in Manhattan—and genuinely enjoy the coupling. An erection was an erection.

I was within a week of needing to pack it in and head back to Philly when I went to the party at the dance studio I’d hooked up with in Manhattan, the New York Fine Arts Theatre School, and met a man on the make in more ways than one. Claude Plautier, a play director, the highest man up in the business I’d met since coming to New York, had come to the dance studio looking for a male dancer to fill in on the back line for a robust, gymnastics-filled revival of Oklahoma, which was already on stage with some very athletic numbers, but he was also looking for a lay for that night. Panicked to be able to stay in New York, I stepped up to take care of both of his needs.

One of the instructors at the NYFA Theatre School who was bonking me was very helpful in introductions to Claude Plautier.

“He’s both shopping for a dancer for his production and cruising for young tail for tonight,” Lyle said. “Wear something Western and form fitting but not too obvious. He has a fetish for cowboy boots. I’ll talk up your dancing ability—not beyond your capability; there isn’t much beyond your capability. You can do his job or I wouldn’t recommend you. And I’ll try to get you together. Be prepared to leave with him.”

“You’ll tell him I’ll take cock?”

“You don’t want me too? It probably will make the difference.”

“Oh, no. Go ahead.” I’d seen photos in the theater media of Plautier. He was fuckable.

“He has a legendary one,” Lyle said, as he called everyone together for a rehearsal.

The room where the party was held was in the school’s Battery Place headquarters building overlooking the Hudson River on the west end of the tip of Manhattan. When Lyle guided me over to Plautier, he was standing at a window he had cranked a bit open overlooking the river and was smoking a cigarette, directing the ashes out into the void. That’s how I’d always remember Plautier—unfortunately—somehow getting in just one more of his European Gauloises cigarettes. There was no smoking permitted in the room, of course, but that didn’t apply to a man of the theater at Plautier’s level. No one was going to call him on his flouting of the rules. He was a power in the business, a man who commanded every aspect of one of his productions, which was why he was showing interest in filling in a back-line male dancer spot in a musical that only had three more weeks to run.

“Mr. Plautier, this is the young dancer I talked to you about. Kirk Damon. He might be the answer to your need.” Lyle didn’t mention which of two needs I’d heard about I might answer for Plautier. Quite clever of him. Just as clever that he melted away immediately and left me alone with a man with a half-smoked cigarette who was anchored to a split-open window to take the smoke and ashes away.

He was an imposing man—French, but so cosmopolitan that there was no pinning him down. His English was, of course, impeccable, with only a slight, intriguing French accent to it. He was tall—pushing six feet, and trim. He was elegantly dressed and, though in his fifties, still the regal-bearing male model and actor he’d been. He had a lion’s mane of silver-white hair, a short mustache and beard, and emerald-green eyes that arrested and commanded. There was no question that he was the most important and commanding man in the room.

His first look at me indicated that I had been right in what I had chosen to dress in—a close-fitting long-sleeved cotton burgundy Wrangler Western work shirt, top three buttons unbuttoned, with sliver stud buttons over worn skinny jeans, and brown suede cowboy boots with subtle tooling on the sides. It also indicated that—frosted blond, blue-eyed, trim, and five-foot-seven, I fulfilled his interests in natural looks.

He was wearing finely tooled cowboy boots himself, and his eyes initially went to the ones I was wearing. So, the comment on his fetish about boots panned out.

He reached out and took a gentle grip of my arm above the elbow with the hand not ferrying the cigarette back and forth to his mouth. It was a small gesture, but it was an immediate sign that he didn’t want this to be a quick greeting in passing at a party. He already was interested.

He became even more interested.

“Lyle tells me you are a dancer,” He said. “I could see that by the way you walked and have carried yourself at this party.”

He had been watching me.

“Yes, but it’s hard to find work in New York,” I said. Let him know right off that you are available for a dance gig. Let him know you are available for more. I pulled in closer to him, willing his hand to take a more intimate position to hold me there. He complied, the hand going to my waist. “I’m flattered that you have been watching me.”

“You are an easy young man to watch,” He said. “Stage presence.”

I told him where I had trained for a decade in Philadelphia and that I took both ballet and modern dance. And I told him I’d gone to a high school specializing in gymnastics and had trained at the Circ Du Soliel acrobatic school. He showed most interest in the latter.

“It’s something the musical theater has moved toward,” he said—with an almost-regretful note to his voice. He grimaced and gave a little cough. “I’m afraid the theater may be passing me by. It’s changing. It’s tough getting old.”

“You don’t seem old to me,” I said. “You are a very charismatic man. Full of vigor, I’ll bet.”

“Yes, I am a vigorous man,” he said. “I’m told I’m still hard to keep up with that.”

“I can certainly believe that. A very interesting man, I can tell.”

“An old man. A man who now lives largely on pills.”

“A man is only as old as he lets himself be. There is no old age for a man of substance and vigor,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with pills as long as they do the job.”

We both knew we were talking about a man being able to get it up, keep it up, and make effective use of it—and that we were reaching an accommodation already on the other interest that had brought the man to the party. He was looking for a dancer. But he was looking for a dancer to lay. And he was looking for one who wouldn’t belittle him for needing enhancement pills to get it up.

I was more than willing to be that dancer.

“I trust this school and Lyle’s recommendation on dancers. If he tells me that you could fill in the slot I have open in the men’s line and chorus for the last few weeks of the Oklahoma run, I think that you may be my answer. He tells me you don’t have work at the moment. Would you be interested in auditioning?”

“Yes,” I quickly said. I didn’t know how broadly the “auditioning” question was, but I had done what I could to register sexual interest and willingness. His hand was still on my waist and I had left it there. He was finished with his other cigarette and that hand went to my waist as well, both hands moving down over the hips.

“Hmm. Narrow hips. You have such narrow hips. Good in a dancer.”

And there it is, I thought. Since I did have narrow hips, with deep hollows below them and pert little buttocks, I was aware of a fetish that some men had with a fantasy of splitting them and making their sex partner suffer. So, the man had another fetish—one I fulfilled.

“Yes, I keep in shape. You have to to be able to dance.” I also had the small body that looked good prancing across a stage, bare-chested and in a leotard—and doing backflips. Not that there would be any of that in Oklahoma. The costuming would be more like Lyle as advised me to wear tonight.

“Yes, I’d love to audition for your play. I understand that the run is nearly over. But I hope I can do well enough—in everything you want—to be considered for future productions. I’d love to be able to stay in New York.”

“I wish I had brought the blocking plans for the scenes you’d be in,” he said. “You do read blocking plans, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve been in several productions in Philadelphia. I know how it works.”

“I have them at my apartment, up in the theater district. I really need someone who can go on stage in the next day or two.”

“Do you want me to come to your apartment now and look at the routine setups—and maybe show you I quickly can learn to dance them?”

“That would be wonderful,” he said. He looked down into my eyes and I looked up into his. His hands went to my butt cheeks, and he pulled up and he leaned down. I went up on my toes. Our mouths met and we kissed, him taking hungry, tongue-in possession of my mouth, there in the frame of the window overlooking the Hudson River. I let my arms dangle at my sided, signaling surrender to whatever he wanted. I’d learned how to speed this along. I didn’t have time to dawdle.

* * * *

He lived in a roomy artist’s loft apartment at the top of an old building near the theater district. The living space soared two stories, with a line of large, industrial windows overlooking the city. The living and dining area spanned the window wall. Behind them was an open mezzanine level with his work area at one end and a king-sized bed at the other, with a bath between them. Under them was a much smaller bedroom and bath at one end, a kitchen in the middle, and a bookshelf-lined study at the other.

It was a masculine space, a bachelor’s pad. But it was also the space of a confident, wealthy man. I felt comfortable and safe here.

He pulled me to him inside the door and we kissed again. He was much taller than I was and pulled me up into his body in an embrace. As we kissed, his hand roamed. It slid into the slit of my shirt, where I had the top three buttons unbuttoned, and he found and played with my nipples. He pulled the shirt off my back and let it fall to the floor. He was going to fuck me, and in this space I was comfortable with that.

“Nice,” he murmured, but then he broke away, and said, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a few moments.” He went upstairs to the bathroom up there.

While he was gone, I roamed the large living space he had. The furniture was sumptuous, with a deep-cushioned sofa in front of a glass-topped coffee table, facing a tall fireplace between the windows overlooking the city. There was a wide swath of bare-wood floor. Papers were laid out on a dining table and I saw that they were from his current production. I found the schematics for the dance numbers and scrutinized them. Difficult, but nothing I hadn’t trained to do.

When he came downstairs, he was wearing a silk robe, with matching sleep shorts under it. I could tell he was in full erection. He was a good eight thick inches in erection. He must have taken pills while he was in the bathroom. My thought was that he’d be hard for the whole night and that I was going to get a night of it. I had a vision of him on his back, his erection standing proud and straight up from his body and me riding it for hours while leaning back and grasping his knees. That was fine with me.

I had already seen that there were small spray bottles of lube and packets of condoms—Trojan Magnums—on both the coffee table at the sofa and here on the dining table.

He came over to me at the table and stood close behind me. His hands went to my hips, which he stroked with this thumbs, and he nuzzled his face into the hollow of my neck.

“I had my eyes on you from the moment I saw you this evening,” he murmured. “I hope you are going to give you yourself to me.”

I moaned and leaned back into him, letting him know he could have what he wanted and when he wanted it. “I came here hoping you would want me. Take what you want,” I whispered. I reached back with a hand, grasped his erection, and slow stroked him.

He wanted it—all of it—the first time, almost immediately.

He did look down at the papers I was holding in my hands. “You’ve found the dance number plans. You think you can—?”

“Yes. Easy,” I answered.

“How easy can you be beyond that?” he asked. It was the only hint of asking if he could fuck me.

“As easy as you want, whenever you want it.”

He already was unbuckling my belt, zipping my fly down, pulling my jeans and boots off my legs.

“I think your boots back on, please,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Such narrow hips,” he murmured as I bent over to pull my boots back on. His hands were gripping my waist, his thumbs reaching to try to meet over my spine. His two fetishes. I could hear his heavy breathing. As I pulled my boots on—the only things I was wearing now, his hands moved. They went to my buttocks, separating the orbs. The thumbs pressed into my hole, stretching my opening apart.

I moaned for him. The bulb of his erection was rubbing against my buttocks, seeking and finding my spread hole.

“Shit. Fuck,” I whispered as I felt him in place, the bulb pressing in between the stretching thumbs. Lodged in position, he moved his hands, gliding them up my body, one hand palming my belly and the other going up to cup my chin, pulling the back of my head into his chest.

“Fuck!” I cried out as he penetrated and moved slowly, but relentlessly up into me. Nearly ten inches spreading the channel, moving toward my core.

“Yes! Yes, screw me!” I declared.

He did.

* * * *

The pills did their job. He was ten-inches erect through the night, no matter how many times he fucked me. After that first time, he stripped down to the cowboy boots he was wearing. He didn’t let me take my boots off.

I was naked under him, belly down on the papers on his dining table, and he was on his knees behind me, grasping my waist, thumbs stretching to meet over my back, his face buried in my crack. I writhed and groaned under him, my arms stretched out, my hands grasping opposite edges of the table, holding myself as steady as possible as he feasted on my hole and my cock and my balls.

And then he was standing, hovering over me, putting his erection in position a second time and whispering, “Such narrow hips.”

I panted and groaned and scrabbled at the edges of the table and cried out, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck! How hell the long is it?” as he penetrated and ran it up inside me.

“Quite long enough,” he answered.

I recalled that Lyle said the man had a legendary cock. That turned out to be in length. It was nearly a foot long. He got it all inside me, with considerable effort each time, to where he was tickling my ass with his curlies, and then he fucked me in long, slow, slides. Somehow he’d gotten himself crowned. He felt different from other men. I only later found out it was because he had a godawful big bead pierced in the head of his godawful long shaft.

He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me, leaving me panting and shimmering afterward, belly down on his dining table, while he went to the window, smoked one of his European cigarettes, and then went and poured a couple of glasses of wine at his kitchen bar looking out into the vast living-dining area.

“I can do the dances easily,” I said, calling over to him from the table. I wanted more than a night of sex from the man. This was my chance to make a mark for myself on stage. “But they look a little tame. I thought you said the play was incorporating fancy acrobatics.”

“It is. It’s meant to be. But I’ve heard criticism of that from others. Tell me what you mean.”

I picked up one of the dance routine plans and carried it over to where he’d poured the wine. I was naked other than the boots, and I moved sultry, knowing I looked good. I wanted more than a couple of fucks out of this man. I wanted a job—a position; a career. “This dance is too static,” I said. “You need something spectacular to end it.”

“Spectacular? Like what.”

“This dancer down here in the back corner of the stage.” It was a more prominent dance position than the back line where Pautier was looking to fill a spot. “At the end of the number, this dancer should do back flips from here to here, diagonally to the front far corner of the stage, where he should end up doing a slow-sink, full split-leg position right here. Then he should jump up, put his arm around the waist of your Laurie figure, and swirl her off stage. Curtain and applause.”

He looked stunned. “A dancer can do that?”

“He sure as hell can do that,” I said. “I can do that. I’ll show you. There isn’t room for more than a few flips in here, but I can show you. Move that ottoman there.”

And then I showed him. Doing two flips in the nude from one end of his living area to the other, ending with legs extended, on my heels, and slowly, ever so slowly, descending into the full splits. I’d managed it even in boots.

“Oh, my god,” he exclaimed. “That was incredible.”

“You want to see and experience incredible?” I said, slowly moving into a new, sexy position, sitting on my butt, fully facing him; spreading and bending my shapely legs; digging the toes of my boots into the floor and raising my hips; reclining back, both fists pressed into the floor behind me. I gave him a lustful look. “Come here and fuck me, Daddy.”

He did, kneeling between my thighs, running an arm under my waist, both of us grasping his long, long, long cock. I thrust my hips forward and up, taking him inside me, and we moved together in the fuck.

“Oh, shit, does it never bottom?” I cried out as he entered, entered, entered me before he began the dance of the slow withdrawal and long, long slide.

“FUCK. The bead. It’s killing me!”

Killing me good.

* * * *

Today

“You said you’d made a mistake when you answered that question six years ago on Valentine’s Day,” Theo Aristades said, watching Kirk preparing to leave at the hotel room door. “I thought you’d been in the business longer than that.”

“I was in the business longer—I moved in with and danced in Claude’s production for two years before that. But that was the day—Valentine’s Day six years ago—that my work in the business changed forever.”

“Because of how you answered this question when Claude Plautier asked it?”

“No, not completely, but maybe it had a connection.”

“He asked you to leave New York and go away with him, just like I have done—what you’ve agreed to do. To go to Athens with me, where I will set up a dance studio for you?”

“I didn’t tell him yes. I turned him down.”

“I don’t understand. You said you didn’t want to make the same mistake you did before. Are you telling me you are only saying yes to me because you said no to him? You went with him, though. You worked in London for nearly four years before coming back to New York.”

“When Claude asked me that day if I’d give up New York and go to London with him, where he was relocating, I said no and flounced out of the hotel room. He knew how much I liked working in New York. I’d seen him with a new dancer, one younger than I was. I was sure that Claude wanted me to say no. He didn’t know that I had fallen for him and would have followed him to the end of the earth if he genuinely wanted me to. I didn’t think he really wanted me to. So, I said no and stormed out of the hotel.”

“And so, what was the regret? You didn’t really leave him. The two of you became a team in London. You were the choreographer for his plays.”

“That’s because I couldn’t be a dancer anymore,” Kirk said. “I left so angry and grief-stricken that when I got down to the street, I wasn’t watching, and I walked off the curb into the path of a taxi cab. That last performance of Brigadoon at the Valentine’s Day matinee was my last dance.”

“And thus a change of career,” Aristades said.

“Yes.”

“And you’d left Plautier.”

“Yes, but he hadn’t left me. He stayed with me in New York through several surgeries to save my leg. And they he took me to London and gave me a new career as his choreographer. I’d been completely wrong about him leaving me. It took us a long time to recover from my no to his question, though, and we didn’t have a long time. Just two more years.”

“He died in London.”

“Yes. Of lung cancer. Those damn European cigarettes. He was already too far along when we met. My last dance. His last cigarette.”

Kirk gave Aristades a piercing look. “I’ve said yes to going to Greece with you. New York isn’t as important to me as relationships are. But I also said there was one proviso. That proviso is that you give up smoking. I don’t want to go through the particular nightmare again.”

The two held there for a few moments, their eyes locked. Aristades rolled over to a sitting position beside the bed. Then he stood, picked the pack of cigarettes up from the nightstand, walked over to a trashcan, and dropped the pack in.

He turned and smiled. “Well, I forgot to get you a Valentine’s Day present,” he said. “Will this do?”

“Let’s hope it’s a Valentine’s Day present for us both,” Kirk said.

Reconciliation

We fought.  And fought.  And fought more.  Almost from the time we split in October we found reason to fight about something.  Sometimes it was something the other said, sometimes an action one of us did. Other men were involved.  There were many angry words, there were tears, there were cries for what we used to have.  There were phone calls filled with back-and-forth accusations and cleverly crafted barbs meant to hurt the other. 

We had planned that he would come to see me in January, his first trip to my new hometown.  Untold times I would cancel on him, he would claim he would be fine on his own.  After each fight we would grit our teeth and agree to meet, only to go through the cycle again.  It got so bad that a week before he was scheduled to be in town, I said more mean things, and he really cancelled his travel arrangements.  Our outlook was bleak and neither of us knew what to do.  He could not recreate his cancelled plans, and even though we slapped a temporary fix on our problems, we had no solution to get together and figure things out.  The next time we were both available was months away, too long to survive.  We were stuck, wanting each other but with no solution to fix our fighting.   

At times I was filled with anger, but mostly with sadness and disappointment.  I longed for what we had in the past.  I knew he was worth sacrifice, that our relationship was worth the work needed to figure things out.  The weekend of our reconnection trip was looming, his original plan was to come to me Friday to Monday.  The Tuesday before I gave in, willing my pride to stand aside.  I decided to go to him, as he could no longer come to me.  He meant so much to me I was not willing to give up yet, that I wanted to see what we could do with each other in person.   It meant some personal sacrifices on my end, but it was the only solution available, the only was to make sure our spark was still between us. 

Everything led to this moment, each of us standing in front of the other, alone in the hotel room.  He looked as handsome, strong, and sexy as ever.  I was a little disheveled from my flight, but he didn’t seem to care.  Here, in this instant, there was no awkwardness, there were no mean words.  The other stupid men who got in the way didn’t matter.  The differences we had over the past two months did not exist anymore.  There were just two men, connected as we always have been, simply wanting the other as a friend, as a lover, as a man just the way he was. 

We soon found familiar ground.  We kissed, the same spark there as always has been.  As we hungrily groped at each other’s bodies, I lifted up his sweatshirt to reveal his massive chest, covered in dark hair.  He pulled mine off and instantly bent his head down to gently bite my pink nipples.  He always claims that my nipples were what first drew him to me.  I thank whoever is responsible for these that I have them, their size and color drive him wild.  As we kissed and embraced, running our hands all over each other’s bodies, I was struck by some of the little things I had missed.  His intoxicating smell, from the faintly scent of his soap as I cuddle into his neck, to the spicier aroma of his armpits that made my groin stir and reminded me that he would soon be inside me.  I was reminded of his playful smile, seeing it brought joy to me and made me smile back at him.

I could feel that he was getting hard through his jeans, I touched the edge of his cockhead through the coarse fabric.  He pulled the waistband of my sweats down, taking my briefs with them, exposing my dick and allowing my low balls to hang.  I worked to get his belt off, springing open his jeans when I did.  I reached behind him to pull his jeans and boxer briefs down, his cock immediately springing out.  I was reminded of why his cock is so beautiful, its slight upward curve and large mushroom head.  His dick is heavy, like it is about to do serious business and knows that it will bring pleasure to those who play with it.  It fits him perfectly. 

Later that night he was standing over me as I lay on my back, perched at the edge of the bed.  My legs were in the air, exposing a pink hole nestled between furry cheeks.  He stood above me, fiercely handsome like some warrior from a bygone era, his eyes bright against his dark features.  The lone source of light came from the lamp beside the bed, it was enough to show the lust written on his face.  He moved ever so slightly, and I felt the pressure of his cock against my hole.  His eyes met mine as I told myself to relax, knowing that once he was inside, he would take the pleasure that he wanted.  I felt him push in and let out a shallow breath, willing myself to relax for what came next.  As he continued sliding inside of me, I felt him press the inner ring, his engorged head making itself known through a quick flash of pain.  I held his thigh, signaling him to take it slower.  He did not heed my touch but continued in, knowing that what we both really wanted was for his entire length to be inside me.

Once he was there, he let out a groan, a sign that he had achieved something he had waited so long for.  I relaxed once he was all the way in, it was a familiar and welcome feeling, the hair on his legs meeting my skin, feeling just right.  He bent down, encasing me in his body, meeting my lips in a short but passionate kiss.  As he lifted off me, he held my legs in the position he wanted, starting to buck in and out of me as he did.  He quickly reached his normal pulse, uttering little sounds of pleasure as he did. 

I watched him as he fucked me, like a Greek god who had come to life, his every move full of passion and sex.  His broad chest covered in dark wavy hair starting to glisten with a light layer of sweat, his shoulders fixed as he pumped away, those muscled arms holding my legs to position me just as he wanted.  His eyes were hard and faraway, I knew they were focused on the feeling of his raging cock inside my hole, he had told me as much before.  He was beautiful to behold, a man in control, pounding away at me to give us both pleasure.

He took me this way for a while, giving my legs support when they got tired.  Doing what he calls “teasing the head” when he pushes and pulls his cockhead in an out of the tightest part of my hole.  He looks down at my hole as he does this, his handsome face filled with a mix of concentration and joy.  When he had taken his fill, he pulled out of me, releasing my legs to the side.

“Lay on your tummy.” He growled.

I gingerly rolled over and scooted to the center of the bed, knowing what he wanted and what was coming.  As he crawled over my body, I could feel the heat from his skin so close to mine.  When he was close to covering me completely, he stopped, lowering his head and giving me a firm bite on my shoulders.

“Aaaagggghh” I gasped as he dug his teeth in, leaving a red mark.  He stopped and kissed me where he had just marked his territory.  Immediately he moved a few inches down and bit me again, I gasped at the mix of pain and pleasure, wanted to be his, to do whatever he wanted, being his servant.  I could feel his hard cock nestled in between my ass-cheeks as he continued his onslaught, placing six bites total, three on each shoulder.  These red marks joined ones he had left earlier that night, making sure all knew that I belonged solely to him. 

He moved into position, and I reached back, guiding his stiff rod to my waiting hole.  I felt him enter and grabbed a quick sniff of poppers to open up for him.  He always fucks roughly in this position, and I wanted to be as ready as possible for what was coming.  As he pierced all the way into me, I started to feel a warmth coming from just below my hole.  I knew what was coming and if I stayed relaxed while he continued to fuck, I was in for something I had missed for a long time. 

The warmth started to spread, along with an intensity that caught my breath and made my feet start to tingle.  He prides himself on his ability to give me a prostate orgasm, as well he should.  I felt like a bystander watching as I lost control of my body and became a quivering mass only able to make small grunts and whines.  He caught what was happening and pounded me harder, which only heightened the intense feeling that had taken over my body. 

The feeling began to subside, the orgasm over.  It left me feeling weak and powerless.  He continued to fuck me, but the rhythm and position had changed, he was laying on top of me, covering me with his larger frame.  The feeling of his chest hair against my back, of his sweat against my skin, his glorious thighs against my ass all echoed intimacy we shared and how I had longed for this moment. He slowed down his rhythm, eventually stopping altogether, holding his cock inside me as we were pressed together, as close to being one person as possible. 

As he rolled off me, I moved to place my head on his shoulder, one of our familiar positions.  It was not time for him to cum, we had a whole weekend together and he had to pace himself.  We lay there for a while, relaxing, breathing each other in, talking about everything and nothing.  After a bit we got up and prepped for bed.  We lay together for a spell, play fighting, talking, trying to figure out what our future would look like.  He was different that the tall, dark, sex machine of earlier.  Now he was playful, smiling, and lighthearted.  I drifted off to sleep next to him, exulting in this time spent with him.

I woke while it was still dark, the room quiet and still.  My back was to him, the only sound his soft breathing.  I heard it stop and hoped for what was to come.  My heart skipped when I felt it, his hand on the curve of my thigh.  I knew what he wanted and what this meant.  I rolled over, meeting his lips with mine, instantly wrapped in a passionate kiss.  This did not last long; he was on a mission.

“Doggie-style, edge of the bed.” He said, no room for negotiation.

He rolled off the bed and I got into position, grabbing the lube and poppers as I did.  Once I was ready, he was on like a man possessed.  He fucked me hard, grabbing my shoulders to keep me pushed into his hard rod.  He bent me down and grabbed my wrists, forcing my head and shoulders into the bed, taking his pleasure while obliging me to do his will.  He let go of my wrists only to start spanking me, he says every time he hits me it makes his cock harder.  All of this is my pleasure to serve him, to be given this privilege.

“Move to the middle of the bed.” Another command.

As I moved, he got himself into position behind me, I was squatting just above his cock.  He was hard, full and engorged, his cock-head huge.  He pushed right into me and started a full-on assault of my hole.  I leaned forward, knowing what he was doing.  He was focused on the feeling, using it to bring him to climax, giving us what we both wanted.  He tore up my ass, my pain of no concern to him, he had given me my pleasure earlier, it was time for his now.  His fucking because more intense, the bed started to make squeaking noises, you could hear the slap of his thighs against my ass as he went harder and harder into me.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH” He gasped as he unloaded his cum into me, breeding me for the first time this visit.  He pushed down on my ass, as he always does, to hold himself up as the waves of pleasure overtook him with the cum leaving his body.  I welcomed every pulse as it entered my body, the ultimate gift he gives me, justifying my role through it. 

Afterwards he laid on top of me, keeping his cock in me as long as he could, driving the cum deep inside me.  He wiped his sweat over me, claiming me to be his as I submitted to his power, his masculinity, his person.  We cleaned off and went back to bed, the difference now was that I had part of him inside me and I smiled as fell asleep with this thought.

We had sex on and off throughout the weekend, he bred me a total of three times, allowed me to swallow his cum once, and once painted my ass crack with his white juice.  Each time I reveled in it, his orgasm being the end goal but with a lot of pleasure along the way.  On the last day, before his final breeding we were fucking with him standing on the floor, me squatting at the edge of the bed. 

“I have to pee.” He said, stopping the thrusting of my hole.

“Ok” I made moves to pull off of his cock.  He stopped me.

“I thought you had to pee.” I said

“Can I pee in you?” He asked.

I had been peed on by him many times, I had drank his pee and even shared it with others.  We had talked about this before but the situation had never worked out quite right.  I was surprised by the question but knew I had to make up my mind quickly. 

“Go ahead.” I answered.

I was perched on the edge of the bed, my shoulders down at the sheets, my ass pointed up to where he was joined to me through his cock.  For a moment he just held there, then I felt it, a warmth and fullness inside me.  He was filling me with his own urine, sharing part of himself with me in a new way.  I could feel his steam leaving his body and entering mine.  It was surreal, amazing, and bonding at the same time.  He stopped and I grabbed a nearby towel, handing it to him.

“Hold it around your dick.” I said.  As he pulled out, I tried to hold closed as I hustled to the bathroom, so full of liquid I knew it wouldn’t stay long.  I took my time cleaning everything up, man, he was full of a lot of piss.  He had more in him but finished peeing in the sink, giving me my private bathroom time. 

He told me afterwards that is felt great, a little like cumming without the intensity.  He kept talking about it all day afterwards, like he was in shock that he did it, and that I let him.  I viewed the whole thing with a measure of amusement.  Here was I, introverted, conventional, responsible, having been bred, spanked, bitten, peed in, and cum on in just a short time.  It reminded me that anything is possible with him and I am thrilled to be on this ride as his guy.

Overall we re-bonded our relationship and proved to each other that we belong together.  We never fought while together, though we discussed a lot.  We focused on what we want in the future and forged an agreement that gives us rules to play by.  He gave me a gift, something he had spent time searching out, making sure it had the right meaning.  He had one too and said we could always remember the other through it.  I was very moved; it was unexpected and his thoughtfulness and commitment caught me by surprise.  On my way home I couldn’t help but hold it, thinking of him, remembering this awesome man who gives me the freedom to be myself in the most wonderful way possible.

Within minutes of leaving the Martin home Jacque received a text message from André. “We need to hookup. You have a huge cock that I need. It’s huge. It must be a good 18cm?”

Jacque looked at the message and chuckled. He responded “It’s in fact more than 20cm and it’s all yours to enjoy.”

Immediately, André texted whether they could get together.

(Just before dinner at the Martin’s Jacque discovered that his parents decided to stay overnight with the friends they had gone out to dinner with. They lived an hour outside of Paris. No one else would be home tonight.)

Quickly Jacque texted André to tell him that he would be welcome to visit that night.

Jacque rushed home. He showered and then changed into a white dress shirt, his beige breeches and black Cavallo ridingboots.

Within minutes of having slid his feet into his boots, the doorbell rang.

Jacque rushed to open the door. Standing at the threshold was André, still in his guard uniform.

Jacque quickly ushered André in and shut the door. Jacque shut all the blinds as he led André to his bedroom, in the back of the house.

Entering Jacque’s room, André could see all of life-size posters, and now he could imagine Jacque sitting in is bed, booted, jacking off to the booted gendarmerie in the poster.

André turned to Jacque and within no time the two men were embracing, kissing one another, and groping with their hands, to find each other’s buttocks.

André whimpered “let me see you big cock. I need to see your big cock. I need to suck your big cock. I need to play with your boots. Mon Dieu, you look fucking hot.”

Jacque responded whimpering, “not as hot as you. As soon as I saw you today in your boots, I got hard. You are an Adonis. And I could tell you have a big cock too. I think I saw the outline tonight of a big cut cock.”

With that, Jacque unzipped his breeches and pulled them off. He flung off his underwear so to reveal a throbbing monster cock. He was fully hard. He walked over to his king size bed and fell backwards onto the bed, with his booted legs spread apart.

André walked to the foot of the bed and slowly climbed onto the bed, between Jacque’s parted legs. As he climbed up, he did so slowly, licking Jacque’s right boot while fondling the left boot, and allowing his hard cock to rub against the same left boot. Up the boot shaft André tongue travelled. Eventually André’s tongue made it past Jacque’s boots, and to Jacque’s muscular thighs. Eventually André found Jacque’s pulsing cock. Mon Dieu, it really was huge. André nibbled at it, licked it, and sucked on it. He eventually enveloped all of Jacque’s manhood. After only a few strokes, Jacque erupted, with warm cum spilling out of André’s eager mouth and down his chin.

André was a good cocksucker. In fact he was an expert cocksucker, having fine tuned his skills in the barracks of la garde républicaine, where indeed the booted guards enjoyed each others booted company. Who said homosexual fun was the English disease!

Meanwhile, Jacque reached over to unzip André’s breeches and help release André’s equally large organ.

André wasn’t quite as long (Jacque having pulled out his cloth measuring tape that he kept by his bedside, and measured André’ at a nevertheless very respectable 16cm in length) but it had tremendous girth. (Jacque measured his new friend as having a circumference of 14cm!) It was one heft French sausage. The contrast between the bright white breeches and André’s big pink cock was striking. The background of the white breeches seemed to highlight and showcase André’s beautiful appendage.

Jacque grabbed André’s cock with both hands and stroked it slowly up and down, rotating his hands to feel the André’s girth. André moaned and cried out “yes, yes, suck me, suck me.” Jacque, who had always fantasized about sucking the booted gendarmerie posing in his life-size poster, had never seen another hard cock in his life until tonight. Now he was going to suck and taste the throbbing cock of his new booted guardsman friend.

That night started an intense friendship between Jacque and André. They became fast and good friends, enjoying each other’s gleaming riding boots and cocks on an almost daily basis. Both claimed to be straight and so they never experimented with anal sex, and ultimately both married. In fact their wives were sisters. It was a double wedding, and both groomsmen wore their full uniform, including boots.

For the first year or so after marriage, their wives had no knowledge of the deepness of their husbands’ friendship, as André and Jacque continued to indulge in bootplay with one another, enjoying their mutual passion for shiny boots and big cocks, in secret.

Ancient mariners led a perilous existence. Sailing with only simple navigational instruments, voyages frequently ended in disaster. Profoundly superstitious, legends and myths of sea creatures lurking in the deep haunted their imaginations. Nautical charts reflected these fears – portraying a menagerie of multi-armed leviathans, seductive sirens, and vengeful deities.

To propitiate the gods, offerings were made in elaborate ceremonies. Although cultural practices differed, ancient Phoenicians and Carthaginians believed human sacrifices were particularly efficacious. And they routinely proffered young mans in exchange for safe passage.

 * * *

There are lucky and unlucky ships.

Omens good and bad.

Women, especially redheads, are Jonahs. They distract all-male crews, anger jealous gods, and are responsible for disastrous voyages and shipwrecks. Paradoxically, bow mounted bare breasted feminine figureheads distract the evil eye… offering a measure of mitigation.

The albatross is the unluckiest of birds.

Crows and ravens are also ill omens… their croaking garrulity portending calamity.

Whistling at sea is forbidden. Challenging the wind, raging squalls and stormy seas are predictable consequences. Additionally, every able seaman worth his salt knows only homosexuals whistle – drawing the attention of horned shipmates to inverted acts of desperation.

Flowers, bananas, and the color green are also bad luck.

And are prohibited aboard by chary captains.

Sailors believe that certain days are cursed: Thursdays (Thor’s day – God of storms), Fridays (the day Jesus was executed), the 1st Monday in April (Cain killed Abel), the 2nd Monday in August (Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed), and December 31 (Judas Iscariot hanged himself).

Hence, a voyage will never commence on those unlucky days.

* * *

USS Nitro AE 23 gets underway.

Departing Naval Weapons Station Earle, NJ on Monday’s high tide, steaming south to the Virginia Capes Operating Area, she’ll rendezvous with USS Nimitz CVN 68 and resupply the aircraft carrier with ammunition, ordnance, and special weapons.

Laid down at Bethlehem Steel Corporation’s Sparrows Point Shipyard in Baltimore, MD, displacing 17,450 tons (full load), the 512-foot vessel is among the first specialized auxiliary replenishment ships built after World War II to carry munitions.

The ship’s 1MC general announcing system comes alive: “Standby for the evening prayer.”

Provided for in the law that established the Navy, prayer was reinforced by Thomas Jefferson in 1802 Navy Regulations. A brief non-denominational entreaty connects sailors to ancient seafaring traditions practiced since men ventured upon the great unknown.

1MC: “Eternal Father grant us strength to successfully accomplish our replenishment mission. Watch over your servants, especially the young midshipmen. Guide them in the pursuit of qualifications while revealing your wonders at sea. We humbly ask these things in your name. Amen.”

“Amen,” echo Machinist’s Mates (MM).

The sailors are especially thankful for Midshipman Ryan Fitzpatrick.

Aboard for summer training, the Cornell ROTC 4/c is assigned to the Machinery Division. The sailors own his privileged Ivy League ass for the next six weeks. They’ll provide a robust fleet education and impart important lessons not found in any Ithaca NY syllabus.

Adrift in a sea of masculinity, the 4/c surreptitiously observes the sailors – their virility suffusing his senses. Taking inventory, everywhere he looks are trim, attractive, physically desirable young men strutting and hooting like randy peacocks searching for a peahen.

1MC: “Taps, taps, lights out, the smoking lamp is out, all-hands turn into their racks. Now taps.” The berthing compartment’s ballistic watertight hatch is dogged, white florescent overheads secured, and nighttime red-globed lights energized.

Scandalous conversations, conspiracies, and collaborations abound.

Fitzpatrick’s alluring ass has attracted abundant anticipatory attention.

It’s squarely in the motivated men’s crosshairs. They’re obviously planning something. And that isn’t good. At Cornell troublesome stories circulate Barton Hall about 4/c’s being ritualistically sacrificed at sea. Surely just frightening fables fabricated for fainthearted freshmen.

MM1 Washington is the compartment’s leading petty officer. Like all good leaders, he takes care of his men. Underway small diversions provide a break from the monotony of the mundane. And he knows that sailors’ fears, frustrations, and desires are not often satisfied in conventional ways.

“Can we do the 4/c tonight, MM1?” asks a hopeful sailor.

“Sure. Go get him.”

* * *

Sailors subsist at the mercy of the sea.

Inherently superstitious, their beliefs are an amalgamation of ancient legends and myths. They know the deep is densely populated by a menagerie of entities – capricious, vindictive, jealous creatures that constantly thwart human aspirations for power and knowledge.

For millennia sacrificial offerings were made to honor and placate the gods and their minions before venturing into uncharted waters. Although evolved, prudent sailors in modern navies still offer shelem to secure favorable seas and ensure safe passage.

Why take unnecessary chances?

* * *

Shouts reverberate off bulkheads.

Infectious excitement floods the compartment. Machinist’s Mates have anxiously anticipated the ritualistic sacrifice of Fitzpatrick. And the moment of reckoning finally arrives. Empowered, they converge, grab, and forcibly extract the trapped 4/c from his bottom rack.

“Hey! W… what… what are you doing? Leave me alone.”

“Cooperate or we’ll beat the fuck out of you,” demands a sailor.

A scrum ensues. A lively entanglement of appendages. A minacious melody of mayhem. No match for motivated men, a punch knocks the wind out of the boy. Subdued and secured, order quickly re-emerges as sailors gambol around the evening’s entertainment.

Hauled to the lounge table, he’s unceremoniously placed atop and pulled apart – splayed like a deer carcass. Powerful hands hold wrists and ankles securely. He’s not going anywhere. Congregating around the makeshift altar, two dozen salivating seadogs survey the sacrifice.

“Please let me go,” begs Fitzpatrick.

The boy’s eyes dart from face to face… his pleas met with obdurate laughter. With looming dread, he desperately searches for an intercessor – one good petty officer to help him. But like Jeremiah searching Jerusalem to preclude the Lord’s destruction, not one just and honest sailor can be found.

A sailor wearing a demonic grin unsheathes a 6-inch rigger’s knife.

Terrified, Fitzpatrick shivers with fear.

“Hold still!” demands the knife-wielder. Flicking the blade, attacking the carnelian and white tee shirt emblazed with the university’s name and great seal – Cornell University Founded A.D.1865 encircling a profile of Ezra Cornell – the sailor slices through the cotton material.

Focusing on the gym shorts, sliding the razor-sharp blade under the waistband, he cuts out and downward on both sides. Delivering a riveting performance, waving hands like a carnival magician, with a flourish he liberates Fitzpatrick from all clothing.

A choir of conflated voices cheer the unveiling.

“Damn, that’s the smallest dick I’ve ever seen!” exclaims a sailor.

Amazed by the insignificant appendage barely noticeable in an outcrop of dense pubic hair, shriveled like a two-week-old party balloon, the men laugh hysterically. Even young mans on the cusp of adolescence proudly parade more prodigious packages.

“Fuck, that’s pathetic… more clit than cock.”

It’s the Irish Curse – a genetic affliction manifested in full force.

A low meat-to-potato ratio.

On full display, humiliated by the embarrassment between his legs, the despondent midshipman’s last ounce of courage evaporates and shame consumes him.

* * *

“I’ve got the scissors.”

An MM3 eagerly takes station with stainless-steel cutlery.

Running trembling fingers through the pubic hair, enjoying the erotic tactile sensation, he’s excited to add the curly trophy to his growing collection. Skillfully cutting the tufts, he harvests the tangible manifestation of manhood that’s taken a lifetime to grow.

Collecting the clippings in a plastic bag, it’s labeled with the date, time, and midshipman’s name. The unconventional trichophilia is harmless compared to other sailors’ more extreme paraphilia and disquieting sexual predilections.

Moving away, clutching treasure, the MM3 seeks solitude.

Securing rack curtains, caressing a throbbing erection, a hand rubs up-and-down over the ridge and across the leaking head. Shamelessly shearing midshipmen, a half-dozen to date, there’s nothing like procuring and owning another boy’s private badge of manhood.

Opening the plastic bag, taking a deep breath, he savors the distinctive scent of the evening’s acquisition. The pheromone-imbued filamentous trophy, containing the volatilized steroid androsterone, has a strong attractant effect. And he beats his meat faster… quickly reaching a shattering climax.

Licking fingers, he devours the delicious discharge.

* * *

The depilation ceremony continues.

“Here’s the Barbasol,” states a smirking squid.

Generously slathered in thick menthol shaving cream, Fitzpatrick cringes as the emulsion of oils, surfactants, and alcohol cover and sting his gear. Surrounded by an encouraging audience, the confident knife-wielder takes position between splayed legs.

“Don’t cut off his little pee-pee by mistake,” jokes a sailor. It’s a real concern, however, considering its diminutive size and the reduced redlight illumination. “Yeah, then he’ll really be sea-pussy,” adds a shipmate, invoking riotous laughter.

“Move and your ruined,” warns the knife-wielder.

Paralyzed by preservation, Fitzpatrick is afraid to breathe.

One slip could unman him. Sporting erections and grins, mesmerized sailors envision tantalizing possibilities. Deriving tremendous pleasure from the subjugation, fearful of their own innate vulnerability, they imagine the kid’s gear being irrevocably damaged.

Applying firm pressure, scraping the mons pubis, around the insignificant shaft, and across the taut nut sack, he eradicates all proof of the kid’s hard-earned virility. With final flicks of the blade, he transforms Fitzpatrick into a pre-pubescent boy.

And shipmates cheer the metamorphosis.

Performing a procedure perfected on previous prey, they flip Fitzpatrick over. With ass perched up, hips rotated, and legs spread wide apart, a small opalescing star is revealed. Looking to satiate prurient curiosity, sailors maneuver for unobstructed views.

Like ancient diviners interpreting omens, haruspicy and augury, sailors stare with discerning eyes at the prophetic ass for message & meaning. In a moment of wonder, ensorcelled by the untrammeled beauty, the men are suddenly quiet – filling the compartment with silence.

“Damn, look at that,” an MMFN whispers reverentially.

“Oh my god… it’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” adds another.

The twinkling star foretells a voyage replete with good fortune.

Concupiscence naturally stirs. And every sailor simultaneously imagines the same thing: how incredible it’s going to feel breaching the fleshy sentinel guarding the inner sanctum, defiling hallowed ground, and impregnating the pristine sea-pussy with potent enlisted seed.

Unfortunately for Fitzpatrick, their dreams will soon be realized. 

* * *

While shipmates are wishing on the star, an MM3 takes station near the midshipman’s head. Leaning down, studying the boy, he delights in the range of emotions playing over the miserable face. In plaintive eyes, windows of the soul, he finds shock, despair, hopelessness.

“How does it feel… everyone staring at your ass?”

“Embarrassing… humiliating,” Fitzpatrick stammers, fighting for breath.

“Awesome. You know everyone gets to fuck it, right?”

“W… what?”

“Yeah, it’s the best part of the tradition.”

“W… why?”

“We have no choice… the gods demand a sacrifice.”

It’s the fortuitous convergence of superstition, tradition, and opportunity. At sea, there’s something inherently natural about sailors initiating, fucking, and breeding midshipmen. And every seadog wants to dump a few loads up inside the kid.

Nauseous, the overwhelmed 4/c drowns in a sea of despair. Stripped of his dignity, he’s fully exposed and on display for their viewing pleasure. Surrounded by obscurantists, his masculinity and innocence will be voraciously consumed like immolate Carthaginian boys by Cronos.

“Definitely sucks to be you.”

The MM3 smacks his tumid shaft across Fitzpatrick’s face. Manipulating the leaking cock head, he rubs it up-and-down rubescent cheeks and across quivering lips. Pungent masculinity saturates the midshipman’s senses. Intoxicating. At once familiar yet distinctive.

An inquisitive tongue reflexively emerges and caresses the sensitive ridge and bulbous glans – tasting the sailor’s juices. Intense piquancy resonates. Full bodied, refined, and sensuous, it’s a bold cordial with ripe tannins and spicy cassis, blackberry, and cherry notes.

“Blow me,” the sailor demands.

Fitzpatrick submissively opens wide and welcomes the sailor inside. A trained cock sucker, he was taught proper methodology in ‘An Introduction to The Navy’ by his Cornell ROTC Naval Science Professor. And he practiced relentlessly on 1/c and 2/c upperclassmen.

Enjoying the power of supremacy, subjugating the inferior male, the MM3 persistently pushes inside the pliant mouth. Feeding the kid progressively larger portions, there’s something immensely satisfying about stuffing an enlisted cock down the convulsing throat of a midshipman.

“You crave cock, don’t you?”

Fitzpatrick blinks affirmative – unwilling to stop sucking to provide a proper reply.

All too soon the moment of release approaches. Stiffening, gripping the boy’s ears, the sailor unleashes a briny torrent of bluejacket jam. Abrupt powerful streams. An overabundant delicious creamy load. And the cocksucker swallows repeatedly to keep from drowning.

Meanwhile more Barbasol is applied.

With practiced efficiency perineum and ass get shaved. Fully exposed, the miniature genitalia look even more ridiculous; the star more inviting and glorious. Cameras click continuously… capturing the celebratory conquest of the chagrined Cornellian.

An escalation of desire courses through the sailors’ veins. An onslaught of inquisitive hands, rough and unrelenting, aggressively run reconnaissance. Grabbing, clutching, fighting over the portentous ass, bald pubis, and small egg sack, the men delight in feeling the baby-smooth skin.

Who doesn’t appreciate well-groomed sea-pussy?

* * *

Fitzpatrick isn’t the only 4/c aboard Nitro.

Superstitious sailors are busy sacrificing other midshipmen. Enjoying shackled fates, ceremonies are conducted in confined compartments throughout the ship. While details and practices differ, all embrace the general themes of humility, exploration, and sacrifice.

Sailors provide the essential ingredients: enthusiasm and cock.

And neither is in short supply.

– Aviation Ordnance Men have a Penn State 4/c in a weapons magazine. Stripped and secured across a bomb-build table, the Nittany Lion is introduced to enlisted ordnance. Repeatedly stuffed, the anfractuous rear passageway struggles to accommodate weapons without triggering premature detonations.

– A Rutgers 4/c is in Medical. Stripped and strapped in stirrups, the Scarlet Knight’s cock, anus, and perineum are closely examined. Enjoying unfettered access, corpsmen eagerly explore the boy’s deep recesses. Massaging silky smooth interior walls, they luxuriate inside the velutinous glove.

– Master-at-Arms take advantage of a Princeton 4/c. Inclined against a bulkhead with extremities spread wide, the Tiger assist MAs perfecting their cavity search skills. Taking turns, forcing hands up inside the defenseless ass, probing as deep as possible, they delight in wrecking the kid’s ring.

The gods must be placated.

And the midshipmen purchase Nitro safe passage.

* * *

Laughter and lechery fill the compartment.

A terrifying sailor with black eyes and covered in tattoos – more skulls on his torso than in a country graveyard – secures a leather collar around Fitzpatrick’s neck. Tethered, he’s led to the duty mattress positioned on the deck by the aft transverse bulkhead.

Emasculated, the beleaguered boy shamefully obeys a series of commands like a domesticated pet. Guided by experienced enlisted hands – on knees and forearms, with back arched, hips rotated, and legs splayed wide apart, ass open and inviting – he awaits destiny.

Obstreperous merriment surrounds the sacrifice.

Grinning with the knowledge of events about to transpire, sailors extract their cocks. An impressive collection of sizes and geometries, indicative of the Navy’s diverse ethnic composition, is on parade. Swaying languorously with the ship’s motion, they vie for Fitzpatrick’s attention.

His gaze, however, is riveted upon Washington’s gear.

Massive and disproportional.

Although he’s observed hundreds of cocks at Boy Scout summer camp – Wauwepex and Onteora Scout Reservation, in the East Meadow High School locker room, and Cornell’s Tegal Hall showers, he’s never seen anything approaching the sailor’s magnitude.

Slowly swaying, mesmerizing, and menacing, it possesses the ability to create and destroy. Radiating immense power, it’s the impregnator of life and brutal slayer of innocence.And Fitzpatrick shakes with uncontrollable trepidation.

A pewter bottle engraved with a trident is retrieved from a nearby ambry.

The MM1 quells the shivaree and commands silence. As the division’s senior and most experienced petty officer, like a Carthaginian high priest, he preserves traditions, recounts ancient myths & legends, interprets gods’ demands, and conducts sacred rites & rituals.

Entering a trance-like state, cantillating undecipherable ancient intonations, he communicates directly with the gods. Opening the bottle’s stopper, he pours blessed oil of the catechumens on the offering. Warding off evil spirits, its protection is necessary to sail the high seas.

Knowledgeable hands anoint every inch of flesh.

Ass and genitalia receive requisite attention. Caressing smooth pillows, warm and tender, Washington savors the luxurious supple flesh. Following the penile, scrotal, and perineal raphe, focused on the portentous star, he rubs calloused digits along its luminous corona.

Methodically working back-and-forth, emphasizing the indentation, probing, he breaches the shimmering chromosphere. Delving inexorably deeper and deeper, fingers twist inside… sending shockwaves through the boy’s radiative zone and inner core.

Groans of pain emanate with each increment of insertion.

Glistening with sacred oil, sublimely beautiful, it demands devotion. And like Magi following the star of Bethlehem, entranced sailors cannot deny its mesmeric, beckoning call.

* * *

The Navy is a hierarchical organization.

Clearly defined levels of authority and privilege are based upon rate and time in grade. Of vital practical importance, all sailors are acutely aware of precedence and their relative standing. In proper military fashion, the men quickly queue up by seniority.

Thankfully, MM1 Washington declines his right-of-first-fuck. A good leader sacrifices personal pleasures… always putting his men’s needs first.

So, Fitzpatrick isn’t ruined right out of the gate.

Feverish sailors are painfully aroused as a flood of neurotransmitters and hormones release. Nitrogen oxide and norepinephrine increase heart rates, blood pressure, and flow to erections. Stroked to maximum tumescence, impressive cocks throb with indecorous intent.

The defloration of innocence commences.

A senior MM2 takes station.

Shipmates lean forward to watch the unfolding spectacle. With unbridled desire the MM2 positions his broad crimson crown. Pressing forward, increasing pressure slowly expands the star’s circumference. And initial resistance suddenly yields catastrophically to the inevitable.

“Aaarrrggghhh!”

An obbligato scream. Abrupt and piercing.

Involuntary rectal convulsions impede the journey.

Undeterred, employing overwhelming force, without concern for deleterious consequences, the MM2 pulls the wailing boy backwards while callously thrusting forward… driving thickening inches deeper and deeper, penetrating down into the star’s red-hot molten core.

“Fuck yeah… take it all.”

As if Fitzpatrick has a choice.

Rapturous spectators cheer the full entrenchment inside the blubbering boy. A beautiful sight. And there’s no doubt about it, there’s nothing like it, watching a traditional at-sea ceremony… savagely sacrificing a boy’s irreplaceable innocence to placate demanding gods.

Fitzpatrick vocalizes anguished howls.

Painfilled poignant poetry. 

Yelling, cursing, pleading… all to no avail. Fully impaled, eyes squeeze tightly as tears stream down cheeks. Consciousness wavers, and only the searing pain and overwhelming humiliation of being brutally shanked up the ass registers.

Furious testosterone-fueled fucking follows.

An inspiring performance executed with exuberance.

Ass muscles flex with every brutal thrust. Powerful. Purposeful. Sizable sperm laden balls swing fore-and-aft, slapping out a timeless rhythmic beat. And everyone enjoys the sweet music with a choral accompaniment of involuntary grunts and groans of pain and pleasure.

Ascending dizzying heights, panting and gasping, the sailor is precariously perched on pleasure’s precipice. Surrendering to profligacy’s pull, urgent and necessary, he stiffens and with a shout of utter ecstasy violently ejaculates… four, five voluminous jets.

Dopamine, oxytocin, and endogenous morphine surge.

T.N.T. for the brain.

* * *

Over the next six weeks sailors take turns utilizing Fitzpatrick and the other 4/c midshipmen for the purpose they were intended. Seduced by the sea, sharing its bounty, experiencing pleasures that eclipse lustful fantasies, crewmen consume captivating collegiate cuisine.

Accommodating an incomprehensible number of insatiable sailors, wrecked boys limp back to college campuses with priceless memories, expanded horizons, and a new appreciation for the shipboard sacrifices required to ensure a safe voyage on the high seas.

The gods are placated… for now.

---

Comments and readers’ experiences with sailors & midshipmen are always of interest.

Chapter 25

Grand Opening!

The week of the grand opening began slowly on Sunday. Several dozen people went in and out of the Cove Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop. People walked on the beach and out to the Gulf of Mexico.

Before Ivan removed the undergrowth it was impossible to penetrate. With a beach replacing the jungle, you could walk from the cove to the Gulf of Mexico. Ivan and I enjoyed walking it early in the morning or at sunset. It was a remarkable replacement to witness. It offered us a pastime we didn’t have before.

I judged the week long celebration to be a success. People came from as far away as Palm Beach and Stuart. Many local people waited until Saturday to come to the cove. The free hot dogs, ice cream cones, and balloons were like a magnet.

There may have been as many as a hundred visitors in the afternoon Saturday. Spread out around the cove, it was never crowded. People had a good time and no one wasn’t surprised by the new cove.

Everyone was happy and no one mentioned being disappointed. When you replace nothing with something, it’s hard to complain. When the something offered any number of options that weren’t available before, people wanted to see what the new cove was all about and I wanted to see them see it.

In the afternoon Saturday Popov stood in front of J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen dishing out ice cream cones to anyone who passed. The jovial sea captain was in rare form. He loved the new cove and seeing him so animated made my perpetual smile larger.

Popov was larger than life and he managed to get giggles or laughter out of everyone.

Balloons decorated the rear of every boat, each piling on the dock had two or three, the walkways, the stairs, and the roof of the Cove Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop and J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen must have had a hundred balloons swaying in a pleasant Gulf breeze.

The contractor who gave Ivan such a bargain on the grader and dump trucks came to the cove on Saturday. He brought his architect and some of the first residents of the new housing development who were moved in a dozen miles up the highway.

Ivan gave them a tour of the shop and his fishing charter boat. He stood on the boat ramp as they decided to walk to the Gulf by way of the new beach. Before getting far they stopped to take off their shoes. The sand was deeper than it looked.

The dredger operator walked the beach to admire his sand. The Olsons came to see what Ivan built. Harold from the coast guard came. I recognized many more of the people who were there Saturday. The people who lived nearby waited until the last day to come to the cove. It was also the day the free food was available.

I stayed in the shop with Ivan during the afternoon. He had someone coming to see his boat and talk to Ivan about going on a charter fishing trip. The man came at two thirty and after talking about what fish he could expect to catch, Ivan took him to see the Daddy-O.

“I’ll stay and lock up at three, Ivan. I’ll sit outside for a while until everyone is gone and then we’ll start cleaning up.”

After locking the shop I put the chair on the sidewalk outside the shop window. There were still a few dozen people on the dock and between there and the parking lot.

I watched people stopping at J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen for hot dogs and Popov, standing at a cart a dozen feet away, scooped ice cream from containers I couldn’t see. He wore an apron and a silly hat. He laughed loudly each time he handed someone their free ice cream cone.

It wasn’t Popov who fascinated me. Behind Popov at the corner of J.K.’s Jr. Kitchen stood J.K., hidden by the shadow the large umbrella on Popov’s cart provided. He was virtually invisible but I’d seen the motion over Popov’s shoulder. It gave away J.K.’s position and I was left to wonder what he was doing.

From his vantage point he could see the parking lot, the people on the upper level of the new cove, the six stairs, and the dock.

My eyes stayed on J.K. No one was near the Cove Dive, Surf, & Bait Shop. The last of the people were coming off the dock.

I watched the man Ivan took to see his boat leave. There were still people stopping for hot dogs at the carry out window of J.K.’s Jr. Popov dished up more ice cream. He laughed again. J.K. stood still, except for his head, and he was now looking at the parking lot..

Popov dominated the scene with his big laugh and free ice cream. No one looked to see what was in the shadows a few feet behind the big Russian fisherman. I couldn’t stop watching J.K. I wanted to know what he was up to.

Popov was his jovial self. He dished up the favorite flavors of ice cream takers. I watched him each time someone stopped at the cart. He had been there giving out ice cream since noon. the visitors walked by him on the way to their cars.

It was free. Why not stop for an ice cream cone?

After each ice cream cone was received, I went back to watching J.K. I tried to follow his eyes with mine.

What was he looking for?

Any motion got a slight turn from J.K.’s head. With probably a dozen people still on the upper level and another dozen on the beach and the dock, there wasn’t much to watch by three fifteen on a lazy May day. It was just warm enough for ice cream to sound like a good idea. It wasn’t so warm I broke a sweat sitting a few feet from Popov.

I yawned and stretched. I was ready to give up the ghost when the last few stragglers came up from the beach. I’d walk down the dock to see what my men were up to. Mama and Pop came and stayed for an hour. They brought Dylan and left him for us to bring home when the grand opening ended and it wouldn’t be much longer.

J.K.’s head turned to watch the parking lot again. I couldn’t see the parking lot from where I was with the shop at my back. J.K. kept looking at something or someone in the parking lot.

Popov laughed.

A middle aged woman in a dress with broad navy blue stripes stopped for her parting gift of ice cream.

Popov leaned into the containers to bring out a scoop of chocolate ice cream on the cone he started to offer the woman.

As the woman reached out for the ice cream cone, my eyes left the happy sea captain, caught by a sudden motion behind him.

J.K. was on the move.

I saw the man in the brown suit pass behind the woman waiting for ice cream. He hadn’t stopped, passing out of my field of vision as he walked toward the six stairs.

My eyes reset back on Popov at the instant J.K. stepped out of the shadows.

Moving toward the six stairs, and passing behind Popov, the tips of J.K.’s fingers brushed Popov’s shoulder.

Hitting the top stair, J.K. started down. He had honed in on the man in the brown suit.

What was it about him J.K. noticed?

The ice cream cone tilted forward out of Popov’s hand as he turned toward the stairs. The ice cream at the end of the cone splattered on the sidewalk at the woman’s feet.

I looked at the woman when she squealed, jumping back away from the spilled dessert.

I looked for Popov.

He was tearing off his apron as he hit the top of the stairs. J.K. stepped off the last step, moving toward the dock. The man in the brown suit stepped onto the dock and he walking casually toward the Daddy-O.

A couple of dozen feet behind him, J.K. stepped onto the dock, walking a bit faster than the man in the brown suit.

Popov moved away from the stairs as I jumped up to fall in behind him.

I wasn’t sure what was going on or what about the man in the brown suit caught J.K.’s attention.

I closed the distance between Popov and me. J.K. closed the distance between him and the man in the brown suit. As I stepped on the dock, how ridiculous we must have looked, four men in a row, three men following the first and I could be sure why, as I caught sight of the man in the brown suit.

It was then I realized he looked like he might have just stepped off a movie set; a 1940s gangster movie. He was dressed like Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade. That’s what caught J.K.’s eye.

As the last of the people were working their way toward their cars, someone cranked up the sound system. Why at the moment when all hell was about to break loose.

Revving engines and singing beach boys were all I could hear.

The man in the brown suit was thirty feet ahead of me. J.K. seemed to be walking slightly faster than him and was fifteen feet behind now. Popov had closed in behind J.K. and I was looking for a way around Popov, but he was a big man and hard to get around.

J.K. picked up speed as we passed over the spot where the second half of the dock, the new section, started. All I could see was the back off Popov. Then he swerved left to let me around him. He must have heard me and now I was behind J.K. with no idea what we were doing.

J.K. obviously had a plan of some sort. I didn’t have one as we moved closer to the Daddy-O.

When I saw the man in the brown suit in front of J.K., who wasn’t a very big man, we were five feet behind him and J.K. walked with both purpose and with caution. He seemed satisfied to be where he was. I was sure J.K. could reach out and touch the man in the brown suit, but he didn’t.

The man in the brown suit was closer to Popov’s size than J.K.’s and when we caught him, I doubted the two of us could overpower him.

I’d scream a warning if the damn Beach Boys weren’t so loud. No one would hear me as the revving engines came out of a speaker next to my ear. Why did they turn the music up?

For a man with an artificial leg, J.K. wasted no time. He got within an arms length of the man in the brown suit. The farther down the dock we got, the more I worried that whatever J.K. thought was going to happen, we couldn’t stop. I could reach out and touch J.K. but even if I said something, he couldn’t hear, and it might attract the man in the brown suit’s attention to us. He hadn’t looked back once, since he stepped onto the dock.

I could hear Popov puffing and I knew this train wasn’t going to stop until we reached the end of the dock.

I looked for the Daddy-O but I couldn’t see it at first. The two men right in front of me blocked the view. Then I saw Ivan on the starboard side of the rear deck. He was laughing and Taggart stood next to him. They were talking to someone. They had their backs turned. Then the third man stepped to the starboard side of the boat… Kramer? It looked like Kramer in that big straw hat.

My view was blocked again as the man in the brown suit moved back into my line of vision. I wanted to yell but the Beach Boys’ Little Deuce Coupe was blasting out of the speakers.

No one could hear anything.

On the last third of the dock the four of us could have formed a huddle. I slowed because J.K. slowed, but he was close enough to reach out and touch the guy. Why didn’t he do something?

What?

If I could get around J.K. I could shove the guy into the water.

The man in the brown suit slowed down. J.K. slowed down, I slowed down, and I could feel Popov’s breath on the back of my neck.

J.K. was too small to take the guy on. I was bigger and the two of us could knock him in the water. What was J.K.’s plan. If I did something, could I be making matters worse?

I wasn’t waiting to see if this guy was going to start shooting. No one would hear it. That damn music was turned all the way up.

We were running out of dock. J.K. wasn’t a big man. I didn’t know how he intended to stop a far bigger man from doing whatever it was he intended to do. What was the plan?

If I moved around J.K. I could blindside him with as much force as I had. Not expecting it, I might be able to knock him in the cove.

I’d need to go through J.K. to get to the man in the brown suit. We were reaching the end of the dock if not the end of the line. There was no way I could get to the guy in time to stop what was about to happen. We’d run out of room.

I sensed imminent danger.

The engine of the Daddy-O purred to life.

Great! More noise.

I could scream a warning and hope they heard.

This was the most important day of Ivan’s life. I felt helpless to stop what was about to happen.

I prayed this did not end badly. I wasn’t in any position to stop it. J.K. was in the right place, but he’d bounce off the big man in the brown suit.

I could push J.K. into him and knock them both into the cove and whatever dastardly deed he planned would go in the drink with him.

Everything came to a screeching halt. We were at the end of the dock.

The man in the brown suit reached inside his suit coat.

I was off J.K.’s right shoulder a half a step behind J.K. He was a half a step behind the man in the brown suit. Popov couldn’t move for the three men who blocked him out of the picture.

J.K. was exactly an arm’s length from the guy’s back when he stopped. He didn’t sense things were about to go terribly wrong. The man in the brown suit’s hand began to come out of his open jacket. He was standing to the left on the dock, J.K. stopped behind the man in the brown suit’s right shoulder. I stopped almost next to J.K. and slightly behind him, putting J.K. was between me and the man we had been following.

J.K. moved left. I watched the man standing as still as a statue. What was going on? We’d come to a stop and were frozen in place. The engine of the Daddy-O died away with a few burps from the exhaust pipe just below the dock.

Ivan, Taggart, and Kramer had their backs turned, looking at something on the deck. I needed to scream. Why didn’t they turn around?

Things were going in slow motion. J.K. was close enough to touch the man in the brown suit. He didn’t. No one did anything. What were we doing?

No one on the boat had looked back at the dock or suspected what was looming on the dock behind them. They were having a good time.

The man in the brown suit never looked back or suspected someone was close enough to touch him and we just stood there.

I couldn’t breathe.

The music stopped in the middle of an engine revving.

Ivan, Taggart, and Kramer were laughing.

The man in the brown suit stood a half dozen feet behind and above the three of them and his hand had stopped moving. It was still reaching into his suit jacket for something, but that’s where he stopped.

“Look out!” I screamed into what had become total silence.

Popov bumped me as the three of us stood in a huddle with the man in the brown suit.

It was at that instant, when the silence struck, I heard J.K.’s soft guttural voice in my ear. The sound sent a chill through me, even if I didn’t catch the words. I heard them but their meaning escaped me.

At the end of the dock we’d possibly reached the end of the line for someone, but I wasn’t sure who. The man’s hand was still frozen in place. I was practically standing next to his arm.

He stood like a statue as stiff as could be.

What was he doing?

Then, as if in slow motion, I saw Ivan and Kramer in a shooting stance with guns aimed directly at the man in the brown suit’s chest.

I knew J.K. was an arms length from the guy. I knew J.K. said something, but I didn’t know what. As I looked to get a more complete picture of what had taken place, J.K.’s arm stretched out at its full length. In it was a very lethal looking pistol. The barrel of the pistol was pressed against the skull of the man in the brown suit.

end of the arm and the barrel was pressed against the head of the man in the brown suit. He did not move.

I did not move.

I heard J.K.’s words but they failed to register, until now.

What J.K. said was, “So much as flinch and your brains are fish food.”

Both Ivan and Kramer were holding guns pointed at the interloper’s chest. He wasn’t about to move from under the sign advertising: Charter Fishing.

While reconciling Ivan’s gun being poised and ready to fire as a necessary evil, my panic turned into relief.

My emotions were on a roller coaster ride and the ride hadn’t ended yet.

My relief went right back to panic as Dylan appeared in the opening to the galley.

I resisted the urge to faint.

This wasn’t happening.

Just when I was thinking it couldn’t get any worse, it got worse.

With no plan in hand I was on the Daddy-O pushing my son back into the galley before he looked up from his root beer can.

I forced him to sit down at the table while he was more worried about dropping his root beer than his irrate daddy.

“Stay there,” I ordered in an unmistakable tone he knew better than to disobey.

I turned around to stand in the opening with my back to Dylan.

“Do what the hell you’re going to do and get it over with. There’s a child in here,” I said, more angry about Dylan seeing Ivan with a gun than about the threat the gunman represented.

Ivan rushed me and threw his arms around me.

“It’s OK, babe. It’s OK,” Ivan said.

I knew what was coming and I didn’t care.

“I’m not a child. What’s got your panties in a twist? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Dylan yelled from where he sat.

My displeasure had grown into a rage and this time it was me shaking. Ivan did not let go. We knew everyone within reach but Ivan held me until the shaking stopped.

“It’s OK. It’s over now. The trouble is over. We’re OK,” Ivan told me.

The guns were put away, except probably for J.K.’s, but I couldn’t see his. I assumed the gun J.K. was pointing at the man was still in place when he gave his next order.

“Using your left hand, take the gun by the butt, two fingers only. Two fingers only,” J.K. repeated in clear easy to understand words. “Slowly now, drop it to your left. Let me remind you, make a sudden move and you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

The silence was disturbing. We watched the man in the brown suit remove the gun from his waist and drop it on the dock next to his left foot. The gun bounced once, and it came to rest an inch from going into the cove.

J.K. lowered his gun into the middle of the man’s back. He moved close enough to give him a hug. He used his left hand moved it inside the brown suit coat, moving around his waist and down to his pockets and then down to his crotch. He stooped to feel both legs. Stepping back a half step the gun went into the middle of the man’s back again.

“He’s no danger now,” J.K. said in the same icy voice I hadn’t recognized when he first spoke to the man in the brown suit.

All eyes were on the man in the brown suit. Ivan let go of me. He took my hand.

“It’s over, Clay. The trouble is over,” Ivan said with a certainty in his voice I didn’t feel.

“He is being the one in trouble now,” Popov said.

The jovial sea captain spoke softly. He was without humor.

The man in the brown suit surrendered to the man with the artificial leg, a stout sea captain, and a startled marine biologist. His face showed acquiescence. He waited for what came next. He showed no fear and he wasn’t cooperative. I didn’t see it being over.

“Who is sending you to doing the harm in Popov’s cove?” Popov asked, moving up very close to the man’s right ear.

The man in the brown suit didn’t move, he didn’t speak, or acknowledge that Popov spoke to him. Popov’s face moved so close to his cheek, I thought he might kiss him.

The look on Popov’s face and the growl in his voice told me there would be no kiss, although I couldn’t rule out the kiss of death. I wouldn’t want to cross this Popov.

Ivan moved to look up at the prisoner.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, Popov,” Ivan said. “Who sent you and where do we find him?”

The demand made the man flinch. He probably didn’t expect the man who he was there to shoot knew he’d been sent to do the job.

“This should be handled by professionals,” Kramer said, being a professional but not leaving the back of the boat. He stood behind Ivan and looked up at the man in the brown suit.

Popov turned his head to consider Kramer.

“Who the hell sent you?” Ivan barked like a junkyard dog.

Popov turned toward the man who was looking down at the back of the Daddy-O. He didn’t dare move. J.K. was still holding on to his aggressive stance.

I had no doubt the mild mannered restaurateur I’d known for nearly as long as I’d known Popov, wouldn’t hesitate to undo any idea of escape the man in the brown suit might have. I’d seen the steely resolve on J.K.’s face after I understood what bone chilling words he’d said, but it was Popov’s words that made what Ivan told me ring true.

“Be putting him in Popov’s launch,” Popov said. “We are finding the secrets this one is keeping. You’d like to be seeing Popov’s trawler? huh?” Popov said, bumping the man with his chest. “You won’t soon be forgetting your visit to my cove, Mr. bad man.”

The man in the brown suit stood silent as Popov bumped him again, moving him closer to the edge of the dock. He was in deep and for the first time he sensed there was no way he’d slip out of this trap. He did not doubt he’d fallen into the hands of serious men.

“J.K., we are taking the quiet man to Popov’s trawler. If we are not getting what we are wanting, the silent one might sleep with the sharks tonight. You want see Popov’s fishing boat, huh?”

Popov bumped him to the edge of the dock.

J.K. handed Popov the gun and he jumped into the launch, reaching back for the gun and holding it on the man in the brown suit.

“Step this way. I have a nice seat for you,” J.K. said, aiming the gun up at the man.

Popov’s chest was against the man. He didn’t want to get on board the launch, but there was nowhere else to go.

“We are getting in boat now,” Popov said.

“This isn’t legal,” Kramer said. “You can’t just take him.”

“You are stopping Popov?”

Popov laughed at the idea.

“You’re breaking the law,” Kramer said.

“Back off,” Ivan said. “You work for me. Don’t forget your job.”

“He’s breaking the law. I can’t let him do that,” Kramer said.

“Try,” Ivan said. “It’s not as hard as it might seem.

The man wanted nothing to do with the boat boat and he found himself dangling over the stern of the boat as Popov wrapped his arms around him and he kept moving forward until there was no choice. The quiet man stopped struggling and Popov lowered him a few feet before dropping him. Landing on his feet, he pitched forward when he couldn’t keep his balance. When he looked up, the barrel of J.K.’s gun was in his face. He sat facing J.K. with his back to Popov.

“You can’t do that,” Kramer said. “You’re kidnapping him.”

Popov gave out a tremendous laugh.

“I am,” Popov said, still laughing loudly. “We be back with answers soon. Our friend, he will learn not to be bringing the trouble to Popov’s cove.”

With that Popov started the launch, turning it in a tight circle, and aimed it toward his trawler.

“Who was that guy?” Dylan asked, finally wandering out of the galley.

“A trouble maker,” Ivan said. “He’s in good hands. Don’t you worry about it.”

“What will he do?” Kramer asked. “I should have stopped him.”

Ivan laughed.

“You don’t stop a force of nature, Kramer. You’re in Popov’s cove and that’s Popov justice.”

“I can’t believe I let him do that,” Kramer said.

“Cool your tool and Popov will find out what you want to know. He’s not restricted by a bureau full of rules.” Ivan said. “You’ll see.”

“I’m not supposed to condone the breaking of laws,” Kramer said. “My ass is hanging out here.”

“My kid is hanging out here, watch your language,” I said.

“Oh, sorry,” he said.

“If I’m not mistaken, he intends to find out who sent him,” Ivan said. “Once that’s settled, he’ll want to know where to find him.”

“It’s still not legal, you know,” Kramer said. “Does have a certain poetic justice in it.”

“That’s Popov. Poetry in motion. Sometimes you need to break a few eggs if you intend to make an omelet,” Ivan said.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Dylan asked.

“No,” Ivan and I said.

“And I’m not a kid either,” Dylan said.

Kramer didn’t have anything else to say. He’d let Popov take the culprit right out from under his nose. Making a fuss would only bring attention to his failure to take control of the prisoner. Kramer didn’t have much to say about it until after Popov took the man away.

I was a junior in college when I received word from my dad his only brother, Edgar died suddenly in a car accident. My uncle Ed was the best. He let me work at his dealership washing cars and doing odd jobs around his Toyota dealership. Uncle Ed was divorced and I later discovered why. He grew up in the 1970s and being openly gay was not always well received in the south. He married a high school friend and she understood the terms of their marriage. Eventually she met someone and decided to got out of a marriage that didn’t fulfill her.

Uncle Ed bought a beach house after his divorce and since I was his only nephew he always let me tag along for a couple of weeks each summer. I loved the time we got to spend together. Especially the evenings we sat on the screened porch and played our guitars. James Taylor songs were some of our favorites.

Some nights we pulled our mattress out on the porch and slept on the floor listening to the waves crash. Uncle Ed let me have my first beer at the age of sixteen. He taught me how to deep sea fish and how to build a fire pit in the sand and cook fish over an open flame.

I was a student at UNC Chapel Hill. My mom, dad and Uncle Ed were all graduates from Carolina. My uncle passed away in October. After the reading of the will I leaned my uncle left me his 1969 Ford Mustang and his beach house at Currituck. Many times uncle Ed took me to Corolla to see the wild horses. He bought me my first camera when I turned thirteen. My uncle was an amateur photographer but he truly was good and enjoyed giving me pointers.

The summer I was sixteen Uncle Ed left small bottles of lube in the outdoor shower. He point blank told me I was free to Jack off in the outdoor shower any time. I had watched him a few times adjust himself as he was getting out of the water. If he was anything like my dad ….he had a big cock. I quickly realized I too was blessed with the big manhood my dad and uncle had in common.

I discovered magazines hid in his closet and a couple of VHS takes. Chad Douglas was a stud. One night I was watching the VHS tape with the volume down. I guess Uncle Ed noticed the r light from the television. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. I jumped….my hard cock standing up hard as a rock. He said…clean up when you finish. He turned and walked away.

The next morning at the breakfast table he was so cool about last night. I apologized for snooping into his stuff. Even then he said….whatever in this house is yours to use. A few nights later he came out of the shower…towel wrapped around his waist. His plump cock was definitely noticeable. In fact, I think he wanted me to see.

Other than those brief moments….he was always appropriate and he always answered my questions about sex, relationships, school, life, etc….The summer I graduated high school my best friend and tennis partner Alexander, Al for short went to the beach with me for two weeks. Uncle Ed arranged for Stan…the neighbor to make sure the fridge was stocked, fire wood was available and fresh linens were washed.

Al and I had sex sometimes five and six times a day. Late on a Friday night Al and I were in the outdoor shower FUCKING when I heard a car pull up the gravel shared driveway. We immediately stopped…dried off and walked out and helped Uncle Ed carry in his weekend bag. Uncle Ed gave me a side hug and said….hell, I don’t blame you for inviting this handsome guy. Even though it was dark…I could have sworn I was blushing.

That night Al and I finished what we started….he sucked me dry. On Sunday afternoon Ed had to leave. He told Stan to keep an eye out for us. Stan never bothered us. He brought me supplies one night to grill burgers and dogs.

That fall I enrolled at Carolina. Uncle Ed helped my folks move me to campus. He left that day and gave me a hundred bucks. He was always so generous. Al had been accepted to Clemson. We met fall break at the beach house. Once again Stan had everything ready for us.

The week of Thanksgiving break after Uncle Ed passed I went to the beach house. As soon as I got out of my SUV Stan was waiting on his porch smoking a pipe. He made small talk and told me he was sorry to hear about my uncle. Stan gave me a hug and said he would go to the IGA and get me some groceries in the morning. That night I ate pizza and drank beer with Stan.

He walked me over and made up Uncle Ed’s bed. He stopped in his tracks and said…I borrowed some of Ed’s VHS tapes. I’ll bring them back tomorrow. I told him I knew he had tapes and I especially liked his collection. Stan walked towards me and said….you and your tennis friend always had a good time. His second level deck looked over into the outdoor shower. I knew that. A couple of times Uncle Ed told me Stan liked to watch him take a shower.

I told Stan I knew he watched….I winked and said…,I was hoping that you would join us. The next thing I knew Stan placed his hand on my crotch and said….we can remedy that problem now. Within five minutes we were naked and on the floor in sixty nine position. Stan was a stud of a man. He was a physical therapist and worked with rehab patients in the area. Stan positioned his warm mouth over my pink hole and rimmed me so well. I had no difficulty sucking his thick cock down to the base. He kept his pubes shaved and his body smelled like coconut oil.

We had fun…both eager to pleasure each other. Once we had a great climax we did end up in the shower. I invited Stan to spend the night. I woke up the next in his strong arms. He jumped in the shower and went to the kitchen and made a pot of Folgers coffee in Uncle Ed’s Mr. Coffee maker.

For November it was cool at the beach but not cold. Stan went to the store and I just sat on the screened porch and had a time to reflect on the amazing life Uncle Ed had provided me with.

That night Stan invited me to his place. Even though he lived beside Uncle Ed for years…I had never been in his home. As soon as we stepped inside the door…he started undressing. He explained he was a nudist and I was welcome to join him. Hell, why not. He fixed his a screwdriver and offered me a Coors long neck bottle. We chatted…then he said, come join me in the hot tube. Hell….I didn’t know he had a hot tub. He had a senate room like a sunroom off the master bedroom. He also had leather chairs…a sling, and a collection of toys. We got in the hot tub and he told me some of the toys were Ed’s. But he didn’t want to keep them at his place especially when I was visiting.

We played in the hot tub. He had me to sit up on the corner of the tub and he nursed on my dick. Man…he was a phenomenal cock sucker. Honestly, I’d never been with a mature man before. Most of my sexual encounters were with guys my own age. I had no idea I was going to end up naked with the man next door. What a learning experience. The weekend was over before I knew it. I promised Stan I’d be back on December 26th right after Christmas. We had four days that week. Stan stretched my hole and used heavy stainless steel beads in my ass. Then he would put just the head of his uncut cock in my ass. Just the pressure of being so stuffed….I shot a major load of cum without even touching my dick. Stan was more of a top but he was more than eager to bottom for me. He really taught me how to edge and control my climax. Stan was definitely a mentor. As a 22 year old college guy to learn good man sex from a stud who had just turned fifty.

In February Stan came to Chapel Hill and he had arranged to get tickets for the Tar Heels and Duke game. I’d been at Carolina for three years and was never able to get tickets for this rival game. What a great weekend. Spring break Al wanted to come and join me at the beach house. I had to be honest and tell him about Stan. Al joined us and Stan destroyed the guy. It was extremely exciting to watch Al lose control when Stan blindfolded him and worked his body. Stan placed Al in the sling. We took turns using hole and FUCKING his face. Al loved it.

Al had to leave on Thursday to get to a family wedding. That morning over coffee Stan asked if I wanted to join him and some of his nudist friends. That night including myself we have six men of all ages and sizes naked in his home. We played with chocolate, strawberries and fresh pineapple. Stan stuffed a little bit of pineapple in my ass and three men worshiped my ass and ate me out. One drizzled chocolate syrup over my cock and licked. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a big black man in the sling being face fucked while one guy toyed with his ass using a long neck beer bottle. These men were so attentive to me. At one point of the evening all of them had their hands and mouth on my body. I was in heaven.

Once I graduated from Carolina with a degree in accounting landed at job at the physical therapy center where Stan worked. By this point I had told my dad I was involved with Stan. My dad placed his hand on my shoulder and told me….after Uncle Ed’s divorce Stan was the guy who introduced Ed to his lifestyle.

Next time I saw Stan I entered his home and immediately grabbed his face holding it with both my hands. I kissed his passionately and told him ….you…you were the man who helped uncle Ed get his life back on track. I told him my dad filled me in. Stan was honest….but he said he didn’t want me to think he set out to fall in love with me just because I was Ed’s nephew. I grinned and said…you silly man….it’s because uncle Ed trusted you with his home while he was away was one of the reasons I knew you were a good man. Sure,,,it started out at fun, exploring man sex….but I didn’t think I would fall in love with him. Stan retired at age 65. We kept his home as our sexplay house and he moved in with me a couple of years after I moved permanently to the beach. We had an awesome life. Keep in mind…Stan was a trained physical therapist. Just imagine what he would do to my body…different positions and range of motion. The man was my everything.

Gary and Gloria Stansky had grown up together, been to the same school and had eventually married, much to both sets of parents’ delight. They had been married for three years and could be considered a very average married couple, both continuing to work and delaying starting a family because their careers were important to each of them. Their day-to-day lives tended to be very ordinary and their circle of friends was small, so they didn’t often go out at night, except to see the odd film.

One evening, Gary and Gloria were asleep in bed when Gloria awoke to hear a sound downstairs. She gently shook Gary to waken him.

“Gary! Gary, I think there’s someone downstairs.”

Gary gave a grunt and turned over in bed. Again, Gloria shook him and whispered in his ear that she thought someone was downstairs. Eventually Gary woke up and both he and Gloria got out of bed. Slowly they made their way downstairs in the dark. Gloria had put on a dressing gown, but Gary remained in his sleeping shorts and carried only a baseball bat as defence. They slowly descended the stairs and quietly entered the lounge. Immediately on entering the lounge, Gary switched on the lounge light, confronting their burglar who was dressed from head to foot in black and had his face covered with a ski-mask. 

“Stand where you are and put up your hands,” shouted Gary, waving the baseball bat. The burglar froze where he was standing, not a muscle moved.

“Gloria, go and phone the police.”

“I’m not leaving you in case there’s another burglar in the house.”

“In that case you stay here and guard him, while I go and call the police.”

Gary handed over the baseball bat and left the lounge to go to the phone which was in the hallway.

While he was out, Gloria moved in front of the burglar, staring at the eyes peering through the ski-mask.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked.

There was no response.

Slowly she edged a little closer to the burglar and tried to peer through the ski-mask, but could obviously only see the burglar’s eyes and mouth. She stared into a pair of steely-blue eyes staring back at her. She stretched forward and took hold of the ski-mask which she ripped from his head. The minute that the mask had revealed the burglar’s face than he grabbed Gloria, put a hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming and disarmed her of the baseball bat. He then frog-marched her towards the lounge curtains where he took two of the tie-back cords which were attached to the curtains, and with one hand, tied Gloria’s arms behind her back. He then found a roll of packing tape lying on a sideboard in the lounge, tore off a strip and placed that over her mouth. He then gently manoeuvred her towards a wingback chair, seated her down and tied her to the chair by means of the remaining tie-back cords.

“Gloria, I can’t get through to the police, the line must be cut,” said Gary re-entering the lounge, only to find Gloria bound and gagged in the wingback chair. The burglar stood, armed with the baseball bat, in the centre of the lounge.

“Sit!” hissed the burglar to Gary.

“What the hell’s going on here?” shouted Gary advancing towards the burglar.

The burglar merely prodded Gary in the stomach with the baseball bat, temporarily winding him.

“I said sit!” hissed the burglar again.

By now Gary was sitting on the couch, which had its back to the wingback in which Gloria was seated. The burglar stared down at Gary and Gary reciprocated the look.

The burglar must have been close to six-foot three tall with a muscular body and a rugged, weather-beaten face, full lips and steely-blue eyes. Gary surveyed the man’s stature and realised that although he was fairly well-built, he would probably be no match for the burglar.

“Please take what you want and go,” said Gary, from the couch.

From Gloria came a muffled sound as though to echo Gary’s request.

The burglar placed the baseball bat on the coffee table and stood in front of Gary, hands tucked into the waist of his black jeans with his hands splayed across his crotch. This became a focal point and Gary’s eyes were attracted to this area. He could see that under the cloth of the jeans lay a bulge of enormous magnitude. The burglar slowly rubbed his hands across his bulging crotch and as he did so, Gary could feel his own cock becoming aroused in his sleeping shorts. The burglar stood and watched as Gary’s cock slowly began to grow and thicken, rising to produce what looked like a tent-pole supporting the soft material of his shorts.

The burglar advanced towards Gary and, taking hold of the waistband of Gary’s sleeping shorts with his huge hands, pulled them down over Gary’s knees, freeing his throbbing cock. Gary sat on the couch revealing himself to the burglar, but where Gloria could not see. She knew what the burglar had done, and she tried to say something as he had done so. She was trying desperately to free herself, but was unable to do so.

The burglar moved to between Gary’s legs and knelt. He held Gary’s cock in his hand and squeezed its swollen stem while his other hand fondled Gary’s balls. As he did so, Gary groaned, pleasurably. The burglar licked the tip of the mushroomed head and circled its rim with his tongue, then proceeded to run his tongue down the length of Gary’s cock until he reached his balls, all the while staring up into Gary’s eyes. He licked on one, rolling it into his mouth and sucking gently on it, and then he repeated the same action on the other one. Throughout this whole motion, Gary lay back transfixed, groaning in pleasure while Gloria continued to give muffled sounds from the wingback chair. From where she was sitting, she could only imagine what was happening to Gary.

Gary enjoyed the pleasure he was receiving for a while, then he leant forward and removed the burglar’s black top to reveal a well-developed chest with two swollen nipples mounted on a pair of firm pectoral muscles and a stomach rippling with muscles. Gary gasped at the sight and his cock bobbed with excitement. The burglar went back to sucking on Gary’s cock while Gary proceeded to pinch the burglar’s nipples, sending shockwaves through the burglar’s body.

After some time, the burglar rose from between Gary’s legs and undid his jeans. As he slid them to the floor, Gloria’s eyes widened as she saw the bulge packed into a white jock-strap and the muscular legs. The burglar stepped from his jeans and stood in front of Gary, thrusting his crotch in Gary’s face, allowing his mouth to kiss the heavy package that the burglar carried. Gary rubbed his nose along the solid length in the jock-strap and smelt the musky-sweet smell of sweat, man and piss. Using his teeth, Gary pulled the jock-strap lower to release the shining head of the burglar’s engorged cock from its constraints. The burglar’s cock rose to the occasion and Gary could not resist the opportunity and took the burglar’s cock into his mouth and swallowed it down to the base where his chin rubbed up against the soft fur on the burglar’s balls. He held his position, luxuriating in the taste of the man’s cock, then slowly began to withdraw his mouth. The burglar gave a slight sneer as Gary did this and then thrust his cock down Gary’s throat, almost gagging him.

The burglar watched Gary’s face intently and could see the pleasure and enjoyment that Gary was experiencing from his actions. By this time, Gloria was well aware of what was happening, but because she could not see Gary’s face, was unaware of the pleasure that the burglar’s cock was giving him. Gary fondled the burglar’s balls, gently rolling them in the palms of his hands and ever so gently squeezing them every now and then.

After what seemed an eternity to Gary, the burglar pulled out of Gary’s mouth, bent down to his jeans and pulled out a condom which he removed from its foil container and unrolled it onto his full length. He then pulled Gary to the edge of the couch and began licking the area between Gary’s balls and his asshole. Gary groaned loudly as the burglar’s tongue ventured closer to that magic hole. On finding it, the burglar pushed his tongue into its waiting entrance and felt Gary’s muscles clamp on his tongue. He flicked his tongue, teasingly, lubricating Gary’s pucker all the while. When he felt that he had lubricated it enough, he stood up, pulled Gary’s legs up into the air and guided his long cock towards its destination. 

As the burglar pushed into Gary, Gloria tried desperately to get out of her chair to protect her husband, but Gary didn’t want protection, he desperately wanted that enormous cock to be buried inside of him and to feel it throbbing there. Although the burglar was muscular and rugged-looking, his actions to Gary at this moment were tender and gentle. He slid his cock slowly into the warmth that Gary generated until it could go no further and he felt his balls rub up against Gary’s ass. He then proceeded to develop a rhythm which pleased both him and Gary.

Gary lay on the couch, eyes closed in euphoria and groaned softly as the burglar plunged into and withdrew from Gary’s pulsating asshole. At one stage, the burglar withdrew his cock until only the mushroom head was hidden, and using short thrusts, massaged his cock-head against Gary’s prostate. Gary’s cock was leaking pre-cum and he was writhing in ecstasy the more the burglar continued his action. The burglar knew that he was bringing Gary to the very edge and he could feel his own balls riding up into his ball sac, ready to shoot his load.

“I’m going to come,” groaned Gary, looking lovingly into the steel-blue eyes of his aggressor.

The burglar gave a sudden deep thrust, tensed and both men began to fire their loads. The burglar could feel the contractions as Gary’s cock throbbed and fired load after load of warm cum onto his chest and stomach. The burglar held firmly onto Gary’s legs, pulling him deeper onto his cock and thrusting violently, grunting loudly with each thrust. Both men’s bodies glistened with perspiration in the lounge light. 

What went through Gloria’s mind as the two men came, we will never know, but she never lost the frightened rabbit stare throughout the burglar and Gary’s sexual intercourse. After both men had exhausted themselves, the burglar leant across Gary’s stomach, placed his lips on Gary’s and sucked on Gary’s tongue, pulling it into his mouth and feeling Gary’s cock throbbing again as he did so. Their lips parted and slowly the large bargepole was pulled from its warm protection in Gary. As the burglar’s cock slipped free, Gary gave a sigh, smiled and his whole body relaxed.

The burglar smiled at Gary, took the condom off, filled with his love juice and left it on the couch next to Gary, pulled on his jock-strap, stuffing his still engorged cock into its stretch material, put on his shirt and jeans, blew a kiss to Gloria, walked out of the lounge, switched off the lights and disappeared.

Gloria became desperate to free herself and was making an overwhelming amount of noise through the tape covering her mouth. Gary lay on the couch with a satisfied smile on his face as if in a trance. Eventually, Gloria’s grunting and moaning brought him back to reality and he leapt up from the couch, switched the lounge lights back on and began to free Gloria. His cock was still half hard and he still had the evidence of his cum on his chest and stomach. He ripped off the tape covering Gloria’s mouth and the muttered sounds became verbalised.

“What the fuck were you doing?” she screamed at him.

“If I didn’t do as he said, he could have killed us,” was Gary’s reply.

“…and what about me?”

“What about you? Just think what I’ve been through,” said Gary sounding sorry for himself.

“By the sounds of it I think you were enjoying yourself.”

“Of course, I wasn’t. Do you know how painful it was with that huge cock of his?”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with you, call the police.”

“You know I can’t; I told you that the line was down, probably cut,” came Gary’s reply. 

“Well, we’ve got to notify them somehow!”

“I’ll take a drive to the police station and report it,” said Gary, “but you stay here, you’ve had enough for one night.”

Gary pulled on his sleeping shorts over his continually diminishing cock and headed out to the car, leaving Gloria in the safety of the house. He got into the driver’s seat, stretched across to the glove compartment and took out some tissues to wipe away the evidence from his chest and stomach, switched on the headlamps and in the light, he saw a piece of paper on the windscreen. He got out of the car, took the paper and read: 

Thanks, that was great. If you ever want to do it again phone 325784.

Gary’s cock gave a little twitch; he smiled, folded the paper and placed it in the glove compartment of his car.

THE END

I’m one of those persons where if I fancy a guy that I know casually I find it difficult to say much in their company or even look at them for too long.

You would think that a man like me in my 50s now would have overcome such insecurities but these days it’s got worse.

What’s even more awkward is I am in Jamaica mostly these days surrounded by thingly clad male company and on few occasions I get on dizzy street – without any narcotics necessary.

Plus the eyes never lie.

Warmer climbs means a need to take cover fearing  potential unplanned hard ons.

So there is this young chap called Mark who lives 3 houses from me in Jamaica. 

Mark is in his late 20s but I’ve known his parents since childhood. 

Mark is 6ft 3 and I am 6ft 1.

He has one of those engaging personalities that makes him friendly to everyone unlike the rest of his immediate family.

Mark has grown into this stocky well built black man with drop dead gorgeous eyes.  

Those arresting eyes. Hard to explain especially tagged with that precious smile.

Sometimes Mark walks around shirtless displaying some magnificent hanging moobs that are kryptonite to a mere mortal like yours truly.

Whenever Mark and I talk his stares are forceful, locked on your own eyes in ways that leaves one very uneasy and heart beating faster than normal.

His beautiful eyes are seducing and arousing and thus I am hardly thinking straight to have a coherent long conversation with Mark.

See? I’m even repeating myself here in this monologue.

So I keep talks with Mark to a minimum of a few minutes just to remain stable.

If I can, I just try to avoid Mark at all times.

Two things Mark and I have in common, no, three things are farming, love of animals and European football. 

I lie. Mark and I love books too.

I have sexual feelings for Mark in ways that even surprised me. I should be embarrassed.

Known him since he was a baby.

Who am I kidding?

So one day in July 2022 Mark came to my house to borrow my pitch fork. I was shirtless at the time and before I could put on a shirt Mark had already reached my verandah/porch and was looking in the house. Door was open.

One thing about Jamaica is you hardly ever enter someone else house unless invited.

But Mark saw my large book case and headed towards it as I went for the fork.

By the time I came back Mark was flicking through  numerous books.

He was mostly interested in Stephen Coveys The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

I was seriously impressed as most folks who come into my house rarely look at my  bookcase. 

(That Chris Rock joke about the best way to hide money from black people is to hide it in your books….is real!) 

Mark was impressed at the number of books I had on such a wide range of topics.

This hunk of a man was there for over an hour now and I forgot all about finding a shirt to put on. I was sitting there admiring this Atlas covertly and trying to act cool.

I would put my hand over my mouth and play with my tongue lusting at Mark.

Those eyes.

When Mark got up to leave with the fork he asked if he could come back and view the books tomorrow. I said yes.

This time I will be better prepared and definitely ensure my body language/gaydar signals are…

Next day Mark did indeed visit me to return my fork and view more of my bookcase.

I was shirtless but had used snake bites rubber to make my large nipples even stand out harder & further.

(I get a kick out of guys who are at them just to ruffle any possible Gaydar signals)

Plus I was free balling behind a multi coloured longer shorts.

Mark told me he was upset that on a number of previous  occasions I avoided engaging in long conversations and wondered if he had upset me.

I sad no and tried to leave it there.

But Mark wouldn’t have it and wanted to me to expand.

What do I do now?

Could I be 100% honest and make Mark laugh at me and tell everyone in the street?

We were standing facing each other in my lounge and I couldn’t look into his seducing eyes any further and turned away.

Now my freeballing dick was up ready for take off and I was desperate for Mark not to witness such unrequited eagerness on my part.

But he did see the hard dick sticking out like a satellite.

As I turned to step away Mark grabbed my left nipple and facing him he said to “it’s all good” as now he held both my nips.

“Sure?”

He nodded

There we kissed as we clenched. I kissed him gently as he eyes just made mincemeat of my emotions.

So I closed them 

I pushed Mark aside and wimpishly  said “You just do not know what you do to me”

Mark was taken by my remark.

I was too. Still am.

What am I doing.. a 50+ year old black man getting all hot and bothered in such sensuous circumstances?

But I was really that emotional.

Mark seemed the mature minded one of the two and just hugged me.

“Ahhh” was me followed by a great sigh of relief.

I could feel Mark’s stiff cock and put my hands in his shorts and pulled it right down and in a flash my tongue was all over his extended pipe.

“Oh yes” remarked Mark

As his ran his hands over my hair.

I turned on the tv for sounds to drown out Mark’s that were getting louder and excitable.

Understandably I had never seen Mark in such relaxed position and I wondering how far we could go.

I didn’t want Mark to come too early. So I took him to my bedroom where we spreaded out nakedly.

The sweat from our bodies was running like water. Average temperature here is generally in the 90s.

Here I took charge and kissed and licked Mark’s entire gorgeous body slowly, playfully and like a man whose Christmas had come early.

Mark laid on his back and allowed me to do most of action. I was fine to do so 

Mark moaned he was loving my tonguing technique and he that no man or woman  has ever made him feel that way.

But Mark’s penis was thick and long. It had the feel of a chisel and you could sense the heat coming of it as my tongue played with it gleefully.

Mark’s comments were getting more steamy and pleasing to the ears.

He is a strongly built and in a flash turned so that I now was facing down on the bed and Mark was on top and his hard cock between my butt cheeks. 

He was rubbing his cock but thankfully Mark did not try to fuck me. 

He was rubbing his cock on the back of my thighs. He was biting my neck, tonguing my spine and leaving me headless.

Eventually Mark shot a load whilst squeezing my arm. 

I was on cloud 69 squared.

I felt like I had conquered a prey and I just had to lick up some of his cum to complete this unexpected adventure.

Mark and I have separate farms in the countryside and we use some of that time to continue indulging in our new favourite past time. 

He likes that I have a nickname for my cock (Percy) and we agreed to call his (Pepe).

It’s funny now that we can have public coded chats about our cocks amongst others without them have a clue. 

You would think given the age difference that I would be mature one in this dalliance. But no, Mark is the bossy one of the two.

Mark’s eyes still has that alluring effect on me.

He knows it now and man does he exploit it to his advantage and my embarrassment in the most unlikeliest situations.

Thankfully these days he is away at college miles away finishing his Masters.

Then this recent Christmas Mark suddenly appeared at my door.

Shirtless.