gay

Author: admin

  • Daddy Frank and Carl the Chav Lad

    Chapter 1: Driving with Daddy

    Once a week on a Thursday evening it had been a similar routine for a while and yet it had not become boring for Carl. The thrill and the excitement of the public exposure and feeling of humiliation there in Daddies car, Carl a 19 year old frisky lad and Daddy Frank a dirty minded old bugger for whom Carl had become very fond.

    Frank was not Carl’s real Dad and certainly no oil painting. Yet his masculine energy and regular appearance was a major turn on for Carl, the large stocky build, the thinning hair the glasses and the rather large belly that hung over his trousers.

     In every way Frank just looked like an average and very ordinary Dad in his 50’s.

    Frank would pull up at the bus stop where Carl would be stood waiting wearing a tracksuit a thick gold chain and white trainers and looking like the Chav lad that he was. Carl would open the door to the car and sit on the passenger seat before the car pulled away without so much as a hello or any kind of greeting.

    Once the car was in motion Carl would slip his tracksuit bottoms and underpants down to his ankles and over his trainers before doing up his seat belt. In the warmer summer months he would remove any upper clothing too so that he was sat fully naked with the exception of his gold chain socks and trainers.

    Ron would be dressed in the same usual bland attire that suggested he was a man that never gave much attention to what was fashionable, more about comfort.

    The journey would begin by taking the third exit off the round about that filtered on to the motorway. Once the car had picked up speed Frank’s large hand would reach over from the gear stick and slap Carl’s bare thigh firmly and give it a good grab and a firm rub. His palm would strike his thigh again before lingering and edging further up, his fat fingers nudging against his scrotum.

    Carl would shave his balls and trim any other pubic hair short the morning before they was due to meet as Frank preferred it looking and feeling that way. Frank’s hand would grab grope and pull at Carl’s smooth nuts as he kept his attention on the road ahead, and Carl would gasp and groan his approval aware that any high sighted vehicles would get an eyeful of Frank’s hand on his equipment.

    Carl’s youthful pecker would quickly stiffen and stand proud and rock hard as Frank’s hand continued to fondle his balls roughly. The feeling of being so exposed and so out of control in his presents brought an adrenaline rush that added to Carl’s arousal as a steady flow of pre cum quickly ensued.

    Carl loved sitting there watching Frank’s hand and willing him to touch his achingly hard dick. The feel of the veins throbbing and pulsating as blood pumped into the shaft and the look of Frank’s chubby hand still groping and tugging at his ball sack.

    Eventually his hand would move on to Carl’s stiff prick making him gasp and groan

     “You’re a horny young scamp today aren’t you” he would always comment feeling just how rigid he had made Carl by his actions.

     “Bet you like fat dirty old men like me touching you don’t you”

     Frank’s own self admission at being a dirty old man was always enough to drive Carl wild and he would whimper his response

     “Yeah I sure do”

     “A pervy old bastard like me touching and rubbing your stiff hard penis”

     “Oh yeah” Carl would respond, the dirty words adding to the sensation of Frank stroking his dick.

    Frank knew when Carl was close, and purposefully he would get Carl real close, right on the frigging edge and then… stop. He would pull his hand away instantaneously leaving Carl squirming in his seat as his load threatened to shoot.

     “Don’t you fucking dare” Frank would warn him

     “I am not fucking done with you yet sonny boy”.

    It was then he would take his eyes off the road for an instant and give Carl an austere glare that suggested Carl would be in trouble if he disobeyed him, but Carl had no intention of doing that, and as he huffed and puffed he would feel the feeling of the orgasm subside before any ejaculate was released.

    “There’s a good lad. Keep doing what Daddy tells you and we will be good, understand?”

     Carl understood perfectly and was like putty in his hands ready to bend to his whim or passing desires.

    With his young passenger horned up and hard Frank would sometimes pull off the motorway to a rest stop that was located up a long narrow road and behind a mass of trees and hedges. He would pull over to the far side of the parking lot where inevitably other cars and sometimes vans and trucks would be parked.

    “Open your door” Frank ordered one evening after they had parked up.

     Carl obeyed and opened the passenger door wide open as his pecker stood like a flag mast, there sat with his safety belt still in place, his tracksuit bottoms and underpants still at his feet.

    A fellow driver got out of a sporty red car, a young dark haired guy wearing dark shorts and a white vest and numerous tattoos covering his muscular arms. He must have been in his mid 20’s and rather good looking and fit.

    The tall stranger took big strides as he walked with a swagger in his step and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear as he approached the open car door.

    “You gotta light there mate?” He asked in a deep voice as he looked down at Carl’s crutch and then over towards Frank with the cigarette now perched, hanging at his pursed lips

     “Sure” Frank replied rummaging around and pulling a lighter from his trouser pocket.

     Frank held it up over the central arm rest and flicked the switch to get the flame and the guy leaned forward, his hand reaching down and resting on Carl’s bare upper thigh as the tip of the cigarette reached the lighter.

     The guy puffed causing plumes of smoke to release in the car and suddenly his hand was on Carl’s stiff prick.

    He edged back a little, his hand still grasping Carl’s erection

     “Fucking nice cock you got there mate, you don’t mind if I have a quick play with your buddy do you mate?”

     Frank grinned as he looked down at the stranger slowly wanking Carl

     “No problem, fucking go for it, I think he is enjoying it” Frank said looking up at the strangers handsome face

    “Mm I reckon he is too, getting me fucking well boned up too mate” the stranger replied

    Frank looked at the strangers hand and then up at Carl

     “Why don’t you be a good lad and return the favour”

    The stranger lifted the fabric at the leg of his shorts with his free hand exposing his long hard dick and Carl reached out and grabbed hold of it.

    “Fuck yeah looks good” Frank groaned watching intently as the pair wanked each other with firm grips

    “You gonna join us mate?” the stranger asked looking at Frank

    “Nah you’re alright mate, I am happy enough just watching the both of you”

    “Sure, whatever floats ya boat, but I can suck you off if you like, no reciprocation required like” the stranger offered

    It dawned on Carl that he was not the only young guy into older men and wondered who this athletic good looking guy was more into, him or Frank. Not that it mattered really.

    The stranger lowered his head and Carl released the grip on his cock as the stranger’s warm mouth wrapped around his bell end before sliding down to his nut sack making Carl grind his hips forward.

     “Fucking hell yeah” Carl groaned closing his eyes for a moment and then turning to look at Frank

    “Go on fucking suck that cock” Frank said with a guttural sound to his voice that suggested he was enjoying the show being performed for him in his car.

    The strangers head bobbed up and down as he slobbered and drawled and all the while tossing himself off in a frenzied fashion.

    The stranger’s head pulled up off Carl’s aching cock that was now coated in a glossy sheen of spittle

    “Fuck I am seriously close mate, you sure I can’t blow you too, fucking it would really get me off big time” The stranger said with a real eagerness in his voice.

    Carl looked at Frank wondering if he would deny the handsome young stranger and could see him thinking about it

    “Get the fuck over here then, but no fucking dragging teeth”

     The guy scurried around to the other side of the car and Carl watched as Frank unzipped.

    In all their meetings Carl had never witnessed Frank’s cock hard before, he just got the impression that Frank was not up for that otherwise he would have probably bloody asked himself. Now Carl watched as Frank opened the driver’s side door and pulled his own impressively fat member free of his open zipper.

    “Fucking hell” the stranger said as he crouched down and handled the slab of thick firm moist meat

     “Get your fucking shorts off” Frank ordered in his usual no mess blunt manner

     The guy let go of Frank’s cock and pushed his shorts down and pulled them off over his trainers before resuming the position with his hand on Frank’s fat sticky prick.

     “Well you just gonna look at it or blimming what?” Frank questioned

    The stranger opened his mouth as wide as he could and Frank grabbed hold of the guy’s bollocks and pulled hard.

    “Nice set of gonads you got there” Frank said loudly as the guy winced and groaned as he struggled to get the thick girth in his mouth and cope with the discomfort of his bollocks being tugged.

    Frank grabbed at the guys cock and began to pull on it as he got sucked enthusiastically until the distinct groans could soon be heard over the strangers gagging.

    “You going to cum for Daddy are you?” Frank asked

    The stranger pulled his head up and gasped loudly as Frank continued to toss him off

    “Yes please, make me cum for you Daddy” the stranger pleaded as his face contorted

    An eruption of spunk shot all the way up Frank’s arm as the guy gasped groaned and pleaded

     “Yes Daddy, yes Daddy, yes make me cum for you please Daddy!”

    The stranger’s masculine manly persona ebbed away with his pathetic whimpers as he melted into Frank’s firm grip

    “Ah, ah, ah thank you Daddy, ah thank you Daddy, oh yeah thank you Daddy” the stranger repeated like a mantra as the last dribbles were squeezed and drained forcefully from his long cock.

    The stranger gasped as Frank pushed his own cock away and within moments the guy had grabbed his shorts from the ground and departed, yet the evening was not over yet. The act had caught the attention of another bystander.

    An old geezer with grey hair and a bushy white moustache and sideburns wearing a long grey trench coat and chequered flat cap stepped away from his parked car and began to walk over towards the pair. Frank reached over and began to stroke Carl once more, this time slowly and steadily, wanting to draw the man’s attention.

    The old gentleman walked passed slowly, his head turning as he got a good eye full and kept walking

     “Looks like he likes what he sees” Frank said looking towards the man who had walked passed but had turned his head to look back.

    Frank smiled at him and gave him a nod and the man slowed his walking pace before stopping and turning.

     “He is coming back for another look” Frank said still looking at the old man as his hand continued to slowly work up and down Carl’s stiff flesh rod.

    True to Frank’s statement the man looked around before making his way back and slowing as he got closer to the open car door, his gaze fixing on Frank’s hand as he stroked Carl’s erection. Frank released his grip and with the palm of his hand gives the underside of Carl’s cock head a gentle slap making it bounce up and down.

    The old geezer hesitantly steps a little closer and Carl guessed he must be in his 70’s. He has one hand beneath his trench coat out of sight no doubt having a bit of a rub as he eyes Carl curiously, a young piece of horny bait, fully exposed and fully aroused.

    Carl sees the old geezer look at Frank and whatever Frank does encourages him to step closer and reach out his hand. Carl feels the old man’s hand wrap around his cock and he lets out a gasp, another complete stranger gripping his hardness out in a public, the elderly gentleman’s nervously quivering hand stroking him as he crouches down to get a closer inspection.

    “Bet you fucking love that don’t you” Frank whispers in Carl’s ear

     “Some dirty old codger cunt old enough to be your granddad stroking your knob” Frank adds his voice sounding excited.

     Of course Frank can see the pleasure expressed all over Carl’s youthful face, the feeling of being used that comes from being groped by any passing stranger at the rest stop, the allure that comes from the touch from numerous unknown men of various ages and looks with no discrimination, just the opportunity of a fondling hand.

    Carl felt the zipper of his track suit top being pulled down by Frank as his smooth lean torso is exposed and then the feeling of Frank’s fingers rubbing his pert nipples.

    “You’re such a dirty little bugger” Frank growled into Carl’s ear as Carl closed his eyes tightly.

    The wonderful sensation of the old geezer stroking his throbbing cock and Frank caressing his nipples as he whispered to him, of course Carl was a dirty little bugger and he suspected that was part of the attraction for Frank, his willingness to allow his body to be explored by anyone in anyway.

    “Touch the old guy’s dick” Frank encouraged Carl with another whisper unheard by the stranger

    Carl reached out and slipped his hand beneath the grey trench coat and immediately his hand came into contact with the blokes erect prick that was pulled out through his trouser zipper.

    “Oh yeah, you feel that lad, is grand pops all boned up under there is he?” Frank asked with his warm moist lips against Carl’s ear, his breathing laboured and aroused

     “Yeah he is” Carl replies breathlessly, his fingers feeling the loose spout of wrinkled excess foreskin that hangs over the head, a pliable piece of skin that Carl is able to stretch over his finger to the pool of fluid beneath.

    “Grand pops willy all hard in your curious hand, bet he loves the feel of your youthful hand gripping him there” Frank continues as the old man’s body quivers and he lets out a deep groan of pleasure.

    “I think he is going to cum pretty quick. Tell you what, why don’t you suck him off, bet pops would love you doing that don’t you” Frank ads knowing the planting of the seeds is enough to bring the act to fruition

    Carl lurches forward as he pulls the erect cock free from the trench coat and before the elderly man can object Carl’s mouth has engulfed his cock. The man groans as his thighs shake and Carl feels the man’s hands grab the back of his head as he feels the pump action motion of his pecker.

    A thick salty load bursts into Carl’s mouth and Carl instantly begins to swallow and feel it slide down his gullet.

    “Fucking yeah good lad” Frank says loudly clearly pleased by Carl’s actions.

    The old man pulls away and nods a thank you before quickly departing.

    “Think that is it today, nobody else around. Close your door and let’s get back” Frank announced with a smug smile

    “Can I stay at yours tonight please…Daddy” Carl asked knowing damn well the effect the word Daddy had on Frank

    “Sure”

    As the car pulled away Carl recalled that late evening where it had all began…

    Chapter 2: Getting in cars with strangers

    Carl had left the party later than expected and as he stumbled to the bus stop under the bright glare of the street lights he could already imagine the sound of his parent’s voices as they expressed their dismay at his drunken state and the late hour.

    In the distance Carl could make out the back of the last bus and cursed loudly. Now he would have to wait in the rain and cold for the night bus that took the longest route possible to get him home.

    Carl was stood wet and shivering upon the pavement with no wear to take shelter as the rain began to pelt down. He watched as a silver car pulled over and flashed it lights. The passenger window wound down and Carl walked towards it.

    “Where you headed?” the stranger in the car asked

     “Charlton” Carl responded getting a look at the gentlemen at the wheel

     “Well I am going in that direction if you want a lift, you might be able to walk from there, although not the best weather for it” the guy said looking up at the sky through the windscreen

    Carl looked at his watch as his hair dripped with rain water and his damp tracksuit bottoms clung uncomfortably to his legs.

     Fuck it, Carl figured it was better than hanging around another hour for the night bus.

    Carl opened the door and clambered in and felt the wetness of his tracksuit pressing against his cold skin

     “Sorry, I appear to be a bit wet” Carl said rubbing his hand over his leg and looking at the stranger apologetically

     “It is only water, it will dry out eventually. Let me put the heated seat and the blowers on for you, try and warm you up a bit”

     “Cheers, thanks” Carl said just thankful to be out of the rain.

    “Good party was it?” The stranger asked cheerfully as he pulled away

     “Yeah, pretty good” Carl replied as he felt the heat begin to circulate which helped abate the shivering

     “Plenty of booze by sounds of it”

     “Amongst other things” Carl said chuckling and feeling the buzz slowly come back as his body warmed

     “Those trousers look sodden” the stranger said as his hand reached over and his palm rested on Carl’s wet leg.

    Maybe Carl was too wasted to realise what was really going on, or maybe he just did not care as the large hand remained on his leg longer than necessary. Carl did not object or give any indication that it made him uncomfortable so the hand lingered.

    “Blimey they really are damp, you will catch your death if you’re not careful” the stranger said with a considerate tone to his voice as his hand gripped firm

    “Yeah I had not planned on leaving the party so late, or the bloody rain” Carl replied looking out the passenger window at the down pour and aware the man’s hand was still in contact.

    “So you live with your parents?” the stranger asked as his hand moved to the gear stick to change down as he navigated a bend and then changing back up before his hand went back to Carl’s thigh, this time slightly higher up

    “Yeah I do, and the old man is gonna frigging kill me cos I am getting home this late”

    “Could you not have stayed overnight at your friend’s party?”

    “Yeah could have, should have, but didn’t” Carl replied ending with a deep huff as he continued looking out the passenger window

    “Listen your welcome to doss over at mine in the spare room, nothing special but at least you can get your clothes in the drier and get yourself properly dried off and sleep off the drink… amongst other things”

    Carl gave it some thought. The offer was tempting as the old man had threatened to kick him out next time he arrived home wasted, and he certainly felt all kinds of wasted at the moment. The thought of confrontation in his current state of mind also tilted the balance slightly towards the stranger’s kind offer.

    “Sure, fuck it, if it is no problem that is mate” Carl finally responded looking over at the stranger

     “Great, well I am sure it is better than trying to explain those dilated eyes”

     Carl giggled at the fact the stranger had clearly rumbled he was high as well as drunk.

    “Why don’t you take those track suit bottoms off and chuck them on the back seat and we can whack them in the drier as soon as we get back” the man suggested as his hand moved back to the gear stick and this time stayed there.

    “Yeah sure, whatever mate I can do that” Carl responded as he undone his seat belt and slipped down the damp trackies before pulling them over his trainers, truth be told it felt good to get the damn things off.

    “Your underpants damp too?” the guy asked looking down and then up at Carl’s face briefly before his attention went back to the road ahead

    “Err yeah they are actually, why?” Carl responded

    “Well you can just sling those on the back seat too if you want”

    Carl looked at the guy strangely as the penny began to drop that such a suggestion was way out of the norm for a lad he had just met and picked up for a ride, fuck the bloke had not even asked his name and he was telling him to take off his underwear in the car.

    “I err dunno, I think I am alright actually” Carl responded

    “Well up to you, I mean they will have to go in the drier anyway so just a case of when you peel them off. If you want to sit there for another 20 minutes in wet underpants that is totally your choice fella”

    Carl pondered for a moment and as he felt the wet underwear clinging against his skin it began not to sound such a bad suggestion.

    “You sure not got anything down there I have not seen before lad” the stranger added chuckling loudly making Carl feel silly at his reluctance.

    “Yeah I guess mate, we all have the same equipment right”, with that Carl pulled his underpants down and over his trainers and tossed them on the back seat before doing up the seat belt and resting his hands on his groin in a self conscious manner.

    It should have felt weird sat in a stranger’s car with his kecks off, yet Carl was feeling a very different sensation at the moment. A sensation that was beginning to make things grow and expand beneath the palm of his hands and a realisation he had no means to hide it if he got a full on woody.

    The more Carl thought about the current predicament the more turned on he become until he had to rest his hands side by side and apply pressure to hold his stiff pecker in place.

    “So is that more comfortable now?” the stranger asked

     “Yeah sure” Carl responded as he felt his cock throbbing with no signs of subsiding anytime soon

     “Good, well not much further and you can get properly dried off and in the warm”

     “Sounds good” Carl said hoping his cock would have softened a little by then so as not to be so obviously aroused.

    Carl was aware of the stranger occasionally glancing down at his lap and Carl fidgeted a little in his seat as he felt the moist tip of his leaking cock dribbling pre cum over his fingers. He knew right then there was no way this hard on was going down without a good wank.

    The area they pulled into looked less familiar to Carl although he knew the general location. The houses were more middle class than where he lived around the council estate and you could tell by the cars in the drives that the people were well off.

    The car took a few turns down residential streets before he slowed and pulled into a drive and a double garage door opened with a bright shining light from within. The car pulled directly inside and the garage door closed.

    “Here we go then” the man said reaching around and grabbing Carl’s track suit bottoms and underwear from the back seat before opening his door

     “Here I will take those” Carl quickly added figuring he could at least use them to cover his predicament for another moment

     “That is OK, no need I have them, just get the rest of your kit off and I will put them straight in the drier in the garage”

    “Oh right” Carl responded not having planned on the drier being so close to where the car was parked.

    There was no place to hide and to add to that he was expected now to remove the rest of his clothing. Carl waited for the man to get out of the car first before opening the passenger door and holding down his cock with one hand as he clambered out.

    “Can I use the toilet?” Carl quickly asked trying to bide more time and the possible opportunity to rub one out quickly

     “Yeah, let me take your clothing first and I will show you where it is” the gentleman replied as he opened the drier door and loaded it

    Carl figured there was no other option at this stage, the simple fact was this bloke was about to see him in his full glory, a full on fucking stonker to boot.

    With reluctance and one hand still pinning down his stiff prick Carl pulled at his zipper on his track suit jacket and managed to get it all the way down but there would be no getting it off one handed that was for sure.

    “Hurry up then get it all off, we gotta get you in the warm” the gentlemen said impatiently.

     Carl kicked off his wet trainers and then stood looking a little awkward

    “Don’t worry, I told you I have seen it all before and it is not like I don’t know you have got a bone on right now”

     Carl looked surprised at the statement

     “I noticed in the car so no big deal lad, come on get them clothes off” the man said holding out his hands.

    Carl let his hand move away and his cock sprung upwards and bounced a few times before staying pointing up at the ceiling. Carl removed his jacket and t shirt before wobbling a little as he removed his socks one by one and felt his cock and hefty balls swaying from side to side.

    The man put the remaining clothes in the drier and switched it on as Carl stood hands at his side waiting patiently. There was certainly no point now in trying to cover up and Carl followed as the man lead him to the living room and turned on the contemporary gas fire with its large open flames.

    “Warm yourself up right here” the gentleman said offering Carl no towel or dry clothing to put on.

     Carl felt the welcome heat against his skin and the throbbing of his exposed erect cock. Sure he had wanked off with mates before but he was not used to a complete stranger seeing him naked with a hard on.

     Yet there was something undeniably exciting about the experience, a thrill created by being on display in such an erotic fashion with an older man clearly leering at him. His eyes focused on his erect tool as it bobbed up and down in a hypnotic manner.

    “You certainly are a horny little scamp aren’t you” the man commented before adding
    “Bit of an exhibitionist, you like being seen naked and erect” 

    Carl did not respond but his cock bobbed up and down again as if nodding in agreement to the statement.

    “Daddy seeing you hard and stiff, say it, go on, say I like Daddy seeing my hard erect penis”

    Carl took a few short shallow breaths feeling weird about the comment but responded anyway

    “I like Daddy seeing my hard erect penis” Carl announced and felt his cock throb so hard that he thought he was going to burst a blood vessel

    The man grabbed his balls and tugged making Carl gasp

    “These sure look full to bursting” the man said holding on to Carl by the knackers

     “Bet you got a good pent up load for Daddy, or maybe more than one load” the man said eyeing Carl curiously

     “You want Daddy to sort you out do you?”

    “I err” was all Carl got a chance to say before he felt the man’s other hand wrapped tight around his firm shaft.

    Carl groaned loudly with pleasure as he closed his eyes and felt the gripped fist begin to stroke up and down.

    “Ah ah” Carl whimpered

    “Oh yeah, you like it when Daddy Frank does that don’t you”

    Frank Carl suddenly thought to himself on the sudden hearing of the man’s name and then feeling his grip tighten

    “Yes Daddy” Carl found himself replying under his breath at the sensation of the clamped fist which made him produce copious amounts of pre cum that Frank than began using as a natural lubricant.

    “Oh fuck yes Daddy Frank” Carl gasped loudly this time as the stroking action and the tugging of his nuts continued

    “Your already close” Frank said as he continued to stroke

    “Yes” Carl responded feeling the raise of the sensation

    “You want Daddy to milk your penis for you or do you want to finish it yourself?” Frank asked as his hand motion suddenly paused

    “Please milk my penis Daddy” Carl begged yearning to spunk his load with Frank’s large hand stroking him firmly

    Frank began to stroke once more and this time picked up the pace as he looked at Carl direct in the eyes and spoke

    “You’re a dirty lad. Wanting Daddy to wank off your stiff prick, wanting Daddy to milk you”

     “Ah yeah” Carl whimpered loudly knowing that he was about to jizz

     “Fuck yes, please fuck please Daddy” Carl added feeling right on the brink

    “If you think you get a high from alcohol and drugs you should experience the high from forbidden sex” Frank said as Carl groaned once more and let loose a thick spray of cum…

    Carl looked out the window as the car pulled up the street where Frank lived and he knew tonight he wanted to experience more manly pleasures than ever before.

     Feed back and votes as always welcome
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  • Harassing dad in his sleep

    I started noticing my dad in a way i never had before . My eyes would simply drift to his crouch and the bulge that was always noticeable because he was sporting a big package . My dad didnt go to gym but physical labor made his body big with well defined muscles even in his 40s. For years id get aroused when id see him shirtless wearing only tight shorts in the summer. 

    First time i got to  see him fully naked in all his glory without having to settle with tiny bits of him i could see through peep hole on bathroom door was when we were house-sitting aunts house while she was on vacation with family and i was determined to make best of it since year before i saw him laying in the yard tanning and he took his underwear off too and i saw his big dick for first time in ages. So anyway i knew he likes sleeping naked when were house-sitting so i put laptop in bedroom under excuse i needed AC in that room cause  its too hot and i felt more comfortable working on my laptop there. 

    Ive set up webcam to record all day and pretended to burn dvds only occasionally entering room leaving him alone to get dress etc and expose himself. I also started taking showers with doors open and casually walking around naked after it and soon to my delight he got comfortable with it he didnt mind me entering bathroom bunch of time while he was also naked. I also would turn my cell phone camera on to record in the bathroom when id take a shower to see if he will peek in or something. So in matter of 3-4 days he got really reaaally comfortable with all the naked-ness that was going on with  both of us so he  would only wear boxers during the day and he didnt mind me going in and out of bathroom when he was naked and he even changed in front of me once. 

    Then one night i went downstairs into the bedroom to pretend im checking something on laptop and noticed he was sound alseep. I laid down next to him and pretended to read ebook on my cell and after a while i shut it off and deided to pretend i fell asleep in his bed while reading. Soon enough i started touching him and getting closer and closer to him.  So anyway i slowly placed my hand on top of the covers where his dick wold be and noticed something poking my hand. It was his pubic hair , thats when i realized hes NAKED. 

    Although i wanted to touch his dick under the covers he would always turn around or something so id get scared. I managed to crawl down and quickly lick his dick few times even put it in my mouth. he wasnt hard at first but when he started getting there he turned his back facing me so i didnt have access to his dick anymore.

    I spent whole night spooning against him when i took my boxers off , i was a big spoon and could barely wrap my arm around his big body it was so hot . Later in the morning i put my boxers on again and fell asleep for real. Next night was even beter . Everything happened like night before , i hung out upstairs until he fell alseep then i came down and continued reading my ebook in bed with him.This time he wore only shorts which was disappointing . I spent some time just touching his body and i managed to pull the left side of his shorts a bit down when he was sleeping on his side. 

    Then he turned on his back and i placed my hand on his dick which was already super hard. I was so excited i reached into his shorts and pulled the head out. Then i finally got courage and pulled his shorts down completely exposing his dick. I was so horny i didnt even care if i get caught anymore i got down and swallowed his dick.

    It was too big i couldnt put it all in my mouth and i choked a little since i went to swallow it whole but overestimated size and thickness of his dick.  My teeth were scratching against his dick because it was so big. I sucked and licked it all over , even put one of his balls in my mouth at some point. It felt amazing to have my own fathers thick , warm , salty dick in my mouth . His breathing changed so i thought he mightve been awake , every time id come for air after sucking him id whisper to him to fuck me . 

    With sucking his dick for so long i got even bolder and rubbed spit on my ass to get it wet. I slowly sat on his dick , pain was unbelievable i felt like his dick was tearing me apart so i gave up and went to bathroom to rub some of my aunts lotions on my ass. Then i came back and holding my dads dick i aimed it at my asshole as i sat on it again. Pain was intense but his dick was sliding in slowly. When i was sitting finally on his entire dick it felt amazing but hurt too much when i tried to ride him.

     Looking at his muscled body while i was crouching on his dick turned me on so much but pain was just too much so i got off and continued sucking him for a while.Then i laid next to him and jerked him off slowly cause i wanted him to cum. 

    I took his left arm and put it on my dick and HE STARTED JERKING ME OFF and squeezing my dick really hard . I was in heaven . I was sure he was awake now so i reached to turn his face  toward me but then he jumped and woke up . I pretended to be asleep my hand still around his dick . He asked what i was doing but i ignored him and he just turned away and continued sleeping. 

    Next day we both acted normal like nothing happened . When evening came i didnt go to sleep in the bedroom cause i didnt know what to expect , whether he’d kick me out or let me in. Afterwards every time id be sure hes sound asleep and we were alone id try to get to his dick but i rarely could . I sucked him once again last summer when he fell asleep at grandmas . 

    —————————————————————————————————————————–

    If there are other guys with similar stories id like to get in touch , my email is [email protected] , i have pictures of my dad naked too if someone wants to trade …

  • My stay at the motel

    THE MOTEL

    By Mighty Mouth

    I had a three-month assignment as a computer consultant that I was not very happy about. It was in a small town of only 6,000 people, and worse yet, located in a dry county. However I knew this ahead of time, so I loaded my car with champagne, whiskey, red wine, and brandy. I bought lots of beer, though I hate it. The beer was part of my big plot. I also bought a large cooler, to buy ice and keep the beer and champagne cold.

    Besides an upscale inn off the interstate, there was only a run-down motel in the center of town. I chose the motel in order not to spend too much money, and because it fitted into my scheme. I phoned several days in advance of my arrival to reserve a room with a double bed. Thus I made sure that I would have a room when I arrived. The reason for the double bed will be explained shortly.

    I learned that there was a group of construction workers staying at the motel, who were brought in from other places. There weren’t enough sufficiently-trained locals available. Since I’m only into macho straights, and just like to suck dick, I figured that this might be a good chance to get some down my throat.

    I arrived in late afternoon. The motel was off the street a bit, with a total of twelve rooms in two rows, six on each side, with the buildings facing each other, and a parking space in front of each room. One room functioned as the office for the motel. Each room had a couple of lawn chairs outside of it, should one want to take in the sights. And I wanted to do just that! There was a greasy spoon diner down the street, where I could at least go for take-out food, in order to enjoy wine with dinner in my room. I did do breakfast at the diner.

    My room had the usual small frig, and an air conditioner that had seen better days. Since this was the middle of summer, the A/C was essential. I packed as much beer as I could into the frig. It had a tiny ice tray, which nevertheless served its purpose. I cracked a bottle of champagne, and poured it into a paper cup over the ice. Then I went outside to sit in a law chair to observe and to enjoy my pre-prandial.

    About 5:30 a car pulled up to the room on my left side, and out stepped a good-looking guy in his early thirties. He was about 5ʹ 10.ʺ I could tell instantly that he was a construction worker. I greeted him, told him my name was Jim, that I would be staying there three months and wanted to know my fellow residents. He walked over to me and introduced himself as Harry. I asked him if he would like a cold beer, and he answered “Hell yes, I need that after a day of hot, hard work.” I guessed that he probably didn’t have any booze in his room, and would need to travel to a neighboring county to purchase alcohol. I’ve been told that I like every Tom, Dick or Harry. Naturally I answered no, I don’t like any Tom or Harry. But in this case I made a concession.

    He sat in my other lawn chair to drink his beer, also from a paper cup. Being very bold, I started the conversation by asking him personal questions such as if he were married. He replied that he was, and missed his wife and kid, but because his wife worked, she and the kid couldn’t join him.

    Pursuing my bold plan, I asked, “What do you do for sex here?  I’m sure the local girls don’t put out.”

    He replied, “What do you think? It’s Rosie Palm and her five sisters.”

    Now I knew I could begin closing in on my potential conquest. Guessing that he didn’t bring a computer with him, I told him, “Hey, I have lots of porn on my laptop. Would you like to watch some?”

    “Yeah, great idea,” was his reply.

    So we went into my room and I flipped on my laptop at the small table and opened my porn files. He sat at the laptop, and I sat nearby on my bed. I love watching guys’ reactions to porn, and was anxious to see how long it would take him to get hot and bothered. Obviously devoid of sex as he was, it didn’t take more than three or four minutes before he began to grope himself.  I could see a noticeable swelling from where I sat.

    He groaned, “Oh shit, this is getting me really worked up.”

    I commented, “Too bad there’s not a handy hole to stick your cock into.”

    He replied, “Man you can say that again.”

    I decided to take the next step. I asked if he liked blow jobs.

    “Hell, who doesn’t,” he shot back.

    “Do you accept blow jobs from men,” I asked hesitatingly.

    “Man, in my situation a mouth is a mouth.”

    By this time he probably figured what I was leading up to. I asked, “How about I give you one now?”

    Nevertheless he threw me a surprised look. I told him to come over to the bed, take down his pants and shorts and lie with his legs hanging over the front. He practically leapt up from his chair and came to the bed. As he did so, I got up to let him lie down. He didn’t waste a second pulling down his pants and shorts, and by the time he was ready, I was kneeling in front him.

    I said, “This is going to be the best blow job of your life,” as I pulled out my full dentures and put them into my pocket.

    My toothless gums worked their usual magic, and he came rapidly.

    Afterwards, he remarked, “I gotta take a shower, I’m sweaty all over.” As if I hadn’t noticed.

    I replied, “No problem. Just knock on my door when you need a repeat. I usually get back from work by 5 p.m.”

    NIGHT #2

    My second night followed the same routine—sitting outside with my paper cup of champagne. Soon two cars pulled up to the room next door. Harry stepped out of his car, and a guy I hadn’t seen the previous day, got out of the other.

    Harry came over to me and asked, “Hey, how’s it goin’? This is my roomie Bob. I told him about you.”

    “Everything?” I asked.

    Harry only gave me a sheepish grin in reply.

    I thought, “Hallelujah I’m going to double my pleasure today.”

    “Harry, go inside and get yourself and your buddy a beer.

    While Harry was inside, I told Bob to bring over one of the lawn chairs from their room. Bob looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a just-average body and face. When Harry returned, I said, “Hey guys, let’s get out of this awful heat and relax inside.”

    Once inside, I asked Harry, “Same entertainment as last night?” He nodded an enthusiastic yes. This time Bob sat at my computer, and Harry stood beside him. I could tell that Harry was ready for action, so I told him to take off his pants and shorts and lie down on my bed. I remarked, “I’m sure you two have seen each other in the nude before.”

    “Harry answered, “No problem,” and just like that took off came his sweaty clothes. I got to work immediately, but Bob turned around so that he could see the action on the bed.

    I came up off Harry’s dick long enough to say, “Hey Bob, get your stuff off too and join Harry on my bed.” He was undoubtedly horny too, and he did so immediately.

    I now had one of my favorite scenarios at hand, namely two studs lying side-by-side, with me alternating from one prick to the other. And I was in cocksucker’s heaven! I felt that the old expression “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, all good cocksuckers get to heaven” was apt here.

    Harry was a fast comer, so I polished him off quickly and turned my attention to Bob. But my experienced mouth and throat worked its magic and he didn’t take very long to unleash what was probably a juicy load. I couldn’t tell because he shot way down my throat. I could feel his throbbing cock in my mouth as he was coming. They don’t call me mighty mouth for nothing.

    They dressed, I gave them each a beer, and they were out the door, but not before thanking me for the favor.

    NIGHT #3

    Soon after arriving from work on my third day, a car pulled up to the other side of the motel and a handsome kid who looked to be about 19 or 20 got out. I waved at him, and he waved back.

    “Wow, I’d like to get him,” I thought.

    Harry arrived shortly afterwards, so I asked him if he knew the kid who lived in room 5. He said that he did, that the kid’s name was Alan, and was one of the construction crew.

    I asked Harry if he thought he could fix me up with the kid, and he reckoned he could. Harry was fast becoming my pimp. I said, “Harry, get yourself a beer and go over there and chat him up.”

    Harry did as told, and shortly returned with Alan in tow. Alan was a blond, about 6 feet, with plenty of muscle. He made my tongue get hard and my throat twitch. I hoped that the muscle between his legs would be equally big.

    I introduced myself to Alan and asked if he would accept a beer.

    “Yeah, thanks man, that sounds great,” came his response.

     “Come inside and I’ll get you one,” I offered.

    Harry said that he was anxious to take a shower, and excused himself. This left me alone with my prey. Perhaps Harry didn’t feel comfortable enough with Alan to hang around for what he knew was the inevitable. I gave my usual spiel, and Alan was immediately interested. My proposition routine continued and Alan was a quick conquest. He asked if he could take all of his clothes off, because he liked it that way. I told him that I would love to see his big muscular body. And what a specimen!

    My fairy godmother was kind to me, and sure enough Alan had a prick to match his body. I got him into the usual position, which legs hanging off the bed.

    With my cumulative experience I have discovered that straight guys display three attitudes while they are getting their dick sucked. On the one hand, there are those who stay engrossed in a porn video, ignoring their blow job, and those who love to watch their cock going in and out of a mouth. The third group just relaxes, shut their eyes, and enjoy their blow job. Alan is of the second category. As soon as I engulfed his prick, he was no longer interested in the video. My live performance was more fascinating. There are also two other types of guys—those who don’t utter a peep while they are getting blown, and those who are talkative and noisy.

    Alan was a talker, which I love. Right away, he was saying” Yeah suck my big cock, you are really a great cocksucker. Best blow job I’ve ever had.”

    Then he put both hands on my head and began to push it up and down. I love it when guys do this. It shows that they are really into the action. I guess this kid had been around the block a few times. When he shot his big load, he moaned loudly, almost yelled, to show me how much he was enjoying his orgasm.

    After he came, he relaxed, and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. So I asked, “Why don’t you take a shower in my room, since you are already naked?”

    While he was showering, I refreshed my paper cup with champagne, and mused about how delightful he was. I was sure that he would like to get more blow jobs from me. I thought, “This is going to be great for me. It compensates for my being a prisoner in this god-awful town.”

    When he got out of the shower and was dressing, he told me, “I enjoyed that.  Can we do it again sometime?”

    Rather bold of him, I thought, delighted. I replied, “Sure, any time you want it, I’m ready for that great dick. You know how to find me, and I don’t go out after work except to buy a carry-out dinner. Knock on my door any time you want.”

    NIGHT #4

    The next night I didn’t see Harry. Perhaps he had things to do after work. Besides, I had helped him to get rid of some pent-up sex needs, so perhaps he was slowing down his visits. A young family with a handsome daddy and two small children arrived to occupy the room on my right. I thought it would be nice to get into daddy’s pants, but decided to not even try.

    There were men arriving that I hadn’t seen before, but most of them didn’t strike my fancy. After all, I do have some standards. There were also a couple of guys I had already seen, but my instinct told me not to approach them in any way, or suffer a broken face.

    Soon Alan came into the motel, parked in front of his room and came directly over to me. I already knew his main reason for doing so.

    “Hey, how’s it goin?’ he asked.

    “I’m great. Let’s go and relax inside,” I replied.

    I offered him a beer, and then he asked, “Mind if I get comfortable?”

    I replied, “Not all. Let me have the pleasure of undressing you.”

    He didn’t bother to ask me to put on a video. He was ready to watch a live sex show again. I really liked his openness.

    NIGHT #5

        While sipping my usual champagne outside, a fancy sports car drove into the motel, and pulled up in front of the office. A nicely dressed guy who looked to be in his early 30s got out. I thought he was a bit upscale for this dump. Shortly he came out with a key, and drove his car to the room on my right. I greeted him with a nod and said hello, as he went into his room. He rushed back out and looked angry as hell.

        “The damned air conditioner isn’t working. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”

        He stormed over to the office, but soon returned.  He told me that they had no other rooms available, and it was too late to get the A/C fixed today. He stated that he had tried to get a room at the Inn, but they were booked up, and that he was just too fucking tired to get back in his car and travel on to the next town.

        I said, “Why don’t you come inside my cool room and have a cold beer or a whiskey, or even champagne, if you wish. Perhaps I have an offer that you won’t refuse.”

    “Hey, I’ll take you up on that,” he answered with a big smile. “By the way, my name’s Pete.”

    Once inside I got a chance to size him up. He looked to be about 5’ 10”, and had a nice, closely trimmed beard. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, nor was he the ugliest. He had a decent body, probably from gym workouts, but was not overly muscular. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but that means nothing.

    “So what is your offer?” he asked, as he sipped his whiskey.

    I answered, “Well you are welcome to spend the night in my room. The only problem is that I have only this double bed. But I promise not to do anything that you won’t like.

    He threw me a very puzzled look, and said, “Let me think about it.”

    I told him that I had some good porn on my computer and asked if he was interested. He replied that he was, but said, “I need to take a shower first, I’m all sweaty.

    “I replied, “You can take a shower in my room if you want.”

    He threw me another puzzled look, but said OK and went into the bathroom. I began to think about all of the possibilities of his sleeping in my bed. He didn’t take longer than 5 or 6 minutes, and came out wrapped in just a towel. I thought, “Wow, this guy is really informal.”

    A video was ready, and I told him that he could sit at the computer, or relax on my bed to watch. He chose the bed. I thought, “This is getting more interesting by the minute.”

    Almost at once he showed a reaction and I went into my routine. As usual, he discharged quickly, and then surprised me.

    “Yeah, I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m straight, leaning to bi, so it’s no problem for me to sleep with another guy.”

    I told him that I was going to the nearby greasy spoon to buy a take-out meal, and that he was invited to join me. He took me up on my offer. When we returned with our food, he also accepted wine. I began to like him more each minute.

    We watched some TV, but mostly chatted. He told me that he was a salesman and spent most of his time on the road. He commented that he didn’t have time for a steady girlfriend, and that he got rid of his sexual frustrations by letting guys suck him off at rest stops. About 9 p.m., I told him that I was early-to-bed and an early riser. He said it was no problem, that he was dog-tired too.

    Once into bed, under a thin blanket, he remarked, “Hey I enjoyed your blow job.”

    I replied, “Well, I like to please.” With that I reached over and grabbed his dick. To my great surprise, he did the same to mine. His tool immediately started to get hard again, as did mine. Usually I just jerk off after I’ve had a delicious trick, so this was a new experience for me.

    He began to jerk me off, and before long, I shot my wad. I said, “Now it is my turn. But I’m gonna do more than jerk you off,” as I threw back the blanket, I scooted down on the bed, and began to perform. My mouth was at his cock level, so I told him to turn on his side and fuck my mouth good. This he did. We both fell fast asleep, and only woke at the crack of dawn.

    We went out to have breakfast together and he asked me how long I would be at the motel. I told him and he remarked, “Hey, I often pass through here. Give me the phone number for the motel and your room number, and I’ll alert you when I am coming through again.”

    NIGHT # 6

    The family that ran the hotel had a teen-age son, whom I guessed at the most to be 18. He was cute as hell, but I cautioned myself, “Stay away from that jail bait.” I had seen him several times already, doing chores around the motel.

        Obviously he had noticed me too, because he came over to me and introduced himself as Charlie. He told me that he enjoyed working around the motel after school, because he got to meet interesting people.

    “Hmmm, what does mean?” I wondered.

    “What kind of interesting people?” I queried.

    “Well, people from other places that are different than the folks around here.”

    I began to wonder if he might have had a male-to-male experience and was trying to feel me out, not feel me up. He chit-chatted a little longer, then excused himself. It was a quiet evening.  No one knocked on my door, so I called it an early night and turned in.

    To my surprise, the next evening Charlie came over again. I decided to try to ascertain if my intuition was correct. I plied him with the usual questions: did he have a girl friend, did he get much, etc.

    “No, it’s not easy in this town. I did get to screw a girl here in her room once,” he responded. He was obviously an open-minded kid for such a backward place. He had put the wheels in my head to spinning.

    So I risked a question. “I hope you won’t be insulted, but did any guys who have stayed here offer to give you a blow job?”

    He was not at all taken aback and answered, “Yeah a couple of times.”

    “So what was your response?” I coaxed. I decided that this kid was fishing, just as I was.

    “Well, don’t mention this to anyone, but I let them do it to me,” he confided.

    I got bolder and declared, “I’ll bet you’re always ready for another one.”

    “You got it,” he answered.

     “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come inside for a little while. Do you have any time now?”

    “Sure, I’m done with my chores for this afternoon, and dinner won’t be ready for another hour.”

    Once inside I inquired if he liked to watch porno. I was already way along the road, and thought that my destination could be the county jail.

    “Who doesn’t?” he affirmed. I only got to watch some once at a buddy’s house.” I guess Charlie’s dad must have put an adult block on his computer.

    “If you want, I could show you some right now,” I offered.

    “Right on!” he beamed.

    “Sit down in front of my computer, and enjoy yourself,” I advised.

    No need to repeat my modus operandi again. So I saw the tell-tale sign that he was getting stimulated by the movie.

    Taking the final step, I enquired if he would like a blow job right now.

    “Hell yes,” came his enthusiastic answer.

    “So come lie down on my bed, and I’ll give you one.”

    His calm acceptance of my offer verified my suspicions of what he had been hoping for all along.

    Then onto my bed, and the usual “lower you pants” requirement.

    Once I engulfed his medium size prick, I noted his sublime facial expression. Bingo. With my technique he came very quickly. When we were finished, he hurriedly dressed, and said, “I gotta get goin.”

    I thanked him, and he was out the door.

    Charlie was my final conquest. I decided that my stable was now large enough to keep me satisfied for my entire stay. And satisfied I was, many times. Time flew by and soon I had to reluctantly leave my paradise.

  • All Fools’ Day Foolery

    The phone in the hotel room woke Kavanagh up, and he turned to reach for it and his cigarettes on the nightstand in what was still darkness preceding dawn. Encountering a prone body between him and the nightstand, though, he fumbled around long enough for the phone to stop ringing.

    “Fuck,” he exclaimed.

    “Yes, please,” a sleepy voice said, as a hand groped for his cock. He managed to reach the top of the nightstand with his hand, turned on the lamp there, and reached for his cigarettes and lighter. He lay back against the headboard, lit up, and looked down the length of his torso to where Kyle now was crouched, sucking his cock. They’d come a long way during the night. Kyle could now take most of the cock in his mouth without gagging and all the way to the hilt in his ass. He’d forever be one of the quickest graduates of Kavanagh’s “Breaking In” academy.

    Kavanagh smoked the cigarette down to the butt while Kyle sucked him to an erection. Then, stubbing the butt out in an ashtray on the nightstand, he pushed Kyle over on his back[ came up on his knees between Kyle’s thighs; grabbed Kyle’s ankles, jerking the younger man’s legs apart and raising them; and pushed his knees under Kyle’s buttocks. As Kyle arched his back and groaned deeply, Kavanagh thrust strongly inside him and took him quickly and vigorously, adding fresh cum to that which had been deposited in Kyle’s passage repeatedly through the night.

    As they had established in the coffee shop when Kavanagh’s rubber had failed him, there was no reason for them not to enjoy the delights of barebacking now.

    Kavanagh had just finished taking Kyle a second time for the morning a half hour later when the phone rang again. This time Kavanagh was sitting on the side of the bed, Kyle in his lap, impaled on the cock, his torso arched back toward the carpet at Kavanagh’s direction and his hands gripping Kavanagh’s ankles. Kavanagh was pulling the young man’s channel on and off his cock. Both men were still enjoying a raw, skin-on-skin slide and the gushing of cum inside the channel. Kavanagh was steadily using more demanding positions with the fresh young waiter. He figured that by tonight, he could bind Kyle and start using toys with him.

    The blast of Kavanagh’s load coincided with the ring of the telephone. He picked it up after signaling with a hand on Kyle’s belly that he was to stay where he was, and Kavanagh talked into the phone as he moved his hand to Kyle’s cock and masturbated him to an ejaculation.

    “You think you can find the corner of Charles and Frenchmen on the other side of the Quarter from you?” No other introduction, but Kavanagh recognized the voice of Leon Monroe.

    “Yea,” Kavanagh answered. “I was there last night.”

    “Where and why?”

    “Felippe’s Steak house. For a steak. What’s this about?”

    “When?”

    “When what?”

    “When were you there?”

    “I don’t know. Around eight. Why?”

    “Sweet jesuzz. Well, come on down. We’ve got another one going . . . well, gone. Marco and Felix are already here.”

    “Another serial killing?”

    “Yo.”

    “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Kyle was reaching for his cock again, but Kavanagh gently pushed it away. “Can’t, sorry. The job calls. If I can, I’ll be there for closing again tonight.”

    Kavanagh’s fellow detectives were gathered around a crumpled body behind a trash bin at the base of an alley wall when Kavanagh showed up. He’d gotten what had set Monroe into the wheres and whys as he walked up to the mouth of the alley and saw that the alley abutted the steakhouse he’d eaten at the previous evening, the table he’d eaten at abutting this very wall.

    Felix was saying, “Just like the other three,” as Kavanagh arrived. He’d had his eye on the body and the scene as he approached. Gutted like the others; clown face painted on him, like the others. Dressed–or, rather undressed–like a rent-boy. But he’d discount that because this was how a lot of guys were undressed out there the previous night, the last one of the festival. This one looked more than vaguely familiar, and Kavanagh’s stomach turned over as he realized he’d both seen and talked to him the previous evening, near here.

    “Not just like the others,” he said.

    “How so?” asked Monroe, as he got off his haunches where he’d been going through a small gold shoulder purse, presumably, Kavanagh thought, the victim’s.

    “He’s not a blond. He’s a redhead. It would be unusual for a serial killer to change his MO on something like that–not with all the young, blond rent-boys we had roaming this town last night.”

    “And you saw them all?” Marco asked.

    Both Kavanagh and Monroe gave the detective sergeant a sharp look, but he didn’t seem to be talking from any knowledge of Kavanagh’s proclivities.

    “I saw enough of them. And I saw this one. Live and kicking and having himself a jolly time on the street. Obviously on the make last night. Not attached when I saw him.”

    “And you know this how?” Felix asked.

    Monroe interrupted where this conversation might have been headed. “Can you remember when and where you saw him, Mike?”

    “Right over there, in the intersection. And it must have been about 8:00 p.m., just as I was coming to this steakhouse here.”

    “That would match with the ME’s tentative time of death,” Monroe said. “He said shortly after eight. It must have happened right after you saw him. And you didn’t see him with anyone?”

    “No. He claimed he wanted to be with me.”

    Both Marco and Felix gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t expand on that. It didn’t seem to set any bells off either, though. Both could see that Kavanagh was a great-looking guy. It was plausible that a drunken street reveler would hit on him on the street during the festivities.

    “Do we know who he is?” Kavanagh asked.

    “We know if the ID he was carrying in this purse is his, and he does match the photo,” Monroe answered. “And Felix just had the name matched with a job. You’re gonna love this. He worked for the Fifth Federal Circuit Court of Appeals. He was the law clerk to Justice Jim Peters. Ring any bells with you?”

    “Yeah. We seem to be driving down one lane here. We have any more information here?” Kavanagh wasn’t too happy with himself at this moment. If he’d pressed in on Peters yesterday maybe they wouldn’t have another young dead blond on their list today. But he wasn’t any more comfortable today on how this was panning out than he had been yesterday.

    “Nope,” Marco said. “Cause of death seems obvious. We’ll have to see if the autopsy gives us anything.”

    “Fingerprints?”

    “The ME will have to see if he can lift any off the body.”

    “No, I mean on the scene.”

    “In a dirty alley like this?” It was Monroe who asked that question.

    “Off the wall there,” Kavanagh said. The other three turned and looked at the alley wall. There were two discernible palm and fingertip prints against the wall at about head level. Between them, sparkly pieces of gold glitter were in the process of flaking off and falling to the base of the wall. Kavanagh didn’t have to explain what had caused that pattern.

    * * * *

    Back at the station, Kavanagh reviewed what they had–or, rather, what he could put together with the extra data he had. It didn’t seem enough for a search warrant. The report on the fingerprints on the alley wall wouldn’t be back for a couple of days even with the rush they’d put on them. The silence around him was deafening, as if the whole city was holding its breath, waiting for him to do something to prevent another death. Listening to the silence he realized that there was no background noise. For three days the sounds of bands and the celebrations of milling crowds had been audible everywhere, nearly all the time. The festival was over. Somewhere in his mind, Kavanagh was thinking that the serial killings were irrevocably connected to the All Fools’ Day festival and might just fade away now with the festival being over–ending short of the police finding the killer.

    That was intolerable. The killer must be caught and must pay.

    Something wrong with this latest kill–a redhead rather than a blond–Kavanagh was thinking as he let his hands stir around in the paperwork on his desk. He brushed some files aside and frowned. How long had these reports been here, he wondered. When had he asked for background files on the people at the Fifth Circuit Court offices? Had it just been yesterday? It seemed like yesterday was months ago.

    He picked up the files. The stack was pretty heavy. Someone had done a lot of information gathering in such a short time. He doubted that Brent would have been this thorough, and then he castigated himself for criticizing a dead man. Just the same, Brent wasn’t the fastest or most comprehensive of researchers. He began going through the files. They included medical files, including any known visits to shrinks. Kavanagh had no idea how the research had gotten his or her hands on those, but he was grateful they had.

    An hour later he now was sure. He wrote down a name on a slip of paper. He’d promised Monroe he’d do that. There wouldn’t be much that could be done through the legal system as everyone wanted. Such a pity about Alba, he thought. His medical records showed that, in addition to being in delicate mental balance, he, physically, already was a dead man walking–not just the heart troubles, but diabetes, high blood pressure, and a drinking problem. He probably would have died before he could get confirmed for the U.S. Supreme Court. But maybe not before more of his past came out in testimony. And that apparently had made all of the difference.

    His desk phone rang, and, still looking through files, he absentmindedly picked it up.

    “Detective Kavanagh?”

    He recognized the voice and was all ears now. He also suddenly was in the mood to hear from this guy. “Yes?”

    “It’s Paul Worth. Justice Alba’s law clerk.”

    “Yes. May I help you? Do you have something you’ve remembered about the justice’s death?”

    “No, not really. I . . . I just wondered if you might be free this afternoon. I . . . I’d just like to see you. When we met the other day, I thought . . . well, if I’m misjudging, I’m sorry. You were pretty direct in what you said.”

    “You aren’t misjudging. I’d like to see you too. Where are you?”

    “At my apartment. At Justice Alba’s apartment.”

    “What are you wearing?” Kavanagh had always wanted to use that line. Now he had.

    There was an intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Excuse me?”

    “I don’t want to waste the trip,” Kavanagh said. “I just want to be quite clear why you called–what you want from me. You want to fuck.”

    “I’m wearing practically nothing but a smile,” Worth answered.

    “I’ll be over as soon as I can get there.”

    He rose from his desk and went into the Homicide section. He could see through the glass walls of Captain Monroe’s office that the unit chief was there. He was on the phone, but he put his hand over the mouthpiece when Kavanagh came in. “Good, you’re here. I was just about to come get you.” He voice was somber and Kavanagh’s heart skipped a couple of beats. He looked at the slip of paper in his hand. Was he too late again? He handed the paper to Monroe.

    “It’s Felix,” Monroe said, not looking at the note. “He and Marco tracked down Jim Peters to inform him of Cary Ulster’s death. They found him at his house, dead. A self-imposed gunshot under the chin, it seems. There’s a suicide note. He admits to it all.”

    “I’m not the least bit surprised,” Kavanagh said, his voice heavy. “I just wished I’d figured it out sooner.”

    * * * *

    If Kavanagh hadn’t been prepared for something like that when he entered the foyer to the apartment house on St. Charles where Justice Alba’s apartment was, he’d probably have been a dead man. As he got to the foot of the wide-step marble circular staircase up to Alba’s apartment, Paul Worth came screaming out from under the stairs, swinging a machete. Kavanagh sidestepped the attack, doubled Worth up with a fist to the belly, and followed up with a lights-out punch to the face.

    When Worth came to, his ankles were handcuffed and trapped behind Kavanagh’s waist as Kavanagh sat at the foot of Alba’s bed, naked. Worth, also naked was impaled on Kavanagh’s cock, faced down, his torso streaming down to the carpet. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back, and his face was smashed into the carpet by Kavanagh’s feet.

    The law clerk would have been screaming bloody murder if he could have done so through the ball gag in his mouth. His concern wasn’t just that Kavanagh had a thick, long, hard cock pounding in his ass–with Worth usually being a top rather than a bottom. It was also because Kavanagh was churning a dildo in Worth’s ass at the same time.

    When Worth had gone limp and passed out and Kavanagh had had his ejaculatory way with him, Kavanagh pushed Worth’s body to the floor, went into Alba’s bathroom to take a quick shower, put his clothes back on, and went down to the foyer to where Leon Monroe was standing, holding a slip of paper with the name “Paul Worth” on it and the added phrase, “Both cases.”

    “He’s all yours now,” Kavanagh said as he passed Monroe and kept on walking out of the apartment house and back toward the French Quarter.

    Monroe had promised Kavanagh that, regardless of any City Hall cover up, he would take care of bringing the perpetrator of the serial killings to justice personally. All Kavanagh had to do was to write the name of the killer on a slip of paper and give it to him. Kavanagh had now done that.

    As he walked back toward the French Quarter Kavanagh ran the cases over in his mind. He knew that when he was briefed on the death of Justice Peters, he’d been told that evidence in both cases would be found at Peter’s apartment: the pillow case used to smother Alba–at the brothel rather than at his apartment–the makeup used to put the clown faces on the rent-boy victims, probably even whatever costume Worth had used to be able to get close to his victims on the street during the festival celebrations, and the damning, but forced confession. The only thing Worth had kept back was the machete he’d disemboweled his victims with–and had almost done the same for Kavanagh. Once Worth sensed he was in danger–most likely because he had, in fact, seen Kavanagh at the brothel the night he killed Alba and recognized him when Kavanagh came to the apartment the next day–he started looking for a patsy. He also mulled the necessity to off Kavanagh as well, which he ultimately had decided to do.

    Common sense said that Worth planned to stay with the Fifth Circuit Court and take the job of Peters’ law clerk if Peters wasn’t fingered for the deaths of Alba and the rent-boys. Cary Ultster wasn’t killed for the same reason the rent-boys were–all young men who would have been Worth if he hadn’t aged out of what they were and resented it deeply, as evidenced by what was in his medical files on his visits to a psychiatrist. Ulster was killed so that Worth could take his job if Peters wasn’t convicted of the deaths.

    Kavanagh’s instincts about Peters had been on the money. Yes, he had motive to kill Alba to prevent his sexual past with the other justice from coming out in the U.S. Supreme Court appointment hearings. But Worth had that same motive. And evidence against Peters was just too convenient and pushed too hard at Kavanagh–too much effort had been put into encouraging Kavanagh to grab at a convenient solution and to play the fool.

    Worth had even purposely botched setting the death scene in the apartment–not removing the bra or all of the makeup and putting the sleeping trousers on backwards–so the police would know it was murder and so he could pass the blame on Peters, whose apartment had been salted with the pillow used to smother Alba. What he hadn’t counted on was Kavanagh seeing him at the real murder scene–the brothel–which made mincemeat of the cover story he had devised for the evening of Alba’s death, which, nonplused he nevertheless had spun for Kavanagh.

    In the end it may have been Alba’s death struggle, the splitting of his fingernails in his effort to fight off the killer, that had set Worth on a desperate cover-up option. That was the real evidence that Alba hadn’t gone naturally and willingly into the last sleep.

    The anonymous phone call was just too much and had been what had turned Kavanagh’s thought away from Peters and toward Worth. Kavanagh hadn’t been in New Orleans long enough to give his desk phone number out to many people. These were his first cases here. He’d only given his address card to Worth and to Sam 4 at the brothel. The law clerk was one of only two people who would know to call that telephone. Just fifty-fifty until everything else pointing to Worth was added in.

    The demented young man had just tried too hard to fool Kavanagh. April fools back at him.

    Kavanagh was sure in his mind it was Worth before he gave the man’s name to Monroe. He believed without a doubt that Monroe would take justice in his own hands as he said he would–and the old-style New Orleans cop had probably done so before. There was no doubt he did it in this circumstance. Worth disappeared without a trace, and, as Worth had not lied, that the Fifth Circuit Court and Alba had been his only family for some time, there was no one to wonder what had happened to him.

    Still Kavanagh held his breath until a week later and the result came back on the finger and palm prints on the alley wall where Cary Ulster had died. They belonged to Paul Worth of course. So, as a serial killer, he wasn’t all that brilliant after all.

    The mystery of the disappearance of Madame Zena and Sam 4–or at least of Madame Zena–unhappily was solved several weeks later when parts of the madam were extracted from the belly of an alligator killed in a bayou on the Mississippi Delta. Undoubtedly, Madam Zena had been aware of the death of Alba in the brothel and Sam 4 had been the “other” man Kavanagh had seen with Worth trundling the justice’s body into the back of the black Escalade SUV. Worth had then just quickly cleaned up those loose ends.

    It didn’t take Kyle long to bring himself up to Kavanagh’s bondage and rough sex preference level, with Kavanagh, in turn, learning to be more solicitous of the pleasure of the young man he was riding. When the detective returned to New York, the cute young blond waiter was the one thing Kavanagh would miss about New Orleans–he certainly wouldn’t miss the noise and crowds that went with the All Fools’ Day festival on the days surrounding the 1st of April.

    -Fini-

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  • Am I Queer?

    Am I Queer?

    FYI: This is more or less a true story. Because the story took place in the 60s before the term ‘gay’ started to be used for homosexuals the term ‘queer’ is used. It isn’t meant to be derogatory just accurate for the times. 

    When I was a young man I used to hitchhike a lot because I had no other mode of transportation. I came from a poor background and hitching gave me the means to get to jobs or wherever I needed to go. I was always thankful for the lift and made it a point to thank my benefactors.   

    When I grew older and had had the means to purchase a car, I made it a practice to pick up hitchhikers and give them rides due to my experiences as a hitchhiker in my youth. 

    One day while driving home from an out of town trip a young man was hitching and I stopped and asked where he was headed. He told me and I said, “I can get you most of the way so hop in.”

    We drove about a mile without another word between us. Then I felt his hand on my knee and I looked at him and he said, “Would you like a blowjob?”

    Stunned, I reached down, grabbed his hand and threw it away from my knee without saying anything. I thought to myself that I’ll stop at the next intersection and tell him to get out. This was in 60, an era when gay people were not openly gay. Being gay was simply not approved by society. Hell, they didn’t even call them gay yet. They were still queers.

    But as I drove on I could feel my cock getting hard. I thought this just can’t be real me getting an erection after being propositioned by a homosexual. I’m straight I thought. But there was no denying it my cock was getting harder. I tried shifting in my seat to avoid him noticing my uncomfortable situation. 

    I looked over and he was smiling and I knew he was aware of my obvious attempt to hide my growing erection. Then he spoke again with a little more strength in his voice. “You do want me to suck you off, don’t you?”

    I was taken back by his brashness and the fact that fact I was virtually unable to speak. 

    Then I felt his hand not on my knee but on my swollen cock. 

    I kept driving looking straight ahead afraid to look down. 

    He started to slowly massage my cock through my pants and I felt my cock actually jerk. My thoughts shifted from ‘this can’t be happening’ to ‘I’m not queer,’ why am I letting this go on? Why don’t I just stop and order him out of the car? 

    Then I heard him softly say, “After the next intersection there’s an abandon building you can pull around behind and be out of sight if you want.”

    Without hesitation I turned and drove around behind the building and stopped. 

    All the while he kept massaging my cock and it felt so good I didn’t want him to stop. 

    He slowing pulled my zipper down, pulled open my pants and released my cock. When it sprang straight up, he took it back in his hand and slowly stroked it a few times. Then as I looked down at him he lowered his head to my lap.

    Then I felt the warmth and wetness as he took my cock into his mouth. I sat rigid with my eyes closed as he sucked my cock afraid to watch. He continued to suck my cock deep into his mouth until I felt it hit the back of his throat his nose and lips pushed against my pubic hair. The feeling was like nothing I’d ever felt before. Then, almost without warning, my cock erupted and I blow a huge load directly into his mouth and without gagging or choking he swallowed it all. 

    I was in a virtual state of shock that this had all happened so fast. As he slowly pulled his mouth off my cock and as it slipped past his lips I had sudden pangs of quilt. Could I be queer? No way I’m queer I just can’t be. I just can’t be.

    The he looked at me with a strange smile and said, “You liked it didn’t you?” When I hesitated and he said, “I know you did. You cummed so fast and with such a big load you had to have really enjoy it.”

    Then an even bigger surprise was in store for me as he rose up I could see his hard cock pointing straight up. When he’d taken it out I was not sure, but I was almost mesmerize by the sight of it. My cock is about six-inches and his had to be at least two-inches longer. To look at him I would never had thought that this young man would possess such a big cock…at least eight-inch.

    He saw the look on my face as I stared at his cock, smiling, he said, “Do you like it?”

    I could hardly talk I was still so stunned but I managed to croak-out, “I can’t believe you have such a big cock.”

    And then I got the biggest shock yet. He asked, “Do you want to suck it?”

    I weakly said, “You don’t understand. I’m not queer.”

    He said, “I didn’t ask you if you were queer. I asked if you wanted to suck it.”

    I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth next. I meekly said, “Yes please.” 

    Still smiling, he reached over and put his hand behind my head and pulled my face down toward his lap. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see what was about to happen. Then I felt the head of his cock press against my lips. As he pressed harder I slowly opened my lips and let his cock slip into my mouth. 

    He pushed it in to the point that I started to gag and then he withdrew a little as he started to slowly fuck my mouth. He held my head as he worked his hips, slowly fucking my mouth faster and deeper. I could taste what I thought was he pre-cum and it was not at all what I expected. In fact it was kinda sweet. As he continued to fuck my face I started bobbing my head because I was actually starting to like what was happening. 

    He said, “For a first time cocksucker you’re doing great. Keep it up.”  

    Then I heard him start to moan, “Oooooooohhhhhhhh shit,” and wondered if that meant he was about to cum. I started to pull my mouth from his cock but he pushed my head down harder holding it in place as he worked his hips, fucking my mouth. Then with a big thrust he must have busted a nut because cum started pouring into my mouth. It was much saltier and bitter than the pre-cum. I choked some but knew I had to swallow to keep from gagging and choking so I swallowed and continued to swallow until I had it all down.

    Balls drained, he let my head go and his rapidly softening cock slipped from my mouth. 

    I had suddenly felt guilty, but yet I had to admit that I’d enjoyed what had just happened. He sensed my feeling and he said, “Don’t worry. This didn’t mean your queer.”

    Dazed, I straightened up, started the car and drove him to where I’d planned to take him before. After I let him out and started my drive home amid thoughts that I might be queer.

    That was ten years ago and I have not had another gay sexual encounter.  But as time goes by and the sex in my marriage dwindles, I looked back and think I really did enjoy having my cock sucked and yes I also enjoyed sucking his cock. So gay or not, maybe it’s something I might want to try again. 

    Maybe while I’m out this weekend running errands instead of spending so much time at Home Depot I’ll drop by that adult bookstore out on the edge of town. I can get a booth and watch dirty movies. After all, what can it hurt?

    The end… 

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  • Air BNB

    AIR BNB

    by Robert Furlong

    [email protected]

    robertfurlong.tumblr.com

    “So first thing next day I knocked on their bedroom door to say good mornin’ and one of them called out, tellin’ me to come in.”

    “This was one of the gay blokes who owned the house?” Brian asked.

    “Yeah. I think I was the only one rentin’ a room that night.”

    He nodded and I went on.

    “I walked into their bedroom and there the two of them were – the older dude and the younger lad I’d met the night before. Both of them were in the stark nuddies and they were sittin’ side-by-side with their hands goin’ at it on their dicks.”

    “Fuck off!” Brian laughed. “That so did not happen!”

    “I swear to god it did,” I laughed back. “They were sittin’ up in bed together, their legs wide open so you could see their arse-cracks, and their hands were slidin’ up and down their poles right in front of me!”

    “What, the two blokes who owned the house were wankin’ off?”

    “Plain as day! Both sittin’ back against the headboard, jerkin’ their porked-up pricks off and just sort of grinning over at me!”

    “Like they wanted you to see them?” he asked, still chuckling.

    “Exactly! Like they were proud that’s how they start their mornings. With their arses plonked down next to each other and their hands sliding up and down their two massive dongers!”

    “Doin’ each other, or doin’ themselves?”

    “Doin’ themselves. One of them had his arm around the other, his hand on his mate’s shoulder, but both of their hands were on their own big chubbed-up cocks.”

    Brian laughed again and then took a swig from his lager.

    “Have you noticed how gay fellas always have the biggest knobs?” he asked after he’d swallowed his mouthful.

    “Not really, why would they?”

    “You know… the way they shag each other’s arses.”

    “Why would that make their cocks grow big?”

    “Maybe it acts like fertiliser or something,” he shrugged. “There was a gay lifeguard at this hotel me and Sharon stayed in once. You could see through his shorts he was built like a fuckin’ county show donkey.”

    “Well this pair both had cocks as long and thick as their forearms. They could hardly get their hands around them as they wanked the fuckin’ massive things off right in front of me!”

    “So what did they say?” Brian asked, still chuckling. “Were they like apologetic that they was whackin’ their two pricks off in front of their houseguest?”

    “Were they fuck! The older one – Paul I think his name was – was all like, ‘We’ll sort you out with some breakfast, Dave. Once we’ve finished masturbating!’”

    Brian guffawed, spitting some of the drink he’d been slurping right across the table. “These gay types sure know how to tart a wank up so it sounds proper posh!”

    “I know… that’s what I thought! Anyway, I was like, ‘Don’t mind me, gents. You just masturbate to your hearts’ content!’”

    Brian laughed even louder. I knew he’d love this story. Even while I’d been watching the two gay dudes wanking off, I’d known Brian would just about laugh himself silly hearing how I’d walked in on my gay hosts having a good pull together.

    “So what did you do then?” he asked. “Did you leave them to it?”

    “I was gonna, but then they younger one – Charles or whatever – called over to me, with his hand slappin’ up and down his big prong dead fast, ‘You don’t have issues with us doing this, do you, Dave? Masturbating together as two male lovers…’”

    “Oh fuck! ‘Two male lovers’… how did ya keep a straight face?”

    “So I says, ‘It’s your house, mate… I’m only here for a cheap stopover on the Air BNB. Ya can do what ya like in yer own bed, fellas…’”

    Brian nodded, risking another mouthful of his drink.

    “And then he’s like, ‘It doesn’t offend you, does it? Homosexual activity, I mean…?’

    “I said back, ‘It’s hardly homosexual, is it? Me and brother used to wank off together when we was in our teens and neither of us can even spell homosexual never mind do it!’”

    Brian chortled again but avoided spraying me with lager for a second time.

    “Is that what they looked like?” he asked, after wiping off his mouth. “Just two blokes wankin’ off?”

    “Naah, they were a bit more touchy-feely than that. They were more into each other, if you know what I mean…”

    Brian nodded but I could see he didn’t really get it.

    “And their arseholes… oh yeah! I forgot to tell you what their fuckin’ arseholes looked like!”

    “You could see them?” he asked.

    “Yeah… I told you, they had their legs wide open. That was part of the touchy-feely thing. Where their legs were touchin’, they were sorta twined around each other the way two straight fellas would keep right apart…”

    “So what was it about their arseholes?”

    “Well, their big pairs of knackers were bobbin’ around as they wanked their dicks off, and underneath those you could see their two dark purple ringpieces pokin’ out from their hairy arse-cracks.”

    “And what did they look like?” he kept on, his face dead keen to hear what the gays were hiding down the backs of their trousers.

    “Fuckin’ massive!” I grinned and Brian beamed at me, his eyes gawping wide.

    “Could ya tell they fucked each other up them?” he asked.

    “‘Course ya fuckin’ could,” I chuckled back. “They were all puffy and swollen and stretched from havin’ to take each other’s tree-trunk cocks.”

    “Aw Jesus! I’ve always wondered about that!” Brian marvelled, staring intently at me. “I’ve always wanted to know if gay fellas have big fanny-sized arseholes!”

    “Well they do,” I told him, “or at least this pair did have. Their arseholes were bigger than twats ’cause of how their knobs were so fuckin’ thick and their bell-ends were so massive.”

    “‘Cause of all the fertiliser,” Brian nodded knowledgably.

    “Or just ’cause of how much action their cocks must see, with them both bein’ two horny-as-fuck men!”

    “Oh yeah, I never thought o’ that!” he said. “They must be at it all the time like rabbits, neither of them ever sayin’ ‘no’!”

    I chuckled. “You can see the appeal, when ya put it like that!”

    “Lucky bastards!” he laughed back.

    “Anyway, then the older one says, all posh like, ‘We were refraining from expressing our love in a way that you might find offensive…’

    “And I’m like, ‘I’m from Doncaster, mate – I’ve seen a lot worse than this!’

    “So he leans over and – I’m not kiddin’ you, Bry – put his whole mouth right over the other fella’s prick.”

    “He so fuckin’ didn’t!”

    “He fuckin’ did – I’m not makin’ this up!”

    “What, he started suckin’ the other bloke’s cock right in front of you?”

    “Fuckin’ chowed down on it, he did. I was like, ‘Whoa! Me girlfriend never does it like that on mine!’ And he just went for it, takin’ the whole fuckin’ length of his mate’s big chopper down his throat, slurpin’ his mouth up and down it, like it was the best lolly he’d ever tasted!”

    “Oh fuck!” Brian chortled, “I’d have loved to see that! I bet it was fuckin’ wild!”

    “It was!” I laughed back. “I mean, not ’cause it were two blokes or anything like that…”

    “‘Course not!”

    “Just… you know… seein’ a quality blow-job up close…”

    “Absolutely!” he nodded. “I love to see a bit of high-class dick suckin’ whoever’s doin’ it!”

    “So I was stood there, still in me boxers like, watchin’ him guzzle this massive fuckin’ boner like a pro, thinkin’, ‘Don’t get a fuckin’ hard-on, Dave. Any other time, but not right now!’”

    Brian laughed. “No way, mate… he’d have been on ya like a fuckin’ headlouse!”

    “Anyway, so I’m just stood there ogglin’ at them, and the younger lad who’s havin’ his dick sucked says, cool as a cucumber, ‘Is our male intimacy very different from heterosexual oral sex?’

    “And I say, ‘Quite a bit, yeah… for a start he seems to be enjoyin’ doin’ it to you…’

    “And he says back – totally cazh, like we were sitting having cocktails or something – ‘Do you admire my lover’s technique?’

    “So I joke with him, ‘It’s a lot different from how I do it, when I’m doin’ it to me girlfriend…”

    Brian smiled, his face captivated by my story. He seemed to have forgotten about the drink sitting losing its fizz in front of him.

    “Then the older one pulls his mouth off his cock and says, ‘Maybe this is more like how you do it, Dave,’ and cranes his neck right down so his face is pushed between lover-boy’s legs…”

    “What did he do? Lick the other bloke’s bollocks?” Brian asked me, his eyes locked on mine with interest.

    “No, he went a bit lower than that…”

    He thought about it and after about two seconds shrugged, “I don’t get it…”

    “He did what gays must do to each other as their own way of lickin’ out a pussy…”

    He thought for another few seconds. “I still don’t get it, Dave. Help me out here, mate… I’m not up on all this gay shit like what you are…”

    I chuckled at his dig and said, “He licked his fella’s arsehole, Bry. He ran his tongue around it like it was a minge!”

    “You have gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he said, looking genuinely shocked.

    “God’s honour, mate,” I nodded, chuckling at his surprise. “The older fella licked round the younger lad’s dirtbox!”

    Brian kept staring at me and for a few moments I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have told him this part. But then he asked, still wide-eyed and looking gormless, “So what did you do then, Dave?”

    “I just watched them doing it… the older guy lapping at his boyfriend’s dick-loosened arsehole… the younger guy wanking his fat dick off again, just pleasantly smilin’ over at me like we was havin’ drinks and nibbles.”

    “At least that took care of the stiffie you was worried about gettin’,” Brian said, managing a grin. “Seein’ one bloke lickin’ another fella’s chuff could wither a fuckin’ flag-pole!”

    “I dunno… it was kinda hot in a weird sorta way,” I admitted. “I reckon I was gettin’ half chubbed-up just from how… you know… different it was from anythin’ I’d ever seen before…”

    Brian laughed at that, just like I thought he would. “You reckon you might give Colleen’s brown-eye a little once-over with yer tongue, then?”

    “No fuckin’ way!” I laughed back. “I just thought it might feel nice havin’ someone lickin’ round my baster.”

    Brian grinned at me. “Dream on, mate. There’s no way anyone would stick their tongue up a lard-arse like yours!”

    I smiled back at him. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

    “Come on, then… what happened next?”

    “Okay, so the young lad – Charles I think his name was – says, ‘I’m really pleased you’re not offended, Dave. The anal side of our lovemaking is very important to us.’”

    “The anal side of their lovemaking? That’s butt-fucking in plain English, isn’t it?”

    “I think it’s anything involvin’ the arsehole, Bry. Lickin’ it, fingerin’ it… bummin’ it with yer knob…”

    “One visit to that house and you’re like a fuckin’ oracle of gay sex info, mate,” he chortled. “You should write one o’ those sex guides about how fellas do it with each other!”

    I ignored the piss-take. “So I says, ‘I’m pretty open-minded, me. What you gay blokes get up to with each other’s backdoors is yer own business.’

    “Then he says back, ‘Do you enjoy an anal component to your own lovemaking, Dave? If you don’t mind the question…’

    “And I shrug and say, ‘I don’t really go in for that meself, to be honest. When ya girlfriend’s got a letterbox round the front, the postman doesn’t need to go round the back that often…”

    “Then Paul or whatever he was called pulls off from eatin’ laddo’s arse and says, ‘Well, as two men we have two postmen, Dave. And they both make all of their deliveries round the back!’”

    “Oh Jesus!” Brian laughed. “He’s on about shaggin’ each other’s arses!”

    I nodded – I’d known full well what he’d been on about – and went on, “So then he says, ‘Would you mind very much if our postmen made their deliveries before we treat you to breakfast?’

    “And I say back, ‘Do whatever you like, mate! I didn’t even know breakfast was included.’”

    Brian looked at me in disbelief. “You’re not gonna tell me they did gay bum sex and you just stood there and watched them…?”

    I smirked back. “I suppose I could’ve walked out… but they didn’t seem to mind havin’ an audience, so I reckoned it would be kinda interesting to see what they would do.”

    “So what did they do?” he asked.

    “They messed around a bit first… sorta wrestled with each other and played swordfights with those fuckin’ big gayed-up cocks of theirs. All the time they were smilin’ over at me, lovin’ the fact I was stood watchin’ them playin’ around in the nuddie.”

    “And did they end up bummin’ each other for proper?”

    “The younger one got pinned down on his front by the older bloke,” I nodded, “sorta bent over so his arse was stickin’ up.”

    “What did the older one do then?” Brian grinned, his face expectant.

    “What d’ya think he did?” I laughed. “He pushed his fat bell-end right in between lover boy’s bum-cheeks and then slid his thick cock all the way up his dumpster.”

    “And what did the younger one do? Did he like havin’ his shitter shagged?”

    “Like it?” I kept laughing. “He fuckin’ loved it! He pushed himself up on all-fours and the older one grabbed him by the hips. Then they butt-fucked together fast as a train on full-crank with the younger one shoutin’ ‘Aw yeah! Fuck me harder!’”

    “And you was stood there, tryin’ not to chuck yer guts up?”

    “Naah, I was stood there, tryin’ to hide my hard-on.”

    Brian really howled at that. “Aw, don’t tell me you grew a fuckin’ woodie watchin’ two blokes doin’ it up the fudger!”

    “I kinda did, yeah,” I told him, smirking sheepishly. “Seein’ his massive cock gettin’ shoved up the other fella’s slurpy mucker… I dunno why but it looked pretty hot!”

    “You dirty git!” he laughed. “So did you stand there watchin’ them doin’ gay bummin’… all the way to the spunk-off?”

    “Two spunk-offs,” I corrected him. “First the older guy nutted his juice with that Charles lad thumpin’ his bum back dead hard against him, then the two of them swapped places and the younger lad sowed his own oats up his boyfriend’s big hairy trench!”

    “Oh fuck!” Brian laughed. “No wonder they have such big cunts for arseholes!”

    He looked at his lager and, as if remembering it was there and only half-drunk, picked it up and took a long, deep swig.

    Then after he’d chucked out a noisy belch and put the glass back down, he said, “So did they give you breakfast?”

    “Oh yeah,” I grinned. “It turned out well nice, actually. They both put a lot of effort into… er… servin’ it up.”

    After the young lad had jizzed off up his fella’s back-passage, they’d told me they were now ready to sort me out. I’d known from their faces and the fact that the older one’s knob was rock hard again that it wasn’t bacon and eggs I was going to be getting from the pair of them.

    They’d come over to where I was standing and I’d given them the thumbs-up to show them I was up for having a bit of fun. I was hoping for a wank-off or a blow-job, maybe have one of them lick my bollocks, but if they’d tried to bend me over to shove one of their massive gay cocks up my tiny tush, I promise you things would have got nasty very quickly.

    But they didn’t try anything like that – I’d mentioned my girlfriend enough times for them to figure out how far I’d go. They’d pulled my skanky boxers down and my short stubby prick had sprung upwards. Then they’d smiled at me and I’d just stood there to let them do their thing.

    The older one knelt down in front of me with his mouth working its magic up and down my veiny chub, while the younger one went round the back of me to crouch down and feast between my cheeks like he loved other fellas’ arse-stink.

    It was fucking awesome if I’m honest, but I wasn’t going to tell Brian that. Our friendship has its limits and I figured I’d already gone too far admitting I’d had a boner watching those two horny fuckers roughly doing each other right there on their bed in front of where I was standing.

    I’d cum down Paul’s throat – if that was his name – with his boyfriend’s tongue lapping in and out of my hot slimy pucker. I don’t know which I liked most out of the blowjob or the arsejob. The feel of the young guy’s morning stubble snagging against my flabby cheeks certainly helped my cock start spewing into the eager mouth that was wrapped around it.

    And when all said and done, where was the harm in it? It was just a bit of fun when you think about it! Colleen really hates the taste of my knob and – let’s face it – there’s no way that any girl on Earth was going to put her nose and mouth anywhere near a whiffy back-crack like mine. So I reckon it was fair game to let these two posh bum-boys give me a little sniffter of how nice it felt to get worked over front and back.

    “So how’d it work with the payment?” Brian asked after downing the last of his pint. “Did you have to pay them through the Air BNB website?”

    “No, you pay the host directly. But they didn’t ask for any money so I didn’t offer.”

    “What, you got to stay over for free?” he gawked.

    “Yeah, and I had the invoice from the website so I got my expenses back from work.”

    “You jammy fucker!” he grinned. “You got it both ways!”

    “And very nice it was too, mate,” I smirked back at him.

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  • The Catacomb

    I lowered my newspaper. 

    “I wonder what’s happened to him?” I asked myself, thinking aloud, rather than expecting an answer. However, given that we were in the library at Wilks’s Club and that Richard Finch was within earshot, I got one, anyway: 

    “I hope and believe, something exceptionally nasty”, said Richard evenly. He did not look up from Private Arse, his favourite satirical magazine, which he had been reading with little snorts of laughter. 

    “I was talking about that Cambridge lecturer who has gone AWOL or missing in Italy”, I said. 

    “So was I”, said Richard. “You were referring to Dr Edwin Mayor of Boring College, Cambridge. No loss!”

    Because Parliament had risen and it was now the “silly season”,the story was front-page news, along with the latest activity of the Loch Ness Monster. Dr Mayor, a Cambridge Don and author, had gone on holiday to Italy, starting in Rome, during the Long Vacation. One day he had left his hotel in the Via Boncompagni after breakfast, to go sightseeing or whatever he normally did, at the usual time. He was on demi-pension; he breakfasted and dined in the hotel, but seldom if ever took lunch there. He had indicated that he might be back late, so no-one worried when he did not appear at dinner that evening. Next morning, however, he had still not reappeared and the chambermaid reported that his bed had not been slept in. Two days later he had still not resurfaced: At that point the hotel manager decided to contact the British Consul and the Italian Police. That had been more than a month previously. To date no-one knew whether Dr Mayor had met with an accident, been kidnapped or murdered, eloped with an attractive Italian or had simply lost his memory and was now wandering about somewhere, unaware of all the fuss. 

    “You know him?” I was constantly being surprised at the wide spectrum of people whom Richard unexpectedly knew; many of them not remotely connected with either the army or politics. 

    “Yes,” said Richard. “You see, we were were university contemporaries. As you know, I won a scholarship to Cambridge; to Trinity Hall, to be precise. I studied the Classics and graduated…

    I concluded the sentence for him: “With a starred First, the winner of various prizes and medals, to say nothing of your sporting trophies. We know!” 

    Richard looked smug. “Thank you for blowing my trumpet for me,James!”

    “I thought that I’d save time and spare you the trouble!” 

    “Quite so. The immodest false modesty of so many Englishmen and Americans is ridiculous and it really pisses me off! Anyway, in a funny way Dr Edwin Mayor was responsible for my starred First! You see, he was my most serious rival in the Classics School. Most of the time we were neck and neck. Sometimes one of us was ahead; sometimes the other. We were always pipping each other at the post for glittering academic prizes. It was the thought of being upstaged by that wanker that kept me working at my books.” 

    “So it wasn’t a friendly rivalry?” I asked. 

    “It was not: we hated each other’s guts. He was a Socialist. I called myself a Tory but we know what I really am: well to the right of Genghis Khan. He hated the Army; I was heading for Sandhurst after university. I loved field sports; he wanted them abolished. The list of subjects on which we disagreed was endless. He thought that I was a pampered and privileged brat, when actually I had achieved almost everything by myself, at minimal cost to my adoptive parents, thanks to scholarships and bursaries. I hoped that he would die of creeping AIDS, with a dose of syphilis thrown in.” 

    “Did you ever say so?” I inquired. 

    “Yes; and for some reason he didn’t like that!” Richard smiled sunnily at me and continued: “It was very easy to upset him. For example, one day I announced that my father had been made a Peer in the Birthday Honours. Of course he hadn’t really – it was someone else of the same name – and anyway, as an adopted child, I could not have inherited any dignity from him. Boring Mayor however did not know that and the chump believed me! I had really pissed in his beer: he became quite ill with jealousy and fury. ‘Does that make you a fucking Honourable?’ he snarled. ‘Yup!’ I said. “And I’m going to decorate all my possessions, including my chamber-pot, with coronets!’ He used the most dreadful language”, chuckled Richard. 

    “Er… you didn’t ever by any chance fuck him, did you? Some people can get very shirty afterwards about that sort of thing!” 

    “Honestly, James, You say some crass things! If you had ever seen Edwin’s mugshot, you would not ask that question. He was ugly – seriously ugly- what I call fugly. He had spots,terrible teeth which stuck out at all angles, wore thick glasses like the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles, had halitosis  and  he was a Socialist; a total Widmerpool. I wouldn’t insert the ferrule of my umbrella into Master Mayor, let alone a special and sensitive part of my anatomy!” 

    “None of this explains why you still seem to hate him, all these years later”, I ventured. 

    “No; that is just the background.The feud came to life again after I left the Army and started to get interested in archaeology once more.” 

    I knew that Richard had taken to passing holidays in Greece and Italy, occasionally with me in tow, where, among other diversions, he had fun copying ancient inscriptions and looking at ruins. Sometimes he got involved in archaeological digs.

    “Ah! I may be starting to understand”, I said. 

    “I doubt it”, said Richard dismissively. “You see, it was a new departure for me: I had begun to write the occasional article about Roman inscriptions of the early Christian era; that period when no-one was quite sure whether they were Christian, pagan or neither and meanwhile preferred to hedge their bets by pretending to follow whichever cult the Emperor of the moment was promoting or preserving. It is beautifully epitomised by a sarcophagus that I discovered last year: it bore inscriptions from both The Bible and The Aeneid. One side showed the Good Shepherd, the Last Judgement, tedious Heaven, amusing Hell and things like that. The other one showed Hermes Psychopompos conducting souls to the Styx, the Elysian Fields with hunky nude heroes exercising, practising arms-drill, tending their horses and having a drinks-party. In the foreground a warrior, who was Aeneas, was talking to an older man who was Aeneas’ father, Anchises. You can guess which version of the afterlife I preferred!” 

    I could, easily. “A sarcophagus? That’s interesting” I remarked. 

    “It was”, said Richard, “because it helped me to work out when the Christian Romans stopped cremating their dead and started burying them in coffins and in catacombs because they thought that cremation was pagan and might deny them the Second Resurrection. Superstitious nongs!” Richard laughed happily. 

    I thought, but prudently did not say, that the pagan Romans, whom Richard admired, also qualified as superstitious nongs, from what I recalled of their habits and beliefs. Richard rose and stared pensively out of the window. With his clean-shaven, tough good looks, short, dark, curly hair and stern expression, he looked like a Roman soldier-emperor. Only the toga and laurel crown were missing; instead, he was wearing a well-cut black blazer and flannels, with a white shirt and Parachute Regiment tie. They subtly followed the lines of one of the finest male physiques that it has ever been my good fortune to see, handle, know and have sex with. “But what really interested me”, Richard continued, “were the inscriptions that I was finding, ranging from the pious and learned to mere graffiti. I decided to write an article about them for the Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. But by doing so, I unwittingly ignited – or re-ignited – an academic feud. Edwin Mayor read the article. He was furious and rubbished it because it cut across what he had written in one of his books. He had a special pet theory, you see; he was deeply and immovably attached to it. That’s the mark of an unsound scholar.” Richard stopped and glanced at me sharply: “Are you sure that you are not getting bored? Would you like to change the subject?” 

    “No, absolutely not! I sense that we are coming to the interesting part!”

    Richard grinned:  

    “As a matter of fact, we are! Normally it would not have been too difficult for me to disprove much of what he had written, because I had found inscriptions that vindicated me and disproved his theory. But there was a problem: I had discovered the inscriptions myself; lots of them, and I was not ready to go public. In any case I would have needed Cardinal Mascardi’s permission to publish anything, and at that point in time it would not have been forthcoming.” 

    Even I had heard of Cardinal Mascardi. He had been mentioned by the media as a possible future Pope. “You know the Cardinal Librarian and Archivist?”  

    “Of course I do!” said Richard impatiently. “He’s another classical scholar. I had to apply to him for permission to use the Vatican Library and access the Secret Archives. Moreover the land where I made my discovery belongs to the Church, although it is outside Rome, along the Appian Way. What I was doing was very sensitive. Who knew what heretical things I might uncover!” 

    The penny finally dropped. “You’ve discovered lots of hitherto-unknown funerary inscriptions dating from the early Christian era, to say nothing of some interesting sarcophagi? In other words, you must have discovered a new catacomb. Right?” 

    Richard’s grin became broader still. 

    “Correct, my dear Watson; elementary. It has still not yet been officially announced. When it is, it will be very exciting, especially as I am fairly sure that it contains the remains of certain “missing” early Popes – good and bad – and, just possibly, the lion-chewed remains of St Ignatius of Antioch!” 

    “And there will be kudos for you, of course?” 

    Again, he grinned from ear to ear. “Oh yes! I can’t wait! Richard the Renaissance Man! How pleased my old College is going to be! And how surprised my constituents will be; most of them regard me as a complete Philistine. Not that the electors of Flogham and Lynchfield mind that in the least; most of them are Philistines. I had worked out where the catacomb had to be, from very obscure sources in the Vatican Library. And there it was! It was a real detective story, almost worthy of Sherlock Holmes. It is quite possible that the Pope himself might attend the grand opening when that finally happens.” 

    This was a bit ironic, given that Richard was not merely not a Roman Catholic but an agnostic, when he was not being a pagan. I had long suspected him of offering pagan sacrifices to the old gods: if so, they had clearly paid off. He paused again and wandered over to the self-service coffee percolator in the corner. He brought us both a cup. Then he continued: 

    “But all that was under threat from the wanker Edwin Mayor. You see, I knew him very well indeed. I did what I could by writing, in what became an increasingly heated public correspondence, that there existed certain first and second-century inscriptions that refuted his theory and even quoted from some of them. He responded robustly and challenged me to produce the inscriptions, which of course I could not then do. I said that he would have to wait for the publication of a book on which I was working. He then openly speculated that I had invented the whole thing and that it was a massive hoax.” 

    Richard stared out of the window again. 

    “Obviously some riposte was called-for. The question was, ‘What?’ Finally I entered into private correspondence with him. I made it clear by many references and quotations that I really did know what I was writing about and that I was on to something big. Finally he accepted that that might be the case. Soon, he was slavering like a Pavlov’s dog, desperate to see my inscriptions. So, I invited him – by ‘phone – for a private view. No problem; he was planning an Italian vacation anyway. Of course, the viewing would have to be by night, when the workmen had gone away. The joke, however, was that it was now late July or early August. There were no workmen; everyone was on holiday. Even fewer people and things than usual were working or functioning in Rome. And it had to be kept secret; especially from the Church. We met by night on the Appian Way. I went there by motor-bike. I got there early, to change into my ‘catacomb dress’.  

    “How romantic,” I said.“Ill-met by moonlight”. 

    Richard continued: 

    “I dressed carefully for the occasion: black track-suit, black T-shirt, black socks; black everything, in fact, apart from a pair of Red Indian moccasins in soft deerskin, with a fringe on the heel. You can guess why, or you shortly will. I also brought along a black ‘terrorist-style’ balaclava helmet.  Dressed in this fashion, I popped out from behind the Roman tomb where I had hidden the motor-bike and where we had agreed to meet, giving him his first shock of the evening. While he was yelling I had time to notice that he had not brought a torch. As he did not smoke, I was pretty sure that he would not have matches or a lighter on him, either. That proved to be the case. No matter; I had a powerful hand-torch and some spare batteries with me. 

    ‘I can see that you still haven’t completely grown up,” Edwin grumbled when he had recovered. “No doubt that explains your choice of an Army career; very Boy’s Own. Now, let’s see these graffiti of yours. I’ll reserve judgement until afterwards but I have come prepared to be disappointed.’ 

    “I thought that was tactless in the circumstances. I led him quickly to the old, derelict house, unlocked the door and let him in. He looked about him with distaste. Admittedly, it had not been used for many years; I do not know why. Then I took him down to the wine-cellars, which were extensive. I unlocked the door and led him to the concealed entrance to the tunnel that led to the catacomb, which was at the furthest end of the complex of cellars. A blast of chilly air came out, which made him shudder. It had been very warm above ground; a typical jasmine-scented Roman summer night. 

    ‘I should have brought a coat with me!’ he muttered. 

    “That, however, suited me,”Richard continued. “I should explain that the catacomb of St Ignatius, as I had provisionally named it, is vast. I know it better than anyone now living, but I suspect that I may have only explored a tenth of it. Parts of it are probably pre-Christian, excavated for God knows what purpose. There is a central chamber containing the most important tombs; passages  branch off it in all directions. They go for miles. One day they will no doubt be surveyed properly, but at present we have only a sketchy idea. They are a labyrinth. I did not take him by the most direct route, but one that was unnecessarily complicated and confusing. However, for my own safety, I had tied some strong fishing line to a hook in the wine cellar door, to make sure that I got back safely. The other end was tied to my wrist. At one point we crossed a small underground stream, using stepping-stones that I had placed there. 

    ‘”It’s the River Styx,’ I joked. ‘That stream whence no-one ever returns. But Charon the ferryman is on holiday, like everybody else at this time of the year, so we have to use the stepping stones!’ I do not think that he found this funny, for some reason. 

    “Our footsteps echoed in the icy passages. Now and again I would stop and draw his attention to some interesting inscription or sarcophagus. I could see that he was starting to get really interested and excited. Good! 

    “Finally we reached the central chamber. I let him look around. As I had hoped, his eyes popped. There were what I believed to be the sarcophagi of some of the early Popes. But most interesting of all was a very plain tomb, cut into the side of the chamber, roughly filled in and plastered. On it in crude characters, while the plaster was still wet, someone had long ago written: 

    IGNATIUS ANTIOCHUS INEST.

    In other words,’Ignatius of Antioch is inside’. He was fascinated by this. If this was indeed the tomb of St Ignatius, it would cause ripples all over the Christian world; especially, perhaps, in the Eastern Orthodox part. While he was still gloating over it, I switched off the torch. 

    “He gave a yell: “Hey, what’s the joke? Turn that torch on immediately!” 

    I laughed. ‘I just wanted to give you a real feel for the place! And to see it as those early Christians would have seen it!” 

    “At that point I produced a partly-used candle and lit it with my lighter. The candle-light cast a spooky glow over the scene. It was like an old candlelit painting by Henrik Ter Bruggen or someone like that. I placed the candle near St Ingatius’s tomb and took the opportunity to scatter a few spent matches and an empty matchbox, when Edwin was not looking. He, meanwhile, was recovering from his panic. Despite the chill, he was mopping his brow with a large bandanna handkerchief. 

    “’Crikey, you gave me a fright’, he kept saying, ‘Crikey you gave me a fright!’ Well, he had not seen anything, yet. Then he added ‘You bugger!’ 

    “He was soon poking around again and I could see that he was being devoured by curiosity and jealousy; testicle-tightening, ass-gripping envy and curiosity. He knew that this was something big and he had not discovered it; I had. It must have been maddening for him. Presently he said: 

    ‘Candlelight is all very well and romantic, but I can’t read this inscription properly by it. Can we dispense with the candle and use the electric torch again?’ 

    “‘We can certainly dispense with the candle!’ I said. I blew it out and plunged us again into total darkness. The moment had come. 

    “‘Enjoy the atmosphere!’ I said to him. ‘I’m leaving now! Pip! Pip!’ Then I skedaddled,as quickly and silently as I could, winding in the fishing line as I went. The fringes of the moccasins would wipe out any trace of my returning footsteps in the dust. 

    “Go on!” I said. Richard continued, with a reminiscent smile:

    “I could hear Edwin screaming, shouting and cursing, and his footsteps, as he came bumbling after me. However I had a head start. From time to time I would hear a yell, when he tripped up and barked his shins or fell flat on his face. Once there was a splash; he must have fallen into the River Styx. But he soon took a wrong turning; the noises got fainter and fainter, then they died away. I regained the wine cellar, shut and bolted the door to the catacomb, went upstairs, locked the door to the cellar, then locked up the house. There was supposed to be an Italian watchman looking after the property but there was no sign of him; like everyone else, he had probably fucked off to the seaside or the country for August. My plan had worked perfectly;  there had been no witnesses whatsoever, except for my victim, who would not be around for very long. 

    “I felt energised; I jumped for joy, punched the air and may even have shouted ‘Yee-ha!’ – or something along those lines. I also wanted to get as far away as possible as soon as possible, so I ran like a startled stag. Looking back, it would have been more sensible to have strolled away slowly and nonchalantly. However there was no-one around to see me; it was very late and the Appian Way was deserted. 

    “I got back to the old Roman tomb where I had hidden my hired motor-bike. It was a fine, warm night, and the place looked deserted; not even any drug-pedlars or courting couples. I stripped to my jock-strap, which was that brand that I like; a black one; I never wear white.” 

    I did know, having often seen Richard in nothing but a jock strap. In this particular brand, the pouch was slightly transparent, giving a tantalising indication of the pale, heavy genitals and the dense, dark crotch-hair confined – for the moment – inside the restraining cache-sexe. 

    RIchard continued: “Finally, I could relax. I lit a cigarette and stood still, to let the warm, gentle night breeze dry my sweat before putting on my black leather biker suit, helmet and boots, which would disguise me completely. I knew I should have to ditch the track-suit, which might – even after washing – hold traces of plaster, dust or whatever from the catacomb. To my regret, I would have to ditch the moccasins as well; they were a souvenir of one of my trips to the States. Disposal posed no difficulty; I would just chuck them all away in a certain area of Rome full of illegal immigrants and characterised by “horrendo squalore“,in the words of one of my Vatican friends. The clothes would be taken immediately.   

    “Suddenly, someone shouted “Bellissimo ragazzo!” I turned and saw a young Italian man looking at me. He was not bad-looking, either! He looked a bit like Jean-Claude Van Damme, with  short, dark hair, an aquiline nose and slightly sticky-out ears. He was wearing dark-blue designer jeans, which fitted closely around his crotch and ass and had probably cost a small fortune, a white shirt, gaping open and showing some sort of medallion. I guessed that he was about twenty-six. Even though he was fully dressed, I could tell that he had a great body. He was unashamedly groping his crotch. He was up for it, all right! This was a stroke of luck!  I took a last drag at my cigarette, threw it away and expelled the smoke through my nostrils. I smiled darkly at him and stretched my arms wide open. Will you walk into my parlour…? He gasped, then came over to me hesitantly, as if hardly daring to believe his luck, and let me hug him. He kissed me; first gently and then more and more passionately and greedily: mouth, neck, nipples, then my six-pack… 

    “I didn’t let him pull off my jock-strap, but I did allow him to ‘worship’ me, as the Americans say. That is to say, I let him run his hands all over me and touch me everywhere, except for my cock and balls, which were covered by the jock-strap. If he got too close, I would gently take his hands and move them elsewhere. He loved the fact that I had shaved my body. ‘Ercole, my Greek hero’ he whispered. And again ‘liocorno mio‘ – my unicorn – he meant that I was a fabulous creature”, said Richard with a chuckle. “Then I bent over an old altar-tomb, legs apart. I let him run his hands all over and between my legs, very gently, even reverently, as though he was afraid that I would bite! He caressed my bare ass-cheeks… he was getting more and more excited!”      

    “I bet he was excited!” I said, with real pain, envy and jealousy. So was I. Richard’s ass was a marmoreal masterpiece; hard, symmetrical and muscular, like two ostrich-eggs. When he permitted, I could not keep my hands off it. The ass-crack was perfectly-shaped, too. He kept it, like most of the rest of him, shaven. His ass-pucker was an exquisite pink star of desire, as the young Italian had presumably noticed. 

    Richard was now laughing: “He slid his hand between my ass-cheeks and touched my man-hole… It was like the gentlest of electric shocks!” 

    “Stop it!” I almost shouted: “I’ve heard enough. Not only am I ablaze with jealousy, but I’ve got a bloody painful hard-on!”  

    Richard leaned over and squeezed it through the cloth of my trousers and briefs. 

    “Bloody hell, so you have!” he chuckled. “I shall interpret that as a compliment. Well, it’ll have to wait, at any rate until after I’ve finished the story!”

    “You bastard!” was all that I could groan. 

    Richard was clearly very much amused; he assumed, correctly, that my annoyance was due as much to his abandoned fling with the young Italian, as it was to his grabbing my genitals. Fortunately we were alone in the library that afternoon. Richard was not easily embarrassed; I was, however.   

    “James, you would have done the same!” said Richard, soothingly. “You see, here was my perfect alibi, if I should need one. Being a rentboy was marvellous cover for a murderer. The young Italian clearly thought that I was just a rentboy touting for trade; hence the stripping-off. He was equally clearly, from his clothes and car, well-off and respectable. He was therefore potentially open to blackmail, if I should need him to provide me with an alibi. I was quite happy to do what it took to get him on-side. He offered me a huge sum in lire and wanted to do it there and then, but I refused. I said that I insisted on some degree of comfort, and I wanted to spend the night with him. Did he know anywhere that we could go? He looked a  bit worried and said that he thought that he might. Later I discovered what the difficulty was: despite his dashing appearance, he was, like many young Italian men, a Mummy’s boy and still lived at home. Mummy – or rather, Mamma – would be most upset if he brought back a girl, let alone a man! Then he suddenly remembered and said that a friend of his called Massimo had an apartment in Rome and that he had a key to it. He was pretty sure that Massimo was away on vacation, but he’d need to check.  We drove back into Rome in convoy – he in his car and me on the motor-bike – as I refused to leave the bike there. Eventually we arrived at the friend’s apartment block.  The lad did a recce and confirmed that no-one was at home.  There were some preliminaries. Firstly, I told him that I was a Russian immigrant but was happy to speak in French; my Italian was not good.  That settled, we negotiated a  price for a whole night’s fucking. It equated to several hundred English pounds! That settled, he rang Mother and had a lengthy argument with her. Finally, he rang off and grinned at me: 

    “‘I told her that I was at this party, that I was now too drunk to drive home and that I’d be spending the night on Massimo’s sofa!’ He chortled at his own cleverness. I hoped that Massimo, whoever he was, would back him up. ‘And now, my dear Russki’, he said, ‘Let’s fuck!’ I was all for that! 

    “I don’t know about you, James, but I always get very randy just after I’ve killed someone; especially someone I don’t like. I also feel randy when I’ve taken a risk and got away with it; I suppose it is a side effect of the adrenalin rush. I’m highly-charged at the best of times and now I was super-charged. My host, who was called Gino and belonged to a distinguished family of papal nobility, was going to get the full works. 

    “Gino was really handsome and looked even better when I had got his clothes off.  You know the type: tall, delicately handsome and dark-haired; elegant even when naked; a golden all-over tan, apart from minute, pale rosy-pink triangles front and back, left by the smallest pair of bikini trunks in existence. That was extremely erotic. He was definitely a sporty boy: long, strong legs; beautiful, muscular arms, narrow waist, great ass, classical torso… and a beautiful face. I loved it when those aristocratic, refined but still masculine features were contorted by pain, lust or ecstasy.  All of those sensations were soon inflaming them.  

    “We started out by having a shower together. That was fun; it was a power-shower!  Before long I was kissing and cuddling his wet body, while down upon our heads Niagara Falls descended with all the heat of music-halls. I sucked his cock, kissed and bit his ass-cheeks, parted them, and then rimmed him. He’d never had that before, if you’ll believe me! He went bananas. But that was just the starter.  I got him out of the shower; we dried ourselves and each other. He had some condoms and lube. I played with his ass-hole, teasing and probing it with my fingers while he went bananas all over again. It struck me that he was very inexperienced and in fact I was right; until last year, he had only slept with girls. However he had recently discovered his true nature, wanted to make up for lost time but didn’t want Mamma to know! Well, that too was useful to know if Gino should ever try to cause trouble in the future! Nothing to beat good old blackmail. 

    “The apartment was absolutely made for an erotic encounter, or so I thought. The décor was lush and a bit OTT, to be honest. The furniture was ornate and decadent. The paintings on the ceilings and walls depicted the loves and lusts of the Gods. Whoever the painter was, and I suspect that he was a good, albeit second-rate, pupil of Caravaggio, he – or his patron – must have been gay, as he had depicted as many naked, muscular, straining heroes as he had luscious nymphs. Hercules smooched Hylas; Jupiter in the form of an eagle carried off Ganymede, who looked more like a randy teenager than a cherubic boy and was pissing himself with fright. Muscular Romans raped the Sabines… but I digress. 

    “I fucked Gino all over that sumptuous flat: in the shower; bent over the sofas; on the floor, even on top of the grand piano. He screamed when I bent him over and took him the first time.. He screamed when I mounted him again while he was flat on his face. He screamed when I got him on his back, spread his legs and deep-fucked him. He screamed when I had him upside-down against a sofa. But then he started to get into the spirit of it and rode my cock very competently while I instructed him  between gasps, groans and grunts. We were both gasping and pouring with sweat by the time that he had finished his riding-lesson. We showered again, slept for a few hours and then, at about 4.30 am, he was randy once more!  This time he wanted to fuck me! So I got him hard, took him like a man – right up my backside – and rode him like a steeple-chaser. I finally left at about six in the morning, with a sore ass but several hundred pounds richer. I wandered off to have rolls and a cappuccino at the Pope’s favourite trattoria – which I could now well afford and which I knew was always open, even at that hour – before returning to my temporary lodgings.”  

    “Where were they?” 

    “Oh, in the Vatican,” said Richard. “Some nuns were looking after me. I slept like a log until almost midday.”

    “And meanwhile Dr Mayor was expiring from terror, cold and starvation in the catacomb?” 

    “So I imagine”, said Richard unconcernedly. “I had to go back there a week or three later with Cardinal Mascardi for a private viewing. I was quite prepared to find Edwin’s corpse or even conceivably to confront a starving, screaming and completely bonkers Edwin. I had a story or two ready, of course. But we saw and met no-one and nothing. Even so, Edwin could not have got out. He must have wandered off into a remote part of the catacomb and expired there or broken his neck; it’s easily done in the dark. As I said, it is a very big place. Anyway, he was no loss; he had really pissed me off ever since we first met at Cambridge! His card had been marked long ago!” 

    “And pissing you off is a capital crime, I suppose?” I ventured. “Well, I have been warned!” 

    “Too right!” came Richard’s cheerful reply. “And, seriously, I was not prepared to risk Edwin’s trying to pre-empt my discovery, which he would have tried to do. My dear James, you’re such an honourable chap that you can have no conception of how very unethical, dishonest and unscrupulous some academics are. At the very least, he would have gossiped indiscreetly and queered my pitch with Cardinal Mascardi. No: he had to go.” 

    Richard looked at me, his dark-hazel eyes twinkling with mischief: “James, let’s forget Edwin, can we? He literally is history now. No doubt he will be missed by his friends; by both of them, I should think. Now, how about a game of squash? Unless, of course, you’d care for something even more energetic? I’m staying here in the Club while my flat is being decorated!” 

    Minutes later, in Richard’s bedroom upstairs, we were engaged in a complicated soixante-neuf. Suddenly Richard’s teeth nipped the loose skin of my scrotum. It hurt like hell and I got an instant erection. I went bananas and lost all restraint. Thereafter I took it like a man until I was begging for mercy. I did not receive it, either. For a while we lay trembling and sweating in each other’s arms. Then we showered, saying very little. I spent the rest of the afternoon recovering. 

    That was far from being the end of the story. Edwin Mayor’s body was eventually found somewhere in the catacomb, now officially named for St Ignatius. Richard denied any knowledge of how he might have got there. He admitted that he knew of Dr Mayor’s interest in the catacomb, but was able to produce witnesses to demonstrate that heand Edwin had been rivals and on bad terms. No way would Richard have admitted him to the site, and certainly not without first clearing his lines with Cardinal Mascardi! The assumption was that Edwin must have gained entry illicitly; perhaps by bribing a workman, or using other criminal means to gain access, undoubtedly in a spirit of academic rivalry to Richard. There is now a memorial to him in the chapel of his former College at Cambridge. Richard’s proposed epitaph was not used: 

    The Lord is pleased when Man doth cease from sin;

    TheDevil is pleased when he a soul doth win;

    The World is pleased when every wanker dies;

    So all are pleased, for here fat Edwin lies!  

    For Richard there was a more distinguished outcome. The Pope was delighted at the discovery of the catacomb, which had indeed proved to contain the mortal remains of St Ignatius and of some early Popes. The whole area is now consecrated ground and can be visited by appointment, in guided groups. As you might recall, when The National Geographic revealed Richard’s discovery to the world, Cardinal Mascardi received much of the credit. Richard’s role was understated, but he did not mind; he had been made a Knight  of the Order of Pius IX and also received a Papal Doctorate Honoris Causa for his pains. Richard’s natural father, Thierry, and I watched him receive both. For his Doctorate Richard had to wear a cassock with his doctoral robes and he received a biretta instead of a mortar-board at the degree conferment ceremony. Dr Richard Finch, looking serious and noble in his quasi-priestly garb, was a very unusual sight. 

    One slightly untoward incident marred the ceremony of Richard’s investiture with the Order of Pius IX. As Richard stood to attention for the Pope to pin the medal on his chest, a young member of the Noble Guard, who was wearing an extravagant Ruritanian uniform, dropped his ceremonial sword with a crash and retrieved it, puce-faced with embarrassment. He kept glancing nervously at Richard, while the Pope smiled benignly and his Commanding Officer frowned. Later Richard explained: 

    “Oh,that was Gino! I don’t suppose that he ever expected to see his ‘Russian’ ragazzo di vita, again; least of all, being decorated by the Pope!”  

  • Ass Pounder

    I slipped the key into room 503 and jiggled the lock.  The well worn lock resisted at first.  As the pin tumblers engaged the lock begrudgingly let me in.  I was horny as hell and it had been slow getting laid lately.  The night before had been a complete waste of time.  I tossed my backpack in the corner and quickly stripped down.  I tossed my clothes on top of the backpack and pulled out my lube and poppers.  I lubed my ass hoping it was mostly clean.  I had cleaned out prior to leaving the house and thought I was good to go.  As luck would have it I barely made it to my counselors office.  The rough road had jiggled my insides.  I barely got to the toilet before my gut let go.  That usually meant things wouldn’t be squeaky clean.

    I grabbed my towel and headed for the bathroom to piss.  I figured I would go down to the hot tub and at least soak for a few minutes and let the hot chlorine water wash my ass good.

    As I entered the bathroom a black man was walking out.  He was built like a Mack truck and smiled at me.  I smiled back and darted to the urinal.

    After finishing my business I decided to walk around and see who was here.  I couldn’t quite tell if my gut was done tormenting me or not.  I absolutely hated being a messy bottom, but didn’t see much of a choice.

    I was beginning to think maybe it was dead.  I walked through the maze and didn’t see anyone.  I rounded the corner and headed back towards my room.  About 1/3rd of the way down the hall I saw Mr. Smiley Mack Truck.  I smiled again and he smiled back.  I walked a few steps past him and stopped.  He had done the same thing and then started to walk back to me.  He stopped next to me and asked how come I had such a nice ass.  I smiled and said, “Thanks, want to fuck it and find out how nice it feels?”  I grabbed his cock and felt how thick it was.  He said, “Sure.”  I replied, “room 503.”  I turned and walked to my room with him in close pursuit.

    We both walked into my room and he threw his towel on the bed by the door.  I tossed mine on my bag and turned to him.  I dropped to my knees and started sucking his cock.  It was even bigger than I had expected, probably 5 wide and a touch over 9 long.  He adjusted his cock ring and started to gently work my mouth and throat.  After a few minutes he pulled me up and told me to bend over the bed.

    I grabbed my lube and poppers hastily.  I lubed my ass up and lubed his cock good.  It was damn big and I wasn’t sure if I could handle this as my first dick for the night.  I took a couple of deep breaths from my poppers and then got on all fours facing the wall with my ass towards him.  He placed his big thick hands on either side of my hips and pulled me gently against his cock.  As I hit my poppers again and prayed this wouldn’t hurt too much he pulled my hole over his cock.  I felt my ass stretch and my guts churn.  He was experienced and knew how to work that cock.  He quickly opened my hole and wasted no time in starting to pound me.  He was one of these guys who liked to bang your ass and drive his cock all the way in.

    I’m not sure if my ass went numb or the poppers just kicked in, but after a minute or two of wondering if my ass was going to explode on him things evened out.  He was pounding my ass good and hard.  I was sure anyone else in the club knew I was getting fucked and fucked hard.  He wasn’t talking much and neither was I.  I was moaning as he pounded me and he was moaning occassionally in response to my hole squeezing him.  After about 10 minutes he stopped and just froze.  I could tell he was edging now.  He waited maybe a minute and then started again, slowly at first, but then quickly reaching a tempo of pounding on my hole.

    This went on for a few cycles.  Finally I was ready for him to cum so when he stopped to edge I started working his cock with my ass, pushing back on him.  I was hoping it would push him over the edge.  I was right.  He groaned in pleasure and then leaned into me and started pounding me as hard as he could.  After about a minute he thrust himself into me and I felt his manhood pulse as he planted his seed deep in my gut and held it there.  I stayed frozen, just taking his load in.  This was that good fuck I had been craving.  He held his cock in me for what seemed like a long time.  After probably only a minute he pulled out.

    As he pulled out of my ass I felt something squirt out and thought, oh shit!  I was terrified that I had just shot a blob out on his feet or the floor.  I immediately apologized and turned the light on dimly.  He asked what was wrong and I explained that I thought he had disturbed the order of the universe and I wasn’t sure what had popped out besides his dick.  He laughed and said it was probably his seed.  I think he was right because I didn’t see anything nasty or smell anything vile.

    He told me I had a fantastic ass and that he had really enjoyed it.  I told him thank you and asked if he lived nearby.  He said he did and that he wanted to hit my hole again.  I smiled and asked for his number.  I put him in my contacts and sent him a text.

    As I wrapped up I stood up and rubbed his shoulders a bit.  He was covered in sweat, but built so well!  I leaned in closer to him and licked his nipple.  I kept licking and then nibbled a bit.  I switched to the other one, enjoying playing with my ebony stud.  I looked up and realized he was enjoying this as much as I was.  I stood up and nuzzled his neck a bit, not entirely sure if he would return the act.  Some guys were affectionate and some aren’t.  He didn’t object at all.  I worked my way up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.  This was the moment where I’d find out how affectionate he was.  He didn’t flinch at all.  The next thing I knew we were making out hard core.  He was a great kisser.  Intense sex and Intense kissing were huge turn ons.  Apparently not just for me either.  I noticed his huge cock was hard again and so I grabbed it with my right hand and stroked it a little bit.  I asked if he wanted to fuck again.

    He spun me around and bent me over.  Before I could reach for more lube he had pushed his cock into me.  He wasted no time in opening me up.  He started pounding me again and he was slamming my ass.  Bang bang bang bang he kept pounding that ass and pumping me good.  After about 8 minutes he stopped, leaving the tip of his cock inside me, and said he didn’t think he could cum again.  I asked, “Are you enjoying it?”  Without replying he started pounding me again.

    After about 5 minutes he stopped again and told me he wasn’t going to be able to cum.  I didn’t ask this time, I growled back at him, “Fuck me sir!” He obliged me and started drilling my ass.  I muttered to him to keep going and to use my ass.

    He did.  He kept drilling that ass hard, slapping his body against my ass and trying in vain to split my ass in half.  After what seemed like ten minutes he managed to cum again.  It was the same as before, but without the pause.  It was really hot, I felt his cock get a little bigger and then noticed he got alot more intense.  Then he thrust in and stopped.  As he stopped his thick meaty cock started to pulse, pumping his seed deep inside me again.

    He didn’t hold it in for a while this time.  While he was still in me he grabbed his towel and started drying off.  When he got down to his midsection he pulled his cock out, wiped it off and cleaned up.  He thanked me again, wrapped his towel around his body and walked out the door.

    I had rolled over by now and realized the cooler air from the hallway felt fantastic flowing over the sweat on my body.  After a second I snapped out of my daze and realized the door was open.  I pushed it shut with my foot and laid back on the bed, just collapsing in post-seeding exhaustion.  My hole had behaved and I had just gotten that thorough fucking that every bottom longs for when they are horny.

    As I lay there in the darkness, listening to dance music blaring through the speakers I heard my phone buzz.  I reached for my phone and unlocked it.  I had a text message already from the stud who’s seed was oozing out of my ass.  That was a good sign and suggested I would get bred again by him someday.

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  • Adventure in Pioneersville

    ADVENTURE IN PIONEERSVILLE

    by Mighty Mouth

    April 2, 2016

        My name is Bill Taylor. I am a free-lance photographer and historian. First off I need to explain that I am not one of the typical narrators of stories on gay sites. I am not 30 years old, am not 6′ 2″, don’t have blue eyes, and am not very much in shape.  In fact I am 60, balding, with a paunch, and 5′ 8″. If my statistics don’t match your expectations, please read a different story.

        I was given a gig by a popular history magazine to do a story on Pioneersville, a small city of about 25,000 located in the heart of the Midwest. I do not own nor drive a car, but since I live only five hours from there by road, I took at bus to fulfill my assignment. I left my town, Gooseneck Bend, at 10 a.m. and arrived promptly at 3 p.m. I checked into the inn where I had made a reservation in the downtown area, and decided to take a stroll.

        Pioneersville was settled in the early 1800s, and is a perfectly preserved city from all the periods since then. I walked down Main Street, with its stately restored Victorian storefronts. Benches are placed all along the street, and the whole atmosphere is very laid back, as befitting such a city. I was thinking that I need to hire a car and driver, since the city is a bit too large for a tired 60 year old to cover by foot.

        A distinguish-looking older gentleman was sitting on a bench, and I asked him, “I’m looking to rent a car with a driver. Do you know of someone?” He replied that he did not, but a guy sitting on the next bench replied, “Maybe I can help you. I am not working at the moment.” I took a good look at him. He seemed to be about 25, in good physical shape, and quite good-looking. He introduced himself as Patrick. We quickly agreed on a price, which was $75 per day. I didn’t yet know whether it would take one or two days to get my job done. He agreed to pick me up at 8 a.m. the next day at my hotel.

        He arrived on the hour, in an old jalopy, that had certainly seen better days. As I got in, he shook my hand, and said, “I’m a pretty agreeable guy, as long as nobody messes with me.” I thought his comment curious, and asked, “You mean when someone wants to pick a fight with you?” He replied, “No, when some queer tries to mess with me.” His response disturbed me. I am, and always have been, macho, and neither straights nor gays guess that I am gay, so he could not have known either.

        I replied, “Why do you bring this subject up?”

        He answered, “I just like to keep the record straight. I’m a pussy lover and always have been. I have a lot of bitches on the string.”

        I told him, “Let’s drop this subject right now. I didn’t come onto you.”

        The morning went well. I got photos of many of the storefronts, and some of the old elegant mansions. We came to a small park, about two blocks square. He said, “See that park there? Well at night queers hang around there to suck guys’ dicks.”

        Curious, I asked “How do you know that?”

        “Well, one night when I was about 20 years old and could not rouse any of my bitches by phone, I decided to take a walk from my house, just to try to calm my frustration and get rid of my hard on. When I walked into the park, there was a guy about your age sitting on a bench. As I passed him, he said , “How are things? Looking for action? I asked What kind of action?” He answered, “Well like getting your dick sucked.”

        I yelled, “You fucking faggot, no way. I left the park in a hurry. But when I got to the street, I thought, what the hell. I’m so fucking horny, and nobody will know.” So I went back in and told him OK. He took me into an area with bushes, and give me a fantastic blow job. I’ll never forget it. I don’t know why I am telling you all of this. I guess I feel guilty. But it will never happen again.”

        So I replied, “No problem, forget about it.”

        “It was now12:30, and I was beginning to get hungry. I asked Patrick, “Would you like join me for lunch?”

        He was quick to answer, “Hell, why not?”

        So I took him to my hotel for lunch. After a decent meal, with wine, I felt a bit tired. I said to him, “I think I’ll spend a little time in my room, what do you want to do?”    

        “I ain’t got nothin’ to do. Can I watch some TV in your room while you relax?”

        At this point I began to hatch a scheme to see what would happen. After all, I wanted to make it with him, but was afraid that he might beat the hell out of me. But I said, “Sure, that’s OK.”

        Once in my room, I asked him what he wanted to watch. “He replied, “Do they have a porno channel here?”

        I replied, “I donno, know, but let’s try.” Sure enough there was one, and he settled back to watch from the armchair, while I sat on my bed.

        I noticed that he got an immediate hard-on. He told me, “Man, I haven’t had any pussy for three days, I’m fucking horny. Would you mind if I jerk off in front of you, I can’t take it any longer.”

        I was surprised, but replied, “Be my guest.” Watching attentively, I was amazed to see a perfectly formed 8 inch prick pop out of his pants. I couldn’t resist saying, “What a beautiful dick you have.”

        He replied, “Hey man, I can’t believe what you just said. Are you interested?”

        I said, “You bet I am, how about it?”

        He replied “Go for it.”

        It was a great blow job from beginning to end for both of us. When I finished, he said, “Man don’t tell anyone about this. If you do I’ll kill you.”

            I told him, “Hey, I don’t live here, and don’t know anybody who lives here, so relax.’

        Then we left the hotel, and I spent 2 more hours taking photos, until it was 5 p.m. I said, “I’m finished with my project. Can you drive me to the bus station?”

        He replied, “of course.” In a few minutes we were there, and I paid him the agreed amount. He said, “Man, that was awesome. When will you be back in town?”

        I replied, “Probably never.”

        “Well in case you do, here is my card. But only phone me at home, OK?”

        I said no problem and looked at his card. I was shocked to the core. The card stated,

         Patrick Smith

        U.S. Secret Service.

        Work: 888-xxxx

        Home: 999-yyyy

        On the bus, I mused about what a strange guy he was, and what a weird experience. I kept the card, but have no plans to return to Pioneersville.

    Comments pro or con are welcome. Send replies to: [email protected]

  • Tool Room

    It was dicey to hit on another soldier.  My gaydar told me that I could get into Smith’s pants.  Smith was another soldier I worked with in Ft. Wainwright, Alaska.  We were both assigned to HQ CO 5/11th Artillery, 6thID.  It was fucking cold out and there wasn’t a damn thing to do at night, aside from throwing dollars at the dancers at the Flying Flea Carpet, our bases strip joint.  I wasn’t really interested in the fleas or the carpet, so I steered clear of the horny drunk soldiers being fleeced of their money.

    I was supposed to be in one of the artillery batteries, I was a 13B cannon crewmember, aka Gun Bunny.  Smith was a mechanic.  I had just propositioned him after several days of making small talk to figure out how horny he was.  I normally would ask a series of questions about the prospect’s sexual experience, preference, and try to determine a Hornyness Score.  The more horned up the guy was the more likely I’d get to suck him off.  It usually culminated in either an indirect or direct proposition, depending on how stupid I thought he was.  The stupid ones got the indirect bet based propositions.  Smith was pretty smart and we’d  already established that he didn’t give a damn what sucked his cock as long as he got off.  I had told him I could get his dick sucked by someone who was really really good.  I asked him if he was interested.

    It seemed like he thought about it forever.  Finally, he looked around before saying, “Sure.”  We were both nervous, horny, and excited.  He was scheduled to ETS in a couple of weeks, so this was a pretty safe proposition for me.  I had nearly been court martialed for hitting on another guy a few months ago.  Like a moth to a flame this faggot just wanted to suck some dick.  That was about all I was into in 1992.

    He asked, “Where? When?”  I said, “How about now, and I know a quiet, dark, secure place.”  I continued, “Are you game now?”  He looked around again and looked down at his now growing bulge before answering, “Yea, but not here.  Not in the barracks man.”  I agreed, “Oh hell no, not in the barracks, come on.”  He smiled and I grabbed my keys.

    It was medically called Plantar Fascitis, but it was my pass to wearing tennis shoes and it was why I had the keys to the tool room.  My command had been somewhat puzzled about what to do with me.  The stupid PA assigned to our unit operated on the principle of see no ill, tolerate no ill.  This basically meant if he couldn’t see it broke he didn’t believe it could hurt.  Plantar Fascitis basically meant I had high arches and this entitled me to an alternate assignment and tennis shoes.  The tennis shoes piece infuriated my CO who transferred me to HQ Battery to get rid of me.  HQ Battery didn’t know what to do with me so they stuck me in the motorpool where they were short handed.

    At first this went okay, but then I caught on that some funny shit was going on with parts ordering.  When I asked about it, they stuck me in the tool room and made me the PLL clerk, responsible for our parts stock.  I promptly organized it and made sure we have every nut and bolt our mechanics needed.  I painted the floor and cleaned up all the tools.  I was really good at running the tool room.  By design, the tool room was secure, lockable, and private at night.  Being in charge of it gave me keys to the motorpool and keys to the toolroom.

    Smith and I walked over to the Motorpool.  It was 10pm on a Saturday night.  The place would be quieter than a graveyard.  I didn’t really have an excuse for being here, other than maybe needing a wrench or something.  My heart was pounding as I opened the outside door.  There weren’t any cars in the parking lot, but I never knew who or what I would find in here.  The Master Sergeant, Stevens,  that ran the motorpool was a cranky old bastard from Texas.  I think he knew I was a cock sucker and he was the last person I wanted to run into.  We slipped inside the doorway and closed the door behind us.  All good so far, only the yellow “always on” lights were on.  It was dimly lit, warm, and very quiet.  Just the soft hiss of air escaping from some leak somewhere in the building.  Our facilities folks didn’t give a shit about air leaks.  Periodically the big compressor would roar to life and replenish whatever leaked out 24/7.

    I looked over at Smith and we both smiled and I motioned to follow me.  I told myself the lie of why we were here as we strode across the motorpool bay.  I was glad I didn’t see anyone as it would have fucked up my chances of getting laid tonight.  When we reached the door I pulled my keys out again and opened it.  We both walked in and I quietly shut the door behind us.  

    As the door shut, the tool room returned to pitch black.  It was just us, two privates, standing in the dark in the tool room.  If we got caught now we would totally be busted.  My mind raced trying to figure out the next step.  Apparently so did his, and he took the easy path.  I heard his belt buckle clink as he undid it.  I quickly undid mine and dropped to my knees.  I reached over and found his cock and started to gently stroke it.  No resistance.  I had one hand on his cock and one hand on mine.  I was rock hard and dripping.  Neither of us said a word.  He was hard, but not precumming.  

    I stroked him a few times and then gently put my lips around the head of his cock.  My mouth was wet, anticipating feeling his manhood inside me.  All I was thinking about right now was servicing him completely.  I pursed my lips and pressed against the head of his cock.  He was slightly below average, nothing to tell a story about honestly.  5 inches long, skinny, below average as cocks go.  I had no idea at the time and was super excited by the chance to bob his knob.  I had sucking cock down to a routine by now.  I would push in a little bit, pause, pull back to the tip, push in a little further, and repeat.  It was working like a charm on Smith.  I finally worked my way to the base of his cock and just paused there.  His shaft was all the way in my mouth, rubbing the back of my throat.  I was trying to keep it off my teeth.  His pubic hair was in my face, surrounding my nose.  As I inhaled I took in the musk of his manhood.  Hmm, delicious I thought.

    Before I could pull back a little and continue sucking him he pulled back a little and then thrust in.  He was fucking my face.  Oh, I loved this.  He was gentle at first and then picked up pace after a few pumps.  I was stroking at the same time he was pumping.  He moaned softly and then said, “I’m about to cum!”  I doubled down on his dick and before he could pull out his cock pulsed and shot a creamy load of seed into my mouth.  It tasted pretty good.  Slightly sweet and that distinctive cum taste.  At the same time I shot my load on the floor, between his boots.

    He pulled his cock out of my mouth and remarked, “Damn that was good.”  Before either of us could move I heard the distinctive sound of keys being put in the lock.

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