Steve Silver
Still the late 1980s.
I see her walking about the yard, seemingly distracted, as I pull up into the driveway that circles it.
I pull up to her, roll down my window.
We exchange clichéd pleasantries.
“Hey, Elise,” I say, “is Bob nearby?”
She looks at me; I see pain and frustration scrawled over her face.
She has been crying.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
I think I already know before I ask regardless.
“Bob and his dad had another fight,” she says.
Bingo! Do those two ever not fight? I think to myself.
“Is this about the wedding?” I ask.
“Yep,” she answers,” Bob and the girl eloped last night. She’s inside.”
“Whoa,” I say, aloud, shocked at the news.
Things have progressed faster than I thought, since last I saw Bob.
As she is talking to me, a young woman emerges from the garage door off the house. The girl is beautiful and dressed in a plain white dress. A noticeable baby bump protrudes from her body. She waves at me. I wave back. She is beautiful.
“Bob is out in the fields,” Elise says, “but you know that. You know the routine as well as I do.”
“Yep,” I say, “when you said Bob had a fight with his dad.”
“Elise, this is Coach Carl Fletcher from the college,” I introduce the man sitting on the passenger seat next to me in the truck.
Carl leans forward from his seat and waves a happy ‘hello’ to Elise.
“I know who he is, Bob’s baseball coach,” she says, “hello.”
She waves back to him, half-heartedly.
“Yes m’am,” Carl says.
“Are you okay, Elise?” I say.
“I’ll be fine, Steve,” she says, “just getting to know my new daughter.”
“Okay,” I say.
“It’s just the initial shock, that’s all,” she says,” everything will be fine. I just had hopes that history would not repeat itself.”
“I know,” I say, “if you need anything, let me know, okay.”
“I will,” she says, “go see how Bob is doing for me, please.”
“We will,” I say, “we were concerned about the upcoming nuptials too but did not expect them to be married already.”
Others things were also our minds too but Bob’s predicament was the incident that prompted this visit.
“Okay,” I say.
“Nice to meet you Mrs. Warren, “Carl hastily says as we pull away.
I roll up the driver side window, crank up the A/C as we pull out the driveway, cross the paved road, go into the open gate to the field opposite the house, and make my way to down the rutted road.
Bob escapes to the loneliness of the open fields, as directed by his dad. He is busy doing something to distance himself from his angry father. Doing exactly what, I do not know yet.
“What the hell was that Carl?” I say.
“What?” Carl says.
“Your good-bye?” I say, frustrated but I pause and reconsider my attitude, “I’m sorry sweetie, I am just concerned about Bob.”
“It’s okay,” he says as he leans in to kiss me.
I kiss him back.
“I understand, you are just concerned about Bobby,” Carl says.
“I am,” I say, “you are so damn sexy, you know that.”
Carl smiles at me.
“What is that?” Carl says as he points to something lying in the road ahead as we drive down the road that cuts the field in half.
I stop the truck beside the object; open my door to take a look-see.
“It’s a shirt,” I say as I pick it up.
“Whose is it?” he says.
“I think its Bob’s,” I say.
“Oh,” he says.
I close the door and drive further down the road. I stop and pick up a pair of boots and socks as they are randomly littered down the road, we are on.
“I suspect that we may come across one last piece of clothing before we find Bob,” I say.
“His pants?” he says.
“Yep,” I say, “so he is going to be naked when we find him.”
“What about his underwear?” he says.
“He doesn’t wear any,” I say.
“Oh,” Carl says.
“Oh, is right.”
The next piece of clothing that we retrieved is Bob’s jeans. It was the last article of clothing we found.
We continue driving on the road and see the green John Deere tractor. No one is seated upon it, as we park along side it, as we had expected him to be.
“Where is he?” Carl asks.
“Maybe at the pond,” I say.
I pass the tractor and make my way to the pond, the ole watering hole on the Warren homestead. I spent my youth there with Bob’s dad, Bob and our many childhood friends. It is a place of many happy memories. Now, I spent time with Bob there, his dad has not been there for a visit since before he married Elise.
“There he is,” Carl says.
In the distance, I see a pale white ass; wiggling rhythmically as it makes its way in the shining bright light against the backdrop of the green leafed trees.
Bob is walking on the road; I guess he is making his way to the pond on foot. What the hell happened to the tractor?
As we get closer to him, Bob does not even turn to acknowledge us.
He keeps his eyes forward and proceeds on his way.
I roll down my window.
“Bob, Bob,” I say, I yell, “Bob.”
I grow louder and louder as I say his name.
He does not answer me despite my continued saying of his name.
“Bob!” I yell out his name, one last time.
“What,” he says, angrily to me, “damn it, I heard you.”
“Then why didn’t you answer me?” I say, impatient and perturbed by his attitude.
He pauses, stops in his tracks. He does not answer me, right away, but then he finally responds.
“It’s a boy, Steve,” he says, “I am going to have a son.”
“Well congratulations,” I say, “I think.”
“We are naming him, Reed. I am happy that it’s a boy,” he says,” I can pass on to him what I know about being a man, growing up in South Georgia and the country life.”
“Congratulations, sport,” Carl says as he makes his presence known.
“That you, Coach?” Bob says, “What are you doing here?”
“Yep, it’s me,” Carl says, “so you’re getting some sun in your birthday suit. You gonna burn that equipment up before you get another chance to be a daddy. It might cause some serious damage to your ‘gifts’ if you do not get covered up.”
Bob grabs his cock, balls in his right hand, and cups his hand under his balls with his left hand. He is boastfully proud of his manhood and is anxiously willing to show off for both Carl and I.
“My cock and balls can still fill your ass, again, Coach,” Bob says.
“I don’t know what you mean, Bobby?” Carl says.
I look over at Carl; I know Bob is not lying. He had already told me, he fucks Carl on a regular basis.
“Yes, you do,” I say, “I know about you two. Bob has already told me.”
Carl does not say anything in the seat next to me. He just eases back in his seat and tucks his head into his shirted chest. He eventually raises his head and looks forward. Silent.
“It’s alright, Carl,” I say, “Bob has a powerful cock; I don’t blame you for taking it, wanting him.”
Carl turns his head from looking forward to looking directly at me, he smiles at me now.
“I am on my way to the pond,” Bob says, “You guys what to join me?”
“That’s why we came out, “I say, “but then your mom said you were already married and your dad blew a gasket.”
“Yep, we got married last night,” Bob says,” why wait, so went and did it. She is six months pregnant.”
I say nothing at his latest news; the girl looked bigger to me than six months.
“Jump on the tailgate, sport, and we’ll head to the pond,” I say.
“I saw how much she was pregnant, you lead me to believe that she had just gotten pregnant,” I say.
“I wasn’t sure myself,” Bob says.
“C’mon, get on the tailgate,” I say, “I need a swim, you need a swim, and Carl has never been to the pond,” I say, “C’mon, hop on the truck.”
Bob walks to the back of the truck, drops the tailgate and plants his bare ass on it.
“Shit, that’s hot,” Bob yells out.
“Be a man and park your ass,” I yell out from my window.
He sits and we take off. As I ride the bumpy dirt road, he bounces around, holding on for dear life as we make our way along the rough road to the pond, until we finally arrive. I pull up to my usual spot and park.
“We’re here,” I say, as I burst forth from the door, overjoyed at the impending freedom from my clothes.
I grab either side of my metal snapped button-down shirt and yank on each side simultaneously; it pops open revealing my concealed hairy chest.
“Damn, that feels better,” I say.
“About damn time, I was afraid you were gonna throw me off the back,” Bob says as he jumps from the let down tailgate.
“Quit being a pussy and buck-up,” I say, “you made it here in one piece.”
I laugh at the situation.
Bob once again grabs his dangling cock between his legs to check for any damage.
“Nothings hurt, boy,” Carl says as he steps from the passenger side of the truck.
Carl and I laugh, together, at the absurdity of Bob’s feigned fear of his family jewels, his cock and balls being hurt.
“So you gonna get naked Coach or just gawk at my cock all day?” Bob says.
“I am going to get naked,” Carl says, “of course.”
Carl is wearing his coach’s shorts. He pulls his red pullover shirt over his head to reveal a muscular smooth chest, the direct opposite of Bob and me. He kicks his tennis shoes off and socks. He drops the traditional coaches’ shorts that he wears which are by worn by many coaches in high schools and colleges across America. You can tell a man is a coach by the distinctive shorts he wears. Carl Fletcher is no different. Underneath them, he has his white wide-banded Bike jockstrap on. He is so stereotypical of his position. Because of this, I bone up at the memories of my own youth, my childhood coaches, when I see him stripped down to his jock.
“Hmm, what memories come back to me when I see a wide-banded jock,” I say, happily.
“I can see that, are you gonna stare at me of get naked too, Steve?” Carl says.
“I am going to get naked,” I say.
I kick off my boots and socks, then the rest of my clothes. I am standing in my jockstrap exposed too. A breeze comes up and I feel the hairs of my ass rustle and stir; it causes my cock to come to life.
I grab both sides of the jockstrap and shuck it to the dirt.
I am naked.
My cock is hard.
Carl stands and stares at me, in my nakedness, he grabs his own strapped jock and yanks them down with merciless speed and fervor. His cock, hard, and full of pent-up longing, springs to life and bounces off his treasure trail going to his thick bed of pubes. Carl Fletcher, coach, is sporting a raging mighty hard-on; it garners the attention of all three of us.
“Damn, Coach,” Bob says, “what a nice cock, you are sporting.”
Bob grabs his rapidly inflating manhood and strokes his member. I join in and am the third with a massively raging hard-on.
“I remember the first time, I saw that thing in the locker-room,” Bob says, “I wanted it in my mouth but the weight room was full of the guys.”
“I know,” Carl says, “One of the guys came up behind me, in the weight-room and yanked down my shorts. I had not worn any jock that day, which was a rare occurrence. The minute I was exposed, my cock hardened up, instantly.”
“Yep,” Bob says, “it was quite a sight.”
“I grabbed my shorts, frantically” Carl said, “pulling the shorts over my rapidly growing erection and tried to act as though nothing had happened.”
“Not exactly,” Bob says,” you made us run sprints for a solid hour. You got us back.”
“I know,” Carl says, “but I had to show you guys who was the boss.”
“You told me about that, didn’t you, Carl?” I say.
“Yep, I did,” Carl says, “then I fucked you with such power that night because it turned me on that I had been exposed in front of the young guys.”
“I remember that even more,” I say.
“It was later after that, that I got a taste of your ass, Coach,” Bob says, “Remember?”
“Yep,” Carl says.
“…and what happened when you got that taste, Bob?” I ask.
***
Bob Warren Months ago.
(Still the 1980s.)
“Yes, yes, yes,” the muscled baseball-uniformed young man enters the locker-room echoing the same sentiments of the other men in his crowd. The yells of excitement fill the room. The sound is guttural, Alpha-like; it rings throughout the tight space as the victors celebrate on this day.
We won the game.
WE WON THE GAME!
We all shout together in the baseball locker-room.
I look over at him; he is the pitcher that struck out the player that caused our win of the game. His arm is powerful; his pitches have been clocked at close to 95 MPH.
I have also seen him stroke his pud when I shared a hotel room with him when we had an out-of-town game; the speed of his hand action as he worked his overly hard, engorged purple cock caught me in awe.
He lay upon the bed, naked, legs spread wide to allow easy access to his swelled cock, when I entered our shared room, unexpectedly. His brow was awash in sweat as he was working in pitched fervor to shoot his pent-up male load.
The cum that streamed forth from his cock as I walked in and found him splayed out on his double bed, it arched up from the heavily laden balls, shot across his bed, covering his comforter. The cum ropes whipped forth one, two, three man-juiced inspired arches from his dick. He gasps as the man-protein leaves his body. He did not move or try to hide his erection; he was in extreme ecstasy and did not care if he was seen.
I just stand, watching him and then quietly close the door behind myself as he came off his sexual high. My own cock rises to attention, in my shorts as I watch him.
We laughed after he finished that night, he explained before any big game he has to stroke his own personal bat and rev himself up for the game. This is his ritual.
I suspect he did the same thing last night or this morning before our victory today on the baseball diamond.
The yelps and yips echo throughout the testosterone-laden field house where the baseball and football players share, which is located by the diamond and empties into the stadium field. The football players have one side, the baseball players, the other and in the center is the large communal shower room, shared by all, which leads into the weight room that exits onto the football field.
Since neither team has games simultaneously, the locker rooms are not overly crowded on game days. Although both teams do workout together and several players are involved in both sports, it is an active college field house for the men and their respective coaches but that is not what is important now.
Celebrating our long sought after victory and much needed win over a rival college that has plagued us for years in our many attempts at beating them is well worth our excitement today.
“Aw right, men, calm down,” Coach Carl Fletcher screams out over his players.
“Hey guys, cool it,” an assistant coach bellows out in the room.
The room grows silent at the authority exhibited by him.
“Today we fought a hard fight to win this game. In the past, we lost numerous games to them, today, it has changed. Great job by everyone, “the Coach says,” guys, hit the showers and celebrate the win we had today.”
The guys let out a rambunctious yell and begin stripping off their soiled and dirty uniforms readying themselves to shower.
The locker-room becomes a sea of man-cock and musky smelly dirty uniforms; cocks are semi-erect as some fueled by the win and the sexual excitement extents to their members causing some to swell. No one cares as many are stirred in the thrill of victory. Many are sporting wood as they walk about readying themselves for an empty showerhead. The locker-room is packed with the many people, local newspaper reporters, and fathers of the players. It is a deep sea of masculinity.
I wait my turn and just sit nude on the bench in front of my locker. My own cock hangs down dangling vicariously between legs; I occasionally reach to fondle it. As other guys are doing the same as they mill about in the filled to capacity locker-room. I do not stiffen up from the sight of the other hardened cocks that are relatively close to my face. I am enjoying the sights as a few of them have gotten quite close to my mouth. The temptation to reach out and take a lick has been pushed out of my head. The sweat of our compacted room of masculinity is intoxicating. Sweat, pheromones and lust filled anticipation fuel the comradery that ignites my own needs and desires.
Coach comes and sits by me, each of us gaze about into the crowded locker-room.
“You played a good game today, Bobby” Coach says, “Your dad would be proud.”
As he says proud, I catch him gaze and drift down to my exposed cock. He adjusts his own bat in his coaches’ shorts as he looks at my own dangling man-meat. I reach down and give my cock a tug, letting him see me touch my equipment. A drop of cum leaks from my piss-slit, I spread it on my mushroom shaped helmeted cock. I linger as I feel more escape from it chambers. I move my hand as several drops leak and land on the tile floor of the locker-room.
Hastily, he looks away; he knows I have seen him leering at me.
“You gonna shower?” Coach asks me in a hurried voice.
Coach’s cock is hard in his shorts, the bulge is apparent.
He is aroused. I stay soft and let his mind wonder at my thickness and length, tempting him.
“Yeah, after the others are finished,” I say, “it is too crowded now. So I am just relaxing.”
“Naked?” Coach says.
“Of course,” I say,” how else should I be?”
“Okay,” Coach replies.
Coach walks away to his office. He does look back at me once he gets to his office door.
The locker room empties rather fast. There are places to go and people to hook up with; many of the guys have private celebrations to attend. I overheard some of the plans as I silently sat and listened to the goings-on of my fellow players.
Several of the guys are meeting their girlfriends; some are going to the river for a bonfire, which will eventually lead to many fuck sessions. I have no such plans, my girlfriend is pregnant. I am lucky if I get any pussy anytime soon.
I walk to the shower room and find a place in the back, in the far back.
I fondle my cock as the hot water steams up in my little corner of the room.
My muscles react to the heat of the spray as it covers my body; the stress of the game leaves my body. It was a victory, hard fought, and now I am feeling it.
I casually reach down in the heat of the shower and fondle my aching cock, during the intense game, my cock stayed hard in my jockstrap. This hardness and pressure in the tight confines of my too small jock kept me on edge as the adrenaline of the high-pressure game and the need to win added to the discomfort.
In the heat, I feel my balls and cock finally begin to relax. We won the game but now coming off that high, I am aching in places that hurt rarely.
I grab the bar of soap on the metal tray and begin to lather my head and the blonde fur covered regions of my body, paying special attention to my pubes and ass crack. With the lather, I tease my cock into full erection, I am horny now and my body is crying out for release.
“Quite a piece of wood you are sporting there stud,” I hear a voice say from behind me.
I turn to see Coach, standing right out in the middle of the large shower room.
He is naked.
He is jacking his own cock as he watches me.
“You like what you see Coach?” I say.
“I do, I most certainly do,” he says.
He walks to the adjoining showerhead, turns it’s on, adjusts it to his desired temperature, never letting his eyes leave me. He stands under the spray of his own shower, and wets himself up. In the watery baptism, his masculinity makes him all the more desirable.
I continue stroking as I watch him.
I hand him the soap, the same that I used, he accepts and begins to lather his body, ready to be cleansed.
He applies more soap to his ass; the suds are in streams of foam as they escape down the drain, the many that dot the room throughout.
“You like my ass, ball-player?” he asks me amorously.
“I do,” I answer without hesitation.
“Why don’t you put that cock in a place where it can be of more use?”
He turns his ass, now freshly cleaned in my direction, beckoning me.
His invitation for my cock is received.
“You want it don’t you?” I say in my most alluring voice.
“Yes, quit teasing and put it in my ass,” he demands.
“You best do what he says, Bobby,” a voice booms from the entranceway to the communal shower room.
It is Rex Corbett, the quarterback of the football team.
He is naked, leaning against the cement doorway, stroking his own rapidly growing cock.
“Coach Fletcher likes the cocks of the men who fuck to be steel-hard before they enter his tight ass,” Rex says,” don’t you Coach?”
“Yes, I do,” the Coach, answers him.
“You’ve fucked his ass, Rex?” I ask him.
“Yep, numerous times,” Rex laughs as he shares,” he’s had and wanted my cock since I became the team quarterback when I was a sophomore,” Rex brags.
“Now I have a senior quarterback cock up my ass, quite frequently now,” Coach Fletcher boasts as he bends over waiting for me to plug his hole.
“You gonna poke that man-hole Bobby?” Rex says, “Coach does not like to wait for cock.”
“Sure as shit, I am,” I say, “Is there anyone else in the field house.”
“Nope, just us three,” Rex says, “Everyone else has left.”
I align my monster-veined cock with the waiting ass of Coach.
“He likes to be fucked rough,” Rex informs me, “Can you fuck rough?”
“Yes, I can and do,” I answer him.
“You want a condom?” Rex asks.
“NO!” Coach says loudly and directly, “I want to feel your cock without restrictions.”
“Okay, Coach,” I say.
“I want your cum up in my ass too,” Coach says, “I want yours too Rex, I want your cum in my mouth.”
“Sure thing Coach, I can do that,” Rex says dutifully.
“Coach likes country boy cock, doesn’t he?” I saw aloud.
Rex thrust his hips forward, projecting his swelled member into the face of Coach.
Rex nods at me as he eases ever closer to Coach’s mouth before Coach inhales him, swallowing him to the hilt.
“Aren’t you fucking Marcie Radney, Rex?” I ask him as his cock slides down Coach Fletcher’s waiting gullet.
“Yes, I am,” he says, “Her and a few other girls too but I save some special time with the Coach on a weekly basis. My cravings cannot be satisfied by just drilling a girl’s pussy, I need some man ass.”
“You are fucking a few girls too from what I hear,” Rex tells me.
“I am,” I say.
“From what I hear, Molly Moore has a special thing for you,” He says.
“I fuck her regularly,” I say, proudly, but I like man-ass too.
“Oh okay,” he says, “but I think there is more.”
“What do you mean?” I ask puzzled and shocked by his comment.
“You best ask her about that,” he says.
“Are you gonna fuck me, Bobby or stand there jabbering?” Coach sounds perturbed.
“I am going to fuck you,” I say.
I jab my stiff member into Coach’s ‘invitational’ hole, he takes me, with a whispered moan as I bury my man-root up to the hilt in his ass.
“He feels good doesn’t he, Bobby?” Rex asks me.
“Fucking hell, he does,” I say.
“You gonna pound his ass like you said you do?” Rex says, “I wanna see it.”
“Oh, I will,” I boast.
My motions are swift and powerful. In the steam-filled shower room, the echoes of flesh against flesh fill the large communal wet room.
The Coach’s silky wet muscular walls of his ass are squeezing me with varying intensity.
I let out barely audible moans, as his ass grips me and brings me closer and closer to filling him with my much sought after spunk.
“Harder!” Coach says as he lifts his face off Rex’s swollen dick as he it enter and exits his mouth, face fucking him.
“You want it harder? You say, Coach?” I repeat after him.
“Yes,” he says.
“I thought you said you can fuck roughly, Bobby?” Rex taunts me, “Prove it. My 18 year old brother fucks his girlfriend harder than you are fucking Coach.”
Rex is taunting me so I will blow my load before him, he wants bragging rights about being able to last.
“You just worry ’bout the skull-fucking you are doing on Coach’s mouth,” I say, “You take care of that mouth, I’ll worry ’bout his ass.”
“Gettin’ tough now?” he says, “Ain’t you.”
“I am tough, “I say,” as tough as any damn football player.”
“Okay man, “Rex says, “I was just ribbing ya.”
I can feel the veins of my hard prick as it is being welcomed between Coach Carl’s wet slick walls of his ass, his muscles milk me of all I have to offer as I use my cock to satisfy his and my desires.
“Squeeze me, squeeze me, Coach,” I say,” milk me of my cum.”
“His ass is powerful,” Rex says, “He could crack nuts with that ass.”
“He is cracking nuts,” I say,” he is milking me, I can feel it.”
“Oh shit, it feels good,” I scream out as the pressure is steadily building-up in my balls, my nuts are about to be cracked and the baby batter will explode in the tight crevice of the Coach’s ass.
“You like fucking young guys, Rex, or just those older than you?” I ask.
“I fuck anything that can take my cock,” he says, “You want me to fuck you, Bobby?”
“No,” I say, “I do not want you to fuck me. I wouldn’t mind tearing up that sweet ass of yours though.”
“Not today sport, “he says,” but who knows, maybe one day.”
I want him to know I can handle him, that his cocky attitude is no match for me, him being the star quarterback and town hero makes him no better than me.
I did not expect that from him, he is a lunatic on the field, controlled madness.
Rex is a few years older than I am but I like what I see.
Rex constantly fondles his cock when he is dressed out in his uniform on the field. He often does not even wear a jock. When he sweats under the bright lights of the stadium, when the game is at play, his pubes are glaringly transparent through the white portions of his uniform. The running joke among the cheerleaders is who will be the next to sample his wares, currently it is the head cheerleader name Marcie Radney who is getting plugged by his cock.
“Pound my ass, boy, or is Rex going to have to take over and prove to you what a real man can do?” Coach says taunting me too.
“I can fuck your ass, “I say, annoyed, “I don’t need his damn help.”
I am getting angry now, these two are playing me. I know they are. In my anger, I slap his bare wet ass and hear the noise reverberate through the room.
“I can get rougher,” I say, “Can you take it?” I shout out as I increase my thrusting.
My cockhead begins to swell more as I it exits and enters his chute; he gets louder and louder as he can feel me swell in him.
“That’s right boy,” Carl says in-between thrust as he has removed his mouth from Rex’s cock.
“Pound that ass, Bobby,” Rex says, “just like Coach likes it.”
I can feel the cum rising up through my urethra.
“You’re about to blow aren’t you, Bobby?” Rex says.
I nod my head frantically as I feel the intense sensation travel up my back as the ecstasy overtakes my body.
My spunk explodes deep in the dark cavern of Coach’s ass, he screams as his load explodes out of his cock onto the tile floor of the shower room. As we both explode in unison, Rex unleashes his own load onto the face of Coach.
He cries out in deep satisfied pleasure along with us.
***
Coach Carl Fletcher Still in the 1980s.
“So the star quarterback, Rex Corbett, at the college fucks that sweet ass of yours too?” Steve says as he looks at me after Bobby completes his story, “How many on the basketball team fucks you?”
I smile at him, actually, three of them are fucking me too but I do not think I need to bring it up.
“Mmm,” I answer.
“You are quite the man-whore for the male athlete’s at the college,” he says, “Why haven’t you shared them with me?”
We laugh; I have been so worried about him finding out about my extra activities with the student body.
“Alright guys,” Bobby says,” I am sure both of y’all have made the rounds of the young male ass here in town. Y’all were bound to cross paths on some shared ass eventually.”
“We have,” I say, “you Bobby.”
Bobby smiles at the mention of his name.
“I am still hungry for that cock of yours, Bobby,” I say.
“Me too,” Steve says.
“You talked to Rex about doing a threesome, Bobby,” I asks, “Were you talking about double teaming Steve in that conversation?”
“Yes,” Bob answers.
“How ’bout a much bigger group of guys, Bobby?” I ask, “More than three.”
“An orgy?” Bobby ponders.
“Yeah, an orgy,” I say.
“An orgy?” Steve repeats, “I am game. Where?”
“Imagine a house for men where an orgy takes place on a regular planned basis,” Bobby says as the idea pops in his head.
“I would be there,” Steve says, “…and the men would be naked all the time. It would be a rule of the house. No clothes and hard cocks. How ’bout that?”
“I would be there,” I say.
“A house for men, mmm,” Bob, repeats himself.