Author: admin

  • Using Mike

    It had been three days since he had been at Brian’s place when Mike came over. Three days since he had put his cock into another guy, slide it up next to Brian’s cock while buried in Mike’s ass. He couldn’t stop thinking about it to the point he caught himself looking at other guys on campus, especially those that looked like Mike. The guys who were short, lean, boyish, but then he also would look at other guys, muscular guys, jocks, the geeky ones with glasses and those artistic ones dressed so differently. He thought about what it had been like when Mike sucked his cock, took the whole damn thing into his mouth. The memory of that warm wet mouth moving on his cock kept his half hard all the time.

    Phillip got back to his dorm room and tossed his backpack on his desk and fell down across his bed, lying back staring at the underside of his roommates upper bunk, mind lost in his thoughts of sex…sex with guys. His cell phone began to ring and he dug it out of his pocket and saw it was Brian.

    “Hey, what’s up?” as casually as he could make his voice sound, eager, hopeful Brian was calling for him to come over.

    “Not much. Not yet anyway. Mike is coming over and wanted to know if you wanted to come over too” Brian asked, his voice actually calm and casual, for to Brian sex was just sex and Phillip now knew when Brian said to get it while you could he knew he meant in any way possible, but he wondered if Brian thought of it the way he had, the constant image of Mike taking his cock, the idea of sex with another guy and how it made him look at other guys differently. He wasn’t naïve about guys having sex with each other; it was just something he had never been in contact with, something that became very real. Phillip hesitated for what he thought was an appropriate time before responding.

    “Yeah, sure. It’s kind of fun.”

    Kind of fun he thought; what a lie. It was a lot of fun.

    Phillip had arrived after Mike and when Brian answered the door he told him to come on back. Mike was naked and Brian was getting out his boxers as Phillip began to undress in Brian’s bedroom. Mike went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

    “He wants to shower off and I thought why wait till he finishes. We can start in the shower.”

    Brian had a shower stall just large enough for the three of them to maneuver around in and it wasn’t long before Mike was bent over with Brian’s soapy fingers buried in his hole, stretching him open as Mike sucked Phillip cock. The shower was hot, the steam quickly filling the room and Brian pulled his fingers from Mike’s hole and pulled him back off Phillip’s cock. He held Mike around the chest and told him to put his feet up on the wall either side of Phillip. Phillip knew what he was to do and when Mike was leaned back against Brian, his feet planted on the opposite wall, his legs spread open with Phillip between them it didn’t take Phillip long to sink his cock into Mike, to work it all the way into him and began to fuck. Phillip leaned forward, resting his head against Mike’s shoulder, feeling the hot spray wash over him, feeling the tight hole he was fucking his cock through with slow even thrust and he couldn’t stop the thought of wondering what it would be like to be the one getting fucked; to be taking a cock in his own ass.

    They were still wet when they piled up on Brian’s bed. They started with Phillip back in Mike’s ass, on top, pumping his hips firmly, forcibly. Phillip sensed Brian beside him, just back out of his sight and he thought of what it would be like if Brian got on the bed and put his cock in his ass. Phillip wondered how it’d feel to have Brian fuck him while he fucked Mike. He jolted forward, the shock of the firm smack on his ass by Brian drove forward into Mike so hard Mike grunted.

    “That’s it, fuckin’ kill him with it” Brian cheered Phillip on, laughing. Phillip drove harder into Mike, fucked him so hard the bed rocked back and forth hammering into the wall. He wanted to impress Brian, wanted him to touch him again, to feel his hand on his body. Mike was grunting as he held on to Phillip’s hips, hips that were driving up and down at a furious pace, the smacking of their bodies echoing in the room.

    “Jesus, save some for me you pervert” and Brian smacked Phillip on the ass again and Phillip came, pumping his cum deep into Mike, shooting it out so hard it hurt.

    They had gone at Mike for two hours, taking turns, till each had pumped two loads into his skinny ass. Phillip had fucked Mike last, had made Brian go before him, for he wanted to feel Brian’s fresh load when he sank his cock into Mike once more. When Brian had finished Phillip wasted no time in getting Mike on his back, his legs grasped in each hand, pushed back till the lean little body was bent double and his cum oozing hole was turned upward, open, ready, waiting. Phillip had sunk into the wet slick hole slowly, feeling his cock slide effortlessly into Mike and he had taken slow this time. Phillip fucked and fucked and fucked while Brian lay right next to them, watching Phillip’s cock pump in and out of Mike’s hole, watched as it pumped out the previous loads of cum, watched as Phillip’s slick wet cock moved through the loose ring of Mike’s hole.

    “Goddamn the whore if fucked out this time” Brian stated, giggling at his own comment. When Phillip felt his need to cum rise up, his cock feel harder, bigger, he had picked up the pace and fucked as hard as he could, this tense muscles of his stomach shivering with exertion, his body covered in sweat, the skin glistening in the dim light. He fucked as Mike jacked his own cock, who had not come yet, who had let his need build up with each fucking till he was now ready, his cock so wet with pre-cum Phillip and Brian could hear his slick hand movement as he stroked himself. When he came, he came so hard his body jerked underneath Phillip and his hole milked Phillip till he came, pumping his second load into the wet slick mess that was Mike’s ass.

    They showered off when they had finished and soon Phillip found himself back in his dorm lying on his back lost in thought as his roommate read some text book on his bed above. He thought about the way Mike took their cocks, begging them to fuck harder, to fuck faster, to fucking pump their loads into him and he found his cock getting hard again. He thought the way Brian had smacked his ass, the feel of it, they way it stung, made his ass burn but also made him fuck harder, to drive his cock into Mike. He then wondered what it would be like to let Brian fuck him, to drive that thick cock into his hole, stretch him open, take a fuck.

    He slept restlessly the next couple of days and was like a zombie on campus, going through the motions, trying to pay attention in one class after the next, but his mind kept wondering, circling back to the same image. The image of him having sex with Brian. Or with Mike. Or with the guy who just passed by riding his bicycle, or the one sitting on the bench near the entrance to the engineering department, or the guy in his physics class, the one who wore tank tops and frayed and worn jeans that Phillip now knew showed the guy’s cock through the worn denim, let him see how it laid to the right, enticingly just below the fabric, and it all made Phillip his heart race and kept his cock half hard.

    Tuesday night and his roommate was sound asleep as Phillip lay on his bed, the blinds open on the one window the end of their dorm room, letting the moon light shine in. It was a full moon and Phillip looked down across his body and saw how the light shone across his body, his bare chest and stomach visible enough he could see the contours of his body, see the hair that grew around his navel and traveled down, disappearing inside his white briefs, briefs tented with his hard cock, and he reached down and tugged on it, willing it to go down, frustrated, confused.

    “Fuck it” he whispered to himself, knowing he wasn’t getting any sleep unless he did something, so he eased out of bed and slipped on the baggy cargo shorts and t-shirt he had been wearing earlier. He slipped his feet in his sandals and headed out. He didn’t know where he was going, just knew he needed to get out and get some air, to see if a walk would tire him down so he could get some sleep.

    He walked across campus toward the commercial district by the college and down a few blocks of the deserted street. He looked at his watch and realized it was nearly 3 am and he cut back into the campus and made his way over to the back side, thinking he’d make a loop and circle back to the dorm thinking a couple of miles of walking should make him able to sleep. As he went past the arboretum department he saw the entrance to the small park they maintained along the small creek that cut through the back of the campus and he headed down, knowing the path would run along the creek and come out on the other side of campus where he could work his way back.

    The trail ran through the trees, sections heavily landscaped, as it ran along the creek. The trail crossed the creek in several locations, being bridged over by one student designed construction or another. Phillip had gone about half way along the park when he stopped on one bridge and leaned on the rail looking up the low lying area and how the moon light was filtered by the trees. He stood there for several minutes wondering whether or not he was being unreasonable, if he shouldn’t relax and just admit whether or not he enjoyed sex with another guy as much, or possible more, as sex with a woman. He leaned over the rail and looked down into the dark waters circling among the rocks in the creek where it passed under the bridge. He didn’t hear anyone come up behind him, didn’t hear them move up close to him and when he stood up straight, he didn’t realize someone was right behind him, until they whispered to him, making his heart stop.

    “What are you looking for?” the deep voice asked, barely loud enough to hear, but hear he did and he froze.

    “Relax man, relax, we’re good here” the voice said in a calming tone, letting Phillip relax some of the tension away.

    “You ok now?” the voice asked and Phillip, having not even turned around, somehow knowing not to, just nodded yes. The guy moved up behind him, put his hands on the rail just outside Phillip’s own hands and got real close, his breath hitting Phillip on the neck.

    “So, you never told me what you’re doing out here?”

    “I don’t…I don’t know” Phillip replied as he held his head down, looking at the hands on either side of him. He felt the guy move up till their bodies touched, till he could feel the guy push his crotch against his ass, stirring up a heat inside of him.

    “I think you do know” the voice stated as he sniggered quietly in Phillip’s ear. “You want me to stop?” he asked.

    “No.”

    Phillip felt the guy push up against him, felt him press against his ass, his breath on his neck and ear and then his hands rubbing up Phillip’s arms, lightly, softly, stroking him up.

    “Follow me” the guy said in a soft quiet whisper in Phillip’s ear. Phillip turned and could just make out a guy about his own age, slightly shorter but stocker, more muscular wearing gym shorts and t-shirt and he followed him off the bridge and down the trail till they came to a bench. The stood waiting as Phillip walked up to him, came up close, face to face. He saw the goatee dark against his skin, and he saw the guy’s hand come up to his shoulder and rest on it.

    “You want it, dontcha?” the guy said as he pushed down on Phillip’s shoulder. Phillip knew what he wanted and he hesitated for only a moment before he eased down on his knees. He put his hand on the guy’s crotch and felt it, the cock that was getting hard, through the thin fabric. He squeezed it, held the growing shaft in his hand and then leaned over coming to the edge of his hand where he knew the head protruded and mouthed it through the fabric. The guy ran his hands over Phillip’s head rubbing the short stubble of hair.

    “Come on, we ain’t got all night; take it out and suck it.”

    Phillip pulled down the guy’s shorts till this cock popped free, bobbing up and down in front of him. He took the shaft, held it up and he leaned over and licked the head, felt the soft spongy head on his tongue, then he let the cock slide into his mouth, let the guy push it into him till he gagged, choked but the guy held him steady on his cock.

    “Damn, is this your first time or somethin’?” the guy taunted. He pulled back and pushed forward again and Phillip took it, felt it slid over his tongue, and he suddenly wanted the guy to go faster, to moved his cock back and forth through his mouth where he could feel it slide through his lips, to feel what it was like to suck a man’s cock. Phillip had his hand’s on the guy’s ass, holding himself upright, and felt himself guide the guy’s pace, felt him work the guy’s hips back and forth, moving the cock in his mouth, feeling it swell up thicker, stretch out to its full length.

    “Yeah, take it man, fuck.”

    The guy began to pick up the pace, move faster than Phillip was prepared for and suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t maintain the rhythm and he pulled off gasping for breath as the guy’s cock bobbed in his face, the dim moonlight shining off the wet glistening shaft.

    “God I was close. You shouldn’t have stopped, but now…” and the guy looked around, looked at the quiet park, where the only sound was their own breathing could be heard and he looked down at Phillip, “I think we have time. Get up.”

    Phillip stood up and the guy reached for his jeans, unfastened the button, jerked the zipper down as Phillip stood transfixed, watching the guy open his jeans wondering if he was going to suck his cock, give him the same pleasure, but when he pushed Phillip’s jeans down, he shoved them all the way do his ankles.

    “Step out of them.”

    “What…isn’t that risky…I mean…” Phillip stammered until the guy cut him off.

    “I said step out of them, NOW” he barked and Phillip complied, stepping out of his jeans and briefs. The guy grabbed his t-shirt by the waistband and pulled it roughly up and over Phillip’s head, leaving him completely naked. The guy tossed the shirt on the bench and turned to Phillip, rubbing his hand over Phillip’s chest, feeling his erect nipples, then down over his stomach and downward, grasping Phillip’s cock, stroking him, getting him hard.

    “You’ll want it more if your stroked” the guy whispered and Phillip realized what the guy wanted. He felt his heart beat faster, the nervousness creep over him, but he didn’t try to stop the guy and when the guy moved him toward the bench he got down on his back and raised his legs, letting the guy grab hold of them behind his knees. He let the guy push his legs back, doubling him over, opening his ass up, turning it upward, ready to be penetrated. Phillip head the edge of the bench tightly, gripped it with all his strength as the guy pushed his cock against Phillip’s opening, firmly, with determination, the guy pressed his cock against the hole until Phillip felt it breach his opening, penetrate him, for the first time taking a man’s cock inside of himself. He felt the guy’s urgency, his desire to fuck, to get his cock into Phillip as deep as he could and he soon started to fuck, hard, powerful thrust that made Phillip grunt and moan till the guy grab up the t-shirt lying underneath him and jerked it free, then shoved it in Phillip’s mouth.

    “This will quieten you down, ya noisy fuck” the guy said, laughing quietly as he began to fuck again, his hips hitting firmly against Phillip’s ass, shoving his cock all the way in. Thrusting down, over and over and over, the guy kept a furious pace, his only concern was getting off, to get his cock to shoot its load, and he fucked roughly into Phillip to dump that load into his ass.

    All too soon the guy started fucking harder, short quick strokes, and Phillip knew he was ready to cum, ready to fill his ass. The guy hammered his hole.

    “Fuck, take it…take my load” the guy cried out in a strangled voice as he pumped his load into Phillip, shoved his cock into Phillip all the way in with each ejaculation. It took only a few minutes start to finish and the guy was pulled out and pulling his shorts back up.

    “Thanks” the guy said and he walked off leaving Phillip lying on the bench, naked, feeling the warm cum run out of his ass. He lay back for a moment, looking up at the moon visible through the tree and took his own hard cock and stroked it, reliving the anonymous fuck, the way the guy had felt in his mouth, then in his hole, working back and forth through his opening. He thought of the initial pain, then the pleasure when his hole relaxed and took the fuck and he came quickly, shooting thick wads over his chest and stomach. When he was spent he lay there feeling his cock deflate in his hand. He felt some of the cum on his fingers and he held them up to his nose and sniffed them, smelling the unique smell of his cum, then he stuck his tongue to it, tasting his own load, the odd flavor, then he licked his fingers cleaned.

    He used his t-shirt to wipe the cum off, knowing he’d toss it in a garbage can on the way back to his dorm. He pulled up his jeans and headed back. By the time he got back it was nearly five am and he had to be up in a couple of hours, but when he got on his bed sleep came quickly.

    Brian was sitting at his desk on Thursday night finishing up a paper due the next day when his cell phone began to ring. He looked at the screen and smiled.

    “Hey, ya nasty pervert, what has you calling tonight?”

    Brian listened to the reply and shook his head smiling at what he was hearing. He leaned forward and held the phone tight to his head. He laughed.

    “Come on man, just ask. You know why you’re calling” Brian replied. He listened the voice on the other end stammer until he finally said what he wanted.

    “Sorry man, but Mike isn’t coming over tonight.” Then Brian had to raise his eyebrows, couldn’t believe what he was hearing, then he smiled, mischievously, and leaned back in his chair.

    “Ok, Phillip, come on over; it’ll just be the two of us.”


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  • Hostage to Need

    Drake looked through the picture window of the prefab and rubbed his eyes against the desert sun. Why did they have a picture window in the conference room of the administrative building at all, he wondered. Why not a cooling Alpine scene mural on a blank wall? All he could see was sand and sun and blue sky-and the plumbing equipment for natural gas extraction spreading for miles. He guessed that Wyatt in BG headquarters wanted his people not to forget what they were here for-what possessed them for eighteen-month tours in the sand at a crack.

    Drake had only been here as the site manager for five months. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive the next thirteen. But then the canteen waiter, Khalil, glided by with his tray of tea and what Drake knew as cookies but that the bulk of the British work force out here called biscuits, and he thought perhaps he’d do all right on this tour.

    This bleak corner of Arab desert was isolated and Drake was king here.

    He leaned over to the chief of finance sitting on his right while others at the table were distracted with their tea orders. Their tea orders, Drake thought with a grimace before whispering his questions to Stan. He thought he’d go mad if they didn’t start serving anything stronger at these staff meetings. At least Khalil knew to bring him coffee straightaway at the beginning of the meeting and then watch the cup to make sure it didn’t go less than half full.

    “Did the package arrive?” he whispered to Stanley.

    “Yes, and it’s in your special account. You know I could do the transfers to the Swiss bank, if-“

    “I know you could, Stan, but the home office is more antsy about this than anything else. Only I’m permitted to know the account number.”

    “More coffee, sir?” Khalil asked as he leaned down from Drake’s other side. For a moment their eyes met and there was a flash of something in Khalil’s eyes. It affected Drake somewhat lower in his body.

    “Thank you, Khalil. I think that will be all for now. Sami can handle the service for the rest of the meeting, I think. The meeting won’t be long. You can proceed to your ancillary duties.”

    Khalil smiled, bowed to Drake, and backed away.

    “Now, Margaret, about the production figures for the week . . . oh, yes, what is it John?”

    The chief of facilities security had his hand raised. “Sorry, Drake, to break into the agenda, but we have a spot of concern in the western field, I think.”

    A “spot of concern,” Drake thought. From his somewhat droll British chief of securities, this could mean anything from a hangnail on the secretary he was fucking to an invasion of this shaky Arab state they were operating in by its voracious neighbor.

    “Yes, John, what is it?”

    “Well, the thing is, that we haven’t actually heard from the perimeter guards on the western fence . . . well, for twice the amount of time they are routinely assigned to check in. And we haven’t been able to establish-“

    “The commo equipment must have broken down,” Drake interjected. If he let John ramble on like that, they could be here until nightfall. “This would be the third time this week. They sent us shit for commo equipment. Just send a patrol out to them with equipment replacements.”

    “We did that-an hour ago, but we haven’t actually-“

    “Just let me know when the western quadrant is back on line,” Drake broke in. He had wanted this meeting to be short. There was something else he wanted to be doing. “Margaret, could we have those figures quickly, please? I have a scheduled call with London that I need to get to.”

    Drake was looking out over the gas extraction field, toward the west, as he walked the glass corridor that connected with the cross hall built against the residential trailers. He didn’t see anything over to the west that should cause any alarm-maybe a dust cloud, but that wasn’t anything unusual. He regretted a bit being so short with John, but the man’s verbosity, combined with his stuffed British pomposity, just rubbed Drake the wrong way. He wondered if he could get the man replaced without much fuss. John had a good eight months left on his tour here. And Drake was sure he’d be a pain in the ass right up to the day he left. He didn’t seem to be able to just handle these little problems on his own. He seemed to need to shove decisions on them into Drake’s lap. And Drake had enough decisions he himself had to make already.

    Speaking of which, he wasn’t that wild about having to personally deposit the baksheesh in the Swiss bank for the hush-hush member of the ruling committee of this godforsaken backwater Arab country to cover the privilege of BG extracting gas. He much preferred having cutouts to do this and being able to enjoy deniability. It irritated him that he was expected to provide Wyatt’s deniability and no one was providing any for him. Of course no one out here other than Stan and the ruling committee member knew anything about the arrangements.

    Drake entered his trailer’s living room and went straight to the bar and poured himself a stiff scotch on the rocks, downed it at one go, and then splashed another shot of scotch into the glass. He undid and removed his tie and then pulled the tails of his dress shirt out of his trousers, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it off his back. He turned to the mirror on the wall next to the bar and flexed his chest and bicep muscles and did a critical examination. He’d only been out here for five months, but the boredom of the place had already shown great dividends in the definition his body had gotten from the increased gym time. He was pleased with himself.

    Tossing the shirt and tie into a chair, kicking his loafers off, and clinking the ice in his scotch glass as he walked, he continued on into the bedroom.

    Khalil was sitting, demurely covered in the white cotton robe the Arabs called a thawb, at the end of the bed. He was barefoot and was looking down at the hands folded in his lap and didn’t look up when Drake entered.

    Drake felt himself going hard. A man and yet still so much like a boy, Khalil was a dark beauty with brown eyes flecked with hazel, and black, curly hair. Although less than average in stature, Drake well knew that he was beautifully formed and proportioned and that his dusky skin had a luminosity about it that nearly took Drake’s breath away.

    Khalil had known from the beginning what his ancillary duties would be. BG knew their managers very well. And Drake had only taken the post knowing that his personal needs would be met. Drake was a valuable manager. Plus he knew where too many of the skeletons were buried in BG headquarters. He had a physical need that required constant attention, and his superiors were willing to feed that need. They had supplied Khalil fully knowing how Drake would use him. At the same time, providing him for Drake was their hold that kept Drake from taking his talents to another company that wouldn’t be so understanding of his special needs.

    Drake went around the side of the bed, to a nightstand. He took another swig of his scotch and then put the drink down and opened the nightstand drawer. He extracted a bottle of lubrication, a couple of packets of condoms, and the leather straps he liked to use for restraints. Then he came around to the side of the bed and placed these on the bedspread next to where Khalil was seated.

    Neither men said anything. Khalil continued looking down at his hands. Drake could see that there as a slight smile on his face, though. Drake reached down and gathered up the material of the thawb on either side of Khalil’s waist and pulled the garment over his head. He took his breath in again at the beauty of the young body. Khalil was naked under the thawb.

    When he was naked, Khalil, still looking down, lifted his hands, the wrists held together, knowing the ritual. Drake tied the wrists together. Then he walked around to the side of the bed and took another slug of scotch. On the walk back, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and flared the fly out. Standing in front of Khalil, he put his hands on the back of the curly black hair of Khalil’s head and pushed his now-erect cock between Khalil’s lips.

    Khalil gave him head for several minutes while Drake threw his head back and let the tensions of the day dissolve.

    When he felt that nothing else was in his mind but sexual pleasure, Drake pulled his trousers and briefs down off his legs, sat down on the bed, and pulled Khalil’s slight body over into his lap. His cock was long enough that he came up from underneath and between Khalil’s thighs, pushing between the young man’s balls and pressing up under his own cock.

    Drake could work both cocks together, which he proceeded to do, while turning Khalil’s torso sideways against his own chest and arching it back with Khalil’s bound arms over his head. This position gave Drake free mouth, lips, and teeth access to Khalil’s mouth, the hollow of his neck, and his pert nipples, which Drake proceeded to work along with the two cocks, until, writhing and groaning and moaning, Khalil ejaculated.

    Drake had also been working Khalil’s ass entrance with lubricated fingers. After Khalil had come, therefore, Drake had to lift and slightly readjust the young Arab’s pelvis a bit before he could place the bulb of his now-sheathed cock at the hole and begin to work inside.

    Khalil was babbling something unintelligible in Arabic as Drake turned him so that the young man’s legs were split by Drake’s pelvis and Khalil was arched out over the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed. Drake pulled and pushed Khalil’s torso back and forth on his cock until he had ejaculated, in the first real sense of release he’d had all day.

    Khalil was panting and whimpering and half sobbing, and Drake pulled him up to his chest, embraced him closely, and kissed him on the mouth and the cheeks and on his neck and shoulders while Khalil’s trembling slowly decreased . . . and while Drake felt the juices in his body reboiling and himself getting hard again. These were the aspects of having sex with Khalil that pleased Drake the most-the aura he had of innocence, of being taken for the first time, each time, and for his dutiful compliance to anything Drake wanted to do with him.

    Khalil’s eyes betrayed a struggle of fear and arousal-and also maybe awe-all of which pleased Drake, and he moved the young Arab until he was belly down on the bed, with his short legs hanging over the end of the tall bed, not quite reaching the floor. His bound arms were raised over his head.

    Crowned with a fresh condom, Drake was kneeling behind the young man’s body. He was patting and kneading and kissing the plump nut-brown buttocks while he bound Khalil’s ankles and calves just below his knees with leather strips. He wrapped his belt around Khalil’s thighs and buckled it tight.

    Khalil was pleading with him about Drake being too large for this and how he was split when Drake did this. He was close to sobbing. It was all part of the game, Drake knew, though. He had no idea how close to the truth it cut from Khalil’s perspective, but it was a game they both knew-Drake liked the “feel” of taking a virgin each time. And Drake had no reason, really, to care what Khalil thought. Drake was the king in this little slice of this forsaken Arab country.

    Drake stood over Khalil’s hips and slowly fed his cock into the restricted channel, with Khalil crying out and begging for mercy that didn’t come. When he was in and started pumping, Khalil was just reduced to sobs, groans, and moans.

    At the moment Drake exploded, all hell broke out around the compound in the form of other explosions and the terrifying punches of automatic weapons fire. Drake didn’t even have time to pull out of Khalil before the room was filled with Arabs in black thawbs, their heads and faces covered with black Arab headdresses known as the keffiyeh. Only their eyes were seen, and these were flashing with anger and triumph. They held automatic rifles, pointed variously at the ceiling and at Drake and Khalil.

    The last sensation Drake had before being hit in the head with the butt of a rifle was being pulled off of Khalil and both he and a squirming Khalil being dragged across the room by a swirl of black material and strong arms.

    * * * *

    Drake half awoke with a groan to the sensation of being in a pile of black-clad bodies, in the back of a truck that was driving fast across uneven terrain and jostling its occupants together. Groggily he started to rise out of the pile, but he heard something intelligible being said in Arabic over the whine of a vehicle engine and a cloth held by a hand came over his mouth and nose. A sweet-pungent smell, and he was out again.

    When he next woke, he was inside an extensive tented area. The tent walls were black. He awoke to his head snapping back and forth from slaps.

    He opened his eyes and groaned. He felt the hair on the top of his head being grabbed and his head lifted up. Above his face, close, was a set of those flashing eyes he recalled from his trailer, the rest of the man’s head being swathed in a black keffiyeh.

    Drake was bound and in a somewhat awkward position. His arms were stretched up and out and tied to the arms of an X-shaped metal beamed affair. He was sitting in something like a tractor seat, but with his butt thrust out away from the X-shaped form and his legs spread and raised and tied at the ankles to pillars in front and to each side of his body.

    He still was as naked as he was when he’d been seized in his bedroom.

    “Are we awake now, Mr. Manager?” the man with the face above him asked in a thick Arabic accent.

    “Some mistake. There’s been some mistake,” Drake mumbled. His voice sounded far away and fuzzy. It didn’t sound like himself. But he felt he had enough presence of mind to try to dissemble. “Just a visitor to the fields. Just a friend visiting.”

    “You are Drake Ellinger, and you are the general manager of the BG gas field,” the man said. “You needn’t play games with us. But we saw that you like to play games-that like all vultures from the West you like to fuck the Arab people.”

    “The others. Where?”

    “That’s not for you to worry about, Mr. Ellinger. Although one of your people is here. Can you see him over there . . . the young Arab man you like to fuck?”

    The Arab gripping the hair on Drake’s head turned his head so that he could see over in another part of the tent. A cot. And bound on the cot, Khalil. Khalil was looking at him with wide-opened, frightened eyes and, now that Drake’s facilities were returning, he could hear the young man whimpering in fear and snuffling. Standing on the far side of the cot were three monster men, all muscle-bound brutes, wearing only the black keffiyeh that hid their facial features. Their arms were crossed and their cocks were huge and half hard.

    “Do you value your employees, Mr. Ellinger? Like this one, for instance, that you were being so intimate with?”

    “Don’t . . . don’t do-“

    “I think you need to know how serious we are, Mr. Ellinger. We’ll have a little demonstration, and then I’ll ask you some questions. And if you give me the answers I want, we’ll let you and your employees go.”

    “Who are you? What do you want? No . . . please . . . stop him. Ask me your questions. But I’m only visiting. I don’t know . . . Oh, god, no.”

    But one of the big bruisers was already crouched between Khalil’s legs, wishboning them, and working his gigantic cock inside the small channel, while Khalil screamed bloody murder. Once inside, the big bruiser began to piston hard, and Khalil’s screams died out and his face flopped toward Drake and his eyes closed.

    Drake watched in horror and fascination. He was almost ashamed of himself that he was watching more in fascination, but such were his interests that he couldn’t completely separate out his distress from his arousal at seeing the small Khalil being taken-by the second and third hulky brute after the first one was done.

    When they were done, by which time Khalil was conscious again but just dully staring in Drake’s direction with his tongue hanging out and panting deeply, the three unbound Khalil, one of the brutes threw his limp body over his shoulder, and they left through a flap in the tent.

    Drake found that he was breathing hard. He also found that the man staring down in his face had a hand wrapped around his engorged cock, although not so tightly that Drake hadn’t been stroking inside it. He was close to coming.

    The Arab released the cock and slapped it, causing Drake to cry out and lose all sense of ejaculating, and stood off away from Drake.

    The man was young. He wore the black keffiyeh as did all of the figures Drake had seen-there were two other burly men standing on either side of the tent flap, and wearing black thawbs as well as the keffiyeh. Each had an automatic rifle pointed in the air.

    The young man, though wasn’t wearing a thawb. He was stripped to the waist and was wearing billowing black cotton trousers that had some sort of flap at the groin, of material that came through his legs and triangulated out to strips that were tied at the back of his waist and held the crotch flap in place. The trousers were low risers and Drake could see the muscles and superb cut of his abs almost down to the root of his cock.

    “That was just a demonstration, Mr. Manager,” he said with his thick accent. “I have some simple questions for you, and if you answer them well, you all may go back to your business. If not, I can have each of your employees brought here in turn and given the attention by my men that was just given to your young friend.”

    “Please,” Drake moaned. “I was only visiting the gas field. There’s nothing I can tell you. But what is it you want to know?”

    “Do you like my body, Mr. Manager?” The Arab asked. He was untying the sash of the crotch flap, which he left drop. He rotated his hips a couple of times so that Drake could see the goods-which were very good indeed. And then he dropped the trousers and stood there, undulating a bit and posing for Drake, naked but for the keffiyeh.

    Drake involuntarily moaned and felt himself going hard again.

    “We know what you like to do with young Arab men, Mr. Manager. Would you like to do that with me too? Just a few simple answers and perhaps you and I can enjoy ourselves before you go back to your gas field.”

    Drake groaned. “I was just visiting.”

    The young Arab came in close to Drake’s body again. Once again his hand was enclosing Drake’s engorging cock. “I am Farid. I find your hard body arousing. I think that I may let you fuck me after you’ve answered my questions and before you return to your work.”

    Drake moaned. His hips were moving, his hard cock stroking in Farid’s loose fist.

    “Three questions only,” Farid’s material-covered lips were close to Drake’s ear. “First, we wish to know where explosives can be laid in the gas field to do the most damage.”

    Drake went rigid, and his eyes opened wide.

    “Second, we want to know the name of the member of the Council of Ten in the capital city who is the protector of your operation.”

    “I can’t . . . I am . . . only visiting the-“

    “And third, we want to know the number of the Swiss bank account that the bribery money you have been giving this man is sent to.”

    Drake practically went into shock. Two of the questions he could never answer. But how in the hell did these men even know of the man in the Council of Ten and of the bank account-let alone that Drake was nearly the only man on earth-certainly the only one here in this country who would know?

    “I sense you are not ready to tell me. But you will, Mr. Manager. Before long you will beg to tell me.”

    Without showing Drake his face, the Arab pulled the keffiyeh from his face, kissed down Drake’s torso to his belly, and opened his mouth over Drake’s cock. Drake moaned and set his hips in slow motion, feeling himself ready to explode.

    But before he did explode, Farid pulled his mouth off, flung the keffiyeh across his face, laughed, and slapped Drake’s cock again. Drake cried out and felt his cock going flaccid. But he also felt the ache in his balls. He needed to come. If only his hands were free. But they weren’t.

    Farid had pulled his trousers back on and already was headed toward the exit from the tent.

    * * * *

    “What is it that these bastards want?” the BG vice president yelled into the computer link with John Singleberry, the gas field security chief who the masked Arabs had freed to pass on their demands.

    “They have all of the staff locked into the conference room,” Singleberry babbled breathlessly. “They say they’ve set explosives to go off if anyone tries to rescue them-and explosives out at the equipment heads too.”

    “Steady there, John,” Wyatt said. “Let’s take it slow. Are all of the staffers OK?”

    “I . . . I don’t know, Sir Wyatt. They didn’t let me into the conference room. They seemed to know who I was. I don’t know how they found out. There were bodies on the grounds, but I think they were local guards. I just don’t-“

    “Shut up and listen to me Singleberry,” Wyatt yelled. Christ almighty, he thought. I should have replaced this man months ago. “They must have let you go for a reason. Who are you with now? Did the attackers say what they wanted?”

    “I’m with a military officer. His people are making plans to storm-“

    “Absolutely not, John. Put the officer on and then calm yourself and come back after I’ve talked with the officer and tell me what these bastards want.”

    It didn’t take Wyatt long to convince the military officer that the gas field could easily be turned into an inferno and that storming it shouldn’t be something that should be done rashly.

    When John Singleberry came back on, he was calmer. “They said they were holding the staff and the field hostage. They said they were something called the Mask of the People and were revolutionaries. They say they will release one hostage for each million dollars BG puts in an off-shore account, and for ten million more they won’t fire the field. And they say that Al-Jazeera TV will have to broadcast any video they send them.”

    “OK. That gives us something to work with, John. They must have given you some way to contact them to agree to their terms and coordinate the releases.”

    “Yes. They gave me some commo equipment dialed to their frequency. And it’s pretty good stuff, not the crap that-“

    “Listen to me, John. Tell them we agree to their terms but must have the hostages released five at a time so that we know they’ll hold up their end of the bargain. That will give the military officer there time to get a possible rescue operation planned and poised. And, John, this is important. Tell them we’ll supply the names of the hostages to be released. That we have records of who has a medical problem or should be released first on humanitarian grounds. And we want Drake Ellinger released in the first set.”

    “Drake?”

    “Yes, tell them he has a condition that requires periodic medication. That he might die if he doesn’t get it.”

    “I didn’t know that. As far as I know Drake is as healthy as a-“

    “Shut up, John. Just do it. Don’t think; just do as I tell you.” This was at the top of Wyatt’s mind. Drake held the mostly closely guarded secrets of the gas field operation-not the least the name of the host government official protecting them. They needed Drake out of that situation as soon as possible. “Now, put the officer back on, John. We have some planning to do.”

    * * * *

    Drake was moaning and thrusting up as his bindings permitted. The Arab, Farid, wearing only his keffiyeh, was straddling Drake’s lap, his channel clutching Drake’s buried cock. Pumping, pumping.

    The bound hostage was just about to go over the moon. His balls had ached since Farid had last teased him. If Drake wasn’t permitted to ejaculate soon he was going to explode. This was Drake’s condition. He had to have sex often, to evacuate his system. He had to fuck a young man.

    He was coming close. Farid pulled his hips up, bringing the bulb of Drake’s pulsating cock to his entrance. He had his arms around Drake, holding him close. His well-muscled chest had been rubbing Drake’s, but he lifted it up now. He whispered in Drake’s ear. “The three questions. If you answer those three questions now, I will bring my channel down on the cock. You will explode inside me. And you will have relief. All you have to do is to answer those three little questions.”

    “I don’t know the answers . . . I was just visiting. I don’t . . . oh shit.”

    Farid pulled his body off Drake’s lap, slapped the cock, and pulled away toward the opening of the tent. “It’s just a matter of time. And not much time,” Farid said. “In many ways you are a strong man, Mr. Manager, Drake Ellinger. But in this one way you are weak. You cannot resist me in this one way. We know you well.”

    Drake huffed in frustration and in a dying attempt to grab at an ejaculation. He couldn’t reach his cock himself. There was nothing he could do. He had tried to imagine having sex. But it hadn’t worked. He needed his cock inside a young man.

    And he knew he was weakening. He didn’t know how Farid knew what his weakness was, but he did know. Drake knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

    He didn’t have time to dwell on that. The three bruisers who had taken Khalil the previous day had come into the tent and were untying him. At first he assumed that they would do the same to him that they’d done to Khalil, but he almost didn’t care. If they did, maybe he’d be able to ejaculate and bring relief to his aching balls. And if so, he could hold out longer. He’d been fucked before. He wondered if Farid knew that. He might even enjoy these hulks. He wouldn’t let on that he did, though. He was in a cat and mouse game with this. As long as the hulks got him off, he’d be able to endure their pounding and Farid’s questions as well.

    But they weren’t assaulting him. They were taking him to a smaller tent. They first took him to the latrine where he’d been taken every few hours since he’d been brought here and was permitted to piss and shit and was doused with water. He’d been shocked when he’d left the bigger tent the first time. He appeared to be in a wadi of sorts out in the desert. He hadn’t seen any sign of the gas extraction installation. They must be outside the parameter of the installation. And there were just a few tents. Not nearly enough to hold all of his staff members. Had he and Khalil been separated off? And where was Khalil now? Was he still alive? Had he been asked the same questions and been eliminated for convincing them he didn’t know the answers?

    After the latrine, Drake was taken into the smaller tent and laid on a bed, with his wrists bound over his head to the frame. Then they had left. It was almost twilight already, and, exhausted, Drake went to sleep with the fall of night.

    He awoke with Farid’s naked body covering his and moving on his body in a highly arousing way. They wrestled with each other, with Drake doing everything he could to get his cock inside Farid and Farid teasing him into an “almost,” and then slipping away. Drake couldn’t control either Farid or himself because his wrists were bound over his head.

    Farid was wearing nothing, not even his keffiyeh. And his lips were everywhere, bringing Drake to an ultimate arousal and then backing off. Drake was breathing heavily and whimpering and groaning in unrealized need. Farid was hovering over Drake’s body, Drake’s cock head kissing Farid’s entrance. But Farid just holding him there.

    “The three questions,” Farid hissed in his ear. “Three answers and I release your hands and descend on your cock and let you have your way with me for the rest of the night.”

    “One.” Farid’s demand cut through the silence like a pistol shot.

    “Bring me a map in the morning and I’ll show where the explosives could be set,” Drake answered through clinched teeth. He was tired, oh so tired, of this game.

    “Two.”

    “Ahmed Al-Sud. The ruling council member we pay off.”

    “And three.”

    “I’ll write the number out for you in the morning.”

    “You’ll recite it now. I know you have it now-memorized.”

    With obvious pain and reluctance, Drake recited the number. A figure hovering by, who it struck him by the person’s walk as someone he should know, wrote the number down on a pad of paper and then retreated into the shadows.

    Farid was going into high gear. He really did want to fuck. He started to descend his channel on Drake’s cock, quickly untied Drake’s wrists, and sank his face into the hollow of Drake’s neck. He latched on to a fold of skin there and sucked hard. Roaring with lust, Drake threw his arms around Farid’s torso and thrust up hard just as Farid thrust down with his hips. They both went wild, thrusting hard against each. Drake exploded, releasing all of his frustrated comings, and Farid collapsed on top of him. Farid moved his lips to Drake’s, and they went into a deep kiss as Drake fired once, twice, three times.

    They laid there panting hard for several minutes, trying to catch their breath, wanting to be melded into each other’s bodies-at least Drake did; there was no telling what Farid was thinking, other than that he’d gotten what he wanted.

    Drake was getting hard again. “I need to take you again,” he muttered. “And I need to control. I need to take you on my terms.”

    “Only if I get what else I want,” Farid answered.

    “What else? I’ve given you everything.”

    “Not everything,” Farid whispered. He moved his lips to Drake’s ear and told him what else he wanted.

    They held there, for a minute, still breathing heavily, Drake still getting harder. And then Drake turned Farid on his back, worked his knees between Farid’s thighs, slid back inside him, and began a slow pump.

    It was then that he saw it. He could see Farid’s face in a beam of light entering the tent from the camp outside. Farid was looking at him and smiling. But it wasn’t just Farid’s face. It was Khalil’s too. Brothers. They must be brothers, Drake thought. And the one writing the bank account number down. Of course. That was Khalil. Now Drake knew why and how Farid had known what he did about who Drake was, what he knew, and how he could be approached to give the information up.

    But now Drake no longer cared.

    * * * *

    “What do you want, John?” Sir Wyatt said when he was brought to the screen. “We already sent the list for the third set of hostages to be released, and I absolutely insist this time that Drake Ellinger-“

    “Switch to Al-Jazeera TV, Sir Wyatt. There’s a video from the Mask of the People. They’ve run it once. You must see the rerun.”

    The technician changed the image for the BG vice president, and he suddenly found himself watching Drake Ellinger on his knees, dressed in a white thawb, and surrounded by hulking men in black thawbs and keffiyehs. Drake was condemning the West and the grasping oil companies and imploring the people of the country his gas installation was in to rise up and overthrow the Council of Ten.

    A man was standing by with a sword. The clip was short and blacked out before any move was made toward Drake. There simply was a statement that there would be another announcement at the same time the next day.

    Sir Wyatt was roaring curses when the communications switched back to John Singleberry. Singleberry was rattling about hoping that Drake wasn’t being assassinated. That didn’t faze Wyatt a bit, however. Having Drake assassinated would be one answer to the problem if he was silenced before he gave away the company secrets.

    “Shut up, John. Didn’t you see it?”

    “See what, sir?”

    “It was a tent, a fucking tent. The video was shot in a tent. There are no tents like that on the gas extraction installation. Ellinger isn’t there. He isn’t with the other hostages. Let me talk with the fuckin’ military guy. Now!”

    * * * *

    Drake was standing at the side of the cot. Khalil was laying on his back in front of him, his legs strapped together and rising up Drake’s chest. Khalil’s arms were stretched out straight from his body and were bound with leads tied off at the head and foot of the cot frame, respectively. Khalil was arching his back and crying out the tightness of the cock in his restricted channel as Drake fucked his ass in slow, deep strokes. Drake was in ninth heaven.

    Farid, standing by to replace Khalil when he was exhausted, was smiling benignly at Drake. It had been easier than he had thought to extract the information from the man and to control him ever since. As soon as they had cleaned out the Swiss bank account and dealt with the Council of Ten traitor, the Mask of the People could decide what to do with the man. But perhaps he had more secrets Farid and Khalil could extract from him. And maybe he would have other uses for Farid, if not for the Mask of the People. Farid had to admit that the man certainly could fuck.

    * * * *

    Sir Wyatt was sitting in front of the screen the next day as the first running of the second clip for Al-Jazeera TV came on.

    It wasn’t quite what he expected, although he hadn’t really known what to expect. He had been confused since the morning when John Singleberry had contacted him to tell him that the rest of the hostages had been freed-or rather had been abandoned. No one had come with food for them that morning, and when they checked, they found that the conference room at the gas installation was unlocked and that the area was deserted. There were no insurgents to be found. It had been a few hours before they could make contact with the outside world, though, because the commo equipment BG headquarters had sent out to them was malfunctioning.

    The insurgents and their demands for a million dollars for each hostage and ten million for the protection of the gas fields had evaporated in the night.

    When the Al-Jazeera clip came up, it was a similar tableau to the one they’d seen the previous day. But this time, kneeling within the ring of black-clad insurgents was Ahmed Al-Sud, BG’s man on the Council of Ten. He was babbling his sins of avarice and having been a traitor to his people and country.

    After he recovered from the shock of seeing the man he was paying off kneeling and revealing all, Sir Wyatt’s eyes roamed the line of men behind him. He stopped at a set of eyes swathed in a keffiyeh and his own eyes slitted. He’d recognize the eyes of Drake Ellinger anywhere. If he’d ever actually seen the young Arab man his money had paid for to keep Ellinger happy, he probably would have recognized the hazel-specked brown eyes of the man standing next to Drake as well.

    This time the clip did not fade out before the swing of the sword.

    Sir Wyatt roared out to no one in particular, “Someone get Interpol and the Credit Suisse on a conference call immediately.”

    But even as he said it, he knew it was too late. He knew the Al-Sud account had been wiped out.

    The technician was nudging him, pointing out that something was on the screen for him to see again. It was John Singleberry. He was standing in what was obviously the gas installation administrative compound. Behind him, billowing flames filled the screen. Wyatt didn’t have to be told that the gas field was exploding.


    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.


  • My Marine Brother

    From Part 2…..

    At the end of Mike’ first week at home, we were in a hot sixty-nine in my bed. Suddenly, we heard someone at the door and looked up.

    “Oh shit!” Mike exclaimed in shock.

    ———————————————————————————————————————-

    Part 3….

    Upon hearing Mike, I turned toward the door just in time to see the man walk away, but not before I noticed a huge bulge in his pants.

    “I wonder how long he had been watching?” I asked.

    “I have no idea, but did you notice the bulge he had?”

    “Man, did I. I suspected dad was hung but I never dreamed he was that big,” I replied.

    “Neither did I, but how do we handle him seeing us? Any ideas?”

    “No,” I answered. “I guess we should just wait and let him bring it up.”

    Of course our sexual fun ended at that point. Hearing dad in his room, we dressed and went to the den, not knowing what to expect.

    We heard the door to his bedroom open and we waited to see what would happen. We expected him to start degrading us, but to our surprise, he came out totally nude.

    Seeing the shock on our face he said, “It’s obvious what you two enjoy, and if that’s the case, I have no objections. However, one of the things I totally enjoy is being nude, so from now own, you can expect to find me nude whenever I’m home.” With that he headed for the fridge and grabbed a beer as he started dinner.

    Mike and I just looked at each other and as Mike headed to his bedroom he motioned for me to follow. I did and once in his room he closed the door and said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but dad is up to something.”

    I agreed and he said, “My suggestion is for us to start going nude also and see what happens.”

    “Let’s do it,” I replied.

    We both stripped and soon returned to the kitchen asking dad what we could do to help. When he saw us he just smiled and assigned each of us a task, but made no comment about us being nude.

    After dinner, Mike and I cleaned the kitchen while dad went into the den and began watching TV. Once we were done, we went in and joined him with us sitting on the sofa next to his chair. We noticed that on several occasions dad would reach down and caress his cock and balls gently.

    On Saturday morning after breakfast, we went out to the pool for a swim. Things were very casual and friendly. Then after a while, dad exited the pool and lay back on one of the lounges. Mike and I remained in the pool and relaxed and after a few moments mike whispered “Mother fuck! Look at dad!”

    I looked over to find dad with his eyes closed and slowly stroking his now rock hard cock. After a moment he noticed us watching and said, “Hey, every man gets horny at some point and has to take care of the situation. It’s normal.”

    Of course, watching him gave both Mike and I raging boners. We decided to get out of the pool and watch his reaction when he saw them. As we climbed out of the pool dad looked over and smiled, saying, “It looks like both of you are in the same situation. Why don’t you join me?”

    Mike and I sat side by side in chairs facing dad and began stroking our own hard cocks. Before long, dad paused and stepped over to the grass. Knowing he was close to his climax, we joined him. Seconds later, dad’s cock erupted shooting out several huge volleys of thick white cum, with Mike and I doing the same only a few seconds later.

    Watching out loads shoot out into the grass, dad looked at us and said, “Damn, boys, it sure looks like you both certainly took after me.”

    “It looks like that,” Mike said with a smile.

    “Boys, I see nothing wrong with a dad and his sons jerking off together. Shall we agree to do it when ever we want to?”

    “Sure, why not,” I replied.

    Dad paused a moment, looked around then said, “As far as what I saw you two doing, I see nothing wrong with it as long as all parties are consenting. Feel free to do it whenever you want.”

    “Dad, are you serious?” I asked.

    “Mark, how can I condemn you two for doing the same thing I did when I was younger. It wouldn’t be right.”

    “Are you saying you had sex with other guys ?” Mike asked.

    “Yes, I am. Guys my age and older. I did it all, both oral and anal but when I married your mother I stopped.”

    “Fuck! I can’t believe this,” I said.

    “Well, it’s true,” Dad said.

    Later that evening after dinner, Dad shocked both Mike and I when he looked at us and said, “You may think it’s sick, but I’d love to suck both of you.”

    Mike and I looked at each other before Mike replied, “Sure, but we want to suck you also.”

    Dad smiled and said, “Shall we go to my room?”

    By now all our cocks were quickly stiffening as we headed for the bedroom. Dad had Mike and I lay side by side on the bed as he lay between us in the opposite direction. He turned and started sucking Mike and Mike began sucking him. I looked into Mike’s eyes as he signaled that it was awesome.

    After a moment dad rolled toward me and began sucking me as I sucked him. Dad went back and forth for a few minutes before getting up and kneeling between our cocks and started alternating between them. First I climaxed and we watched as dad collected it all and swallowed. Then he went to work on Mike and quickly brought him to a climax also collecting and swallowing every drop.

    “I’ve secretly about doing that for several years,” Dad said.

    “Now it’s our turn to enjoy your seed,” Mike replied.

    Mike and I alternated and as dad began to climax into Mikes mouth I got close and after Mike collected part of it he pulled off and I immediately took dad’s cock into my mouth and collected the remainder, before kissing and sharing dad’s load.

    Dad sat up and to our surprise tongue kissed us both. After the kiss, he looked at us and said, “I sure would love to have you both share my bed tonight and every night.”

    We didn’t answer, we just smiled.

    That night there wasn’t much sleeping. It was mainly sex. Dad seemed to be trying to make up for lost time. He sucked us both, we each sucked him, he fucked us both and we each fucked him. It was an awesome night. I so loved the feel of my own father shooting his seed deep into my hole.

    Sex was daily until Mike had to return to duty. However before he left he said he was not going to re-enlist and return home to be with us.

    Dad did construction and Mike did construction in the Marines. I decided to go to college and major in structural engineering.

    Of course, I moved into dad’s room and slept with him every night. Time passed and Mike received his discharge and went to work with dad. We were back to our three man sex parties at night. I finally graduated and we started our own company.

    We discussed our situation and agreed that the three of us would be lovers. We met others into male sex and soon most of our clients were gay men, and one of the benefits was that we also got to have sex with them.

    We have now celebrated the tenth year anniversary of our company and union. we are still deeply in love. But dad has made us promise that after he is gone we will remain lovers and continue the company and we agreed.

    THE END….


    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.


  • Sweaty Cyclist

    “Got a day and a half of grime on me,” he growls. “I wanna clean up.” I step aside as he pushes gruffly past me, heading for the bathroom. I follow close behind, watching the muscular globes of his firm buttocks flash at me from the skin-gripping black leather biker’s pants he’s wearing. I grow light-headed as I inhale the potent, masculine odors emanating from his sturdy frame. Sexy aromas swirl about me as we move. Pure sweat mixed with rich leather – a true aphrodisiac! It roars through my veins right into my groin.

    I hand him a fresh towel. He grabs it, throws it on the floor, and starts to strip off right in front of me. First, he unzips his tight biker’s jacket. He’s not wearing a shirt beneath it. He pulls the jacket off. His sweaty torso is gleaming with well-defined muscle and is covered with dark, matted damp hair. The jacket’s leather aroma is overwhelmed by his masculine underarm odor, the smell of raw power. Its effect on me is more intense than a popper. He seems to wave the garment in the air between us before dropping it, with a smirk, to the floor. He can see the sexual impact odors are having on me. The gym shorts I have on begin to tent out. He draws in a deep breath, expanding his broad chest. He stretches. He slides one hand up his body to a breast, pinches the hard, dark nipple, and watches me staring at the suggestive display.

    “Pull off my boots!” The command is given with a sneer. Without thinking about it, I kneel immediately and pull on an outstretched boot, easing it off firmly. Then the other. I stand up as he takes off his socks, wafting each in the air. The intensity of strong odors bathing us is multiplied, increasing my arousal.

    He struggles to remove the tight leather that hugs his ass so excitingly. He wiggles his hips erotically as the biker pants inch off his muscular frame. Finally, he is able to let them drop to the floor. I want to drop with them, to get a close smell of hot crotch stink and wet leather, but I stand there staring at the sight of him. He is naked but for a well worn, sweat-soaked, jockstrap. It is fully packed and so wet I can see colors of exciting flesh beneath. He turns slowly, like a performer in a muscle contest – bulging, rounded pouch like a beacon – showing off his body and its round, firm, molded ass, framed in the straps of the jock. He slips his fingers under its waistband and begins to inch the jock downward.

    “Guess you’ll want to be alone,” I say, acting awkward but aroused.

    He turns to face me, still pushing on the jock strap. Out flops a large, semi-erect cock. His quiet, masculine voice is like a scratchy whisper, demanding, yet enticing: “Stay. Keep me company. You don’t mind watchin’ a guy shower, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

    “I’d love to! Uh, I mean, sure, I’d love to stay and keep you company.”

    He smiles and lowers the jock strap exposing a set of large balls in a sweaty, low hanging scrotum. He steps out of the jockstrap and tosses it over to me. “Here. Throw this away for me. It’s old and worn out. Biking sure is hard on the crotch.” He grimaces, slides both hands between his legs and palms his balls as if to demonstrate how abused they are.

    My mouth drops open as I snag the jock strap from mid-air. I have no intention of throwing away such a treasure. A whiff of its heavy male crotch odor makes me light-headed. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. It is the most overpoweringly stimulating sexual odor I have ever smelled. It pounds through my body and thuds into my groin where it explodes in my developing hard-on with a noticeable outward thrust against the flimsy fabric of my gym shorts.

    I open my eyes, delighted by my reaction to the smell. I hold the jockstrap in front of me and stare at it. His eyes narrow. He spreads his legs apart, rubs one hand through his moist crotch hair, thrusts his hips forward and snarls, “That fuckin’ jock stench turns you on, Faggot! Here, try sniffin’ the real thing! Get your goddamn nose down here, in my crotch, where it belongs, Cocksucker! Right now!” The low, gravely voice betrays excitement, not anger; arousal, not annoyance. His growing, impressive erection signals his interest and his intention.

    Desire overwhelms me. I sink slowly to my knees at his command, still smelling the jock strap in my hand, an excited feeling of helpless surrender overcoming any thought of refusal, a gnawing flow of sexual agitation surging through my groin. I feel my erection thrust against and push through the elastic waistband of my shorts. I am completely aroused, stiffly erect, subjugated by the smell of him and by the sight of him. He knows it. He can see it. And he loves it!

    A strong hand grabs the back of my head and pulls my cheek forcefully against a wet, hard-muscled thigh. The coarse hair of his scrotum tickles my nose. I close my eyes. I inhale. Then I inhale deeply. I am amazed by the power of the aroma of his balls. They smell rich, pungent, and more potent than anything else I have ever smelled. I look at them and continue smelling them, as the odor burns itself into my brain.

    My tongue eases out and touches a testicle. Acrid! A sweet, bitter, sour, salty, delicious flavor starts me drooling. I lick. I lap. His balls draw up in their sac and tighten against the cockbase. I tongue until every crevice of the crinkled, tight, squirming flesh on his nutsac is sucked clean of the precious sweat and funk.

    His now full erection looms over me, pulsating, as he watches me from above, one hand in my hair, the other rubbing his chest and tits. His balls smell so good and taste so terrific, his funky, unwashed cock will be an incredible experience, I know. But first, the moist, sweaty cockhair he had rubbed demands attention. I slide my tongue up around the base of his thick cock and push into the dense, wiry, dark hair, sucking and biting as I move through the flavorful patch. His cock rubs against the side of my face, presses against an ear, and throbs from the contact as I lick and suck every millimeter of his lower abdomen. I keep inhaling, savoring odors. I follow the path of cockhair to his tight, tiny navel with a sexy smell and taste of its own.

    As I rise up, I lick and lap the moist hair of his chest, sucking and nipping at the firm, taut tit he pushes against my mouth. As I aim toward a major goal, an armpit, he suddenly demands, “Strip!” It surprises me and I look into his eyes. He is aroused and eager. I pull my tee shirt over my head and drop my gym shorts. I am naked, sporting a solid erection, completely turned on by his terrific tastes, odors and commands.

    He rewards my prompt obedience by raising one hand to the back of his head, exposing a dark, hair lined, fleshy armpit. With a whimper, I lean my face into the warmth of the pit. My cock touches his as I breathe in the moist, thick scent. For a moment, I think that the smell and the touch will give me an orgasm right here and now. My cock throbs. His other arm encircles my waist, drawing me in tightly against his strong body. “Steady,” he instructs in a hoarse whisper. He easily reads my body.

    “Yeah,” he sighs, as my tongue bathes the savory cavity. His hips press rhythmically against mine, massaging our cocks, urging on my continued worship of his sublime body. We shift; he puts his other hand on the back of his head and I tongue my way across his chest to the fresh, ripe matching armpit. Dark, moist, warm, and, above all, scented with the unique aroma of power, sex and life. The smell revitalizes my vigorous tongue bathing.

    He turns, lifting his elbow over my head, sliding his hip against my cock, moving till his back is to me. My drooling gets heavier. Saliva glands go into overdrive. My cock is pressing against the cleft of his firm, damp buttocks, throbbing against the entry to Sniffer’s Heaven. Hurrying, I lick the salty, sweet, flavorful moisture from his back. Then I linger at the small of the back so I can enjoy the whiffs of aromas rising from below.

    With broad sweeps of my wet tongue, I bathe every contour of his muscular buttocks. Biking has given him incredible development. His ass is well rounded, solid, high and taut-skinned, with a fine downy covering of soft hair that tickles my lips as I suck, kiss and lave the twin mounds.

    The salty, fresh taste in the crease at the top of his thigh beneath the buttocks is dazzling. As my tongue touches his thigh, he sucks in his breath noisily. I’ve hit a nerve! He spreads his feet wider apart. My tongue swabs at the firm thigh and licks downward. As I get to the back of the knee, lapping and sucking, he draws in his breath again, with a hiss of pleasure.

    My tongue travels upwards, over the meaty thigh, onto the muscular ass, dips momentarily into the heady taste in the cleft at the high-point, then goes down over the other ass cheek onto the other thigh. The result is the same: a sharp intake of breath, showing his pleasure and proving the sensitivity of his thighs. As I slide my tongue to the back of his knee, again hearing another hiss of intense pleasure, I begin kneading his buttocks with both hands.

    He pushes his ass into my massaging hands. I push and separate the halves, opening the gates to the glories of his wonderfully odorous, inner flesh. He bends over at the waist, exposing the target even more completely. I stare and smell, conscious that I am near orgasm without having touched my throbbing erection as it pulsates between my squatting legs, oozing lube. I realize he, too, must be near orgasm. I want to hurry, but I want to make time stand still. I want my cake, and I want to eat it too. So I eat it.

    My nose presses in between the thick mounds of asscheeks inhaling the richness of the dense, warm, moist aroma. The pointed tip of my tongue flicks out and touches the very center of the meaty, round, puckered orifice. Electricity passes between the two of us at the touch of tongue to flesh.

    “Yeah! Eat that raunchy asshole, Fucker!” he grunts in an excited, throaty whisper. He presses himself back against my mouth. The sexy command triggers an animal response in me and I lap and suck, lick and tongue, forcing myself in between his cheeks, till I have savored every minute detail of that dark crevice. I lick clean every surface, and then focus attention on the heart of the area, the asshole itself.

    He begins groaning, quietly, as I suck and probe, thrusting my tongue in deeply, delighting in the array of flavors and textures. My probing is met with rhythmic thrusts from him. His sphincter loosens and several inches of tongue work into his inner being. Suddenly, he clamps down on the tongue, tightening the sphincter.

    “Ummmm,” we groan, simultaneously. “My God,” I think, “I’m going to CUM!” I withdraw my tongue quickly. I stand up, grab his hips, and touch the tip of my well-lubricated cock to his asshole. He pushes back against it, sucking in a bit of it. I press forward as he pushes back and several inches slid in tightly. “Uh,” we grunt, in unison. “I’m cumming!” I warn, unable to hold back.

    “Wow!” he sighs, and he does something with his ass to pull and suck on my cock, getting it in even deeper. I suck in my breath, tasting the juices of him in my mouth, smelling the amazing odors of him, and I blast off into him with uncontrolled vigor, shot after shuddering shot, bucking my hips, fucking into him with excitement. Blast after blast. His athletic body bucks back against mine in tempered rhythm, increasing the pleasure of my orgasm and drawing out fluids till I have to say, “Stop!” with a laugh. I fall onto his back and slowly withdraw my sensitive meat. I kneel down, looking at the steamy asshole.

    I have an overwhelming urge to suck my cum out of his ass.

    He turns around slowly. I see his truncheon of a cock standing rigid, moving towards me, quivering before his washboard stomach. Man, do I want to suck this cock, I think to myself, as I watch it move. He stands above me, hands on hips, legs apart, big balls up tight against base of the mammoth erection, and waits for my attentions.

    First, I sniff. The unwashed cock, sticky with pre-cum drooling from the deep slit in the dark crimson cockhead, reflects odors of the rest of him, yet holds an individual smell unlike the others. A distinct cock smell. Unmistakable in men, but specific for each individual man. His specific cock smell is a heavenly stench, stronger than any other I’ve known, and activated by the heavy, juicy flow of sticky pre-cum that seems to intensify the aroma. I breathe it in, deeply.

    Then, I taste. The fat, crimson glans, lipped by rolling flanges, stands above dark folds of skin. My tongue slithers under the flanges, probing the folds of cockskin. The taste is exquisite. The sticky, succulent fluid in the skin seems to flash from my taste buds directly to my testicles. They churn, pull up tight in their sac, and reinvigorate my cock, which I grab in one hand, while fingers from the other hand toy with his asshole. He starts pumping his hips at me. He wants in. He is as hot as he can get without exploding. He is ready. But I take the time to savor every fold of cockskin, every sticky surface of cockhead and shaft, lapping and licking at this perfect cock. It gleams in throbbing anticipation.

    Finally, I suck. The broad cockhead slides into my mouth and fills it. He is big. My tongue works its sandpapery magic on the smooth, sensitive surfaces, swirling and pulling, sucking and drawing. My hand pounds my meat with an independent flurry and I know I am going to cum with him. He gasps, touches the top of my head, hammers his ass towards me, and cums! The first gush catches me by surprise and almost chokes me. It is so forceful that it goes partly up my nose and partly down my throat. I swallow. He spurts again, as forcefully, but I am ready. The viscous, hot fluids wash the acidic tastes from my mouth and refresh me with a wonderfully clean, sort of chemically neutralized, feeling for a moment. Then I can really taste the delicious flavors of his rich semen. Echoes of each body fluid I’ve been tasting can be found in his sperm. He fills my mouth, over and over and over again. As he cums, I shoot cum up onto his balls. I love it!

    And I love him. You see, we’ve been lovers for eleven years, faithful to each other, happily living out real-life fantasies to increase each other’s sexual pleasures. This biker fantasy, this Sweaty Cyclist, is one of our favorites. We do it on weekends, when he can go a couple of days without bathing. Well, let’s say a day or two before being Bathed!

    Acting out fantasies can be terrific. Try it!

  • He Taught Me How To Do It

    In the middle of the night. A boy named Jamie was feeling uneasy. He was in bed when he heard something he cannot decipher.

    A loud noise was coming from his older brother’s door and it’s keeping him awake. He should be asleep for his basketball game tomorrow morning. Yet he can’t close his shut-half eyes because of the sounds that keeps him awake.

    He cannot take it anymore. He lowered his blanket and slowly goes off bed. His brother’s room is just in front of his room so there is no way he can’t hear the noise.

    Jamie opened the door and peeked in the hallway. No one’s there. He continued to his brother’s door and stopped on his tracks. He listened. He was wrong. He was not hearing any noise but moans.

    It makes him nervous. Hearing weird noises and stuff. He wondered what Jasper is doing inside. What if he just left the TV on and fell asleep? Or he was doing something else?

    Jamie, a fourteen year old teenager finally gets it. “That explains it.” He whispered.

    All these nights, his sleeps being disturbed. And only because his brother is making fun of his weapon. Jamie cracked a smile.

    “This is going to be interesting.” He thought.

    The moan grew loader and faster as if It’s suffocating. Jamie panicked. The thoughts that he’s thinking awhile ago vanished. What if his suffocating? Jamie remembered that his brother has asthma.

    “Oh shit. I didn’t thought that.” He said. And opened the door.

    The room was dark. The lights were off. The only thing that ’causes him to see in the dark was the dim cast of light of Jasper’s mini aquarium. He searched for Jasper but he was not on his bed.

    He searched for the switch and flicked it on. The light temporarily blinded him. He waited for his eyes to adjust.

    Jasper’s room is quite a mess. His laundries on the floor, the junks that he ate were just on his table, his DVD stacks were uneven. And Jamie stopped. He saw Jasper’s legs, laying on the floor and barely moving, no, stretching. HE was confused.

    “Who opened the damn light?” Jasper said, irritation in his voice.

    Jamie walked closer and saw the most unexpected thing he expects to see.

    Jasper was naked, nude, bold, no clothes on. Jasper’s four years older than Jamie so he was shocked to see his brother like this. He never saw him naked. They respects their on privacy and stuffs that’s why this is new to him.

    “Umm.” Jamie searched for the words to say. “I . . . I thought your suffocating.” I stammered. “Asthma attack?” He added.

    He then realized that Jasper was not just sitting on the floor but masturbating. He was holding his long dick with his right arm and the left;s with a magazine.

    “Oh.” Jasper said. “I forgot to lock the door. Stupid of me. Wait what, you thought I was suffocating from my asthma? Oh. My younger brother is so sweet. Come here. Sit beside me.” He patted the floor where he wanted me to sit.

    Jamie hesitated. Sitting beside your older brother, naked and was interrupted while masturbating? Whoops. This is really getting interesting.

    He was his brother anyway. He listened and sat beside him.

    “So, have you masturbated yet little brother?” Jasper asked.

    “Nope, not yet.” Jamie aswered with embarrassment.

    “Well, I think I’m gonna teach you how to do it.” He hold my hand and put it on his big hard dick.

    ——————– TO BE CONTINUE ——————–

    Hey guys. Hope you liked my ever first story here. Sorry for the errors but English is my second language so yeah. I’m still practicing with it. Please comment for your reactions and stuffs. I am also open for some advice. Best wishes. 🙂

  • Athletic Adventures

    It took me awhile to figure out why I was so scared and cold…

    I remembered a rough hand, a chloroform soaked rag, and nothing else.

    Except that I wasn’t with Jamie.

    I awoke freezing cold and with a headache. There was ice on the walls and what looked like bags of meat in the corners. I was in a freezer.

    I knew I had to get out soon, or else I’d freeze to death. I went to move toward the door, but I couldn’t move. I looked down, and saw that my hands and feet were tied to a single chair in the middle of the freezer. I wondered why it was so cold, and then I realized I was naked from the waist down…

    I was so scared I didn’t know what to do. Where was I? Why would someone kidnap me? I hadn’t done anything to anybody!

    As if to answer my question, the door in front of me opened, and a burst of warmth flooded in. I reveled in it. Suddenly, a man entered, wearing jeans and a Pirates t-shirt. I recognized our high school mascot on the shirt, and thought it strange that I’d be kidnapped by someone I knew. Then I saw his face.

    It was my football coach.

    ‘Coach Kiebach?’

    Coach Kiebach [Craig was his first name] was actually a pretty handsome man. He was about 6’5″ tall, had a slight beer belly, and had the chiseled jaw line of a Hollywood actor. He had the tired look of a once hot and popular athlete in college who had stuck to coaching as a way to relive his glory days. He’d always seemed so nice, until the day he’d yelled at Jamie and made us run those laps. God, it felt like years ago. What was he up to?

    ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he said, in a husky baritone. ‘I bet you’re confused as to your predicament.’

    ‘You bet your ass I am. Why are you doing this to me?’ I asked. I began to feel tears in my eyes, my confusion starting to spill over.

    ‘You really don’t know?’ he asked. ‘I thought you’d have figured it out by now. Didn’t you feel may hand earlier?’

    I had a thought, but surely I was wrong. Was Coach Kiebach in love with me?

    ‘Yes,’ he continued, as if he was reading my mind. ‘I’ve been obsessed with you ever since you joined the team. That’s why I never let you play in the games a lot! I wanted to keep you healthy and strong.’

    ‘What?’

    ‘I wanted to keep you safe,’ he snarled, circling my chair. I took a glance at his crotch out of habit and saw a bulge starting in his tight jeans.

    ‘So, what, you’re in love with me?’ I asked, wanting to keep him talking. I was kind of afraid of what he might do…but also a little turned on. He looked like an older Jamie.

    ‘I have been since I laid eyes on you. You’re so fucking sexy, the way you wear your pants. They really accent your perfect ass, which I’m dying to taste,’ he confessed. ‘By the way, I was there and saw you suck Jamie off. I’ll admit, I was jealous. But I beat my cock furiously thinking of you sucking him. I pictured it was me you were pleasing. My finger pushing in and out of your hot ass.’

    He was right in front of me now, his hard cock testing the fabric of his jeans. My own prick started to get hard…

    [what? He was a handsome guy!]

    ‘I knew you’d never leave Jamie on your own, so I’ve decided to give you a little taste of a mature man. See what you’re missing.’

    With that, he unzipped his fly, unbuttoned his pants, and a 9 inch monster popped out of his jeans. I gasped.

    ‘Jamie was my favorite at one time, but now you’re the one I want. Your sexy mouth slobbering all over my dick. I bet you can take this cock well, can’t you, boy?’

    He took my open mouth as an invitation and shoved his cock right in. A moan escaped his lips, and he grabbed the back of my head, fucking my throat. He tasted wonderful, but I felt disgusting. I was cheating. My eyes began to water, but it was from shame.

    Suddenly, Coach Kiebach became rigid, and I thought he was going to force me to eat his seed, but then I sensed someone else in the room. Coach keeled over, unconscious, and in his place stood the man of my dreams.

    Jamie.

    He began to cry.

    ‘You’re okay!’ he sobbed.

    ‘Okay? I just cheated on you! You must be furious with me!’

    He just shushed me and then sat on my lap, kissing me with so much passion. Finally I felt alright.

    ‘No babe,’ he said. ‘You didn’t cheat. You had no choice! Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I should have known he was going to try something when he messaged me today.’

    Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The sudden closing of Facebook, his wanting to keep our relationship a secret, why Coach Kiebach was suddenly so angry with him all those months ago. I was in awe of Jamie. As it turns out, right before he’d first talked to me at practice, he’d just broken a fling off with Coach. That’s why he’d been so angry with us that day.

    ‘I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble,’ I said. ‘I never meant to harm you or cause you such pain.’

    ‘Stop,’ he whispered, wiping my tears away. ‘When I went looking for you, I found those movies scattered on the floor, I got scared and started searching. Then I found a rag by the door, and figured you might be back here. I had just come through the employee door when I heard a moan. Thank God I found you!’

    My tears were flowing freely now. ‘Jamie, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I made you break it off with Coach.’

    ‘Hey, hey,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘I chose you. I’m yours, through the good an the bad. Craig is the bad guy here, not you. I love you, and I will never love anyone else.’

    I kissed him. Our mouths didn’t stop touching for at least 3 minutes.

    I started shivering.

    ‘You wanna get me out of here?’ I asked him. ‘My arms are starting to get numb.

    He just stood up and looked at me in my predicament, and then his eyes fell upon my hard cock, and he gave me an impish grin.

    ‘How about we make the best of this?’ he asked, taking off his pants and underwear.

    I could only nod. He walked over to me, his thick member swaying back and forth, and I took him in my mouth.

    You’d think that with what had just happened I wouldn’t want to do this again, but I trusted Jamie and loved him with every ounce of my being. Then, just as suddenly, he was moistening his fingers, and I knew what was coming.

    He was going to fuck me.

    But then he did something I didn’t expect. He placed his long fingers behind his back and began playing with his own hole as I continued to suck him.

    Then, he sat down on my cock.

    ‘OH!’ I screamed as pleasure I had never felt before escaped through every nerve ending in my body. We’d never tried him being the bottom before! His mouth found mine, stifling my moan with his tongue. He rocked up and down and kept going faster and faster. We kept it up for around ten minutes, and suddenly I felt his hole clench around my hard cock, and I couldn’t stand it anymore! I released a good 15 spurts of cum into his tight ass. He cried out like he’d been shot, and I saw something white go whizzing past my head, then another hit me on the cheek. Jamie had ejaculated everywhere.

    As we sat there, panting for a moment, he got up, and began to lick his own seed from where it had spilled on my body.

    It was so erotic, watching this beauty of a man do things to me while I couldn’t move.

    After we’d exhausted ourselves twice more, he released me of my bonds and we got dressed, tying Coach Kiebach up where I had been. Jamie had knocked him out pretty well, but before leaving, Jamie punched him right in the eye. Normally, I would have seen this as overkill, but in the end, considering what he might have done to me, I thought it was justified.

    We left him there.

    We paid for our items, left the market, and drove home, spending four glorious nights together, snowed in from the outside world.

    As for Coach Kiebach, we made an anonymous phone call, and it turns out that he was a wanted man for a lot of nasty things, including murder…so he went to jail.

    The end.


    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.


  • Chance Encounter

    Shortly after New Years I was sent up north, to a small town, real small, the little hotel was about 30 rooms and empty at that. I was there for a couple of days, the place was deserted. After the second day, I was in the hot tub room, and in comes a guy, he was taller than me, quite muscular, he got into the hot tube, we made small talk, and with all of the steam and bubbles in the hot tub room, it was hard to see. Before I realized, he was next to me and had his hand on my thigh. I instinctively, opened my legs and he moved his hand up to my crotch. He started to fondle my cock and balls, he said, you got a nice package there. I said thanks and I reached over and fondled him. I said you are pretty good yourself. He kept fondling me, I got rock hard. He and I both agreed lets go somewhere else, and he said, lets go to my room. Both of us draped in our towels, I followed him to the second floor, and he was across the hall from me. We gets into his room, he gets 2 more dry towels. He tosses me one and we both begin to dry ourselves. He strips down, takes off his swimming trunks, I just stared, he had such a long cock, it really hung, not that big around, but long. He smiled and asked, you like what you see? Without any hesitation, I said yes. He was hard as well, I took off my trunks, and he moved quickly over and grabbed my cock. I was really hard, he said, I knew you would have a nice one as well. He began to suck me really hard, I came in about 20 seconds. He said, man do you ever taste good. I said thanks and I reached for his cock. He moved back and said No, that is for your butt. He said sternly, get on the bed, hands and knees. He lubed up his long cock and pushed it against my butt hole. It slid right in and I could feel it plowing it way up deep into me. My god it felt good. he started to pump, slow. He speeded up and in a matter of a few seconds just as he was about to cum, he stopped and I could feel him really unload into me. he draped himself across my back, and his cock was still in me, he began to tweak my nipples, it hurt a bit, but it felt good, I could not get away, and the more I wiggled and squirmed, It began to make him hard again. he nibbled on my neck, my shoulders, then he grabbed my cock, and began to jack me, ever so slow, god was I hard again or what! He began a slow hip action, pumping in and out of me and still draped over me. As he got harder, he jacked my off, my god did I really cum. He then straightened up and just pounded my butt, he really came hard. When he was done, he just kind of rolled off of me and onto the bed. I looked and saw his long limp cock, covered with his and my juices. I went and got a wet towel and a dry one and cleaned him all off. He said what are you doing, and I said, just taking care of my lover. He said, you are so thoughtful. After he was cleaned up, I cleaned myself up, my butt was squishing as I walked as his cum was leaking out of me, he said come here, lay beside me, I snuggled down into his arm, and laid my head on his chest. He said, you are a good piece of ass, I love having you. I smiled and reached down and took his cock and began to suck it. He stopped me and said, I will not cum in your mouth, I teased him, got him real hard, when he was about to cum, he pulled away and I jacked him real fast. Not very much cum, as he had now cum 3 times in less than an hour. he says, now I am really done. We fell asleep, I spent the night, and waking up in the morning, he was sucking my cock. I came almost as soon as I woke up. he said again, you taste real good. I said what about you, he said I will get mine from you tonight. I laughed and said that is a given. That night was a repeat of the night before, and it was great, it got better and better as time went on. His work was done before mine and he left to go home before me. It was a wonderful experience having each other for that short time.

    We were together for 5 days and 4 nights, and what I can say, we really took care of each other. It was great.


    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.


  • The Stag Party Reunion

    We had been friends since school days. There were originally eight of us guys who had played football together for the school team and formed a fluid “gang.” There was always three or four of us together at any one time. We socialised within the group and spent summer together playing football when we could or simply just hung out with a few of the other guys. That group had diminished to four as we grew up. We still hung out from time to time. Two guys had moved away and two were married. It was one of the guys who had moved to London who was getting married and had asked all eight of us to meet one last time for his stag night. All of us would be together once more.

    I had also let the friendships slip as well. Since 19 I had realised if I wasn’t gay I was certainly bisexual. Recently men had interested me more than woman and my quest for sex had meant less time for heterosexual friends. I hadn’t told them, of course. Nevertheless I was looking forward to the trip from Newcastle to London for three nights. It was going to be fun meeting the others and I had remembered the guy who was getting married. Peter had been a stunning guy with red/blonde hair, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. He was as straight as straight could be. However before he moved, he had put on some weight and my original lust for him had diminished as the pounds had piled on.

    We booked two twin rooms at a budget hotel which still seemed to be expensive as he had decided to organise the event in the height of summer. The other guys had all booked into the same hotel so we could do the whole thing properly. When we arrived the other guys were all there and the first striking thing was Peter. This cygnet, who developed into a duck, had turned back into a swan. He was stunning. I felt my heart thump when I saw him and could hardly string two words together. He had lost all the weight, had a body to die for and the looks of a model. He hugged me!

    “Dave it’s so good to see you again,” he said.

    “You too Peter, obviously London has been good to you.”

    “You look good yourself. Haven’t gone to the dogs quite yet.”

    We started to check in when there was a hoot of laughter from my two Newcastle friends.

    Ricky turned and said,” They’ve gone and booked us two double beds not twins and the fucking place is packed. I’ll tell you now I ain’t sharing a bed with no one. I snore anyway!”

    There was a bit of haggling and as I was sharing with Ricky I wasn’t too keen on sharing a bed with him either as his hygiene habits were not of the best.

    The confusion carried on until Peter said, “For fuck’s sake I’ll share with you Dave if you don’t mind and Ricky can share the twin room with Harry, my best man. Is that ok, Dave.”

    I nodded dumbly and for the first time wondered if I would get to see him in underwear, or better still, nude!

    The luggage was swopped around and Peter and I went up to get ready for the first of the lad’s nights out. I didn’t get a chance to see more than a naked top half but even that had me erect.

    Soon we were out on the town. The London based guys knew their way around and we were soon downing shots and pints. By 11pm the ones with less stamina were beginning to wain, myself included and I realised I wasn’t going to last much longer.

    “Peter I’m going to have to get back to the hotel or you’ll end up carrying me,” I said.

    There was some banter but four of us headed back and left Peter, his best man and two of the Newcastle lads to carry on.

    I showered to try to sober myself up but to little avail and eventually ended up asleep in a t-shirt and briefs.

    My dream was a pleasant one. I was in bed and could feel someone trying to climb on me, trying to mount me and stroke my body. It was a lovely feeling. I groggily came around and was aware of a stiff cock between my legs in a fucking motion from behind. I was instantly awake! Put my hands between my legs and a moist cock head was sliding in and out. It responded immediately to my touch, pushing all the more urgently.

    I slowly moved forward allowing the cock to withdraw. It moved back and forth a little but without my legs to give it purchase, the movement stopped and a gentle snoring began. I slowly turned and in the ray of street lights, saw Peter lying on his back, the covers pulled down to his waist and his mouth open, snoring.

    I pulled back the covers and found him completely naked and a stunning eight inch cock standing straight up in the air. He was obviously used to sleeping with his fiancée and had continued to hump me without realising what he was doing. I clicked on a bedside light as though getting up to the toilet and there was no movement from him at all. It was around 3.00 am in the morning. I called his name. Still no reaction.

    Getting bolder I lifted his arm and let it drop. He was like a corpse. There wasn’t even a break in his snoring. Emboldened by his position I pulled the covers firmly back and exposed his stunning body. Sliding my briefs down I raised on to my knees and put my mouth over his cock. His foreskin slid back and apart from a slight change in his snoring pattern he started to hump my mouth. His cock tasted slightly of piss but I didn’t care. I had Peter’s dick in my mouth at last, and sucked his eight inches with enthusiasm. I gripped his shaft with one hand and held his soft balls with the other while sucking his cock firmly. His erection was brick hard and I wondered what kind of dream he was having. I stroked my own cock and then raised it up to press my cockhead against his lips. He licked unconsciously and I managed to get a little of it in but there was no way he was going to suck it. I lay full length beside and facing him and kissed his soft lips. There was a taste of booze and his tongue came out automatically. I licked it and kissed his lips again.

    I wondered how far this could go. I slid out of bed and went to my toilet bag. I always had some essentials when travelling including a small container of lube and a few condoms. I brought these back to the bed and ripped open a condom to stretch on his cock. Whenever his cock felt the pressure of the latex it responded by returning to full hardness. I swiftly lubed my hole and rubbed some over his cock. There was no way I could sit on him so I walked around the bed and gently rolled his with his back to the bed edge. I then went back around to my side and slid into bed backwards, my arse in a spooning position. His hard cock pressed into my buttocks.

    I reached around and gripped it firmly aiming it to my hole and gently started to push back. The head popped in and as soon as he felt that, he started to fuck like a randy dog, mumbling some incoherent words of pleasure. He then slowed back down again and started snoring once more.

    While his cock was still hard I started to gently push back against him and gradually there was a gentle push in return. I managed a soft fucking motion with his big hard cock now inside me fully. The feeling was amazing. I gripped my own cock and slowly fucked backwards into the rigid flesh of my friend. I was able to do this for over thirty minutes with his reaction varying from snores to mumbling to animal-like grunts. At no stage did it feel like he was going to waken.

    Emboldened by this I started to really fuck hard, back on to his cock. I was getting close to cumming and wandered if I might manage to get him to as well. When it happened there was no build up and no warning. I was suddenly aware that his cock felt even harder and there was a pulsing sensation inside my hole. When that stopped there was a small grunt. I slid off his cock and turned to find his cock dwindling fast with the condom bulging with warm cum.

    Peter, even in his dreams, turned into a normal guy and just rolled over with his back to me. I laid back on the bed and emptied the condom content slowly over my face and lips as I wanked my own cock. It took no more than one minute to explode and cum shot straight over my head, hitting the headboard and my face. I hadn’t cum like that since my teens.

    When I calmed down, guilt kicked in and I quickly mopped myself up and searched the bed for any evidence. The condom was filled with water and flushed down the toilet along with it’s wrapper and I returned to bed, my heart thumping and my hole with a rosy warm feeling having just been fucked by my straight friend a few nights before his wedding. This was a memory I was going to cherish.

    Next day everything was as normal. Once we had had a couple of Egg McMuffins we were all fine and planning the next night’s fun. Needless to say it was a repeat of the previous one and Peter started hitting the beer just after 1.00pm in the afternoon.

    That night Peter, though drunk seemed to be holding his own much better. He was less incoherent and managed to say a sentence without slurring his words too much. The same can’t be said for the rest of them. Harry, the best man, in conversation with me during the night said he had had a hellish nights sleep with Ricky who had snored, farted and made so many visits to the toilet, he hadn’t slept well. He pointed out that even sharing a bed with Peter would have been a better option with hindsight. I smiled wondering how good an option he thought it had been for me! I was beginning to think I might even get a repeat performance again.

    When we rolled back into the budget hotel Peter announced that he had bought a secret stash of cider for a “nightcap.” My gut feeling was that it was more like the final drink of dying men. Ricky went to his room to pee and said he would be down in a minute and Harry, Peter and I all headed to our room. The cider bottles were duly opened and we started to drink them.

    Harry again regaled Peter with his terrible night’s sleep with Ricky, but Peter was beyond caring and slowly faded into oblivion, bottle still in hand. Harry and I laughed and he took the bottle off him and knocked the whole lot back in one.

    “I’ll help you get him to bed,” said Harry.

    We started to strip Peter until he was down to his boxer briefs and I went to cover him.

    “I wonder what he’s got to offer Melanie?” he said.

    Melanie was his fiancée.

    “What do you mean?” I asked, wondering where this was going.

    “Well he’s never going to show us what he’s got and he’s always bragging about his prowess so let’s check out his goods while he’s out of it.”

    “What about Ricky?” I asked.

    “By now Ricky will be dead to the world and snoring his head off,” said Harry.

    Without any further ado, he started to pull off Peter’s underwear. I stood slightly back and wondered what he was up to. Harry pulled Peter’s pants right off revealing his decent sized balls and hefty, soft cock.

    “He wasn’t lying was he,” said Harry. “C’mon Dave and help me get him stripped.”

    He was having difficulty getting his briefs off his legs partly because he was pretty drunk himself so I walked over a little reluctantly and held his legs steady while Harry completed the job, leaving Peter stark naked and snoring softly. I really wanted Peter to myself but Harry was cute. He was smaller than both of us and slightly chunky without being fat. He gave off no vibes whatsoever of being gay and had never registered at all on my “gaydar.”

    Harry got to work as though I wasn’t there. He gripped Peter’s soft cock and started to stroke it up and down. There was little success in getting it hard. I knew what might work but thought I would see how far he would go. He flopped Peter’s cock back and forth.

    “Thought we might have seen him stiff,” he said, “any ideas?”

    “Oral sometimes works if you’re game.”

    He looked at me then back to Peter.

    “Will you do it too?”

    “I might,” said I.

    He slumped down between Peter’s legs, pushed them further apart and took Peter’s cock in his left hand, his mouth quickly engulfing his cock. He didn’t look too much of a novice and he sucked and slurped, pulling Peter’s foreskin back to reveal his sensitive glans. He looked at me to see my reaction so I smiled. I saw his right hand slip between his legs to squeeze his own cock.

    “Do you want a piece of this?” he asked me.

    I walked forward and as I went down on my knees, Harry stood up and gave me space. I took Peter’s cock in my mouth and gave him my magic and out of the corner of my eye saw Harry unbutton his jeans and let them drop, followed by his hipsters. His cock was an average size uncut cock, about 6 inches in length and stiif as a board with a slight curve to the right. He wanked at he watched me and then moving forward pushed his own cock down towards where I was. I took it swiftly into my mouth.

    “Christ that’s amazing,” he said as I sucked him. “Strip and let’s see what you have?”

    I stood slowly as he watched me and stripped completely naked exposing my own stiff cock to Harry. Mine was thicker and about an inch longer than Harry’s and I got the feeling he was fascinated by the cocks around him. Still on his knees he put his hand behind my buttocks and pulled me towards him taking my cock in his mouth. Not the best suck ever but definitely erotic. I gasped and he took that as encouragement to really start to suck.

    Once his jaws felt like they were aching I said, “Let’s get to work on Peter.”

    I went back to resurrect the wilting cock and Peter, already having started to rise, grunted, tried to turn but couldn’t so slumped back and his cock started to gain some girth. I slurped as Harry wanked and watched.

    “Christ that’s big isn’t it? What do we do now?”

    I said to him, “This was you idea, what do you think we should do. I doubt you’ll ever get to do this again with him.”

    “I don’t suppose we could bumfuck him?” he said.

    “I think he would waken,” I replied.

    “Well he can’t fuck me, I could never take that.”

    He looked at me as he said it and suddenly I was very horny. The thought of my straight friend watching my other straight friend stick his cock up my arse was very exciting.

    “Do you want me to try it?” I said.

    “Could you?”

    “I’ll try.”

    “Fuck this is going to be something,” said Harry, obviously fulfilling a long held fantasy about watching one guy fuck another.

    I went to the bathroom and brought back a pack of condoms and lube. I slowly opened the condom and peeled it on to Peter’s cock. I then lubed my arse and spent a few moments keeping Peter’s cock stiff while I sat astride him facing Dave and lowered myself on his upright rod. I wasn’t going to pussyfoot around so just gently sat down taking his cock in one steady downward motion while Dave, now naked, watched and wanked uttering expletives.

    I started to ride Peter and like the previous night his cock responded with gentle upward thrusts as I went along. I did this for about fifteen minutes and Dave just looked and wanked.

    Suddenly he said, “Can I fuck you?”

    “You bet you can,” I replied.

    I climbed off Peter, turned around and the bent forward over Peter, my arse in the air as Dave pulled a condom on and I took Peter’s condom off, engulfing his cock with my mouth. I had to adjust my position but finally, in a standing doggy fashion Dave entered me and took both my hips in his hand as he fucked me hard. He was like a horny terrier. His cock would slip out and he would stab around in the air until it went back in. The speed of the fucking was breakneck and slightly rough. I gobbled Peter for all it was worth and sensed a slight restlessness as he moved, slightly whimpered and his cock seemed to expand in my mouth.

    Peter’s cock exploded and he grunted, probably coming to consciousness only briefly as his seed filled my mouth with his wonderful, heterosexual semen. I gulped and groaned as I swallowed and I assumed Dave knew what was happening as he tensed, grunted and fired his salvo into my arse. I swear I could feel the force of his cum as it shot up the full length of his cock. It took me no more than five strokes to fire my own load over the bedspread.

    “Fucking Hell,” said Dave. “That was the best fuck of my life.”

    “Thank you, kind sir,” I said.

    He smiled and started to look a little awkward. I grabbed some tissue and proceeded to mop up the mess, taking the condom off Dave, it’s full load looking very sizeable, and carefully filling it with water to flush it down the toilet. We both pulled Peter into a more sensible position and replaced his underwear.

    Dave said, “I’d better get back to my room.”

    “I thought Ricky snored,” I said.

    “He does,” said Dave.

    “I don’t,” I replied.

    He looked at me for a moment, his face looking very confused, then smiled, took his briefs back off and said, “Good.”


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  • Emmet

    We live in a university town, my wife and I, and we live in a neighborhood within five blocks of the edge of that university. It’s an affluent neighborhood, built on heavily wooded, well-manicured lots on the side of a ridge, with narrow streets running up and down and twisting here and there. Almost like the country, but a wealthy enclave right in the small city. Quite staid we are. Not ones for quirkiness.

    Almost all of our neighbors work for the university in some academic or administrative capacity. I, for instance, teach English literature, and my wife teaches French literature. Both of us have held deanships but quickly gave those up, preferring to spend our time on our own studies rather than the squabbling of other professors.

    At one time the house on every lot touching on ours, on either side and along the back was occupied by university couples. We serve in different departments, though, and both a university football team assistant coach and the women’s basketball coach are living in the neighborhood, so our neighborhood gatherings aren’t quite as stilted and inbred as our required-attendance departmental functions. On the whole, however, we’re a pretty dull, vanilla bunch, full of pomp and circumstance and stuffy academic dignity.

    Ours also is a pretty “in for the duration” neighborhood, university positions here being coveted and safe enough that, once acquired, they are not often given up. We’ve lived here nearly a decade now, and we are the next-to-newest residents for a block in any direction. It was the recent turnover in the house backing on the south side of our property that threw my world off balance.

    When we moved in Wilfred Singleton lived in that house, a brick Dutch colonial with little back yard to speak of at all, which, however, was so overgrown when we moved in that we couldn’t even see his house from ours-nor did we hear anything from that direction, even though we had a screened garden pavilion almost abutting the fence between the side of our lot and the back of his. So peaceful and inviting was the pavilion, which overlooked our flagstone garden, with a fishpond and trickling fountain, that I immediately claimed it as my writing study during the warmer months of the year. The pavilion had electricity, with Wi-Fi connection, a grouping of comfortable patio furniture at one end, and a table at the other end big enough for me to lay out my laptop and all of the research material I might need. We lived in the lower middle south, so I could work, sometimes until 3:00 am, in the pavilion with just the sound of the fountain, crickets, the frogs in the pond, and the ceiling fan lazily whop, whop, whopping overhead.

    Singleton had been an economics professor at the university-quite a well-known one too. I had heard of him before we came to the university. But he was retired and was a recluse-and obviously had done little or nothing to keep up what had once been an extensive rock garden, teeming with azaleas, rhododendrons, hemlocks, and Japanese maples surrounding his house. I was actually surprised he was still alive, as I hadn’t heard anything about him for several years before we moved in.

    I was told that he had resigned his professorship and become a recluse some five years earlier, when his wife, a Spanish literature professor, had been hit and killed while she was out for an evening walk by a car on the winding, narrow road in front of their house.

    I did see him now and again, standing among the clutter of his back yard, blinking his eyes and looking a bit lost, and we did exchange brief pleasantries on some of those occasions. I think he knew who I was, but he was always vague enough that I wasn’t sure. My pavilion was set high enough off the ground that I could clearly see over the wooden fence separating our lots.

    Last year about Christmas time, though, I heard sirens on his street. It was cold enough then that I was working in my study on the second floor, which had a window overlooking his lot. I could see the flashing red light on top of an emergency vehicle through the trees and, both curious and concerned, I walked around the corner to see what was happening.

    Singleton was sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance and several other neighbors had already gathered around him. He was wrapped in a blanket, but I could tell that he otherwise was naked. He had the vacant stare of someone who just wasn’t there.

    “My husband called 911,” a neighbor, who was the director of the university press, was telling a small group of people when I walked up. “Wilfred was just out on the street, stark naked, and screaming for a car to run him over. Poor dear. It’s happened before, but never this bad. I guess now he’ll have too . . .”

    I retreated, having heard what I needed to hear and not wanting to intrude any further into Singleton’s melt-down or the grief he never had seemed to be able to recover from. I thought this was all very sad, but I knew that the neighborhood would be relieved-that Singleton had become much too shocking and unconventional for the comfort of the community and that now, naturally, he would have to be put in a nursing home.

    The house sat vacant until the late spring-and quiet except for the three weeks in the last part of March when a couple of middle-aged couples-probably Singleton’s daughters and their husbands, went through an orgy of filling a dumpster in the house’s driveway with what looked like perfectly good items. I remember nearly hyperventilating one day when standing at my study window and watching them toss in Singleton’s extensive collection of books. I was sure that a small fortune in research material-and most likely the makings of a core library for an economics department in some university-was going to the landfill. But the couples were from out of state and I’d never seen them there while Singleton was alive. So, I guess their lives and interests had not intersected with the professor’s for some time.

    I didn’t think more about Singleton or that house until midsummer. We always went to either England or France in May and June, officially to continue our own studies, but really because we loved being in Europe so much. We crossed the Atlantic together, but often, once in Europe, my wife, Joanne, and I went our separate ways. We weren’t a close couple, but we were compatible. We were both professors by the time we met, and both were people more focused on our individual lives and interests than on a significant other. But, teaching at the same university, we found we were comfortable with each other and we both had reached a stage in our life when we appreciated having a companion to share meals and discussion and little discoveries with. I suspected that Joanne was a lesbian, and, for all I knew, she was aware that I had only slept with men-seeking out a particular kind of man that would be an extra taboo where we now lived-and not even men for a few years before we married. At our stage of life it just didn’t seem to matter. Not that we were old; we were both in our early forties. But because we were settled in our ways and happy with them. Or, in my case, resolved to be as happy as possible under the circumstances.

    I’d kept my needs and wants private pretty successfully. In my twenties, I’d gone looking for what I wanted-and in some pretty dangerous areas. I don’t think anyone who knew me now would guess at the peculiarity of what I wanted, what aroused me. As I’d gotten older and became more successful in academia, I increasingly realized that what I wanted just would not be acceptable in the world I was entering. I had wanted it so badly that I let myself be degraded to get it in my late twenties. As my career was firming up, I listened to myself when I was being satisfied the way I wanted to be. It wasn’t dignified; it wasn’t what a mature English literature professor should pant for. So, I slowly weaned myself off it. But I still wanted it. I couldn’t deny that. Marrying and settling down in this university town-in this particular neighborhood-was part of my campaign to overcome my latent desires.

    I noticed the difference next door when I came back to our university town in late June. I suddenly-and a bit distressingly-could clearly see the back and back garden of the Singleton house. To my eye, it had moved a good twenty feet closer to our lot line while I was in England. Joanne was still in France, having secured a sabbatical there. She wouldn’t be home until the fall. So I was batching it. There was a glassed-in sun porch on the back of the Dutch colonial, an addition to the house that I hadn’t even been fully aware of while Singleton was in residence, and I could clearly see into that from both my garden pavilion, when I stood up, and from one of the windows in my second-floor study in the house.

    The house hadn’t moved, of course. It just had sold and the new owners were having the gardens cleared, which made the house loom larger visually. And they were having a stone patio laid to cover all of the back yard except for the bushes and ornamental trees that were being kept.

    It was several days after I returned that I espied any activity over there, though. It was the sound of a woman’s voice on the telephone-a voice that carried and a conversation that was interspersed with lilting laughter-that brought me to the window of my study.

    The garden room of the Dutch colonial had been transformed into a usable room. Whoever the new owners of the house were, they had traveled and had eclectic tastes. The room was furnished and had touches of both the Mediterranean and the Orient. There was a desk in a rich rosewood color that, from its carvings, was probably from China or Hong Kong. There were fan chairs; some brass work, perhaps from Turkey; and what appeared to be a double-bed-sized studio couch with a flamboyant Indian-design coverlet on it and a profusion of pillows in a myriad of textiles and patterns. As jumbled as the sun room space was, it all seemed to go together well.

    Sitting at the desk was a trim brunette, perhaps in her late forties. She was having an animated conversation on the phone and doing much of her speaking with her hands. I doubted she had any idea her voice carried as well as it did. I had been sitting in my wing chair just in front of the window and trying to read some pretty difficult poetry passages in Middle English when I had become aware of the level of sound coming from the Dutch colonial. Fully aware of it now, I found myself standing at the window, looking down into her back yard, and concentrating on what she was saying-and just not quite being able to catch the words. It might have been all right and I could have focused away from it on my own reading if I either couldn’t discern any words at all or could clearly hear the conversation. But this middle ground just would not work.

    Still standing at the window, I was becoming resolved to move to my wife’s study at the other end of the bedroom wing, when my eyes caught movement outside of the neighboring house, in the garden. A man was there, working on clearing undergrowth in the far corner of the lot. He was black and not too young or too old, perhaps in his early thirties. He was tall and well built. Not heavy and not thin. But he was very well muscled. He was wearing shorts but otherwise was naked. The muscles of his arms and chest were well defined, tapering down to a slim waist and flat belly. He was an ebony black, but seemingly not of the American variety. He looked more Caribbean, the aspect of a Harry Belafonte or a Sidney Poitier. Which, to me, meant that he looked sensual and desirable.

    I stayed at the window, watching his movements perhaps a moment too long, as, possibly sensing he was being watched, he looked up and saw me in the window. We both stood, transfixed, if for only a moment, and then he looked away and picked up a pair of hedge clippers and I turned away and went, almost reluctantly now, to my wife’s study, my Middle English poems in hand.

    Over the next few days, I caught glimpses of them both-the brunette woman on her telephone in the sun porch-and the Caribbean hunk working on the garden. Within days, other neighbors had told me about Cleo. She was an anomaly for the neighborhood, so I could sense the hiss in the conversations I heard about her. A single woman and not connected with the University. Some neighbors believed she worked in some sort of import-export business but also that she was independently wealthy. The rumor was that she had paid cash for the house.

    I didn’t ask about the young black man, and no one else mentioned him either. We were well enough down in the south that it wasn’t unusual for black workmen to be around and about-and for people to not really “see” them. Certainly not discussed by the likes of us. There were black professors and athletic coaches at the university, of course, but they were considered to be in a different class altogether. Almost acceptable.

    I can’t say I didn’t “see” this young man-I took every opportunity I could to get glimpses of him. But then, I wasn’t the typical resident in this neighborhood, I didn’t think. This despite how hard I’d tried to be just right for this neighborhood.

    Beyond those little snippets on the new owner, Cleo, no one seemed to know much of anything.

    The shock, torture, and glory of my life came at the end of that first week. I had eaten dinner late and watched a BBC Masterpiece Theater mystery in the downstairs den that was a quite large extension off the back of our house, projecting into our garden. Having finished with the TV later than was customary for me, I was later than usual coming up to my study to work on a lecture. I entered the room and was just about to turn on the light, when a familiar-but very out of place-series of sounds assaulted my ears. Rather than turn on the light I moved to the study’s window on the side of the house and, from the dark room, looked down into Cleo’s garden.

    The lights were on full on her sun porch. Both she and the black gardener were naked. She was on her back on the studio bed, in full view, and was writhing while she grunted and groaned in that voice of hers that carried so well. The black gardener was crouched over her between her legs, holding them up and out with his fists, and rhythmically fucking her. He periodically dipped his mouth down to the nipples on her full breasts and gave suck, while she arched her back and grabbed his short-cropped head.

    I stood at the window and watched the full performance. I felt my buttocks cheeks clinch and expand in the same rhythm as his as he pumped her. The undulating ebony muscles of his back were glistening slightly with the effort of the fuck. He was a magnificent animal in full prime and conditioning. I felt my hand go to my engorging cock, and I held myself through the material of my trousers and stroked down the length of me with a thumb. And then back up, and down.

    When he was done, he turned, casually picked up a pack of cigarettes from the desk and came over to the glass wall opposite my window perch and lit up. My breath, already ragged, caught in my throat, and I heard a low growl coming up from inside of me. He was horse hung. His muscled body perfectly proportioned but for the noticeably oversized, magnificent black cock and the low-hanging testicles, giving him almost a primeval aspect reminiscent of fertility rites.

    Cleo, still spread-eagled on the studio couch was rubbing the fingers of one hand in the folds hiding her clitoris and working her nipples with the fingers of the other hand.

    He was looking out into the night, and it seemed like he was looking up at where I stood at my window. Surely he couldn’t see me there, but it certainly seemed that he could. And not just that he could see me but that he could see into, through me. That he knew that I wanted him inside me too. I could almost hear jungle drums in the background marking the exotic-and erotic-intrusion in our staid, very proper neighborhood.

    I ached to be part of that tableau.

    I gave a little cry as I ejaculated inside my pants. I drew away from the window, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the room. I withdrew only enough that there was no way that he could see me but that I could still see into the sun porch.

    The young black man was masturbating himself with one hand while he smoked the cigarette down to its filter with the other. I unzipped my fly and pulled my cock out as well. It was a sticky mess, but that didn’t prevent me from stroking it as I watched him stroking himself hard again-and felt myself getting hard again too.

    In full, magnificent erection, he turned, stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the desk, and returned to the studio couch. I watched, mesmerized, as he leaned down, put an arm under the waist of Cleo, and turned her, first, onto her belly, on the studio couch, and then pulled her up to her knees. She let him manipulate her as he would. I watched in both shock and arousal, as he pushed that long, thick, black cock into her again-but this time into her ass. She writhed under him again and became quite vocal again. But they were exclamations of encouragement and satisfaction.

    I turned and fled the room, seeking out the bathroom in my room-Joanne and I have both separate bedrooms and bathrooms-and barely made it in time before I ejaculated a second time into the toilet bowl.

    I couldn’t punish myself any further. I stripped, tossed my clothes in the hamper to wash early the next morning in considerable embarrassment, showered, went to bed naked-and masturbated myself to another ejaculation while visions of the black gardener’s erect cock and the clinching muscles of his buttocks played over and over again in my head.

    That was only the first of frequent sexual couplings I saw between Cleo and the black gardener on the porch, both during the day and at night. And I participated in all of the ones I observed.

    Ours was an insular university town and our neighborhood an even more close-knit, conventional community. Within a week I’d heard the scoop on the young black man from a neighbor with mutual property lines to mine and that of Cleo’s Dutch colonial.

    That neighbor was southern town raised and bred and thus a bit breathless and scandalized by what she had to tell me over our shared hedges running between our driveways.

    “He’s living with her apparently. He introduced himself to me as Emmet. He says he’s looking for work. It’s her house, of course. She’s the one with the job. And she’s obviously older than he is.”

    After a few more days I had occasion to introduce myself to Emmet myself. He was serving wine for one of the wineries at a wine festival being held on the grounds of a historical plantation house only about three miles to the west of our neighborhood.

    His voice was deep and rich. I knew it would be. He didn’t seem at all surprised when I asked him if he lived at the address of the former Singleton house. It was as if he knew who I was and where I lived.

    I was at a loss for words to have a coherent discussion with him, so I couldn’t pursue my curiosity. But it seemed that he knew what I had seen-and how it had affected me.

    When we shook hands, I felt the electricity. I wondered if he did too. And he might have, because he didn’t let loose of my hand until someone nudged up at my elbow, wanting a wine tasting, and the liquid brown eyes of his that had been boring into my depths turned back to his current duties.

    Another week after that I heard his voice on the local jazz and classical music station, and I confirmed in a discussion with him over the back fence when he was working in the garden, and I was, unsuccessfully, trying to work in the pavilion and ignore that he was working in the garden, that he had gotten a job-at least temporarily-at the local classical music radio station.

    Stealing a march on the neighbors, I declared to all within blocks that I was having the neighborhood gathering for brunch on July 4th and went to considerable effort and expense to provision the affair, even though various neighbors were bringing this and that. We spread out between our large first-floor den opening out onto a covered patio, the flagstoned garden around the fish pond, and the screened garden pavilion.

    The whole reason I’d gone to this trouble was to be with Emmet, even if I also had to be with twenty other assorted university professors and administrators. Cleo came and was vivacious and the center of much of the attention, particularly of the men. Emmet didn’t come, however.

    “I’m sorry Emmet couldn’t be here, professor,” Cleo told me as she entered through the gate in the fence between our properties-we were such a tight-knit community that, although we had wooden fences separating our gardens, each lot had a gate in the fence to each other lot it abutted. When I’d heard the squeak of the hinge of the gate between our two properties, I turned in anticipation. Cleo must have seen my face cloud up when she came through alone, as she was quick to apologize for Emmet’s absence.

    “He has a radio program to give today-actually a string of them. He’s junior on the staff, so he draws the short straw on holiday coverage.”

    “I’m sorry he can’t come,” I said. I’m sure my voice made clear just how sorry I was. “Please let him know I’m sorry he couldn’t come.” I know I sounded idiotic, but I was just that disappointed.

    The party went on famously, though, and I soldiered on. It was only later in the afternoon, when it was over, and the maid had cleared everything out and left me alone that it fully hit me. I was alone. I was really alone.

    I felt sorry for myself. And when I felt truly sorry for myself, as I did now, I reached for the collections of English poets.

    After nibbling on leftovers for dinner, I went out to the screened pavilion. It was a hot and muggy night. A typical July 4th evening in the lower middle South. Knowing it would be hot in the pavilion, I stripped down to gym shorts and sandals. I could have stayed in the air-conditioned house, but it was oppressive in the house in more ways than temperature and humidity. And oh so lonely. For the first time since Joanne and I had parted in Paris earlier in the spring I missed her-not sexually, of course, but for her companionship. For the sound of another voice. And maybe to help curb what was growing inside me. The desire that I had so carefully stifled.

    Once in the pavilion, I realized I probably was out here to hear that voice of Cleo’s that carried so well from her sun porch-and, more specifically, to hear another sex session between the two. Looking over the fence, though, I saw that her BMW convertible was gone. Emmet’s Mustang was there, but Cleo had mentioned something about a dinner or some other affair she had to go to. Most likely he’d gone too-the Dutch colonial was dark.

    I had come out with a bottle of Shiraz and a glass, and now settled myself in the loveseat glider at one end of the screened pavilion, and slowly buried myself in the poems of John Keats.

    So engrossed had I become in the rhythm of the poetry that I wasn’t immediately sure of the sound I heard-the sound of the squeaky hinges of the gate in the fence between my property and Cleo’s. Emmet was there, at the door of the screened pavilion, before I fully realized what was happening. And so strong had been the mystical worlds that Keats had been weaving in my mind that it didn’t immediately register with me that Emmet was real.

    He was naked, his manhood swinging low between his legs.

    He pulled open the screened door to the pavilion and entered.

    The whop, whop, whop of the overhead fan and the beating of my heart had become oppressive. I was close to hyperventilating. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, still struggling to separate the Keats poems from reality. This couldn’t be happening. I had so carefully sublimated these desires.

    “Cleo told me that you wanted me to come,” he said in that rich, low voice of his. “I’ve seen you watching me. I think I know what you want, what you need. I think you want me to come inside you. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

    He had moved to me, and I spread my legs to let him come into me very close. I could not speak. My answer was to reach out for him, my hand cupping his balls, lifting his jet-black, hardening cock with the heel of my hand, and leaning forward and opening my lips over the tan bulb of his ebony cock. My eyes locked on the thick blackness of the cylinder as, with a sigh, I pulled it, lovingly, inside my mouth cavity.

    He fucked me in the glider, crouching over me, his hands under my buttocks, pulling them up to give his cock a deep angle. My wrists locked around his neck, my legs running up his torso, ankles on his heavily muscled shoulders. We kissed deeply, repeatedly, as he moved the glider back and forth, slowly, pulling my channel on and off his deeply buried staff.

    I cried quietly while I told him how much this meant to me. I spoke of my first lover, a black field hand on my father’s farm in Mississippi. Of our forbidden love-for more than one reason-in that time and place. How big and thick he’d been. How black his cock was. Nothing compared to Emmet, though. Thinner, not as beautiful. But my master all the same.

    “Oh, god, how I’m loving this,” I murmured. “How? How . . . did you . . .?”

    “How did I know? The need was in your eyes. And you were there when I was fucking Cleo. Each time, it seemed. And I could see it in your eyes. You were having sex too, weren’t you? With me?”

    “Yes. Oh, god, yes. Like that. Oh, god, oh fuck. I’m going . . . to . . . coooome.”

    “I can come now too, if you wish. This is your wish? Do you want me to pull out and come?”

    “Yes, come. But don’t pull out. Silas, don’t leave me. Give it to me. Big . . . black . . . cock.” I moved my legs down and hooked my ankles together on the ledge of his bulbous buttocks, holding him fast to me, as his breath grew ragged and he jerked a couple of times-and bathed my insides.

    We held there for several moments, neither one of us moving a muscle. “Silas. Was that the name of your first lover? Your black lover?”

    “Yes.”

    “So was that part of your obvious fascination with me? Black cock?”

    “Yes. I’m sorry, I know that sounds . . .”

    “It’s OK with me. I like white ass. Man, woman, it doesn’t matter to me what white ass I’m fucking. It’s all the same to me. So you like having this black cock deep inside you? Churning and revolving. Black cock is good enough for a university professor, is it? You like being mastered by a black man?”

    “Yes, oh fuck yes,” I cried out. He was working me again and I was panting hard. “Love that black cock,” I whimpered. “You’re my master. Black, black, black. Inside me. Deeper. Work me.”

    “Good to hear. You’ve got a sweet ass-for a professor. So tell me, professor. All of the lovers since that first one . . .”

    “Black, yes. All black. That’s what I want. He’s got to be black. Oh, god, I want this so bad. Don’t . . . talk . . . now. Just fuck.”

    He laughed a low, guttural laugh at that admission.

    He worked me for a while, showing me he could do anything he wanted with me. And I melted to him. He slowed, though, not giving me another ejaculation just then. When we were cooling, he spoke again.

    “What happened? Did you . . .?”

    “I went to graduate school; he went to Iraq. He never came back.”

    “And after that?”

    “Black. They all had to be black. And big . . . where . . . it counts. I know, that’s so stereotypical. But I can’t help it. It’s got to be black and big. I’ve tried . . . but I can’t.”

    We paused as a breeze went through the screening of the pavilion, setting the wind chimes to tinkling.

    “The breeze feels good on my back,” Emmet murmured.

    “I’m sure it does. But you hardly raised a sweat. And it’s so hot and humid tonight.”

    “Is this how Silas fucked you? Slow and easy?”

    “He was usually very anxious. Impatient. Hard and fast.”

    “Would you like that now-for the memories?”

    “Any way you want. But, oh, god, could you? Would you?”

    He fucked me that second time with me bent over the table and holding the far edge with my fists for dear life as he crouched over me from behind and pounded me and pounded me and pounded me. This time after I’d ejaculated onto the floor of the pavilion under the table, he pulled out of me and shot up the small of my back. Then he thrust back inside me, laced his arms under my arm pits, locked his fists behind my neck, arched my back up to him, and fucked me hard until he came again.

    “Silas do it like that?”

    “Not nearly that well,” I whimpered.

    “You had enough?”

    “Never enough.”

    “Would you like me to come inside with you? Sleep with you tonight?”

    “Cleo?”

    “Cleo was called away on business. We have three days and nights.”

    “Ah.”

    * * * *

    Total surrender to my need.

    Emmet was laying at the foot of my bed, the small of his back on the bed, his tan-soled feet on the floor, muscular legs spread. He was holding and waving his erect cock with one hand, and he had his head raised, looking past that, down the line of his luscious black torso, to where I was crawling along the floor toward him. All propriety and pretense out the window. Just the need and the desire. And that big, black cock.

    “Black cock, black cock. Come and get it,” he was singing in a rich, deep, quiet voice. He was grinning at me.

    When I reached the bed between his spread legs, I went up on my knees and reached out with trembling hands and touched his cock on either side with the tips of my fingers. I ran my fingers up and down the sides of the staff, lovingly. I followed the line of the thick vein on the underside with my thumb. Looking down the line of his magnificent ebony torso at me, Emmet grinned and a deep, growly laugh bubbled up from deep inside him. His cock was getting bigger, harder under my worshipping touch.

    I leaned in and gently rubbed the jet-black phallus on each of my cheeks, making soft mewing sounds, showing my pleasure, my awe.

    “Suck my black balls, professor. Show me how much you want me-what you’ll do for a black master, to have a big, black cock ruling you. This isn’t about me. This is about you, what you need and want and have been denying yourself for too long.”

    I took each orb in turn in my mouth and then both of them together, separating and moving the nuts into my cheeks on each side. I hummed softly, vibrating the balls in my cheek cavity, and he arched his head back, staring at the ceiling, and gave me a low growl of a moan. I was holding his cock cupped in a hand, loving that it was still growing, still getting harder, throbbing.

    “You do this for your black soldier boy?” he asked in a low, hoarse voice.

    “Mmm, mmm,” was the best I could manage.

    “It’s surely a mystery that he ever left you and went to war then. Are you my little white man whore, professor? My black cock your idol, your god?”

    “Mmm, mmm.”

    “Lick it. Make what you love a lollipop.”

    After moving my mouth away from his body, pulling his balls taut and extending them, being rewarded by a deep groan from Emmet, I released his ball sack, ran my tongue up his shaft and slowly licked across and around the purple bulb of his cock, which twitched against the hand gently cupping it. I ran the other hand up his belly and smooth, hard, ebony chest and played with his nipples, one after the other with a thumb and forefinger.

    “You want it inside you now, don’t you? Down your throat, rubbing your tonsils, don’t you, professor?”

    “Yes,” I whimpered. “Be good to me, Emmet. It’s been so long. I need it so bad.”

    “Well, all right then. You can suck it now.”

    My mouth opened down over his cock. I shuddered with pleasure, desire . . . and surrender.

    Minutes later I was straddling his hips, positioning his bulb at my hole, groaning in ecstasy as I slowly sank on my idol, what at this moment was my god. His hands on my waist, he grinned wide, murmuring that I was free, that it was all mine, that he knew this was what I needed, what I wanted beyond all else in life. Pulling it deep inside. Riding it, riding it hard. Black cock, black cock, black cock. BLACK COCK!

    All those years of work, of self-denial. Jettisoned. Out the window. I . . . couldn’t get . . . enough . . . of black cock.

    * * * *

    July and August were heaven. The first week in September I met Joanne in Paris and we went to Oxford for a week before coming home.

    When we arrived home, the Dutch colonial next door was empty. No one could tell me where or why Cleo and Emmet had moved away. Everyone seemed pleased they were gone, though. Just too different. They didn’t fit in.

    I was devastated, of course. But everything was relative. I had had my summer of bliss and memories.

    And Emmet had told me about the young hunk of a university assistant football coach down the block-and what he really wanted to do and that he’d confided to Emmet that I aroused him. And the coach was black too and was especially anxious to meet up with me when Emmet told him what I thought of and what I’d do for black cock.


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  • Anaconda at the nursing home

    In 1968 I got out of the Army and started college. To make some extra money, I got a job at a local nursing home. I bathed the men, cleaned up after them, fed them etc. While I didn’t get the job to check out the old men, I have always been fascinated with mens’ packages. Most of the men at the nursing home were unremarkable as far as their packages went but one day about a month after I started working there, an old man was admitted. He was in his mid eighties and very frail. He had had a stroke and couldn’t get around very well but he was still as sharp as a tack. I had overheard a couple of the nurses talking and laughing about something to do with this man’s penis but I didn’t know what it was. The next day I found out what they were laughing about. When I helped the old man off with his pajamas to bathe him, I couldn’t believe my eyes. This frail old man had the biggest flaccid cock I had ever seen. Don’t forget I was in the Army so I saw a lot of cock. I’ll get to his dimensions later. My partner who was helping me blurted out “Holy shit he’s got a third leg” as if the old man wasn’t there. Well endowed didn’t do this man justice. His long, thick shaft ended with a foreskin that spread out to cover his huge knob completely and ended in a funnel shape well below his cock head. His dick had one large blue vein running down the entire shaft with smaller veins branching off and all ending in the foreskin. He had a huge pair of low hangers the size of jumbo eggs. When it came to genitals, he struck the mother load. I was getting aroused just looking at that Anaconda. It was the first time I’d ever been aroused by a man’s cock and balls. Compared to the rest of his frail body, this still powerful looking man meat dominated every other feature. We lowered him into the tub and his dick and balls were so long that he sat on them. He started yelling and we realized what had happened. My helper told me to hold his cock and balls while we lowered him. I needed two hands to hold everything. This was unreal. His cock was so soft. It was like all the blood drained out years ago. I started bathing him and when I got down to his dick I spent a lot of time on that magnificent tool. I gently pulled the foreskin back to reveal a long. wide pink knob with a very large piss slit. It looked big enough for me to stick my little finger in. I washed all around his knob then I took long soapy strokes along his shaft. My partner said “Hey don’t forget the rest of his body!” My extra attention to his fuck pole wasn’t lost on the old man. Harry was the old man’s name. We finished up, put new pajamas on him and brought him back to his bed. I noticed that when we put him in his bed, he grabbed his junk in his good left hand and held it up. He did that a lot. Let’s face it when you have a package that big it will get in the way. LOL. Later that day he called me over to his bed. “I need to take a piss”, he said. I got him out of bed and assisted him into the bathroom. I was about to get him on the hopper when he told me that he wanted to stand to take a piss. He held onto me with both arms and told me to hold his dick while he pissed. I knew then that he was well aware of my atraction to his horse cock. I was rock hard. I held that monster and waited for him to start pissing. He said,”You have to pull the foreskin back or I’ll piss all over myself.” I’m cut so I had no idea. I did as he told me and held his cock. He farted a couple of times and I could feel the piss coming out. I watched it shoot out of his huge piss hole. I thought that he could put a fire out with that volume. After he emptied his bladder, I could feel him flex his cock muscle several times to get the last drops of piss out of that long shaft. When he was done he told me to milk it. “That’s how I do it,” he said. That cock was so soft and supple. I didn’t milk that hard but I’ll bet I stretched it another couple of inches. Then he told me to slide the foreskin over his cock head. He was clearly enjoying all the attention his massive meat was getting. When I worked the morning shift, I would go by his bed to see if he had any morning wood but he never did. One morning he was awake and caught me looking at his crotch. He called me over and said,”You like my big dick I can tell”. I said, “yes it’s huge”. My heart was pounding. He asked me if I would like to play with it sometime and I said I’d love to but it would have to be when I worked the night shift. Several nights later when I was working 4 to midnight I went to see him. I said, “Tonight’s the night.” He winked and said I’d be back at 9 when everybody is gone and visiting hours are over. My own big cock would get hard all evening everytime I thought about the meeting. At nine I showed up at his bed with lotion, a cock ring and a cloth tape measure. I pulled the curtain around his bed. The man in the next bed was sleeping, thank God. I just had to measure that big tool. I asked him if I could and he said, “Sure, you wouldn’t be the first.” That’s when I realized that Harry was still well aware of the impact that his cock had on everyone who saw it. I pulled the foreskin back. It hung over the big knob about 3/4 of an inch. I took the tape and measured from the pubic bone to the tip of his piss slit. I couldn’t beleive it . His totally flaccid cock measured a little over 7-3/4″ long. I measured his girth and it was just under 5″. that magnificent knob was a little over 2″ at it’s widest and about 2-1/2″ long. I had a raging hard on. I measured his huge low hangers. his balls were 3-1/4″ by 2″. I started massaging that glorious fuck pole. I lotioned my finger and started running it under his foreskin. I worked that long shaft slowly and stretched it a little as I stroked. I played with his huge hangers. I worked on him for about fifteen minutes and there was very little reaction from his dick. I asked him if he was feeling anything happening. He said no. I decided to ask him if I could put a cock ring on him. Harry knew what a cock ring was but didn’t know what it was supposed to do. I told him that it would help him get erect and heighten the intensity of his orgasm. He was all for it. I lifted up his penis and put the leather cock ring around the base of his cock and behind his balls. The leather cock ring had three snaps for small, medium and large cocks. I could barely get him in the first snap He told me to massage the shaft in a circular motion just behind the head. I did that for a while and his enormous cock started to stir. It started to slither along his leg like a snake. I was mesmerized by his man meat that just kept getting longer and longer. The veins on his shaft started to get a little more pronounced. I stopped massaging and Harry said, “Hey what are you stopping for?” I said, “Harry I’ll get back to playing in a minute. I just have to measure you again.” He said, “Well hurry up or I’ll loose the feeling and I probably won’t get it back!” I measured again. His cock measured over 11″ long and the width of that massive knob was a little over 3″ across. His piss hole had grown to the size of my index finger. I’ll tell you every thing about his cock was incredible. I grabbed that cock and stuck it’s mushroom head in my mouth. It barely fit! I started sucking. I stuck my tongue into his piss hole. I massaged that area behind the head with my tongue. I couldn’t believe the size of his johnson. This was no big dick, this was an enormous dick.Then I started flicking his nipples. His dick grew a little more but I could tell he was close so I didn’t dare stop and measure again. You never saw anything like it. Harry’s cock grew about 3-1/2″ longer than his flaccid size and he still wasn’t hard! After about a minute more I could feel that huge cock start to tremble and faintly spasm several times and he started to moan. Should I let him cum in my mouth? Yes! A few drops of cum dribbled out through his huge piss hole and into my mouth. I milked his tool to get all the cum out that his weak cock muscle couldn’t pump out of that incredibly long shaft. I noticed that his huge balls never moved. They didn’t pull up at all when he got close. I didn’t realize until now that your balls don’t move much when you get old. Harry said, “Oh man that felt great! I didn’t think I’d ever be able to cum again after having a stroke. It’s been over a year since I even played with it!” I cleaned him up. I told him I’d be right back. I ran to the bathroom and shot the biggest load. I serviced him at least once a week after that and eventually his cock did grow to close to 12″ . He never got hard though. He told me that in his prime he was over 13″ long. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. I asked him if he ever got real hard. He said it would grow longer and longer and point to the floor. He said he would get hard enough to fuck anyone. “I just have to tell you kid that I like both men and women, I hope that doesn’t scare you.” I said no. Let’s face it I just crossed the line and I wasn’t going back. He told me that he started to become impotent in his mid sixties. There was no Viagra then and when he went to a Urologist about the problem, the Uro couldn’t believe the size of this man’s tool. He told him that he never saw one that big soft. The uro also told the old man that age and his incredible size were working against him and that he probably wouldn’t be able to get it up anymore. Keep in mind that he was in his mid eighties in 1968 so it was probably about 1948 when he got the bad news. Back then if you couldn’t get it up, you were done. There were no alternatives. I’m in my late 60’s now and I need Viagra to get hard. I’ve got a big dick but my erection is just a little longer then his soft dick. The old man told me that he was devastated with the news because his dick was his whole life. He also told me that he hadn’t gotten hard enough to fuck in over 20 years but he still had plenty of sex.. He said he lived alone for the last 25 years but he never wanted for sex because men got off just playing with his meat. He said, “I eventually came to the realization that when you have a cock the size of mine, you will ALWAYS have men chasing you. They don’t care if you don’t get hard as long as they can play with it!” He said, “You live by the dick, you die by the dick.” Then he laughed. I serviced him at least once a week after that. After awhile I would take him on drives when I had a day off. We would go back to my place and we would suck each others cocks.

    I didn’t realize what an exhibitionist Harry was until one day I saw him sitting in his wheelchair in the day room. This was a room that had a little snack bar and was a gathering place for patients and visitors to the nursing home. He was sitting there and it looked like he was asleep. I noticed that his cock was out of his pajamas and was resting on the seat of the wheelchair. It was partially covered by his bathrobe. I also noticed that the foreskin had been pushed back to expose his enormous cock head. The head of his cock was so big that he could push the foreskin back and it would stay retracted. I went over to him and started covering his dick with the bathrobe. Harry opened his eyes and said, “What the hell are you doing?”. I was startled. “I thought you were asleep. I was just covering you up,” I said. “I don’t want to be covered up. How do you think my dick got out of my pajamas?”, he asked. “I’m having fun.”, he said. “See the woman over there with the big belly?”. I looked over where he was looking and said,”Yea.” “She walked past me at least six times and paused to look at my dick every time. She thought I was sleeping so she could get a good look. See the gray haired guy right across from me?”, he asked. I looked and saw this middle aged man sitting directly across from Harry. It wasn’t a big room and this man had a perfect view of Harry’s cock. Harry said, “That guy hasn’t taken his eyes off of my dick. I move around a little bit from time to time and expose more and more of my cock. I can tell by the way he keeps adjusting himself that he has a raging hard on. I love it!” he laughed. I said, “Harry, your wicked!” He laughed. I said, “Harry, I’ve got to cover you up to make it look like I’m doing my job. You can do whatever you want after I leave.” He said, “Sure kid, do what you have to do.” then he laughed again.

    Another time, the doctor put him on a medication that caused him to loose control of his bladder. They put a catheter in but his piss hole was so big that there was leakage around the catheter. I had seen a lot of men with catheters and the catheters were all within the normal range of diameter. The nursing home had to order the largest catheter they make. I couldn’t believe the size of it. The doctor stretched out Harry’s dick when he slid the catheter in and Harry’s dick stayed stretched out to about 11″ after the catheter was put in. It was unbelievable. Everybody from doctors to nurses to other employees and other patients would go by Harry’s bed in hopes of getting a glimpse of his monster cock. When we put him in his wheelchair, we had to take his dick out of his pajamas because in a sitting position his stretched dick was too long to be comfortable in his pajamas. So we wheeled him into the day room the first time after he had the catheter put in, covered his dick, which now hung over the front of the seat, with his bathrobe. I whispered in his ear, “Harry, you better be good.” I knew that he wouldn’t be good. Sure enough, when I checked back Harry was “asleep” and almost his entire dick was exposed. He had drawn a crowd. I went over and covered him. I said, “Harry, you’re a devil!” He said, “Kid, come back when I’m in my bed and I’ll tell you what I overheard people saying about my dick. I guarentee it will get you rock hard.”

    After that fiasco the doctor took him off of the medication and they removed the catheter. One of the nurses said to me, “If they left that catheter in any longer, this place would get x rated. Then she said, “I wish he was 30 years younger, I’d give anything to ride that monster!”

    As I think of more stories, I’ll include them.


    To get in touch with the author, send them an email.