Author: admin

My eyes open to see a barrel of a shotgun pointed at my head, a man dressed in black, hidden under a New York Yankee cap and half covered scarf wrapped around his face, and two blue marbles intensely staring back at me. I don’t dare move a thing. I’m not given to panic easily. Experience has taught me that in situations like this one it’s best to go with the flow.  Even though I’m completely naked and still holding the sex toy in my hand, I don’t contemplate on what he can be thinking, instead I wait to see what the stranger plans to do.

He looks me up and down—my dick is soft but swollen with a morning wood, resting to the left, and the aching urge to piss begins to weigh on me. 

“Get dressed,” the stranger commands. He motions for me to get up.

I rise slowly, leaving the dildo on the bed. My ass is sore from the brutal treatment I gave myself. What the actual fuck was I thinking? It was the liquor, I was inebriated, I wasn’t thinking straight, literally. My dick has now flopped down, erect, pointing straight in his direction as if it too was watching him. I can’t do anything about it, it’s gorged with blood and bursting to pee. I can’t hide it, my hands are up in the air, I don’t want to alarm the stranger.  

Once again I see his eyes glance down to my cock.

“Get dressed,” the stranger said, and kicks the underwear on the floor towards me.

“I need to piss,” I said, grabbing the undergarment and covering my dick with it.

“No tricks,” the stranger warns, and cocked the shotgun  “go ahead.”

I hurry to the toilet and stand over it, grab my cock and point it down. The warm stream shoots out, increasing as my body relaxes, my balls drop down, and my dick begins to soften. I wiggle off the last drops of urine and begin to step into my underwear, all the while under the watchful eyes of the stranger.

I wonder how long I slept, how he got inside without me noticing. I must have been more exhausted than I realized. No, I was passed out drunk. The fact is this was the most comfortable sleep I have had in some time.

My garments are scattered around the floor. I point them out one by one before reaching out for them. But I can’t see my weapons, not even my fanny bag. I assumed he took them. The idea of being so defenceless makes me angry, but I exhaled, I try to relax, and wait for an opportunity. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me.

“My name is Manny,” I said, to break the ice.

“You’re trespassing, Manny,” the stranger said.

“Is this your place?” I asked, puzzled.

“The entire building is mine.” He said, matter-of-fact.

He can’t be completely serious. This apartment was clearly abandoned, no one’s been here in months.

“I apologize if I took something from you. I was mainly looking for food. It’s not easy out there.” I said. I tried to justify my actions.

“You’re looking for food, I know, everyone alive in New York City is looking for food. Everyone is so desperate that rules no longer apply, right? You go around taking and taking without a second thought about whose stash your stealing from. You don’t care about the consequences of your actions.”

“Hey, I apologize.” I said, calmly. I’m fully dressed now and I raised my hands up in the air to remind him I’m defenceless. “I really mean it. I try to be careful not to step into anyone’s territory. This building looked abandoned, this apartment clearly is abandoned.”

“Motherfucker, this apartment belongs to my friend. You have no right to be in here. Much less a right to use his intimate things. You get me?” He said, angrily.

“Yes, yes, you are right. I…I…” I was tongue tied. I knew very well what he was talking about. Nothing I can say will explain why I did what I did, and I didn’t want to explain it either. I felt suddenly ashamed of myself. And it angered me that I was ashamed because who gives a fuck, and I had a good mind to tell him so.

“You know what, fuck you. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Don’t stand here all high and mighty. The world is upside down if you weren’t fucking noticed. The rules have changed, and you have to adapt. You want to shoot me because I broke in here looking for food, because I eat what I could, got drunk and fucked myself with your friend’s dildo on his bed. It isn’t your place. You think your friend gave a fuck about what he left behind, because from what I can tell he took what he needed.” I spat, angry.

I just took a chance. The way I see it, if he meant to kill he would have done it already. And his attempt to make me feel guilty to do what whatever it is he wanted wasn’t going to work with me.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” the stranger said, chuckling. “You may be right. I don’t give a fuck about my tenant and his shit. You can fuck yourself with that dildo as many times as you want.” He grabbed the dildo and tossed it at me, and I caught it and  hurled it across the room. “But this is my building motherfucker. And you are trespassing.”

And having said that he came at me, so fast that I didn’t react before the end of the shotgun hit me on the head. It hit me so hard I saw the room spin and lost my balance. The pain was palpitating, and I felt the warm rush of blood to my head. Then he grabbed me by the throat and punch me until I passed out unconscious.

My eyes squint open, the palpitating headache I was feeling makes it hard for me to focus. I couldn’t move, I was restrained in a sitting position on a metal chair, my hands and legs tied-up to the limbs of the chair. And my body ached from the uncomfortable position.

The room was dim, only the moonlight from the window brought the room to life—the room was clean and organized, there was a full size bed against the far wall, dressed in winter bedding and extra blankets folded at the end, a fluff shaggy grey Alfombra partially covered the floor, and a night table with a lamp was placed next to the bed. Across, I see a tall dresser and mirror, and a rectangular storage chest. The wall is painted off-white, and there is an oil painting of a couple walking under an umbrella in a rainy park, the colours are bright and bold that they seem to shine under the moonlight. I stare at the painting for a moment, thinking how life now is so unfair that one can’t do something as simple as have a stroll through the park on a rainy day.

And my mind drifts—I’m jogging in Central Park. It’s a beautiful summer day, the great lawn is full of people enjoying the outdoors, bikers and people on Rollerblades and skateboards go pass me, and I’m running up to the east side of the JKO reservoir when another jogger matches my pace. I look at him and he looks at me. He is a white man, with dark hair and blue eyes, his face looks familiar to me, but he moves ahead before I can associate with him.

Twenty-minutes later I’m stretching when I noticed the same jogger run pass me. I set out behind him. I wanted to know if we met before. 

He runs out of the common jogging path and follows a dirt path into the dense foliage, straight into an area where nature is high, and the trees block the sun. I stop as I watch him go on, and I look around and realise I’m already deep inside this shadowy wooded area. When I look again, I don’t see him anymore.

I move forward and pick up my pace. I don’t really know where I’m going, but I need to get out of here. I hear whispering, then moaning, and as I find the source of the voices I see the jogger with his pants down to his knee and another man kneeled in front of him. It becomes clear to me, the closer I get, that the man on his knees has the joggers erect dick in his mouth.

The jogger looks at me and grins. And I realize who he is, he is the musician. I stumble back and feel someone behind me. When I turn around I see a Resurrected clawing at my hands, mouth open, ready to bite me, and I scream. The monster is strong and I don’t think I can get away, but I manage to get loose, and start to run. But they are everywhere now, and they are all coming at me. I can’t get away from them. One of them grabs me, then another, and soon enough I am bitten by the mob, and I wake up screaming.

I’m back in the room with the painting, still tied-up to a chair, but it’s daytime, and the sunlight brightens the room. I hear footsteps and then the door opens, it’s the stranger, I recognised the dark clothes, and he is not alone. He walks in first, with shotgun in hand, and then the other person, and he is holding a tray with hot food—I can see the steam rising from the bowl.

“Jesus Clavin. How do you expect him to help us if you treat him like this,” the new stranger said, disappointed. “Get me some bandages, please.”

Clavin walks away stiffly.

He was of small frame, shorter than me, with long black hair fastened into a ponytail. He had thick eyebrows and an intricate face, with soft brown eyes. There was a softness about him and his mannerism that puts me at ease. He looked like he genuinely cares about my well being.

He kneels before me and pulled a knife from his back to cut through the tape wrapped around my limbs.

“I’m sorry for this mistake. Clavin, sometimes is too weary of strangers. He only acts to protect us…” He said, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We just lost a friend the other day, so it’s been stressful for all of us.”

“How many are you?” I asked. I wanted information, before Clavin comes back. I needed to assess my situation very carefully.

“A handful of us. Here, there and everywhere. We control the entire block.” He said, his eyes stare at me, they held no fear, and his smile and his face brighten up with joy. “There you are, now. Come to the bed and eat before it gets cold. I made you some vegetable soup from our garden.” He stands up and fastens the knife to his back.

I rubbed my wrists and shook out my arms. I was let loose, but not free. I knew I was still in danger. And this boy, so far, was my only chance at getting out of this alive.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Eat. I’m going to get some medicine to clean those wounds. Just stay in the room till I come back.” He said.

I nodded agreeably. He went out and closed the door behind him. I don’t hear it lock, I don’t think it has a lock feature.  This was not a cell, but just a room. I stand up with difficulty. I’ve been sitting too long and my legs ache, my back is knotted up, and my face feels swollen. My body is in pain, there isn’t an inch of me that doesn’t feel sore. I glance out the window and realized we are high up, maybe on the top floor. But I’m not sure if it’s the same building I broke into—my window is facing the backyard.

I can see a few guys walking in the backyard outside, it’s a large garden, and they are harvesting vegetables from the ground and into baskets, and picking all types of edible greens from pots. I see a man pull a rabbit from a cage and break its neck, he holds the rabbit by the back legs and gathers a bunch of skin around the ankle, twisting the skin until it breaks. He pulls the skin down off the leg, and repeats the process on the other leg, this time pulling the skin from the hip down to its head. With a a shear he removes extremities. Then makes a cut along the rabbit’s belly through the rib cage and pelvis, and opens the sides of the belly and grasp the windpipe below the severed neck and pulls it out—I see other caged animals, pigeons and cats. I see clean clothes hanging on lines, I see trails that connect to the surrounding buildings. The entire yard appears to be closed in by buildings clustered together on the same block. I see armed man covered up in black gear, like Clavin’s, on rooftops, walking and patrolling the surrounding.

I step away from the window and seat on the bed. I’m awfully cold. The temperature is changing. I pick up the bowl of soap, it’s still warm, and bring it to my mouth. It smells fresh and delicious. I see leeks, garlic, carrots, potatoes, green beans, tomatoes, corn, and pepper, and chopped parsley. It tastes a little bland but filling. I finished the entire soup.

What am I going to do now? These people clearly want something from me.  But they seem so well organized I can’t imagine how I can help them. However, I only see men and no females. I wonder if the women are kept someplace else?

The little guy comes back into the room. He is alone, and holding a basin, in it I see first aid supplies. 

“I see you finished your soup. There’s more if you still hungry?” He offered.

“No, I’m good, thanks.” I replied.

“Alright, come with me. I ran a bath for you. We need to get you out of those clothes and clean up those wounds, come.” He gestures with his hand for me to follow.

I get up, this time with less trouble than before. I follow the boy, he leads me out into the hallway, and I take the opportunity to look and take in as much as I can about my surroundings. I pretend to have some difficulty walking and  slow down, almost to the point of limping. The boy noticed, sets down the basin on the floor, and comes to my aid. He pulls my arm around his neck and wraps one hand around my waist. He smelled good, his hair smelled like lavender, and his body felt surprisingly strong and muscular under his loose garments.

“Take your time.” He said, kindly

It’s a rather large apartment. Similar layout to the one I broke into but this one is bigger, and it’s clean and lived in. It feels and looks like a home. I can’t tell if there are other people in the apartment. I don’t see Clavin anywhere.

Finally, we enter the bathroom. Just like he said he had drawn me a bath—the tub is filled with clean water. He guides me to the toilet and I sat. He starts to pull off my boots and I let him. He sets them to the side and then pulls my socks off. He inspects my feet, but there really is nothing wrong with them.

“It’s my knee, it locks up on me sometimes.” I said, trying to explain my fake limp.

“No worries. Take your clothes off and I’ll help you get in the tub.” 

I start to take my clothes off. Honestly, I wanted to get in that tub and clean up. Not only was I dirty from weeks of not bathing, I stank of sex, and ass, and dead-guts. So I peel off all my clothes and sit there naked, waiting for him to help me into the tub

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The summer after we graduated high school, my childhood best friend Tyler came to live with me for a few weeks. He had been kicked out of his home after some fights with his dad.

Growing up, we always played bondage games with each other. I developed a crush on him as we passed through puberty and our games took on a sexual overtone for me. He joined the wrestling team and his body was really shaping up. We started, however, to have different interests and new friends at this point.

Considering we had drifted apart the last couple of years, his staying at my house was a way for us to rekindle our friendship.

One night he came back to my home after working out at a local gym. He had jogged back in his rubber jump suit because he was dropping weight. Tyler still had dreams of making it on a college wrestling team somewhere next fall even though he hadn’t actually enrolled yet.

Man, I can still remember when he peeled off that rubber jumpsuit. His gorgeous muscle toned body was beet red and drenched in sweat. He had on his old high school wrestling team t-shirt and white Under Armour compression shorts underneath that were dripping wet and clung to his amazing body. Tyler’s handsome face was flushed and his short blonde hair shimmering in sweat. He had a distinctive sweet, body odor.

He yanked off his wet t-shirt and sat with me in just his compression shorts. The 4-way stretch nylon athletic underwear was dingy white from long sweaty sessions of wear and tear. He kept on his Asics wrestling shoes. He knew being shirtless in his dirty underwear was a turn on for me. At this point, Tyler figured, correctly, I was gay and also had a kinky streak. 

I had some weed left over from a party and we got stoned. We played Call of Duty on XBOX in my bedroom.     

I made a wager that the loser of the video game match gets tied up, just like we used to do as kids. He laughed it off and shoved me away. I ended up winning the game, though. When he wouldn’t consent to being tied up, I kept bugging him about it.

This started an impromptu wrestling duel right on the carpet of my bedroom. I put up a good fight but naturally I was no match for his skills. Tyler, being a wrestler, easily pinned me down.

He sat on top of me, holding down my wrists, with his butt right on top of my chest, bringing his crotch just close enough to my face for me to smell how ripe he was. He leaned down and pretended to spit out of a long lugie in to my face. I recoiled. It was those playful moments we enjoyed as boys. He laughed and slapped my face around a little.

I got a major boner, however, and he could easily feel my stiff dick springing up in my shorts. After all, he was only wearing those sheer, lycra spandex Under Armour compression shorts. He didn’t’ seem to mind, though. It wasn’t the first time this happened with us. He usually ignored it. Being a little high off marijuana, though, we were a little friskier this time.

“What about this?” he smiled moving his left foot forward, next to my head.

His Asics wrestling shoe was right next to my face now and I could smell the faint aroma of his foot odor trapped inside.  

Tyler’s family didn’t’ have money. Those Asics wrestling shoes were basically his prized possession that he wore for school, practice, meets, or just out and about. After at least two semesters of constant wear, they were pretty beat up. In fact the rubber sole was slightly breaking away from the rest of the sneaks.

“Go on,” Tyler motioned, letting go of my right wrist. “Take it off.”

“No, man. No,” I muttered back, acting like I wasn’t willing.

“Don’t pretend!” he quickly responded slapping me around in the face some more. He knew I had a major foot fetish. “Do it puss! You ain’t got shit to stop me!”

I removed his soft, suede leather wrestling shoe from his foot. Immediately I could smell the intense sweet, warm aroma. He was wearing his go-to-pair of Puma tube socks. They never got washed. The normally white socks were so odor stained they were a mix of dull grey and brown.  

I wanted to dig in to his smelly socked foot so bad. But I still played it cool. My erection grew more, saying otherwise, of course.

“Worship them. Come on,” Tyler smirked down at me with his dimples and blue eyes. “I want you to worship my foot, dude.”

I couldn’t help it. When I made the decision to do as told, I went all in. I dove in with my mouth and tongue and began to worship his smelly socked foot. It was heaven. My hard cock raged.

Tyler relaxed his grip on my left wrist. He looked down at me, looking satisfied.

I got even bolder. With both hands free, I began to reach in and rub his legs. He had impressive thick muscular thighs with a hint of golden blonde hair. My hands found themselves gliding underneath his sweaty white Under Armour compression shorts to massage those thighs.

His butt was planted right on top of my chest with his crotch close to my face. I could see him getting hard himself. I tilted up my head to move closer to his crotch, feeling its warmth and delighting in the pungent aroma. I was able to press my lips against his nut sack and, gliding my tongue along the stretchy fabric and started to lick at his salty ball sack area.

For a moment, Tyler sighed with pleasure but suddenly adjusted himself, slapping me in the face and saying with a cocky laugh, “Nope! Not gonna happen!”

He took a nearby belt from my dresser top, flipped me to my knees and tied my wrists behind my back. I didn’t put up any resistance and knelt quietly while he bound my hands.  

“Little bitch likes to be tied up. Doesn’t he?” he mocked. “You’re MY bitch! My bitch, right?”

I nodded with a smile. He laughed out loud, breaking his macho master character briefly and I giggled back. We were definitely feeling the effects of the weed we smoked.

“Just so you know, if you let me worship your body, you’ll feel so good!” I found myself blurting out.

He laughed and thought about it for a moment, but I didn’t’ wait for him to say anything. His body odor radiating around his sweaty physique turned me on too much that I couldn’t restrain myself. I leaned in to him and directed my face in to his left armpit. He was surprised for a moment but then he lifted up his arm and flexed his bicep, fully exposing his hairy armpit for me. I dug in and started to ravage his smelly armpit, licking it up with my tongue, and taking deep sniffs through my nose as I did. I moved over to his right pit and did the same. His pits were so ripe and wonderful. Tyler enjoyed the attention too, tilting his head back and sighing with pleasure.

I glided my mouth over his pecs and right to his nipples. I started to suck on them fiercely, lightly biting the tips of his nipples with my teeth. This drove him crazy. He grabbed my face and squeezed my cheeks, saying, “Fuck! That feels funky!”

I bent down and moved to his crotch. I started to dig my nose in to the waistband of his Under Armour compression shorts, trying to move them down. He got the hint and helped me, pulling down his nylon Under Armour underwear halfway past his thighs. His beautiful erect dick popped out surrounded by a bushel of pubic hair with his big balls hanging between his legs.

I immediately went down on him, sucking his cock. Tyler started to moan further. He was loving the sensation of me sucking on his dick. As for myself, I was so turned on that I was pre-cumming in my shorts. For another minute or so, I continued to give him a blowjob.  

But it was when I moved on to his nuts that really got him going. I slid down to his sweaty, musty hairy balls and started to lick away at the sticky, thick ball batter surrounding his tender fleshy sack. Wow, there was nothing better than the taste of his nut butter on my tongue. He had such a sweet, powerful scent down there. As I licked around the area, his pubes tickled my nose. Tyler was going ape shit crazy insane from the sensation.

Suddenly he exclaimed, “I think I wanna fuck you. Yea, I do! I really wanna fuck you bad!”

My heart raced when I heard this and I and looked up at him with a big smile on my face. He smiled back, but then he snapped back in to his domineering character and spit a big lugie in my face. Normally someone spitting in my face would be humiliating or gross but with Tyler, in this moment, it was incredibly hot. “You’re still my little bitch!” he chuckled.

Tyler wanted to tie me down more before he fucked me. Not only was I eager for it, I helped him with an idea. I suggested spread eagle over my bed. He got busy rummaging through my closet and found the box of ropes he knew I stored in there. He dumped them out and got started tying knots  on the bed posts, dangling long lengths of rope from them. He propped me up halfway on to the side of my bed, with my chest down on the mattress in the middle. He untied the belt from my wrists behind my back and re-secured the wrists to the lengths of the ropes connected to the other side of the bed posts. He tightened them up which spread my arms out in front of me, lying face down over the side of my bed. Then he slid off my shorts and underwear, taking me butt naked. Next he tied my ankles to the opposite support posts at the bottom of the bed, spreading my legs apart. Last, he took one of my pillows and positioned it under my crotch which forced my butt up in the air.

Tyler had me tied down spread eagle and it felt good to be so powerless and restrained by him. My dick was so stiff and erect that it rubbed against the pillow underneath.

“Please gag me!” I begged looking back at him, wanting to be even more helpless.

Tyler was one step ahead of me as he shoved both his dirty, stinky Puma socks in to my mouth. He kept the sock gag in place by tying his sweaty t-shirt around my face.

I squirmed and grunted, bound and gagged, with my ass up, over the side of my bed, waiting for him to fuck me.

I looked back and watched Tyler pull off his dingy, sweaty white compression shorts, now standing behind me fully nude and looking so hot. His dick was hard as steel. He had a crazed grin on his face, eager to top me.

 Tyler spit on his dick and slowly moved towards my ass, poking the tip of his penis against my butthole. He worked up a long, slimy lugie in his mouth that he streamed from his lips landing on to his dick, giving it more lubrication.

Then my best friend started to insert his dick in to my asshole. It felt immediately uncomfortable and I tensed up my body. I wanted him to stop, but he didn’t. He slowly, but confidently, started to guide his cock inside me.

I began to moan loudly. Tyler grabbed my neck from behind and said, “Quiet” with a whisper. My best friend continued to fuck me right there over my bed. I was starting to like the feeling.

As much as I loved this, the pain was so intense I began to make more noises that could alert my family. I couldn’t help it. Even his socks and the t-shirt tied around my mouth couldn’t silence me completely.

I did my best to quiet down, though, not wanting him to stop. I allowed him to fuck me silly. Tyler plowed me harder and harder.

I looked up at him and Tyler had an intense expression on his face, his eyes squinting, head tiled back, with his lips pursed, making moans of joy himself. His hands grasped the sides of my hips just above my buttocks, as he slapped his dick into my ass.

Being eighteen year old boys, filled with testosterone and sexual energy, it wasn’t long before we were ready to cum.  

At the moment we were both about to climax, he pulled his cock out. As he jerked himself off with his right hand, he reached down between my legs, under my nuts and grabbed my dick, pulling it away from the pillow and past the edge of my bed, pointed down. He then jerked me off with his left hand.

We both came at the same time. SQUIRT! SQUIRT!

It was unbelievable. I was seeing fireworks and experiencing joy, grunting through his dirty socks, pulling at the ropes that restrained me. I looked back at him and saw the pure joy on his face as he shot semen up in the air, then landing all over my back. As for me, he milked my dick of all the cum and it shot right down on to my carpet.

We panted heavily in the aftermath of sex. He fell over me, resting his sweaty chest over my cum stained back! He pulled down his t-shirt so I could spit out the gag of his socks. We took long breaths, winding down our moaning. Tyler let out a laugh, which I followed with myself.  We were exhausted.

Tyler disappeared to the bathroom and returned with a wet towel he used to wipe off my back as I laid spread out and tied down to my bed. He wiped himself down too.

As our labored breaths slowed down, we continued to laugh with joy. Tyler untied my body from my bed.

He picked me up and laid me down properly on my back, climbing in to bed with me. In all the excitement, I didn’t realize I had bad rope burn around my wrists and ankles. He massaged them until they went away. We cuddled naked, our dicks still hard and pressed against each other. Tyler planted a kiss on my lips. I smiled with happiness and started to say something to him. He playfully, however, took his pair of  socks, now coated in my saliva, and gagged my mouth again. “Shut up, bitch!” he quietly teased with a grin.

We feel asleep in each other’s arms.

THE END

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

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I loved dancing. At my local bar, they had a dance floor in their upstairs section, where I spent many happy hours boogieing to my heart’s content. The upstairs section also had its own bar area, smaller than the bar downstairs. The large square bar counter downstairs and the surrounding area was mainly for socializing. Both floors in the bar had its own toilet section. Downstairs, the lavatory had three cubicles with no gloryholes and a long steel urinal. Upstairs, the far larger latrine had ten cubicles with glory holes and an even longer steel piss-trough.

After arriving at the bar at nine p.m. on a Friday evening, the downstairs area was fairly busy, as usual. Upstairs, however, the area was rather uninhabited. I always gravitated to the dance floor upstairs for my weekly dose of exercise. After ordering my drink I stood at the counter. Not long after, my feet could no longer hold still, and soon I was swaying to the music. As I danced I observed a lanky skinhead watching me. After three songs I placed my drink on the counter and moved towards the toilets.

No sooner had I whipped my dick out before ‘Skinhead’ was standing next to me. He had a long tuft of hair under his bottom lip, extending three inches past his chin. His cock was long and thin, and it was obvious as he toyed with it that he wasn’t in need of a piss. After I had given my knob a good shake he gestured for me to follow him, before we entered the last stall. After he closed the door it was clear that Skinhead was not into foreplay and moments later, I was bending over the toilet with his cock urgently seeking entry into my arse.

Once fully in, he solidly began to fuck me. Maintaining a steady rhythm he groaned approvingly as he contentedly speared my backside. Slowing down from time to time, it was obvious that he wasn’t in any manic hurry and for the next several minutes he blissfully pummelled my butt. When his breathing started becoming heavier I braced myself for his delivery. After seeding my arse he imprisoned his cock back in his jeans and departed without saying a word. I let out a laugh once he had left, amused by the lack of passion he had displayed.

After arriving back at the bar, I got another drink but was soon back doing what I loved most, dancing. During this marathon session, I observed a hunky guy arriving at the bar. He was heavily built with very short hair and had a really cute, boyish face. Every time I looked in his direction he was staring at me. Not long after, he stood before me on the dance floor, with a quizzical expression as if seeking permission to join in.

Hunky had no rhythm at all and moved in a cumbersome fashion on the dance floor. His killer smile, however, made up for his shortcomings as a dancer, and we boogied for the next twenty minutes. Communication was limited as we bopped along to the loud music, but we did manage to introduce ourselves. His name was Darius, and I introduced myself as Brandon. A short while later with a horny look in his eyes, he gestured to me to follow him to the toilets.

After entering one of the stalls, Darius turned out to be the exact opposite of Skinhead. Pinning my body against the wall he wrapped his arms about me and began kissing me. He was a really great kisser, displaying enthusiasm and unbridled passion. Then moving my body towards the toilet seat he gently pushed my body downwards. After I was seated, he opened his trousers, presenting a fat uncut knob that perfectly suited his frame.

Holding my head lovingly he pushed his knob into my mouth. After blowing him for a few minutes, he lifted my body before seeking entry from behind. With my manhole well lubricated from my earlier encounter, his entry was comfortable despite his girth. Shortly, after, we observed a cock protruding from one of the gloryholes. Steering my head in that direction he instructed me to suck on the dick. This knob didn’t display great endurance and a minute later, I was swallowing seed from my face fucker’s dick.

Afterward, I once again I anchored my body on the toilet seat before Darius upped his pace, and unloaded into me within minutes. As we exited the toilet, he told me that he had to participate in a sport the following day and was already meant to be in bed. He did, however, ask me if we could meet me the following Saturday for a prolonged session. I answered affirmatively before he departed with a smile.

When I stood sipping my beer once I had returned to the counter, a strange looking guy entered the bar. He looked like a straight man that had inadvertently entered a gay establishment. He had a sloppy gait as he approached the counter. It was the body language of a rebellious hetero male with a, ‘so what the fuck bro’ attitude. He wore black jeans, a black t-shirt, with an unbuttoned black and red plaid shirt. The black beanie on his head manifested protruding curly hair, and his entire demeanour seemed completely ‘un-gay.’

As he ordered his drink he scratched his head, then under his left armpit. After two gulps, he placed his beer bottle back on the counter, far harder than a typical gay man.

‘Oh fuck,’ I thought somewhat bemused, ‘wait till he finds out he’s in a gay club.’

Appealing and handsome as he was, I wasn’t about to waste my time on a fish out of the water.

When my feet again began to itch, however, unperturbed I moved back onto the dance floor and began to boogie once more. I was, as always, lost in my own world. Occasionally glancing in his direction as I danced, I observed him staring at me.

At one point as I turned my body, with my back towards the bar counter, unseen he moved onto the dance floor and stood behind me. When I again turned the other way his arms were outstretched in a macho, ‘do you mind’ gesture. I just shrugged before he began moving to the music. He had a somewhat lazy dancing style but swayed very rhythmically. After a short time, he neared me and introduced himself as Blaine.

After twenty minutes of rhythmic pulsation, we moved back to the bar counter.

Once there, he asked, “Where do you live?”

“Around the corner,” I responded.

“Can I go home with you later?” he then asked.

Perplexed and with trepidation, I hesitantly replied, “Okay, sure, if you like.”

“Do you still want to dance some more?” he then asked.

“Nah… I’m done.” I countered, still rather guarded.

On the brief walk home, we barely spoke and my mind was in a total quandary. After we got to my place we were soon sitting in my lounge, with beers in hand.

“My girlfriend threw me out tonight,” he then confessed.

‘Oh fuck,’ I thought as the entire charade fell into place.

“I just didn’t feel like sleeping on a bench tonight,” he concluded.

With a sinking heart, I decided to take my shame. “Well, you can stay the night… no problem,” I replied despondently, but inwardly annoyed.

After a fairly lengthy pause, he then flummoxed me by asking, “Do you smoke dope?”

“Rarely,” I answered.

“Would you like to share a joint with me?” he inquired.

“Sure, why not,” I answered. I had just been duped by a homeless straight boy and I figured that a joint might help soften the blow. Fortunately, my apartment was at the back of the complex on the top floor, so hopefully, no one would be able to smell anything.

Blaine rolled a really fat joint before we moved to the small balcony. After lighting up, he inhaled, before holding the smoke in his lungs for twenty seconds. After exhaling he again drew a mega puff, before repeating the procedure.

“I love this stuff,” he informed me.

“Why?” I answered, almost absentmindedly.

“Because it makes me fucking horny,” he responded.

My heart lifted slightly after that comment. ‘Am I about to get lucky?’ I thought. Once we finished the joint we moved indoors.

“I don’t have a spare room,” I said as we stood in the lounge. “I’ll make a bed for you on the sofa?” I suggested, not wanting to be presumptuous.

Looking at me with a surprised expression he asked, “Don’t you want to have sex with me?”

“Aren’t you straight?” I replied.

“Fuck, bro, I swing both ways,” he informed me with a laugh. “My girlfriend and I have been at loggerheads for the past few days and I’m as horny as hell.”

Maybe the rest of my evening wasn’t going to be as bad as I had feared. “Follow me,” I stated before we moved towards my bedroom.

Blaine had a slim, well-proportioned, sinewy body. He wasn’t overly hairy but had a mop of thick curly hair on his head, once the beany was removed. Blaine was better looking than I had initially thought, and the long hair on his head definitely added to his appeal.

His cock was beautiful. Although not the biggest I had seen, it was more than decent. He had a long elongated dick-head that was clearly visible under his foreskin. The head of his knob wasn’t bulbous and I was sure it would fit my mouth perfectly. Little did I know that I was about to prove that theory, comprehensively.

He loved having oral sex performed on him, and once we got going he made it clear that my mouth was exactly where he wanted his knob to be. On and on his hands locked me onto his crotch, as he face-fucked me contentedly. Every time I tried to lift my head his hands ordered differently.

“More, more bro, I want more… stay on my knob,” he mumbled.

Fortunately, sucking dick was a particular favourite of mine, so I happily remained locked on his dick. As my throat muscles became more relaxed, he clamped my head with his cock inhabiting my throat.

After what seemed like an age he asked if he could cum in my mouth. I nodded compliantly. He warned that he was fully loaded, having not shot his seed in three days. Again, I nodded. When Blaine erupted I thought an entire tub of delicious yogurt was being spurted down my throat.

Afterward, with my head finally released from its imprisonment we lay side by side on the bed.

After a couple of minutes, Blaine began kissing me. As we locked lips he gradually repositioned his body on top of mine. When I felt his dick stiffening he raised his head, and said, “Hope you aren’t tired, because I have plenty of fuel left.”

“I’m only half empty,” I replied with a horny smile.

“Good, turn over bro,” he answered, before moving his body onto me.

Blaine commenced brushing his cock into my crack and began his unhurried prodding. For the next thirty minutes after that, he fucked my arse sensually. Slow, fast, hard, then gently. I had not cum thus far that evening and was rather relieved when I finally shot my load all over the sheets. Unperturbed, he continued spearing my arse before finally unloading into me a short while later.

With both of us needing a drink afterward, we moved through to the lounge for a beer.

Upon our return to the bedroom, Blaine signalled his preference for another oral session. He told me to lie on the bed on my back, with my head slightly off the bottom edge. Widening his stance and with his body supported on both arms, his face-fucking got underway. His pace was more intense this time and I frequently had to beg for air as he continually lodged his entire dick down my throat.

Again he was in no hurry, and my throat was put to its ultimate test. Finally, with my face totally drenched with spit, he finally unloaded.

The following morning he requested another blowjob. On this occasion, he also blew me as we sixty-nined. Once I had cum, however, he exacted a heavy price for his generosity and face-fucked the hell out of me. With a slightly sore throat, I made breakfast for us afterward, before Blaine got on his way.

Shortly after I showered an hour later, there was a knock at my door. Suitcase in hand, Blaine stood in the doorway. His girlfriend had thrown him out.

Naturally, I took him in, but he did promise to ‘sort’ himself out over the following few days.

By the following Saturday, Blaine had still not ‘sorted’ himself out. I wasn’t too stressed because he was very helpful around the apartment and contributed in every possible way. I did, nevertheless, spend a lot of time with my head off the end of the bed during that week.

When I told Blaine about my date on Saturday evening, he didn’t seem too fazed. In fact, he asked if he could tag along. After meeting Darius, the three of us danced together for the next few hours. Blaine and Darius hit it off very well and when we left for my apartment, Darius seemed very happy with Blaine’s presence.

After a fat joint, we moved through to the bedroom where Blaine immediately began arranging the action.

With my head off the bed, Blaine was soon face-fucking me as Darius butt-fucked me. When they changed positions, however, given Darius’ extra girth, things became slightly more difficult. It was an action-packed evening, one of many that would follow.

Blaine had effectively moved in with me and Darius became our weekend, ‘fuck-buddy.’ I had had no complaints!

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I had moved in with my boyfriend of 3 years after he proposed to me a month ago. We both went to college together where we started dating in our senior years. We were inseparable. We clicked so well. He knew how feminine I was and I was greatly attracted to his masculinity. Our interests were polar opposite, but the way we complemented each other is what drew us together. 

I was his “girlfriend”. 

He wanted to be a lawyer. And so he did. I didn’t have any professional dreams. So I stayed home after college. He was much much smarter than me. He moved to the big city when he got a lucrative job offer. I was devastated. But we continued dating. Long phone calls and video calls. Frequent visits followed by hungry sex. We were madly in love. 

He came home for Christmas this time and got on his knees and asked to marry me. I couldn’t help but yell “YES”. It was magical. Not only was I about to marry my long time boyfriend, I also didn’t have to worry about working anymore. I could just stay home and do what housewives do: service their husbands and eventually take care of kids. What more could I ask for? I was ready to get married. 

And so, fast forward to now. I moved into our new home which was clearly very expensive. He said he didn’t want to spare any expense, he wanted me to have the best life as his wife. He wanted me to be his Queen. I ran into his arms when he said that. He lifted me up and kissed me passionately. I thanked him profusely. 

“I’ll take care of everything, baby. Don’t worry about a thing. You’re my wife and I will make sure you have nothing to complain about. Just be a beautiful girl for me. That’s all I ask. Hubby will make all the decisions. Sound good?” 

I eagerly nodded my head and kneeled in front of my husband and kissed his feet. He stroked my hair and said, 

“Good Girl“

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I’d had a hard-on for the straight boy at the tobacco store for a while. His name tag told me he was Trevor. My guess was he was about twenty-one or two, average height, blond and well built. He only wore t-shirts and low waist skinny jeans. There was no evidence of any extra poundage around his waist and his nipples were nice and hard under the tight fitting t-shirts. It was obvious the jeans hit him just above his cock, and the bulge there was always alluring, to say the least.

Trevor was a friendly guy, but always had something of a sad look in his beautiful blue eyes which, for some reason, only added to my desire. I have no reason to believe he had any suspicion I am gay… that is unless he caught me staring at his package. That’s possible as I had a difficult time not fixating on it and imagining. He always wore a crucifix which made me guess he could be Catholic. That meant, more than likely, uncut. That was too fucking hot when combined with his boyish good looks. I was definitely “in lust” for this boy.

He remembered what smokes I asked for after the first visit. Needless to say there were many more visits after that, but it didn’t take more than a couple before I thought it was time to introduce myself. The smile he gave me was so very sweet, enchanting almost, and I dared to hope he wasn’t straight after all. But during our  first real conversation he told me he was excited, because that night he had a first date with a girl he’d be pursuing for a while. For the first time I saw his eyes smiling  – not so sad. I was disappointed, but I really liked the kid, was glad to see him genuinely happy, and meant it when I wished him well on his date.

Two days later I visited him at his work again. The smiling eyes were gone. I knew instantly things hadn’t gone well, but I asked him anyway.

“How was your date?”

“Oh, the date was great. I picked her up, took her to a movie and then to get a burger”, he said. “And then I took her home. She lives out in the country between here and Newport… where I live.”

Newport is a town about 30 miles away.

“When we got there, her housemates were home, lights were on, and so she said she would ask me in but one of the other girls that live there had a boyfriend in for the night. It wasn’t a good night for her to have company, she said. So… we made-out in the car for a while. She got me really hard and I thought I was gonna bust a nut right there – my dick was so hard.”

Damn… hearing this MY dick was SO FUCKING HARD! I put my hands down in front of my crotch as I was wearing cotton shorts and knew, if he looked, he’d see my cock pushing against the thin fabric.

“Yeah? And then what?” I wanted to hear more of that story.

“She let me cup her tit, but when I took her hand and put it on my hard cock she pulled it away. That’s okay, I thought. She’s a good girl and that’s okay.”

He went on. “She finally told me she had to go in. I wanted to ask for a blow job, but I could tell that wasn’t cool. She said goodbye and I asked her if she’d like to go to dinner the next night. She said sure. And then… she blocked me on Facebook and her phone. That’s that, I guess.”

“Damn, dude. That’s harsh. Why do you think?”

“I don’t know, but I think maybe I’m not good enough, you know? I mean I don’t drive a nice car and I work here. All I know is she left me with a severe hard cock that night.”

“Wow… that’s rough.” I thought I just push this just a little more. “I guess you had to take care of that yourself?”

“Hell, yeah! As soon as I got home, man. I was so worked up I had to take a shower after I jacked-off because… well… I was kinda of covered in… well, you know.”

I was pretty sure I was about to cream in my shorts. The visualization was almost more than I could take without cumming. I knew I needed to get out of there pretty quick.

“And then, on top of that shit, I wrecked my car last night. Ran into a deer on the way home. Fuck, man. Just fuck.”

“How’d you get to work today?”

“A friend brought me.”

“Damn, that sucks. Need a ride home tonight?” Let him say ‘yes’ I was praying.

“Nah, but thanks, man. He’s already in town and will give me a ride back. He lives in Newport.”

“Well, let me give you my number in case you ever need anything. You’re a good guy, Trevor. I’d be happy to help if I can.”

“Thanks, man! You’re a good man, too. Really… thanks!”

We exchanged numbers. I went straight home and beat off. My jizz hit the headboard and covered my chest. I don’t think I’d ever been that fucking horny.

Trevor texted me late that night.

Him: Thanks for listening, man. You’re a good friend. I really don’t have anyone to talk to.

Me: No prob, Trevor. I’ll always listen to you.. Or.. do anything I can to help you out.

Him: Can you find me some pussy? That would help! LoL!!

Me: Uh… no, sorry. But …

Him: But what?

Me: Trevor, you ever had a blow job from a guy? (I couldn’t believe I actually asked him that)

Him: What? Dude… are you gay?

Me: Well, I’m bi. 

   (I lied)

Him: No man, I haven’t. I’m not that way. But it’s cool if you are. No prob. But no, not my thing.

Me: Well, you should. Men can give head so much better. We know what feels good, you know?

Him: I guess that makes sense. I like a chick to blow me, but I’ve never cum while they were sucking. 

Me: That’s what I’m saying. They just don’t know how… not really. You’d cum if I sucked you. 

    (I was hard again and wondering if he was).

Him: Couldn’t do it, pal. Just not that way. Now… maybe if there was a girl there. Maybe.

Me: A three-way?

Him: Yeah, maybe.

Me: Well maybe I could work that out.

   (I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t.)

Him: I’m still horny from the other night. I wish I had a chick here right now. I need to shoot.

   (This was almost more than I could take. I had to jack again and pulled out my dick.)

Me: You hard now, Trevor?

Him: Yeah.

Me: You jackin’?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Me too, dude. I’m so fucking hard talking to you. You sure you don’t want me to show you how it should be sucked? I’ll drive to Newport right now, man.

Him: No, dude. Can’t swing that way.

Me: Well, will you at least send me a pic? Come one, Trevor.

Him: No sexting, dude. And I need to go. And don’t be a stranger. It’s okay you’re gay. I hope it’s okay that I’m not.

Me: Okay, sure it’s okay. Go finish what you need to do.

Him: Yeah, man. You too.

That was the night I decided this was going to happen. I didn’t know how or when, but I was going to taste that gorgeous boy’s cum. But just then, it was time for the lotion and my good right hand.

I knew I couldn’t, and didn’t want to, have a three-way with him and a girl. I decided to give him a little space. But then, three nights later, I got a text. 

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It’s night, Not really late, but dark. Trevor is at work, texts me, and needs a ride home to Newport. I haven’t seen or texted since the time before. I tell him “cool. I’ll pick you up in just a few minutes”. My dick has a mind of its own and is already growing.

When I get to the tobacco store,  Trevor is in his usual attire… jeans and a t-shirt. He jumps in the car and we leave town – heading out through the country on the way to Newport. I keep looking over at his crotch on the road out of town. Trevor sees me, I’m sure… but pretends not to.

Somewhere out on the road about 5 miles out of town, Trevor points to a dirt road and tells me to pull off, that he needs to pee. I slow and pull over. I tell him that I need to piss also. I don’t, but I am hoping to see his cock. 

He gets out walks ahead and I hear him unzip and begin to piss. I wait just behind, afraid to move over and let him see me staring at his dick. I can hear his stream hitting the dirt. Afraid I am running out of time, I gather my courage,  move forward and press against him. He jumps, his stream interrupted, but he doesn’t jump so far away, and doesn’t tell me to stop. I reach around and grab hold of his soft cock.

“Go ahead and piss, Trevor” At first he says no… stop. But then he leans back into me and lets me hold his dick while he finishes draining it of piss.

“You are straight, you like pussy, I know that”, I tell him. “But damn. Somebody else’s hands on your fucking dick feels so good, doesn’t it.  It feels good, huh, Trevor.?” He doesn’t reply.

When he finishes pissing, I shake it and milk it a little.  He is still soft, but it feels good. I know it does because he still doesn’t pull away. Our bodies are melded… me behind him. I know he feels my very hard cock against his ass.

I reach around unbutton and pull his jeans down below his knees. He just stands there. I know he is wondering what will happen next. I stay behind him, fully clothed, but pull his ass closer into me and my cock that is straining to get out of my shorts. I’m still holding and gently milking his dick. It’s about 5 inches long even soft and, yes, uncut. I’m in fucking heaven.

I move my hands down and cup his balls. And then I place them under his balls on both sides of of his inner thighs. I begin to move my mouth down the back of his t-shirt and use my teeth to move it up so I can lick the middle of his back all the way down to his crack. He sighs and I know I’ve got him just where I want. I kneel down and stick my tongue down and between his round hard ass cheeks. I can feel his heat and his cock is growing… slapping against the tops of my hands that are still fondling his balls and inner thighs. 

“Feel my hands and tongue, Trevor? My hands, my mouth and hot breath? I could be anybody. Any hot chick you can imagine. Close your eyes and feel everything. I going to show you something else that feels really, really good.”

Moving my hands back around, I gently press on his back and he falls to his knees in the dirt, his ass turned up to my waiting tongue. I move aside just a bit so the car’s high beams, that are just perfectly shining on us, illuminates his hot, virgin, pink ass hole when I spread his cheeks. He never says a word but moans, pretty loud, when I penetrate his hole with my tongue. It is clean aside from a little sweat and smells so fucking good… that man smell… that man hole taste. I take my time eating the best asshole I’ve ever had before lifting him up. I turn him around and pull his pants down and off. His uncut cock is a full nine inches and throbbing. I see glistening precum and milk it through his foreskin. It is so fucking sweet! I slowly take his dick in my mouth. As my tongue licks the underside, I pull back the foreskin, and lick the sensitive head of his dick he moans loudly and mummers “Damn, dude. That feels so fucking good.” 

My tongue licks his hard cock from his balls to dickhead and down again. I again pull back the foreskin and as gently as possible lick around the sensitive head. Gently. Slowly, Barely touching. He moans again and begins to thrust his cock further down my throat.  Trevor  wants me to take the whole fucking thing. Deep. Down my throat. And I do… but lightly, loosely so he can feel the heat of my mouth, my tongue, my throat, but not the way he wants it. He begins thrusting harder and faster. He wants to FUCK MY THROAT! He pushes my head deep onto his cock. And pulls it almost all the way off. And does it again. I start hungrily sucking and licking and swallowing all nine inches of hard delicious cock while I fondle his balls. I feel his balls start to draw up. And then…

He shoots the hottest, sweetest, cum… the biggest load I’ve ever had. It fills my mouth and my throat. Loads of cum. And loads more. I swallow and lick and suck until he is begging me to stop. But he doesn’t really want me to… and I don’t want to. I hold his dick in my mouth until it is soft again. 

Trevor pulls on his pants and goes back to the car without saying a word. My cock is begging, but I tell myself I had to be patient, to wait. I believe there will be another time.

He doesn’t say a word until we get into Newport. And then he only gives me directions to his home. We pull up to the house and he gets out of the car.

“That was the best I’ve ever cum, dude. But it can’t happen again. Not ever. I’m not gay, or bi, or anything like that, man. I like pussy. Don’t ask again. Let’s be friends. I need a friend.”

“Okay, Trevor. I understand.”

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He shut the car door and went inside. I knew, without a doubt, we would do that and more again.

To Be Continued…….  If you would like updates on new chapters, e-mail me at: [email protected]. 

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Bryce began to gently kiss me, I kissed him back gently at first and then we began to kiss each other more deeply and passionately.

In a matter of minutes he had my shirt off and was kissing my chest, nipples and core before going down on me. He took me by the hand and gently led me over to our bed. This would be my first time receiving anal sex and although I knew he would be gentle and loving I couldn’t help but feel nervous. 

He asked which position I might feel most comfortable trying out and I thought missionary would feel comfortable. I told him that, he put on a condominium and gently rubbed some lube both inside of me and on his cock. He asked if I was ready and I told him yes, just be gentle, he promised he would.

 He had me adjust position so I was as comfortable as possible, suggesting I draw knees towards chest, I tried this but felt more comfortable with my legs spread out to sides. He began to gently and slowly enter me, being careful to ask if I was ok and if I needed him to stop or do anything do something to help me feel comfortable.

It was painful at first but I knew from reading that the pain is supposed subside with some people in their first time. After about 30 seconds or a minute it began to feel really nice and mentioned that to him. I also told him he was doing a good job taking care of me. After a about a minute I realized he was gently stroking my prostate and mentioned how good it felt, he said it felt good for him too. He began to gently kiss me and rub my arms and gently stroke my hair while he made love to me. 

I did same for him and it felt great. After about an hour I came, then he came into the condom while still inside of me. I had never felt so good before and mentioned I wanted to do it again and again at some point. He replied good and mentioned how happy he was that I had so thoroughly enjoyed my first time. I told him I love him and he said he loves me too. 

He gently took me into his arms so we were face to face gently cradling the back of my head with one hand and gently holding my waist with other hand. We wound up falling asleep like that.

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“Just remember, don’t say anything and for god sakes don’t smile. You do and everyone’s going to know it’s you”

How did I let him talk me into this. Yes, I’d been working out and was looking pretty good if I did say so myself. But a leather harness and hood? This is so not me. 

Let me back up a bit. I love Halloween, I love costumes and getting dressed up and the more elaborate the better. One year I was in this great Louis XIV outfit with the hair and everything but I’d never gone sexy showing off my body. It’s not like I was some disgusting old troll. I am not anything special just a regular average build guy but lately I have been working out and for the first time in my life, I was looking pretty damn good. Jimi was shocked I was in such great shape and he decided I needed to do something to show it off. I’d gotten this leather thing that was a cross between a jock and suspenders. It had leg holes and a pouch like a jock but instead of a waist band, it had straps that went over my shoulders and crossed in back and attached to the leg straps. Jimi had the executioners hood. That covered my head all the way down the bridge of my nose and down over my cheeks and zipped up the back so all you could see was my mouth and nose. 

“Have you lost your mind? In nearly naked! I can’t walk around Cedar Springs in this, I’ll get arrested! My ass is completely exposed! This ain’t happening”. 

“Oh my god, do you really Think I’m going to send you out on the streets of Dallas completely naked? I have a cape you can wear.”

He pulls out of his closet a long black satin cape, something a vampire would use. He told me to use my black lace up boots and gave me some black leather arm bands to finish the look. I still wasn’t sure about this, I mean I know I’m a total exhibitionist when it comes to sex. I’ve had some fairly public encounters but I’ve never walked up and down a public street in not much more than a few straps but I had to admit I was a little turned on by the thought of it. 

“OK! I’ll do it. You talked me into it. This could be a lot of fun”

“Sure it will. You have really gotten pretty cut lately. Why not show it off?”

Halloween was still weeks away so I doubled down on my diet and work out, I wanted to look as good as I could if I was going to do this. Some of those queens are fucking critical as hell and even though it was all for fun, I didn’t need to feel bad about myself for a Halloween costume. So, finally the big day was here, the Saturday before Halloween is the big street party in the Dallas gay community. I’d trimmed my body hair to look sexier and waxed off some all together I’d even gotten a tan so I’d look even better. I’d invited a few friends over to get ready and everyone was in a festive mood and the music was cranked and we were laughing as we got ready. I stepped into the bathroom and stripped off and got ready. I walked out to make my entrance. Cat calls and whistles greeted me and I blushed deep red.

“Holy fuck!” Tommy coughed as I walked in, “You look fantastic! I can’t believe you’re going out like that! Isn’t your ass exposed under that cape? You better keep it covered, cops all over the place tonight”

“I know it, I’m keeping all that part covered but I wanted to try it out for fun”

“If I hadn’t known it was you and just saw you on the street, I’d have hit on you, you look hot as hell” Said Brandon. I’d been friends with him and his boyfriend Chris for a couple of years but they had never seen me in anything lees than shorts and a t-shirt so they were a bit surprised. Even Chris was looking at me with a bit of lust and he’s as big a bottom as I am. 

“OK, y’all, knock it off. Let’s get going”

So out the door we headed. I lived only 3 blocks from the bars so we were soon in the thick of it all and I was an instant hit. So many guys feeling me up, most were guys I didn’t know and a few I did. I remembered what Jimi told me and kept my voice low and didn’t say much and I didn’t smile. 

The reason he told me not to smile is that I have a big open toothy smile and people comment on it all the time. He said if I could keep it under control, no one would know it was me. I tested it out on some guys I knew. I walked up close to them and they’re saying shit to me, but I kept my reply short and low. One guy, Jody, I’d known for years. We were dance partners and he had no idea it was me until I started grinning.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even know it was you! You look hot as fuck! Let me see everything”

He lifts my cape and grabs my bare ass. He made some crack about what a fuckable ass I had as he slipped his finger between my cheeks and fingers my hole. I’d pushed a little Vaseline up my ass just in case and he found it and fingered me a little. He leaned in and whispered something about me letting him have some of that sometime. 

Jody had never ever acted like he wanted in my pants so I was a little surprised. I kissed him on the cheek and made my way into the crowd to see what what I could see. Soon I was having a blast, guys all over me, pinching my perky nipples, playing with my ass. I had so many guys slip a finger up my ass. I was so fucking turned, my cock was so hard in my leather pouch and it kept creeping out. Then I saw Kurt. He was this guy I met last year at the Round Up and we had been dancing together a lot. He’s a little taller that me and loved spinning me across the dance floor. He was so fucking hot but he had a lover, Charles. Charles was a little older but also very hot looking and I’d have done ether one of them but Kurt was the one that made my ass hungry. But nether one had ever done anything but swing me across the dance floor. 

Back then I frequently helped teach dance lessons so a lot of people knew me and I got a lot of guys asking me to dance so I was happy about that. Some even wanted more but never anything from Kurt and Charles. Well, I was walking past Kurt and I looked at him and caught his eye. He reaches out to grab me and hooks a finger into one of my straps and pulls me to him. He’s dressed in a Roman soldier costume but all he has on is the leather skirt part without the white tunic and the helmet, with the glad breastplate. He was fucking hot as hell.

“Come here leather boy, you’re pretty fucking hot. Lets see what under that cape”

He opens my cape and pulls it back over my shoulders so I’m in this huge crowd and he’s got his hands all over me. His hands go right for my ass as he’s standing in front of me with his arms around me chest to chest and then he discovers my greasy hole.

“Nasty little fucker! You’re out here nearly naked with a lubed hole. I know what you want” I’m holding his biceps and looking him in the eye. I can’t believe Kurt is standing in a crowd in the middle of Cedar Springs rd fingering my asshole. 

“Check this out” he takes my hand and puts it under the leather skirt of the costume. Those skirts are no more than a wide belt with  pointed leather strips so reaching between the straps I have his hard cock stuffed in a black pouch in my hand. I pulled it down and his fat cock popped out.

“I wanna fuck you”  he whispers to me.

“Here?”

“You know you want it. No one can see, the crowd is to tight. Come on, let me”

He pulls me around, slips the cape to the side so it falls off one shoulder and covers half my body but helps create a shield. His chest is against my back his cock is pushing against my ass.

“Spread your legs a little” 

He kicks my feet apart a little and starts pushing his raw cock up my ass. His arm around my waist jerking me back on his cock. It wasn’t long and he was blowing his load deep up my ass. It was a really fast fuck, he was hardly up my ass before he was loading it full. 

“Thanks dude, that was fucking hot. I feel like I know you, do I?”

I just winked at him and walked away. I caught up with my friends and we headed to the Round Up. Tommy and Chris had to piss and Brandon needed a beer so we pushed into the crowd and made our way to the bar.

“You having fun yet? Anyone recognize you?

I got a big grin on my face and said a few did when I started grinning. Several that I knew hit on me but didn’t know. He was laughing as we talked. He slipped his arm under my cape around my waist and pulled me closer as we talked. His hand dropped and he cupped my ass.

“What the.. You got something wet on your..”

He pulled his hand out and looked at it. Looked at me and grinned. He stuck his hand back under the cape and slipped his middle finger in my cum filled hole and started finger fucking me.

“You got fucked! Didn’t you? Who did it? Do I know him?”

“You know Charles and Kurt, right?”

“They both…”

“No, but Kurt did”

“How? Where? What happened?” 

His finger is still up my ass as I tell him about it and that he didn’t know it was me.

“So I guess you like the feel of my hole with his load in it. You’re still playing in it”

I reach down and cup his hard cock in pants. His costume was vintage WWII Navy uniform and he was looking pretty good himself. We’ve never messed around before around before. I’d never thought of ether of them that way.  He said he got off on the fact that I had another guys load up my ass. He told me Chris and he had talked about me after I’d walked away when we got to the street party. He said Chris wanted to know if he wanted to fuck me. Evidently, Chris likes to watch him fuck other guys. I was fucking shocked and turned on. It’s didn’t hurt that he still had his fingers up my ass as we talked. Brandon said he’s always thought I was good looking but when I walked out in the costume he was looking at me with different eyes.

“I never thought you’d do anything a little kinky.  You always seem a rather goodie two shoes. We just liked you and anything like this never crossed our minds. Damn, how fucking slutty are you, I mean you just let a guy breed you in the middle of the street. Thats pretty fucking trashy and hot as hell”

“Theres a lot you don’t know about me. I’m pretty out there but getting fucked in the street like that was a first for me”

“Can I fuck you too? Chris would love it. I can’t wait to tell him you have Kurts cum in your ass”

We decided to come back to my apartment when we left. Tommy and Chris soon showed up and Brandon finally pulled out of my ass. Tommy ordered a beer and Brandon whispered something to Chris then he showed his wet fingers and then Chris slipped his wet fingers in his lips and looked at me and grinned and winked at me. About that time Jody my dance partner friend walked up and asked me to dance. Soon I was two stepping across the floor in his arms. 

“You look so fucking hot in that. I mean it, I’d love to fuck you in that thing”

“Get in line, you wouldn’t be the first, you wouldn’t even be the first tonight”
Jody’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You’re shitting me!”

“Nope, someone beat you to it. Right after I saw you earlier it happened”

The song ended and he pulled me off the dance floor and dragged me into the mens room. The room was pretty full but he found the last stall empty and pushed me into it. He starts opening his jeans and pulls out his cock and turns me around. He pushed my face against the wall pulled my ass back and started pushing his dry cock up my ass. He already knew my ass was greased up and ready and soon he was balls deep in my ass.

We are grunting like pigs and some guy on the other side of the door announces to everyone that some guys getting fucked in there.

“Dude, open up we wanna watch”

Jody reaches over and unlocks the door and instantly four guys are standing there watching me get fucked.

“Who’s the guy in the hood getting fucked?”

“No idea”

Soon Jody is planting his load up my ass and pulled out.

”Fuck, he was taking it bareback. What a fucking slut”

I looked at the guy that said that and winked at him and walked out. Jody slapped me on the ass and said good bye. I headed over to Brandon and Chris and said lets get out of here. Tommy said good bye and headed home and we all headed to my place for more fun. Halloween was sure a lot of fun that year.

---

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

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I grew restless, lying there on my back in my rented house in the northern Wilmington, Delaware, fringe and watching the light from the lighthouse in back sweep across my bed through the window, leave me, and then when I almost had gone to sleep, sweep across me again. I’d taken enough Benadryl before going to bed to knock out a horse, but it wasn’t putting me to sleep.

I rose from the bed and went over to the window to pull the curtains closed, only to find the curtains didn’t close; they were just narrow panels at each side of the window. I had rented the place furnished, such as it was. Looking out into the backyard and, beyond that, into the yard behind mine, to the square-cornered concrete lighthouse incongruously located there, I saw him. At least I intuitively assumed it was a “him.”

The door at the base of the lighthouse was open, emitting light from the interior and illuminating the figure of a stocky man. He was just standing there, the only notable feature of him other than his burly figure being the rampant bush of hair on his head. I couldn’t tell what color it was in the darkness of the night, but, again intuitively, I knew it was flaming red. I knew that just as I knew that he was looking at me. He shouldn’t be able to see me, of course, I reasoned. But I knew he could. I knew he was looking straight at me, seeing me, and willing me to come to him.

I was in Edgemoor, in a Wilmington residential area high above the Delaware River, although the river couldn’t be seen from here, which made the presence of a functioning lighthouse eerie. When I’d walked across the backyard of the Brandywine Boulevard house I’d rented to the backyard of the lighthouse on Lighthouse Road, the man was holding out his hand to me. I couldn’t see the features of his face. All I could see was that, indeed, his bushy hair was flaming red. His attire wasn’t of this era. He wore a billowy white cotton shirt, open in front to show a hairy, muscular chest, and britches, with a codpiece, the britches being so tight that the material followed his muscular legs closely to end mid-calf. He was barefoot.

I didn’t seem to be disconcerted that his dress wasn’t of the current era. Everything about this was surreal.

I put my hand in his and he led me into the lighthouse. We took the stairs that wound around two sides of the interior, up and up, concrete stairs, cold concrete walls and floors, empty spaces. Three staircases took us up to a circular room that was furnished for habitation, but stark, bare. The atmosphere was one awash in a reddish glow. An iron ladder went up the wall of this room to the level above. The open hatch to that level was the source of the red light, which pulsated from strong to dimmer, as the lighthouse beacon revolved above our heads.

An iron-frame bed protruded from one wall, and, without prompting, I lay down on the mattress on my back. I raised my arms above my head to let the stocky man with the red, bushy hair tie my wrists to the iron pipe running along the top of the headboard. I had come to him in just my sleeping pants. He pulled those off my legs, and I was naked to him. Standing over me beside the bed, he unlaced his codpiece and freed a thick erection protruding from a red pubic bush. I watched him stroke himself a couple of times. I heard myself moan as if from a distance.

“Yes, inside me,” I heard someone moan as if from a distance, only half realizing that it was me.

Without an answering word from him, he positioned my legs, spreading them and bending them, placing my feet flat on the mattress. I gave him no resistance, just lying there and watching his erection as he swayed beside me.

“Yes, now. Fuck me now,” the familiar voice murmured.

He came up on the bed on his knees, between my spread legs. I sensed as much as felt his hand fondling my balls and then pressing under them, sliding along my taint. I knew when he penetrated me with a finger, although, again, it was something I sensed more than felt. He leaned over, looking down into my face, but his face was still a blur to me. The red bush of his hair, though, was quite distinctive. I sensed each separate strand, just as I had done with the rampant hairs of his bush as he had been manipulating my legs. I intuitively knew his finger was inside me, moving, in and out, in and out, and I moaned—again sounding as if it were from across the room. I rocked my pelvis against the heel of his hand pressed into my taint.

There was no scent from him. I usually tuned into that with a man, searching for a scent of the man’s sex, of his want, his arousal. Now it was all touch and only a slightly detached hint of that.

I sensed the finger being removed and the pressure of the bulb of his cock at my entrance, as he hovered over my chest, placing an arm on either side of me on the bed. I whimpered and arched my back, raising my pelvis to him, clutching his buttocks with my hands, squeezing and pulling him into me. “Now, now. Inside me. Deep,” the voice murmured. This despite also being frightened by having seen how thick he was. I groaned for the thrust I knew was coming. I still couldn’t discern his facial features but I knew, as well as I knew anything, that he would be cruel.

At no time did I think of resisting him. I groaned and gave a little jerk as he penetrated, breaching, violating, thrusting. I knew he was inside me, but that too was more a sense of being stretched and filled than the sensation of a cock moving inside me, a feeling I was not a stranger to. Hovering over me, he rocked back and forth, fucking me, breathing harder, grunting, rocking more rapidly, tensing and jerking, coming inside me. At no time did I think of resisting him. I didn’t even have the sensation that I was fully there.

I had set my hips in motion, going with him, surrendering and submissive to the cock, leveraging the balls of my feet and the muscles of my thighs to push up as he thrust down, his throbbing cock pushing deeper, moving faster, my senses concentrating totally on the shaft possessing me and moving inside me—coming nearly simultaneously with him with a small cry of release and satiation—and a slightly bitter aftertaste of embarrassment and guilt that I had been so easily conquered, had wanted it so badly.

At his climax, clutching his buttocks to me, I had called out “Do it! Take it. Take it!” I released again too, but the satisfaction from the release of the ejaculation deep inside me was tainted by the guilt washing over me that I had given it, that I had fully submitted, had wanted it so much. That I had wanted it from him, knowing full well that this hadn’t been about sex; it had been about control, about submission.

* * * *

I woke with a start, the pass of the lighthouse light blinding me when my eyelids flipped open. I was lying in my bed, soaked in sweat. My pajama pants were on the floor beside the bed. I was hard and had been stroking myself—and had just come.

With a groan, I rolled out of the bed and went to the adjacent bathroom, the window of which overlooked the backyard. I turned on the light, opened the medicine chest above the sink, and took out the packet of Benadryl tablets.

The light from the lighthouse panned across the window, bringing a red glow into the room. I turned to the window, to pull down the shade, but the shade stuck. I looked across the backyard toward the lighthouse in the neighboring yard. The door at the base of the lighthouse was open, allowing the light from the interior to spill out onto the concrete pad outside the door. I looked around for the figure of a man, assuming there should be one there. There wasn’t. But, as I was turning away, I thought I saw the figure in the doorway of the lighthouse. It was just a fleeting sense that someone had been there. When I looked fully back on the scene, no one was there. But now the door was shut and no light shone from the lighthouse except for the incessant revolving red-lit beacon at the top of the square-cornered concrete tower.

I had the bathroom light on, though. If anyone had been out there, he could clearly see me backlit in the bathroom window.

Groaning, in a daze, I tossed two more Benadryl tablets down the hatch, turned off the bathroom light, struggled back to the bedroom, fell into the bed naked, and slept the sleep of the dead.

* * * *

“Bad news, Craig?”

I looked across my desk to Paul Dewitt’s facing desk in the New York Times features section. Yes, it was bad news, but it was balanced by good news. My request for a year’s sabbatical at half salary as long as I provided a feature a week had been granted. The not-so-good news on that was that I hadn’t counted on getting it, had not planned for it, and it started in four weeks. I’d have to have some features ideas to negotiate with the editor before I took off—wherever it was I’d take off to. I knew I couldn’t get my novel finished by staying here in New York. There were too many distractions, most of which involved day-long hangovers.

“Some bad news, yes,” I answered. “The short story I submitted to the New Yorker has been rejected.” Maybe I was shooting too high, but I thought that, being at the Times and in town . . .

“Tough. It happens to us all,” Paul said with a breezy tone.

“Not to everyone,” I answered, a bit gloomily. I’d be on half salary for the sabbatical, but that wouldn’t be enough to live on. I’d have to get some acceptances backed up by checks. It was tough trying to make the transition from newspaper features to literary short stories. But it was a new arrow I wanted to put in my quiver.

“Probably to everyone. It happened to F. Scott Fitzgerald here.” He lifted up the box of manuscripts and letters by the writer that had been bequeathed to the Times and that our editor wanted a feature done on. Paul wasn’t that interested in working on that, but he had been rummaging around in the box.

“It never,” I answered.

“It did,” Paul insisted. “It happened to Fitzgerald too. Here’s a short story he wrote that was rejected by Collier’s back in 1929. He had to fall back on trying to sell short stories after The Great Gatsby didn’t take off and before Zelda started going gaga and gave him the inspiration for Tender Is the Night.”

“A rejection? Never,” I said. “Let me see that.”

“Here. The story was titled ‘In the Lighthouse,’ and here’s his cover letter giving background. He said it was inspired by something that happened where he and Zelda were living when he was really down. Fred seems to think this might be the central nub of a feature somehow.”

I stood and reached across the desks for the manuscript and the two letters. Sure enough, Collier’s had sent him a form letter, saying just about the same thing my rejection letter from the New Yorker said, and with just about the same wording, even though the letters were sent nearly ninety years apart: “Shows promise, with work; not what we’re looking for at this time; feel free to submit something else.” Blah, blah, blah.

The cover letter said that the story was based in real events, concerning the disappearance of young men in Fitzgerald’s neighborhood in the northern, hilly section of Wilmington, Delaware, ten years before the Fitzgeralds lived there. The mystery was connected to a lighthouse being completed in the winter of 1919 above the Delaware River. The contractor for the lighthouse was kidnapping young men, sexually assaulting them in the lighthouse, and murdering them. He was only caught when one of the young men escaped. Until then the authorities had been baffled by the disappearances. A yellowed newspaper article was attached to the letter. The contractor was identified as an Irish immigrant who often appeared in historical pageants in nearby Philadelphia, where he lived. He was in his forties, a loner, and his distinctive features were his stocky build and an unruly head of red hair.

I read the short story. It twisted the facts of the case into a paranormal Halloween-type story that played off the man’s red hair and the costumes he wore in the Philadelphia historical pageants. The writing was quite good, but Fitzgerald seemed to be trying out a Poe-style horror mystery technique that wasn’t at all vintage Fitzgerald and that he probably abandoned altogether, for good reason, after this unsuccessful outing. Still, Fred wanted something done with this treasure trove—something could be researched to be published at the end of 2019, a hundred years after the lighthouse was built. It was interesting news to me—and thus probably to readers as well—that Fitzgerald had ever lived in Wilmington. I needed some features ideas to take to Fred before I went on sabbatical. And Wilmington was not New York but was not that far from New York, and there was no trouble in ginning up interest in F. Scott Fitzgerald among New Yorkers. I thought the proximity to New York meant Wilmington would be a good place to go for my sabbatical.

“Did I hear you tell Fred you weren’t too enthused about working up a feature on Fitzgerald and the stuff in this box?” I asked Paul.

“Nope. I have my heart on writing something about the U.S. Tennis Open and the Flushing Meadows site,” he answered.

“Do you mind if I—?”

“Be my guest, Craig. I’d stand you a drink to jump in on this.”

My first question was where in Wilmington Fitzgerald was when he wrote this. Where was the lighthouse? I went to google. What I found had me going in to see Fred and pitching the story idea. The Fitzgeralds lived on the banks of the Delaware River north of downtown Wilmington from 1927 to 1929 in a stately old mansion in the Edgemoor area called Ellerslie. Fitzgerald was back on the East Coast, licking his wounds at the cool reception The Great Gatsby got when it was published and from not doing well at his first cut at Hollywood. Tragically, the novel didn’t become a candidate for “greatest American novel” until after he died. The house was knocked down in 1973 to make way for a large and ugly DuPont chemical plant. That would be an interesting element of the story and would energize the historical preservationists.

The lighthouse provided an interesting element too. It was still there and it was still beaming its light to ships entering the Delaware River on their way up to Philadelphia. Even more interesting was that it existed as a surprise. The hilly terrain around it, the Edgemoor and Bellefont areas, had built up into a treed suburban area. When you were at the lighthouse, on Lighthouse Road between Lore and Haines Avenues, you would have no idea there was a body of water needing a lighthouse anywhere in the area if you didn’t know the Delaware River was down the hill. The lightkeeper’s two-and-a-half-story red-brick Colonial Revival house was now boarded up and the lighthouse was unmanned. But it was still in operation, beaming its light out over the Wilmington suburbs and down to the Delaware River.

The potentials for this feature were delicious, I thought, with multiple angles to explore.

* * * *

The euphoria from seeing the way ahead clearer led me, perhaps, to be a bit too open and available that night at the gym. The gym was one that gay guys used a lot and I went there with that as a side benefit too, I’ll have to admit, more to be in a comfortable element than to cruise or anything. I was gay and I occasionally did hook up, but I wasn’t actively promiscuous or anything. I just had needs like everyone else.

There was a guy who often was at the gym the same time I was—he was muscular enough that I figured he spent most of his time at a gym. He was in his forties and was compact and hard bodied, built close to the ground but solid, not fat. His face wasn’t anything to write home about but he had a great body that commanded attention. I did look at his body with admiration, which he apparently took as having a sexual interest. That wasn’t what I meant at all, but he buzzed around me when I was at the gym with the apparent understanding we could get it on. There was something about him that made me stand off from him. He had a great body and all, but he had a manner that made me feel he would be controlling—that he would demand total submission.

That night at the gym, I must have been flirting with him more than usual because he was bold enough to suggest that we catch a bite to eat together afterward. My euphoria from getting a sabbatical and picking up a feature’s idea earlier in the day led me to say yes.

The “bite to eat” in a local steak house was OK, but this led to a stop behind an abandoned warehouse short of his promised dropping me off at my Manhattan apartment. I lived full time in Manhattan. I didn’t have a car, although now I’d have to buy one for my sabbatical away from the city. He had a Ford double-cab truck elevated on fat tires.

I was on a happy high and feeling a little randy myself, so I went with the stop and the kissing and a bit of foundling. And then I went with the freeing of cocks and the mutual hand jobbing. I was ready for some mutual getting off. Before I knew it, he had his face in my lap and I was lying back in the passenger seat.

“The lever there, at the side, between the seat and the door. Recline your seat,” he said.

“I don’t know. Maybe just a hand job jack off tonight,” I said, deciding already that this would be the only night. He was a bit scary intense.

“Do it,” he growled.

I did it, and I laid back in the reclined seat, with my hands holding his head, as he gave me head. Every time I indicated, or he sensed, that I was going to come, he backed off, edging me until my balls ached.

When he came up for air, he said, “Turn around in the seat. Move your knees into seat and lean over the seatback. Give me your ass.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’re pretty thick. I haven’t—” I didn’t sign up to be fucked by this guy. That obviously was where he was heading with this.

“Kneel over the seat. Give me your asshole,” he commanded.

He was getting all master and slave on me. He was kind of a crazy guy anyway, even at the gym, fast to heat up. And he was such a muscular power guy. He could break me in two, if he wanted. And it had been a while since I’d been fucked. I convinced myself I wanted it. And, truth be known and even though it embarrassed me and made me mad at myself, I responded to be ordered about. Being submissive aroused me. Having a guy so aroused by me, wanting to fuck me so bad that he he’d go cave man on me, gave me a high. Usually I saw that trouble coming and avoided it. But here I was in isolation in a commanding guy’s truck sitting high off the ground and having orders growled at me to move into a position I hadn’t been in for a while and, to be honest, wanted to be in.

He sat back up on the driver’s side, pulling a condom packet out from somewhere and crowning his cock, while I turned and rose in the passenger seat, my knees buried in the back edge of the cushion, my arms dangling over the back of the reclined seat, and my butt projecting out. He came over on top of me and penetrated me with a lubed finger, opening me up.

I whimpered and turned my face to his. “You’ll take it slow, won’t you?” I asked. “You’re pretty big.” He, in fact, was. I’d seen him in the showers at the gym. He’d made sure I’d seen him.

“I’ll give it to you good,” he responded.

I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t want to know what that meant. I was in position. I wanted it now.

We kissed while he finger fucked me more open. And then, as I groaned and he grunted, he was stuffing me with his cock and fucking me with strong, rhythmic thrusts. Finding that I could handle him—and wanting to handle him—I went with the fuck, moving my buttocks with him in his thrusting, aroused by being controlled by a strong man, his body closely covering mine and his fists gripping my wrists, holding me enslaved as his thick cock stretched and worked me. It was a good, satisfying fuck—as much for him as for me, if the sounds of an animal in rut he was making and the strength of his jerking and releasing were any indication. He slapped me on the rump and growled, “Nice job, baby,” as he pulled out of me.

It was over in just a few minutes and he was back behind the wheel; I’d turned, pulled the seat back up, and sunk into the seat; and we were both folding our cocks back in our trousers. I didn’t complain. He was good at the fuck and my body had wanted it, even if my mind hadn’t thought ahead that that’s what I wanted from Dennis that night. That was his name, Dennis. I hadn’t remembered his last name. I hadn’t thought it important to know it.

The truck was in gear and moving and I told him again where he could let me off. I hadn’t been specific about where I lived. I’d told him to drop me off a couple of blocks from there. I’d always been a bit leery of Dennis. He’d always seemed to be a little “off” and intense to me and I didn’t want him to know where I lived.

He didn’t head back into Manhattan, though. He was driving toward Brooklyn.

“I live in the other direction, Denny,” I said.

“I thought we’d go to my place. I’m not finished with you. That was nice. On the bed will be nicer.”

“Yeah, that was good,” I said. “But I’ve got an early morning. I’d better go home now.”

“I think we’ll go to my place.” He was being a master and I was a submissive. So, I didn’t dispute him any further at that point.

His place was a small bungalow with a neglected postage-stamp-sized front yard and a crumbling asphalt drive leading around the house to a detached garage in back. He cursed when his automatic garage opener didn’t do the trick. When he got out of the truck to open the garage door manually, I quietly got out of the truck too and slipped into the shadows, took a circuitous route out to a main road, and grabbed the first bus going back to Manhattan that I could flag down.

It was a good fuck, but Denny was a little scary—more than a little scary. I had fears about how rough he could get. That was one reason I’d been looking forward to getting out of the city for my sabbatical. Everyone in the big city seemed so intense. I shuddered to think how it would have gone with Denny in his house that night.

That was the first night I wasn’t able to get sleep. The next night was mostly sleepless too. The night after that was when I started to take Benadryl to help me get to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking what I’d done—and I couldn’t say I hadn’t consented to it or that one aspect of me had wanted to go into Dennis’s bungalow with him and let him do whatever he wanted to do with me.

* * * *

Four weeks later, I had taken a short-term lease on a one-story stone house that had once been some sort of Masonic-type lodge on Brandywine Boulevard in Edgemoor, Wilmington. I rented it because it sat on the lot directly behind the Lighthouse Road lot where what was formally named the Marcus Hook Rear Range Lighthouse was located. I had been cleared to work on the unpublished Fitzgerald story about the lighthouse.

I also still was suffering sleepless nights, having trouble getting back into the writing of my novel and getting the runaround on finding someone who would give me a tour of the lighthouse property. There was someone there, living in the lighthouse, I knew, because I’d seen signs of occupation, but everyone in authority I approached told me both that the lighthouse wasn’t manned and that they didn’t have the foggiest notion who would have a key to it. The problem I found was that two states were involved. I had first tried the Delaware bureaucracy. Wilmington is in Delaware. Then I tried the Pennsylvania equivalent when someone got around to telling me that the lighthouse complex came under Pennsylvania authority rather than Delaware, because the whole lighthouse system along that coast was administered out of Pennsylvania. Everyone I talked to in either state agreed that there wouldn’t be anyone living in the lighthouse—that it wasn’t habitable, for starters.

Somebody must have a key to it, I reasoned. The light was still functioning—it was keeping me awake at night so that I was popping Benadryl capsules like they were M&Ms. And I’d seen signs that someone was living in the lighthouse.

“There are no living facilities in the lighthouse,” invariably was the reply. “And the lighthouse keeper’s house is boarded up.”

The mystery was egging me on to get a feature written for the Times and it was giving me sleepless nights until I could zone myself out on sleeping pills.

* * * *

He was on top of me, covering me. The bushy hair was there. I couldn’t tell if it was red because it was night, but I’m sure it was—and, yes, as the light from the beacon on the lighthouse swept by, it caught the flash of red. I was bound to the headboard now—it wasn’t even the bed in the lighthouse. I was in my own bed, in my own room, the red-lit beacon sweeping across me rhythmically through my bedroom window.

There apparently was no real need to bind me, as I was fully into the fuck. I had totally surrendered to him. He was on top of me. He was inside me. He was moving against me and I was moving with him. I knew he was inside me, but I was numb. I sensed what was happening; I didn’t feel what was happening. I sensed I was being stretched. I wasn’t an innocent to men. I bottomed for men. I knew we were fucking, and I knew I was going with it.

And I knew he was big—and good.

I just didn’t seem to be fully here. It was like I was observing myself from the ceiling—observing the muscular, compact body of the man on top of me, moving—up, down, up, down—on top of me and me moving my pelvis with him.

There was a pungent odor enveloping my face.

I opened my eyes and it was daylight. I was lying on my bed. I turned my head and looked at the alarm clock on my nightstand. I’d come to bed eight hours earlier. I’d taken a handful of Benadryl capsules and I must have gone to sleep quickly. But I didn’t feel like I’d slept eight hours. I rarely got more than six hours a night, so I frequently took a short “head-down-on-the-desk” nap in the afternoon. What I felt like was . . . fucked. I hadn’t been fucked in more than a month—not since the guy from the gym, Dennis, had fucked me in his high-rise truck—so the feeling of the rare event of being fucked was there.

But I was in my bed, alone, in the light of day. I couldn’t remember if I’d dreamt or not—it seemed like I had. And it seemed like the dream was something I should remember—that I’d want to remember—but I just couldn’t quite grasp it.

I rolled out of bed, sore—sore in places where I usually was sore when I’d been with a man. But I hadn’t been with a man. Surely I would remember that. I sniffed the air, picking up a slightly pungent odor, like I was in an operating room.

Stretching, I padded out to the living area, in the center of the house, which once must have been a club meeting room. The room had since been marked off for living, dining, and kitchen zones, really one big, open space. It suited me. Going over to the kitchen area, I came close to the French doors out onto the back terrace. The doors were ajar.

Strange. I always closed up at night. I’m sure I closed those. But when I went to do so, I found that the door wouldn’t latch. It had been jimmied. Strange. I walked around the room but couldn’t see that anything was missing or displaced. There wasn’t really much of anything in the house. There was nothing worth stealing in here except my computer, and that was still there, on the dining table. I hadn’t brought any furniture. The place had come with minimal furnishings, which had been fine with me. I walked back to the French doors and looked out, across the backyard, over toward the lighthouse tower. The door to the lighthouse was open and I thought I saw a figure just inside.

I felt myself go hard. Strange, I thought. Then, stranger still, I noticed for the first time that I was naked. I’d gone to bed with pajama bottoms on. Hadn’t I? I didn’t know, I felt hazy, like I was swimming under water. I stumbled back to bed, seeing that my pajama bottoms were on the floor next to the bed.

I fell on the bed, and the next I knew I was waking up again, two hours later than I thought I had this morning. And I discovered the open and jimmied French doors all over again several minutes later too.

Plot points for my novel were floating up into my brain, though, so I was anxious to get back to the computer. I’d think about the problem of the doors—and whatever else was niggling in my mind—later.

The ideas for the novel flowed freely that day. The doors didn’t arise in my mind again until I was locking up that night, and then all I thought about them was that I needed to get a locksmith in the next day. I moved a kitchen stool in front of them, deciding that if anyone tried to come through the doors in the night, they’d knock the stool over and wake me. That was the best I could think of. I was weary, but not sleepy.

I went into the bathroom and downed a handful of Benadryl capsules. I zonked out immediately on the bed. If the stool had been knocked over that night, it had gotten set up again and certainly didn’t wake me.

The next day the confusion of the day before and the vivid dream of a couple of days before that started to haunt me. The dream I couldn’t forget flowed out of my research on the 1919 assault and murder case I was researching for the Times feature on Fitzgerald’s residency here—the red bushy hair image had come straight out of the newspaper clipping, as had the colonial dress. The previous night, though, was more disturbing in that I remembered less of the dream and there were physical signs that something had happened.

Working hard at it, I rationalized away the physical evidence, but not with full conviction. I had a dildo in the nightstand. I had used it on occasion when I was randy and didn’t have a man handy—and I hadn’t had a man handy for several weeks—other than the guy from the gym. I could have worked my own channel in a half-conscious stupor of need and randiness and just not been able to remember it. And I could have been so zonked that I jimmied the French doors myself in some sort of sleep-walking episode. But that left something that was causing confusion and extreme activity while not fully conscious.

I needed to consult a doctor about this. I added “make a doctor’s appointment” to the “get door fixed” on the notepad I kept on the nightstand.

* * * *

“What are you taking for the insomnia?” the doctor asked.

“Benadryl,” I answered.

“How much? How often?”

I could see the doctor blanch when I answered that. “And these dreams . . . these vivid dreams . . . you’ve been having. Do they relate to something that’s happening in your life?”

I told him honestly about that. I wasn’t honest about the sexual nature of the dreams, though. He was just a Wilmington doctor I picked up from a referral service who would give me a near-term appointment. “I’m a writer—on the staff of the New York Times. I’m writing about this lighthouse in Edgemoor—”

“Ah, yes, the Edgemoor Lighthouse,” the doctor said. “Strange to have a lighthouse there . . . and still working, I take it.”

“Yes, which is part of my problem. The sweep of the light keeps me awake.”

“You need to close the blinds at night.”

“I need to have blinds to close. It’s a furnished rental, and it’s an old house with nonstandard-sized windows. I’d have to pay a small fortune to cover windows in a place I don’t intend to be in long. But, yes, I can take care of that part with cheap heavy drapes. Anyway, the dreams seem to be picking up on the research I’m doing about an old murder case at the lighthouse.”

“They may not be dreams,” the doctor said.

“You mean, what’s happening might be real?” I asked. I almost said that I was afraid it was—or, worst, that I hoped it was real. I was that much on the edge of believing that it was more than dreams.

“Not real, but more than dreams—realistically experienced hallucinations. Benadryl can give hallucinations to some, even the most vivid of hallucinations. Taking as much as you have done could easily be the cause of what you’re experiencing. Hallucinations go beyond dreams.”

“You think the Benadryl is causing it?” I asked. I wanted to believe him. “But I have to do something for the insomnia, doctor. Is there something else I can take? Maybe something stronger than Benadryl? Something you can prescribe?”

“It’s possible. Most such sleeping drugs can cause hallucinations, though, and if Benadryl does that for you . . .” He let that lie there, but then he added. “If it comes to that, we can try something else, but first I’d like you to try the natural remedies that fight insomnia and encourage sleep.”

“Natural remedies?”

“Yes, first. Get some heavy curtains for the windows or sleep on the side of the house away from the lighthouse beacon. Go to bed in complete darkness. And have a regular routine. Go to bed at about the same time every night. There are activities, foods, and drinks to avoid hours before going to bed and, conversely, ones to try. There are breathing exercises. There are herbs that help some people. I will have the nurse give you booklets that will give you guidance and options. Shall we try that first? If Benadryl gives you hallucinations, chances are good that other sleep medicines will do the same.”

“OK,” I answered. I was just relieved that he thought it was the effect of taking Benadryl.

“And, for a start, do get some blinds for your bedroom and change where you are sleeping—and have a comfortable mattress and pillows. Don’t have anything that irritates you in bed with you.”

Like a muscular man with bushy red hair, no face, and a thick cock on top of me, I thought. Gotcha, Doc. “OK,” I said.

I made it back to my Brandywine Boulevard rental house in time to walk through the backyard to Lighthouse Street and meet the woman from Pennsylvania’s Delaware River Port Authority who, after I had my New York Times editor make the call to verify my credentials, had agreed to meet me on a Friday afternoon to give me a walk-through of the boarded-up lighthouse keeper’s house. The calls had gotten garbled, because it was the lighthouse itself I was interested in seeing and she hadn’t brought the key for that.

“I’m on my way home for the weekend. This is on my way,” she said. “I don’t have much time, though.”

“Then there’s no need to look at the house,” I said. “let’s just go to the lighthouse.”

“The lighthouse? I don’t have the key for that. It’s been closed for years. There are no living facilities there. I don’t have a key to the garage either.”

“Garage?” I asked. And then I saw it, tucked at the side and back of the lighthouse keeper’s house, on the other side of the house from the lighthouse. It was a one-car detached garage that looked like it would either fall down or burn down soon. I couldn’t have seen it from my house because there were a couple of trees merging in with tall bushes at the back of the structure.

“I don’t need to see inside the garage, either,” I said. “But the lighthouse is occupied. The door at the base been open several times when I’ve looked out here. I live on the lot right behind it. And there have been lights on.”

“That’s impossible. The beacon’s operated remotely. I don’t think anyone’s been in there for years except to climb up to the light.”

I was walking to the lighthouse, though, and she followed along behind me. We got to the door, which had been jimmied—she could see that as clearly as I could—and I pushed it open.

“This can’t be open,” she said. “The lighthouse is closed up.”

“Apparently not,” I said, starting to climb the staircase winding around the interior walls. She followed me.

At the fourth level, the one just below the beacon light, I stopped, looking around. The familiarity of it made me nauseous. The hatch to the light above was open and a red glow invaded the room, although it was dissipated by daylight coming in from two windows high on the walls on opposite sides of the tower. At night the only light would be from above. The red cast to the atmosphere would be more pervasive than during the day—just like it had been in my dream, or hallucination, or whatever it was. But I’d never been here before. Had I?

The bed was there—and a table, with a few plates, glasses, and utensils. There was a kitchenette and an enclosure that probably screened off a rudimentary bathroom. The signs of habitation were sparse, but they were there.

“This can’t be,” the woman said. “The lighthouse wasn’t set up for habitation.” She seemed to have a habit of saying things couldn’t be that clearly were “being” in front of her face.

“This isn’t recent construction,” I said. “The lighthouse has been here nearly a hundred years. Someone put this in at some point.”

“It’s not the descriptions we have. I’ll report this to the Authority,” she added.

My eyes were fixated on the nightstand beside the bed, upon which a ball of red fur—a wig?—was resting on top of a blank, flesh-colored face mask. I backed a few steps back down the stairs, almost running into the woman.

“I think we’d better leave,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control.

“I’ll report this to the Authority,” the woman repeated as we descended the stairs. “This lighthouse is supposed to be closed up. No one is allowed in here.”

I was experiencing a mix of sensations—fear, confusion, revelation, questions—and, above all confusion. What I should have been thinking was that it was Friday afternoon, this woman was on her way home from the office, and she wasn’t going to report this until Monday morning at the earliest.

* * * *

I was jittery, not knowing what to do, what to think, after the woman from the Delaware River Port Authority left. I went back to my house, across the backyards. I almost fell into a large hole that had been dug on the property line under the sweep of the branches of an unruly brambles bush. I hadn’t remembered seeing that before, but I just marked it in passing—my mind was too taken up with everything else that was happening to focus on that.

I roamed around the house, listening for the sound of the police or someone at the back of my lot. But it was all quiet back there. I gave no thought to the reality that the woman didn’t see this as the emergency or threat or quandary, or the whatever, that I did. She, of course, hadn’t seen the wig and the mask. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she had. Of course, I hadn’t told her anything about the hallucinations I’d been having—if that’s what they had been. In truth, I didn’t know what to think about any of this either. None of it made sense. What was hallucination and what was reality? And why?

I kept going to the windows at the back of the house, but nothing was happening over at the lighthouse. No lights were coming on either. The door remained pulled to. There was just the monotonous swiveling of the red light at the top.

I was shot through with adrenaline. Eventually, as it was moving toward dusk, I couldn’t stay in the house anymore. Nothing was happening back at the lighthouse. I tried to go to the computer to work on something—my novel, the lighthouse feature, anything—but nothing was coming. It was like everything was in suspension, that the next words I put to either the feature story or my novel, into which a sinister character with red hair had intruded, depended on something happening in real life.

I pulled on a jock strap, athletic shorts, and running shoes and headed out on a run around the neighborhood. I found myself running in squares around the lighthouse—North on Brandywine, east on South Road, down to River Road, south on River to Haines, west up to Brandywine again. I was still in high gear running past my house on Brandywine and then east on Lore again—to Lighthouse Road. I stopped, winded, in front of the boarded-up lighthouse keeper’s house.

Enough of this. I’d cut through the lot to my house, shower and dress, go into Bellefont for dinner, and then come back, pack, and go someplace for the weekend—someplace where I could get my shit together.

As I rounded the corner of the lighthouse, strong arms reached out and grabbed me. A handkerchief was slapped over my nose and mouth—the pungent smell again. Chloroform? Ether?

Everything went black.

* * * *

It was the first dream I’d had when coming here—or hallucination, or whatever. The bed was the same, the concrete walls, floor and ceiling were the same. And the pulsing red light permeating the room from the open hatch in the ceiling, up into the light chamber was the same.

The man on top of me was nearly the same. My wrists were tied to the iron bedframe overhead just as they’d been in the dream and my legs were spread and bent just like then. And the man—stocky and muscular, powerful and controlling, was kneeling between my thighs, his knees pushed under my buttocks, his hands grasping my waist, his thick cock inside me, thrusting and thrusting. Pumping in a strong, fast rhythm. Even my reaction of half wanting him inside me, doing what he was doing, was the same.

I had a ball gag in my mouth, but strangely enough, embarrassingly, when I regained consciousness, I found I was going with the fuck. I was rocking against him, taking him deep, fucking him back, the muscles of my channel walls undulating over the throbbing cock, pulling it deeper inside me.

Everything was the same—except it wasn’t. I had no sense of shaggy hair or a featureless face. In this light and with everything that was racing through my brain, I didn’t concentrate on his face, but if I had I could have seen his features. He—no, we—came too near the end of the fuck. He tensed and jerked and I felt him release deep inside me. I didn’t feel the release of cum; he was wearing a condom. I lifted my head to try to get a good look at his face in the confusing glow of the pulsating red light.

And then I saw and recognized him. Dennis. Dennis Dawson. The guy I’d walked away from nearly five weeks earlier in Brooklyn when he was getting all crazy and pushy with me. I almost laughed—in hysterics—that now I remembered his last name. I hadn’t remembered that before; I’d forgotten it almost as quickly as I’d first heard it. The crazy guy from the gym. Crazy indeed.

How had he known? How did he know that I had left New York and come here, to Delaware, and about the lighthouse and about the murder case with the stocky man with the unruly red hair and who liked to dress up for colonial-era pageants in Philadelphia? Of course. That night. The first thing we’d done was go to dinner, where now I realized I babbled all about the coming sabbatical and the feature I’d be working on—and the murder case and the newspaper clipping.

And later that night I’d pissed him off. He’d thought I’d come under his spell and would go home with him and let him fuck me all night—and who knows what else. And I pissed him off by walking away from him.

And he was crazier than a loon.

All of the recognition flew by in a second, because when I lifted my head and took a look at his face and he realized I recognized him, he popped me in the mouth. And then again. I fell back and played unconscious. I had that much control over myself. He hadn’t bothered to wear the wig and the mask; they were still on top of the nightstand next to the bed. He didn’t care if I recognized him. That didn’t matter to him. Suddenly the memory of the new hole in the yard at the lot line, nearly covered over by the bramble bush, flipped into my mind.

I wasn’t meant to survive this.

I went limp, as he untied my wrists and pulled me off the bed. I realized that I was bruised and covered with scrapes. Had he beaten me while I was out? Most likely it hadn’t been easy for him to carry me up three flights of rough concrete steps. I felt pain on the back of my head when he moved me and I was in a daze—from more than just being popped in the mouth twice.

He dragged me over to the bathroom enclosure and turned on the shower, pushing me onto the shallow tin trough the water was splashing into. He was soaping me up and sponging me off all over. With horror I realized that what he was doing was scrubbing himself—traces of himself—off me. Again, I realized I wouldn’t survive this if I didn’t do something to fight it. I didn’t try anything when he untied me because my head was still spinning. I was recovering from that now, though. But I still played zoned out.

He must have heard a noise from below because he dropped me into a lump on the floor and left the bathroom and I heard him padding down the stairs. I had remained limp, supposedly still unconscious, and let my head bang against the tiles when he dropped me.

It took me another couple of seconds to recover from that head bang, but then I was up like a jack rabbit, albeit a drunken rabbit, pulling on my jock, shorts, and running shoes that had been dumped next to the bed. I grabbed an iron skillet off the small stove in the kitchenette unit and cautiously started working my way down the stairs, holding the skillet high over my head.

He’d left the door open and a stray dog had come inside. That’s what had caused the noise that drew Dennis downstairs. He turned as he heard me steal down the stairs to the ground level. I struck at his head with skillet. It was only a glancing blow, but it put him down long enough for me to run out of the door, with the dog running at my heels and yapping. I made for the bushes on the property line and the next house on Lighthouse toward Haines Avenue. The dog lost interest when I reached Haines.

Dennis had been naked. He must have taken the extra couple of minutes to pull on some clothes before he came after me. Luckily, he was a hotrodder and his Ford truck not only had been made into a high-riser, but the muffler had been tuned to be loud enough and distinct enough in sound to be barely legal—if it was. I was turning onto Brandywine, toward the front of my house from Haines, when I heard the sound of his truck behind me.

His truck? Why hadn’t I seen that before. Of course. He’d kept it in the garage. If I’d at least looked into the garage earlier that day, I might have seen it—if he hadn’t been off in it. If I’d recognized it and whose it was, none of this would have happened. But would I have made the connection? It wasn’t the only high-riser Ford truck in the world.

No use thinking about that now. I needed to think about disappearing and surviving. I dove across Brandywine and moved through the backyards of the houses across the street from mine. When the Ford came onto Brandywine, he stopped and idled in front of my house.

Of course. It would have been natural for me to run back home. How stupid of me. That probably was what I had been doing when I heard the truck.

He didn’t remain there long, though. He continued on down Brandywine and turned right, downhill, onto Lore Avenue. I went farther west, to the busier Philadelphia Pike, where some businesses were located. Nothing was open, though. Then I remembered that there was a firehouse on Brandywine, in Bellefont, five blocks north of my house. That had been another sleep disturber for me. When I wasn’t nodding awake from the sweep of the lighthouse beacon I was being jerked awake by the firehouse siren as they went out on call—at all hours of the day and night.

At all hours, 24/7.

If they weren’t out on call, there would be a crew on duty at the Bellefont firehouse. There should be someone there anyway to maintain communications. I came back to a street parallel to the pike that wasn’t as conspicuous and made for—and safely reached—the firehouse.

Luckily, I had my wallet with me, with both my press card and a contact number in it for the Delaware River Port Authority woman who had said she’d call about someone illegally occupying the lighthouse. I also knew the color of the Ford truck that was rumbling around with a New York tag, and the name of the guy inside it who was looking for me.

I told them about the loud muffler, and after that it was a piece of cake for the cops to drag Dennis down.

Life was pretty tame after that. I bought drapes for the bedroom windows and stayed put in the Brandywine Avenue rental house to complete the writing of the Times feature—which didn’t include all of the exciting story elements it could have. I kept myself out of it. Being rough fucked and enjoying it even as it was dawning on me that I wasn’t supposed to survive it wasn’t quite what my editor looked for in New York Times feature articles.

The first thing I did after I stopped shaking from the experience was to go into my developing novel manuscript in the computer and write out the character with the bushy red hair.

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

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As the leader in acquiring the most new accounts for out investment firm for twelve straight months, I was awarded one fourteen day cruise or two seven day cruises for myself and a guest.

I chose the two seven day cruises and had the option of taking  them at my discretion or running them back to back.  I chose the first cruise on Carnival, having heard that there are a lot of singles sailing on Carnival. 

I was scheduled to depart New Orleans on a Sunday afternoon.  Monday would be a day at sea, with our first stop on Tuesday at Montego Bay, Jamaica.  

Then, on Wednesday, we would be in Grand Cayman.  Thursday would be a day at sea, with Friday taking us to Cozumel, Mexico. Then, after a day at sea on Saturday, we would arrive back in New Orleans on Sunday morning.

Upon making my reservations, I had them put the twin beds together to form a king bed, which is what I was used to at home.  I had booked an Ocean Suite balcony room on the seventh deck of the Carnival Dream.

With the date of my departure just days away, I took that Friday off and  finished my packing and flew to New Orleans late Friday afternoon.  After checking into my hotel, which was neat the cruise terminal, I showered and caught a cab down to the French Quarter.

After eating dinner, I walked down toward the end of Bourbon Street, to a hopping gay bar I had been told about.  It had every type person there you could imagine, from the very limp wrested fems, to the hot leather vested, tight jeans wearing bikers to the S & M guys wearing only a leather harness on their upper body and leather jock strap.

I found a spot at the bar and ordered a beer, and as it was delivered, I heard, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“You’re right, you haven’t,” I replied as I turned to see one of the hottest guys I had ever seen.

He stood just over six foot, and appeared to be in his late twenties.  He was extremely good looking with a nicely trimmed black beard. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist revealing a beautiful muscular hairy chest.

“You new in town?” he asked.

“In a way. I’m leaving on a cruise Sunday afternoon.”  Well, welcome to New Orleans.  I’m Seth.”

“Nice to meet you Seth.  I’m Mark.”  We shook hands and his grip was very strong.

We talked and he said he did construction in New Orleans for his dad’s firm.  As we talked, he casually began to rub my crotch and instantly my cock began to stiffen. Once I was completely hard, I eased my hand over to his cock and found it rock hard also.

Looking into his eyes, I smiled and asked , “You like what you feel?”

“Oh, hell yes,” he replied.  “What abut you?”

“Most definitely,” I replied. 

He leaned in toward me and our lips met and we kissed passionately, our tongues fighting to get into the others mouth.  After the kiss, I looked into his eyes and asked, “Do you have any plans for this evening?”

“Not at this moment but I might later.  Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was hoping that you would go with me to my hotel room,” I said.

Smiling, I he said, “That’s the plans I was hoping to have.”

“Well, then, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

We left and walked to his car and drove the few blocks to my hotel.  Once in my room, we immediately began undressing each other. Moments later we were both nude, kissing passionately, and exploring each others body with our hands.

“Let’s enjoy each other,” I said, leading him to the bed.

Moments later the covers were pulled back and we were involved in a hot sensual sixty nine.  I had never had such a blow job before in my life.  He could do wonders with his tongue and it drove me wild.  Then, as I neared my climax and erupted in his mouth, his cock did the same and flooded my mouth.

After eagerly devouring each others thick creamy load, we kissed again, after which he said, “When you reload, I want you buried in my ass.”

“Same here, baby,” I replied.

After a while, Seth had me buried in his ass with me on my back and him sitting on my cock, riding me like I was a wild bronc.  After filling his ass , we traded places and with me on my back and legs pulled up, he buried his awesome cock in my hole, kissing me as he fucked me.

I soon felt his cock explode filling my hole with his huge thick load.  After pulling out he dove in and sucked his own load out of my hole then kissed me and shared it.

We later drifted off to sleep only to wake up the next morning to find him sucking my cock gently and lovingly.

I looked into his eyes an said, “Baby, I need to take a piss.”

Pausing, he smiled and said, “Give me time to get it back in my mouth then let the flow begin.”

I did as instructed and Seth drank every drop I fed him.  After I had finished, I said, “I have always wanted to do that with a guy.”

“Well, Mark, just let me know when, and I’ll take it.”

“You drink often?” I asked.”

“Any time it’s offered, but some guys think it’s gross and refuse to do it,” he replied.

As we lay there, I asked how old he was and he said he was twenty-nine.  I decided to get nosey and asked if he had sex with any of his coworkers.  With a smile on his face he admitted that he had sex with two of the men on his crew.  He said that they were both married but were totally into letting a guy suck them off or fucking a guy in his ass.

I then asked him when he started with men.  He said it was during his senior year of high school when he stayed late to talk to his football coach and walked in on him on his knees sucking another senior on the team. 

“Then both started begging me not to tell anyone,” he said.  “The coach said it would end his marriage and his coaching career and my fellow team mate said he would loose his scholarship to play ball in college.  I agreed but only after they took turns sucking me off and sharing my load.”

“Then, after  few more meetings of me fucking one or the other while they sucked the guys cock, I became curious and sucked them both off and found I loved it.  But most of all, after I let them fuck me I found that I was totally into getting fucked.  I loved it when one would start fucking me and as he drew near his climax, he would pull out and let the other take over. By doing that, they would sometimes fuck me for over an hour nd I loved it.  After they both cum in my ass, one of them would suck it out, kiss the other and share it then take turns sucking me and sharing my load.”

“Did you continue after high school?” I asked.

“Oh, yea.  Glen and I were roommates in college and both on the football team.  We had sex almost daily in the dorm.  Then during my senior year I suffered an injury that ended my football career. I had majored in engineering and Glen asked his dad to give me a job with his company.  His dad never hesitated and I wondered why.  As it turned out, Glen and his dad had been having sex since the day Glen turned seventeen and became legal.  His dad knew all about what we were doing in the dorm and before, so I was immediately hired.”

“You still having sex with his dad?” I asked.

“Oh, yea.  Jack and I have sex in his office two to three times a week before he goes home to his wife.  Being his supervisor, when he goes to conventions, he takes me with him and we get it on every night in the hotel room. In fact, it was Jack that introduced me to drinking piss.  I’ve never seen  him piss in the toilet when we are together.  He pisses in a glass then drinks his own, and I admit I have done the same at times.”

“Have you ever had sex with Jack and Glen at the same time?”

“Often.  When Glen comes home to visit, they usually come to my place and we have a three way.  Glen loves taking his dad and I both in his ass at the same time.  I have seen him sit on a football and almost take it all.  He also loves getting fist fucked.  I’ve had my fist up his ass all the way to my elbow.”

“Damn!” I exclaimed.  “Are you serious?”

“Oh yea,” he replied, then added, “Jack can take me up his ass half way between my elbow and shoulder.  He says he wants to eventually take a guy all the way up to the shoulder.”

“Mother fuck!  I’d love to see him get fisted,” I said.

“You serious?” he asked.

“Hell yea,” I replied.

Seth smiled and reached for his cell phone.  After punching in a number he waited and soon said, “Jack, this is Seth.  If you want someone to go deep, come to room 410 at the Hyatt at the cruise terminal.”

Then after a short pause he said, “Oh, yea.  You won’t be disappointed.”  

Then after another pause he smiled and looked at me as he said, “We’ll be waiting.”

Looking at me he said, “He should be here in half an hour or so.”

“How is he getting away from his wife?” I asked.

“All while I was talking, he was pretending it was a client that wanted to make some immediate changes to work being done on his house. Supposedly, he is going to the man’s house to discuss things with him.’

We were still nude when, thirty five minutes later, there was a knock on the door.  Looking through the viewer, Seth stepped aside and let Jack in. 

Jack was in his mid forties but looked more like he was in his early thirties.  He was hot, muscular , and I soon found out, very hairy.

After some three way kissing and sucking, Jack flipped onto his back and said, “My ass needs a good fisting.”

Seth smiled ant me and said, “He’s calling you.”

Looking at Seth, Jack said, “It’s in my bag,” and I assumed he meant the lube.

Seth opened the bag and extracted a bottle of clear lube, which they said was easier to clean off.  

Jack smiled and said, “Let me change positions. If I get on my hands and knees, I can watch the action in the mirror.”

I got behind Jack and he was right  he would be able to watch my fist go up his ass in the mirror on the nearby wall.  Seth lubed my hand and added some to Jakes hole and I began my entry.

To my surprise, my hand began slipping into Jake’s ass easier than expected. Steadily, my hand slid in and soon disappeared around my wrist.

“Oh, fuck, yea,” Jake said. “Work it in and out and with each forward thrust, go deeper.  Don’t worry about my moaning.  If I need you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

I began doing as instructed and before long, I was elbow deep in his ass, as he moaned in pleasure.  

“Keep going,” he said.

I continued going deeper as Seth lubed my upper arm, as it continued to disappear up Jacks ass.  Deeper and deeper I went and as I did, Seth smiled and said, “Jack, I think he’s going to do it.”

“Get the camera out of my bag and if he does it, I want it on video.”

Moments later, I saw Seth raise the camera and begin videoing.  As he did, I got into a more comfortable position to achieve the  inevitable.

With one last forward thrust, I had my entire arm buried in Jack’s ass as he watched in the mirror.  I had managed to shove my entire arm up his ass and he was loving it.  After Seth got some nice close up video, he recorded me slowly removing my arm until it was completely out, and after it was, Jack spun around and gave me a hot wet kiss, thanking me.

After the three of us showered in the large walk-in shower, Jack dropped and sucked my cock dry.  Afterward, he turned and sucked Seth dry.

Jack left shortly after I had sucked his load out and eaten it leaving Seth and I alone.    We did some making out before drifting off to sleep.  All day Saturday, we sucked and fucked, until he left that night for the bar.  I repacked my belongings, getting ready to board the ship the next day at noon.

 

Shortly before eleven Sunday morning, I boarded the shuttle for the ride to the cruise terminal. As I took my seat aboard the shuttle, I noticed a man near my age also getting on.  He sat across the aisle from me and I made some comment about looking forward to the cruise.  He smiled and said he was also.  

I introduced myself, saying that I was Mark Rivers and where I was from and he smiled and said his name was Josh Sims and told me where he was from. We laughed since we were only about an hour and a half apart.      

Upon arriving at the dock, we agreed to meet on the Lido deck for drinks at sail-away. I turned my bag over to the porter, keeping my carry-on with me.  Because I had booked a suite, I got priority boarding and avoided the long lines.  In less than half an hour, I was in my stateroom and out on the balcony, watching other passengers trying to get aboard.

We were scheduled to depart at four that afternoon and Josh and I had agreed to meet at half past three by the pool. I changed into my Speedo and tee shirt and headed for the pool.  When I arrived, I immediately spotted Josh and gasp at what I saw.

It had been obvious that he was well built, but seeing him without  shirt and also in a Speedo, I began to drool.  I knew that there was no way I was going to succeed in getting this hunk in my bed.

Josh stood slightly over six foot tall, and I estimated his weight at around one ninety-five, and it was all muscle.  He had a muscular, semi-hairy chest, and a slim waist, and muscular legs.  Above his left nipple were the letters ’U.S.M.C.’

He spotted me and waved me over and as I sat down next to him, a waiter approached and I quickly ordered a beer.  After tossing my towel onto the lounge next to him, I removed my tee shirt and tossed it onto the back of the lounge.

As we sipped our beers, waiting for sail-away, we talked and I found out that he was single also and was actually on the cruise because of his job, and was paid for by his client.

“I have to ask,” I said.  “What kind of job would get a client to pay for a cruise?”

Smiling, he replied, “I’m a private detective, and my client is a very wealthy  man and he suspects his wife is cheating on him. According to him, she signed a pre-nup that said in the event of a divorce due to unfaithfulness, she would get nothing but her clothes. However if   she stays faithful for ten years, she gets a cool two million for her own, but no alimony should there be a divorce.  She just has to keep it secret for six more months.” 

“And you’re here to find out for sure?” I asked.

“You got it.  She told my client that she was going with a girl friend to New York to see some plays, but he found a text on her phone from a man named Jim, telling her what time she was to meet him at the dock.”  Then nodding, he said, “That’s them over by the bar.  He’s in the green shirt and she is in the pink bikini.”

“Are you serious?” I asked.  “She looks more like his daughter  than his mistress.”

“He’s fifty-five and she is thirty-one,” Josh said. “She seems to go for older men.  My client is almost sixty.”

Then, after a moment, the ships horn blew signaling sail-away, and we saw them head to the railing.  “How would you like to assist me on my surveillance?” he asked.

“Fuck, I’d love it,” I replied. “What do you want me to do?”

“For now, let’s just head over near them,” he said, then added,  “Just don’t show any reaction to what I might do.”

As we got up and headed their way, we noticed them holding hands at the rail before exchanging a quick kiss. 

We walked over toward them and stood at the railing several feet from them, waiving to the crowds watching the ship depart. As we headed down the river, they had another quick kiss, before he took her hand, leading her toward the elevator. 

He turned to me and said, “While I keep them in sight, go grab out belongings and catch up to me.”  I did what I was told and caught up with him at the elevators.  It arrived and after stepping on, and the door was closed the other man pressed the button for the ninth deck and asked what deck we needed.  As I quickly said, “Nine,” Josh  casually reached over and took my left hand in his right hand and smiled.

My heart raced as our fingers became entwined together, and I tried desperately not to show any excitement.  Immediately, the other man noticed and smiled.    

We reached deck nine and after departing, we followed the couple down the hallway.  They stopped at their cabin and we walked past to the next cabin where  I slipped my key card into the lock and opened the door.

After stepping in, Josh smiled and said, “That was fucking awesome. I can’t believe your quick thinking.”

“Well, when I saw him punch the button for deck nine, and not knowing what deck you were on, I figured since I was also on deck nine, we could at least see what stateroom they were in.”

“Mark, I can’t believe my luck at meeting you.  I could give you a huge hug,” he said.

Since he had taken my hand in his, I smiled and said, “What’s stopping you?”

He froze for a moment then smiled as he stepped up to me, wrapping his arms around me, and pulling me to him.  I knew my cock was having a slight reaction and from what I felt, I suspected that his was also.

Deciding to carry things further, after we parted, I said, “Since I’m going to be helping you in your surveillance, and you took my hand in yours, lets do whatever is necessary to make them believe that we are a couple.”

“You’re willing to do that to help me get evidence?” he asked.

“Why not?” I asked. “You have a job to do so we do what’s necessary.”

“Man, do I ever owe you big time, and when we get back, you get part of my fee.”

“Let’s get the evidence first,” I said.  “Let’s just hope that they feel so secure, thinking that they have two male lovers next door that they get sloppy and leave the drapes open at times.”

“Just how far are you willing to carry this charade?” he asked.

“As far as necessary,” I replied.  “I know we just met, but I feel like we have a lot in common. I want to help a new friend in any way I can.”

“Mark, you are something else,” he said.

“I just like helping out my friends,” I replied, then added, “If we need any rehearsals, just let me know.”

“If we do, I’ll let you know,” he said, again taking my hand in his.

Then, looking at me he said, “Since you have the stateroom next to theirs, we will use this as our base of operations if that’s okay with you.”

“Hey, that’s cool with me,” I replied.  “And if needed for appearances, you can spend the night here.”

Smiling, he said thanks and said he needed to get some equipment from his cabin.  As he left, he said he would be back shortly.

Several moments later he returned with his camera, a mirror and other equipment, along with a small suitcase filled with a few clothes.

We went out onto the balcony and watched as we entered the Gulf.  As we sat there, we heard them exit their room and step out.  As they did, the man asked if her husband suspected anything.

“He is so involved with his business, he won’t suspect a thing. I have  a few pictures of New York on my phone and I’ll send him one from time to time and say what a good time I’m having.  If by any chance he dies suspect anything, he will have someone following me.”

“What about the two guys we saw on deck that just happened to end up with the cabin next to ours?” he asked.

“Those two?  Sweetie, they are so involved with each other they don’t even know we exist,” she told him.

It was all Josh and I could do keep from bursting out in laughter. Then we heard the man say, “Let me see if I can see anything going on next door.”

In a flash, Josh grabbed me and turned my back to the divider  between our balconies so he could see if the guy tried to look around.  We both knew he would have to lean way out to see around the divider.

Then suddenly, Josh pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine but kept a watch for the man.  Then, a moment later, we heard the man say softly, “They are over there making out like two dogs in heat.  I don’t think we need to worry about them.”

Upon hearing that, Josh broke the kiss and led me back into the stateroom.  After closing the door, he turned to me and said, “Mark, I’m sorry about what I did, but at that moment, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, look, I told you I was up for anything to help you, and to be honest, it just seemed natural.”

With a sly smile on his face, he asked, “You  didn’t mind that?”

“Not at all,” I replied.  “Feel free to do it whenever you think it is necessary.”

“I just might take you up on that offer,” he said with a wink, and I knew that I wanted it to happen again.  More and more, I suspected that he was into men, and I was hoping that I was right.

That evening at dinner, we managed to get our seating assignments changed so that we were together at a table with four other guest.  Josh had a smaller camera with him and made comments about getting pictures f the dining room.  What he was actually doing was getting pictures of the man and woman having dinner together on the ship.

After dinner, we hit one of the bars on the ship where he again took a few pictures of the man and woman together.  However, once back in the stateroom, I watched as he assembled a contraption which held the mirror and a larger camera.

He explained that the arm with the mirror on it would be eased around the partition so that the camera could take pictures of what was in the mirror.  With any luck, he would get pictures of them together in bed and hopefully having sex.  He told me that if he got definitive proof that she was cheating, that there was a ten thousand dollar bonus.

As we waited for them to return to their room, we stood at the balcony railing sipping a cold beer.  I decided to press my luck and see if Josh was really into men or not.

I slipped my arm around his waist, and as he turned to look at me, I pulled him closer and pressed my lips to his.  As we kissed, I decided to go all the way, and offered my tongue. To my pleasant surprise, he accepted it and offered his.

After we parted, he wrapped his arms around me and said, “I damn sure wasn’t expecting that, but I must confess that I was hoping to have another chance for it to happen.”

“Well, feel free to do it anytime you want,“ I replied, then added, “I’d like it if you stayed here tonight and kept me company.”

“There is no way in hell that I’m leaving tonight, so be prepared,” he told me as we heard their balcony door opening.  In the speed of light, Josh took my hand and led me back into the stateroom, closing the drapes across the door.

“I want them to feel totally at ease and hope that they leave their drapes open,” he said, returning to business. “Let’s give them a few minutes and see what happens.”

Later, we heard their balcony door open and close.  Josh had me stay in the cabin while he slipped out and got back into a corner.

As he waited to see what they were up to, he heard the woman say, “Carl, let’s do it out here on the balcony in the moonlight.”

“What ever you want,” he replied.

Josh came back in and we turned out all the lights, as he peeked out from behind the drapes.  After several minutes he whispered that he had seen the guy peek around the divider and then disappear.  

Picking up his camera and mirror contraption, he said, “Ease the door open and let me out.  Hold the door open and wait for me to get the pictures I need.”

I did as instructed and his had his camera set for low light pictures and after several minutes, he brought the equipment back onto our balcony and into the stateroom.  Silently closing the door, he said, “The rest of the cruise is our to enjoy. I can’t believe I got all the evidence I need on the first night and it’s all because of you and some unbelievable luck that you had the stateroom next to theirs.”

Once the door was locked, he said, “Look at these pictures.”

We went through the pictures of them on the deck at sail away, and pictures of them side by side at the same table, but the pictures of them both naked on the balcony and her giving him a blow job before they fucked, gave the definite proof he needed.

After putting away his camera and the rest of his equipment, he turned to me and after pulling me to him, began kissing me.  As he did, I began unbuttoning his shirt and removing it.  That told him what I had in mine and as we kissed we undressed each other.  Moments later, we were both totally naked on the king bed, kissing passionately as out hands explored each others body.  Then , in one swift movement, he flipped around and began sucking my now rock hard cock.  Immediately, I swallowed his and we began a  hot and passionate sixty-nine.  

After several moments, his breathing grew more rapid and soon his cock exploded in my mouth, filling it with his thick hot huge delicious load.  An instant later my own cock exploded and fed him my hot thick built up load.  We both swallowed our present at the same time, before engaging in another hot wet tongue kiss.

As the kiss ended, he held me close and whispered, “I hope you like to fuck, because I desperately want that tool of your up my ass.”

“I promise that you will get it but you have to promise that I get yours up my ass.”

“That is a definite promise,” he replied as we kissed again.

Cuddled together, Josh asked, “What gave you the idea that I was gay?”

“Several things,” I said.  “First was the way you grasped my hand  then the way you kissed me, but I was convinced  when I kissed you and offered my tongue and you accepted it and offered yours.”

“Mark, I’m glad we found out early and that we got the evidence I needed.  This way we have this entire cruise to play and get to know each other.”

“Same here,” I replied.

We drifted off to sleep and I awoke the next morning to find Josh gently and lovingly sucking my hard cock.  Seeing that I was awake, he said, “Just lay there and let me watch your face as I work for my breakfast.”

I did and it was so hot looking down my body and into his bright blue eyes as he steadily worked my cock closer to a climax. It wasn’t long before I started breathing heavily and he knew I was close.  Steadily, he continued sucking and moments later my cock erupted into his mouth and once he had milked me dry, he pulled off and, with a smile on his face, he swallowed.

After a hot passionate kiss, I said, “My turn.”

As he lay back, I duplicated his actions and eventually brought him to his roaring climax.  With my mouth full of his cum I smiled then swallowed.

“I still want you up my ass,” he said as he lay back down next to me.

“I’ll make you a deal.  After we have lunch, we can come back here and you can have my cock up your ass as desert.”

“You got a deal,” he replied before kissing me.

We slipped on some shorts and shirts and headed to the Lido deck for the breakfast buffet.  We spent the day roaming the ship and checking out all the clubs and attractions.

After lunch, we returned to the cabin and as promised I gave Josh my ass as his desert.  I’m not sure who enjoyed it the most.  After he had filled my ass , I then fucked him and filled his.  Later, I got another surprise.

We had been lying in bed discussing how er started with men when I said I needed to take a piss.

Looking into my face he said, “I want it.”

“What?” I asked.

“I want your piss.  Use me as your urinal.  Please.”

I agreed and after he had taken my cock in his mouth and sealed his lips around it, I let the flow begin.  Immediately, he began swallowing and drank every drop I fed him.

“That was fucking delicious,” he said.  “I’ll take it any time you need to go.”

Looking at him I said, “That’s something I have never done or wanted to, but I want to do it for you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“Baby, I want to,” I told him.

“If you mean that, I need to go, but with it being your first time, lets do it in the bathroom and not in bed.”

We headed for the bathroom and he had me sit on the toilet.  Once I was seated, I opened my mouth and he put his soft cock in it.  After closing my lips I felt the warm flow begin, slowly at first.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad at all and as the flow increased, I swallowed faster, eventually devouring every drop.

“Well?” he asked.

“I liked it.  I want it again.”  

“If you are serious, I’ll let you know.”  

“You better,” I replied.

The rest of the cruise was spent together. He had moved all his belongings into my room and we were never separated.  Then on our last day at sea, as we sat on the balcony, I looked at him and asked, “Can you get off anytime you want?”

“With some advance notice, yes.  Why?”

“This cruise was the prize for a contest where I work.  Actually the prize was two seven day cruises that could b e taken back to back or separately at the winners discretion.”

“That’s some kind of award,” he said.  

“I am seriously considering taking the other in a couple of months, departing from Miami and going to St. Kitts, St. Thomas, and Nassau before returning to Miami.  It is for me and a guest and I would like for you to accompany me on that cruise.”

“Mark, this last week has been the best I have ever spent.  I hope you realize that, and I would love nothing better than spending another week with you.  Just give me the dates.”

“Count on it,” I told him. 

After a hot loving passionate kiss, I looked into his eyes and said., “You have to promise me that you will let me know what your client says.”

“Well, if you can take a couple of extra days off, you can join me when I show him our evidence.”

“Count me in,” I told him.

We arrived back in port and after disembarking, we went back to the hotel where we had stayed before the cruise and checked in, this time in the same room. We made arrangements to fly home and when we arrived I went with him to his house, where he phoned his client and set up an appointment to meet the following morning.

The next morning we arrived at the man’s estate at precisely at eleven, the time of the appointment.  We were shown into the man’s home office and I was introduced as Josh’s associate.

“Well,” the man began, “was I right or wrong?”

“Mr. Carpenter, you were totally correct,” Josh said as he began to hand over the photographs we had developed the night before.

After looking at them, he pressed a button on his desk and said, “Chantel, could you join me in my office, please.”

Moments later, the woman from the cruise entered the room and upon seeing us, had an expression of panic on her face.

“My dear, it appears that you recognize these two gentlemen.  Am I correct?”

“Should I?” she asked.

“You should.  They had the stateroom next to you on your cruise.”

“Bart, you know I was in New York.  I sent you pictures.”

“Well, these pictures seen to say something totally different,” he replied as he handed her the photos we had provided to him.

She took the photos and the photo of her on deck with the other man was on top.  She looked at a few more then came to the ones where she and the man were both naked on the balcony engrossed in hot savage fucking.

She slowly looked up and said, “Is that how you two fags get your kicks?  Ruining a persons marriage?”

“Josh is a private detective that I hired to find out if you were cheating or not.  Mark is his associate and they did what was necessary to get the evidence. I do not appreciate you calling them unfounded names.”  

Then after a short pause, he said, “You know what this means.  You have exactly one hour to pack your clothes.  The maid will be there to make sure all the jewelry stays in the safe.  In one hour you will be escorted off the property. I suggest you get busy.”

She stormed out of the office and he turned to Josh and said, “Here is a check for the amount we agreed upon, but I wasn’t aware that you would have an assistant. How much additional do I owe you?”

“Actually, sir, we only met on the way to the ship but it he hadn’t agreed to help, I’m not sure I would have had such clear evidence.”

Unlocking a desk drawer, counted out two thousand dollars and handed it to Josh, Asking, will that cover his fee?”

“”Totally, sir, and if we can be of further assistance to you or any of your associates, please do not hesitate in contacting me.”

We turned and left as he dialed a number.  Before we exited the room we heard him say, “I have the evidence.  File the papers.”

That evening, we checked the schedule for the cruise we were interested in and decided on a date.  “When I get the okay to make the reservations, I’ll drive down for a weekend and we can do it together, since we’ll need your passport information.”

“Just let me know when,” he said before kissing me passionately.

Two weeks later I was back at Josh’s place, wrapped in his muscular arms and his tongue in my mouth as we kissed. We made our reservations for the upcoming cruise, and once finalized, we had hot passionate sex.

The date for our cruise arrived and we flew to Miami together, first class.  I had requested that the beds be turned into a king and didn’t care what anyone thought.  We had hot passionate sex at night and did some sightseeing and diving during the day.

By the time the cruise was over, I knew I had strong feelings for Josh.

Then, after arriving back home and in my place he sat me down and said, “Mark, I have some news for you.  I’m going to be moving my office in the next few weeks.”

“Where to?” I asked.

“Right here,” he replied.  “I want to be as close to you as possible.”

I jumped up and ran over to him and kissed him passionately, then asked, “Would you like to move in here with me?”

“I was hoping you would ask, but I was also hoping that we could find something away from the busy part of town and with more privacy.”

“Most definitely,” I replied.

We immediately started looking for a place we both liked. We bound the perfect house sitting on eighty wooded acres with just the center cleared for the house, garage and pool.

We decided to keep my house and use it as rental property.  The house we bought had a large area that Josh could use for his home office when needed.

He had acquired space in town for his business office and hired a good friend of mine to work in the office  with him. Steve was also gay and, like Josh, you would never in your life suspect it.

Steve would visit some Saturdays and enjoy the freedom of going nude outdoors, and at times enjoy a three way out in the open.

Josh and I pledged our love for each other in front of a dozen close friends out by our pool with everyone being totally nude. Afterward, we served refreshments and announced that everyone was free to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted as long as both parties were in agreement.  Hot guys were having sex all around the pool area.

Every year, Josh and I take the same cruise that we were on when we met, and repeat our pledge to each other.  We will soon be taking our seventh cruise.

The question of virginity, mine, was only a question of not only when but who. I knew I was gay, told my family from whom I got a kind of….uninterested reaction, “That’s nice, dear”. As opposed to the stories I’d heard about other guys who ‘came out’, of the closet this felt more like I’d come out of the kitchen. Oh, the worst, the absolute worst, Mom said she’d leave extra bottom sheets in my room so I wouldn’t have to sleep on messy semen. SEMEN, for Christ’s sake, semen. She had the technical vocabulary, book and verse and used it every time there seemed to be a moment to use it. Told I was going to Phil’s, my cousin, she produced a selection of condoms-seems Phil had made an announcement to his family as well. The condoms were unnecessary; If there was one partner for the opening unto a full sexual life no guy wants, it’s his cousin. Ask around, you’ll find I’m right about that one.

My family tis of thee! sweet land of stupidity of them I cringe!

Worse came when they started to be ‘of assistance’. You’ve read about it, probably here, when the father and son jerk off together? The night my Dad appeared, wearing his bathrobe-over nothing-carrying a jar of some lube he’d bought, on the suggestion of the pharmacist, at the drug store  as well as two boxes of Kleenex. Lets just say he got it up, splattered on those sheets Mom carefully laid out then finished by saying, “Sorry sport, maybe you need to be older.” I was Nineteen. If I had a list of things I really didn’t want to do, added to it was jacking off with dear old Dad. Phil got a little luckier, his Dad found and bought a CD on how to masturbate with long sections of demonstration of the various methods suggested; That got some traction.

Did we discuss this? You bet and the main conclusion  we reached was that…we lived in suburbia. All the guys in all the porn stories we read did not get their cherry plucked while living at home with their parents as a sort of cheering section. It was made clear to both of us that if we wanted to bring some kid (KID!!! for
crying out loud) to have sex, fine with them, just try and keep the
noise down or, it’s a good idea,  (only a good idea only if you’re
them) set up some sort of sex room in the basement. The precursor, I
guess, to being older and having a ‘Man Cave/sex dungeon (We’d
seen them on porn flicks.)’.

I guess we could have tried to fuck each other but…your cousin? Uh, no. Also, we wanted the person who cherried us to know how to do it and, hopefully, do it well. Tell you something, you can watch porn until the  cows come home but you won’t learn how to fuck. Why? Well, you may have noticed that when you hit the ‘play’ button, they already are; Some one is hard, some one has their ass opened, peeled and winking so hard you’d think they were constipated. Not to mention they already knew how to do it and do a lot more than we wanted to do, well, at first. And that’s just the simple, in and out, up and down. No gang bangs, no three, four or five ways, just us. With copies of ‘dirty’ magazines for gay men Phil’s Mother, his mother for Christ’ sake, found and “just picked these up for you, dear”. Jeez. I wouldn’t have bought them if disguised as a gay Rabbi walking on a cane and wearing sun glasses so thick…but his mom could buy what were thought to be instructive; I’ve seen better photographed amateur porn. Probably stunned the cashier when she explained, and we knew she did as she asked him, if these were the better ones or did she miss some?

Forget a too helpful family, we’d done what we thought we needed to do to attract…someone. Worked out, I’d played Varsity Soccer, Phil had won a couple of state championships in swimming-the breast stroke so you can figure out his rack was primo. In my short shorts with a jock I’d sabotaged so my nuts fell out, if not on command, at least periodically, jumping, twisting…and I was well hung so there was considerable to drop out. Also, those shorts were that, short. For his part, he wore a Speedo that barely, and I’m not kidding here, barely covered what absolutely, according to the NCAA, had to be covered, was. Nothing. Not a coach, not a Ref, not another player, not a spectator did more to either of us than punch us in the bicep and say something inane like, “Hey, dude, good game, huh.” With my nuts bouncing up and down as I raced down the field, a spectator should have noticed and licked his lips….more likely licked a snow cone.

Oh, and the age thing. Okay, we got it, up to a point we weren’t legal however anxious and willing to step over that point we were but now, almost nineteen. Wanna hear worse? Neither of us had ever even had a fucking boyfriend. No kiss, no grope, no suggestion of what they’d like to do as soon as the car stopped, once the lights went out, when we got home.  Correction, when I won the individual player medal at State, one of the presenters, from South America, kissed me on both cheeks.

To be fair, Phil and I had tried making out but…on your cousins bed who still has sheets expressing fan dom for Ninja Turtles-mine were no better, I had Superman-it’s not quite like someone you really care for, I mean, care for in a sexual way; I was fond of Phil, I’d better be as things were going he and I were apparently going to be the last men on planet Zort and, through a strange trick,  by fucking could repopulate the planet. We spent a lot of time with each other, to the point that if a parent was looking for one, they’d find both.

Back to making out. We’d peel and sleep together. In the nude. We took showers together in the nude, we felt each other up, both nude and clothed. It’s still your cousin. One of the absolutes of porn is that nobody is wearing clothes. So we didn’t. Slept great, happened, once, the air conditioning had blown and nude, with no top sheet was pleasantly cool just not very sexy.

Under other circumstances the problem might have been solved if we’d gone away to school. You know, get our own apartment, find other guys on campus who were gay, we read about LBGTQ groups all the time but….they seemed more political than sexual and, frankly, maybe we expected too much, group pictures weren’t real encouraging-for a group pushing ‘queer’ they looked queer enough but in a strange non-sexual way. Plus, it would happen to us, one of the best schools in the nation was a slow twenty minute drive from our homes. Could we have wangled our parents into letting us get an apartment? Maybe but….our parents, unwittingly undercuting our desire to lose the stigma of virginity, had said that as long as we stayed in school, that was more important than work so without work we couldn’t have afforded to share the rent on a dog house. Plus, I’m reluctant to say this but…. free food, grazing privileges in the fridge, plus laundry…..We didn’t talk about living at home much…we knew, privately, it was a trade off between possible dick meat and real pot roast so it wasn’t discussed, that getting out to some sort of exposure to MEN who would be happy to fuck us….just not in our own bedrooms with our folks down stairs, with another couple, playing bridge.

To compensate for lack of work, we each got fifty a week, they’d pay for our gas. And that was another thing; Assuming we had some hopes of stud-dom, riding around in an aging Dodge just doesn’t cut it.

Our refuge from “understanding parents” was the library; It was quiet, no one looked for us to hand out dildos (yes, Mom again) and inadvertently, they had a better quality porn than that which came in plain brown envelopes. Or wrappers. One of the assistant librarians had been a paratrooper until, as he put it, “..the plane came down before I did…” cost him his right leg. As with many who have lost a limb, he and his prosthetic had become great friends and, apart from occasionally using a cane, you’d never know he was missing anything. In a quiet way, he became our purveyor of a literary sort of smut-first warning us that no matter what your sexual preference, “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” was only slightly more arousing than “The Morals And Dogma of Masonry”. His name was Jerry and a better ad for how you can overcome adversity did not exist. He was also, as any librarian must be, sensitive to the interests of their more frequent customers in this case us. His polite way of telling us he knew our problem occurred one day when, as we walked in, he called us over, handed us each a book saying these were classics of gay literature, we should read them.

We both developed what I suppose was a minor crush on him, he seemed romantic, interested in us, good looking in an ex-military way, great smile plus his patience with us…face it, anyone who takes time with and for you you’ll like. Was he gay? We reverted to ‘don’t ask don’t tell’. One other problem, whatever he was: His age, 36. To his credit we never saw him as patronizing, just a terrific man who was good looking; We hoped-we discussed this-what ever his preferences, he had a great boy/girl friend who loved him.

Phil says we blushed, I say he blushed. Jerry leaned against the counter and waited for our recognition of the fact that we had a friend as well as someone who tweaked our problem, understood it and was trying, at least to the degree that he could, be helpful. Whether he signed on as being our therapist and counselor intentionally is open to question but that he did….Also, to his credit, he roared with laughter as we told him about our parents and their guidelines to living the gay life. And, finally, we confessed our virginity. His only response was…”Guys, everyone starts that way…hell, I know I did.” As desperately as I wanted to ask him how he cured that problem, that was just too far, too personal, a question we couldn’t and no one should ask. Unless you were in the service, hanging around the barracks, everyone was half drunk  down to your boxers and recalling…”The first time I…”.

Not only were we virgins but, thanks to a heap of overkill by our parents, we were also naive. They’d given us so much ‘help’ that some of the basic psychology never got mentioned. Also, because Phil and I had only each other, we created a wholly incorrect view of all sorts of things not only about being gay but sex in general. We, for example, decided that you only ‘did it’ with someone you truly cared about-forget the hooey of porn where you ‘did it’ with whomever was next or available. Jerry did try, when he figured out how far from reality and truth we’d flown ourselves, to correct our ideas but…he was stuck behind a library desk; He could give us books and information but sexual suggestions were probably further than he felt he should go. In fact he’d gone a lot further than anyone in his situation should have gone unless he was working with someone who was doing research and needed his professional guidance as to where to look for what and then, perhaps, a careful commentary as to whether this book or that periodical was really what would be helpful. He knew what we thought would be helpful and that was, plain and simple, to get fucked.

Worse, we were brilliant students; It seems if there’s anything that kills lust faster than terminal acne, it’s intelligence. In one or two of our classes there were guys we’d like to get to know. And we did. We were assigned as their tutors; They were really grateful for our help but always had to race off as their girl/boy friend was waiting. See? Being dumb got you a boyfriend or maybe being dumb just made you seem like an easy lay-we never asked.

After Thanksgiving-for which we had little to give thanks save we’d been told we’d made the Dean’s List (A real sexual come hither) we pretty much avoided our homes and started hanging out at the library any time we weren’t in class or involved in our sport. We’d found a place where almost nobody ever was, quiet, off the path to the Dewey Decimal System and only of interest to the those who were blind; It was called the Braille Area. Seldom was there anyone there save one man who, apparently was doing research as he was constantly surrounded by texts, stopping to think, running his finger along a line. Until we got used to seeing it, watching him look straight ahead and move his finger was creepy. But eventually he became part of the furniture; we did our homework and held lengthy discussions about our aging virginity and what to do.

Christmas came and went, there was talk of upcoming Spring Break; Mom had done  her research, had brochures on the best places for gay college students to go, some were at the beach, some skiing, ten day all gay trips abroad…just let them know what we’d like and they’d make the arrangements. So proud of us, so proud of the Dean’s List, this was their gift to us for ‘applying ourselves’. Well, they got one part slightly right, we wanted to apply ourselves, just not to school but a warm male body who wanted our application. We thanked them but said…we’d stay home, maybe they could see their way to letting us have a couple of months in Europe this summer. (We’d heard about Amsterdam and the very open lifestyle there, the gay men, the gay bars-where our age wasn’t a consideration.) . They agreed and…what else?….Mom started working on her gay guide for guys to Europe. Swell.

Just after school resumed we did find out something that, well, we couldn’t have expected but, looking back, should have figured out. We’d both been rushed for a Frat and turned it down. Given our involvement with sports, this was virtually the proverbial animal house which didn’t suggest getting laid unless you were running with the ball and were laid out. One of the guys from the Frat, on the swim team with Phil, casually said as they were lined up to go off the ten meter board, “Yeah, we figured you’d turn us down, everyone knows you and your dynamite stud of a cousin are a pair…”. Phil forgot to dive and just fell into the pool.

Not too much later, and in tears, he told me and, for once, we held each other and both cried. I suppose if you saw us, two good looking men, locked in the arms of the other, it looked great, particularly with the snow falling in the twilight….I’ll say this, Phil with his eyelashes dripping tears and snow drops was appealing….just not to me. What to do, retreat to where no one could see us, the Braille section at the library.

Jerry must have wondered why we shot by him, clearly distressed but with no outward reason. This time, the guy doing his research, had only one book was staring out a window he could not see as he ran his finger along a white page that looked as if it had small pieces of spaghetti glued to it.

We tried to be quiet but…Phil was still on the ragged edge of tears, I was too stunned to be anything but…there. I put my arm around him, “Hey, he can’t be right, we’re cousins, not lovers, how dumb can he be?” Except that an idea was creeping over me, not a good one, but an idea; Phil and I were together almost constantly and who knew we were cousins? Sure, back in high school but this was university and no one knew us, what they did know was we were together all the time, clearly knew each other…easy enough to just assume, another pair of good looking guys, mated pair from all that it looked. I started to do that dumb hiccuping weep that you get when you can’t cry but are so down, some sound, some expression of what? Sadness? Distress?

Someone came up behind us, said something. We were so stunned, we hopped up and knocked him to the floor: it was the blind guy. Okay, now not only do we feel awful but we’ve knocked down some handicapped person we don’t even know in the library. I half way expected to see Jerry headed our way saying that we should leave… The guy on the floor laughed, said he deserved that for interrupting our grief, stuck up his two arms to be righted and started listening to our profound apologies.

“Mind if I sit?”

 

Too horrified at what we’d done, he could have sat on us if that’s what would have pleased him. We put him in chair between us, continued our apologies until he reached out, put an arm over each of our shoulders and told us to shut up, for Christ’ sake.

He laughed, explained his name was Jim Patterson, he knew we were Phil and Paul, cousins, and he wanted us to know how many days we’d cheered him up as we groaned our way through virginity.

“Guys, look at me, pretty butch, huh, cept for the eyes but I’m as gay as you and many, many times I stopped my work and just listened. See…I know you’re nice guys and I’ll bet real studs…whether you see it or not. You’ve done all the right things the wrong way.” He paused. “Oh, I bet you thought the visually handicapped couldn’t be gay, wrong they can.”

By then we were in a spiral of embarrassment and glad to meet someone who seemed to have a more practical grasp on our problem.

“Look, you’ll just have to believe me, I’ve unintentionally listened in, sympathized, wanted to help for a long time and given this new wrinkle, maybe it’s time. Tell you what, Friday, come to my place around seven for a guys get together. I’d like to talk here but…some of it gets personal and graphic so lets not disturb the librarian…”

“Jerry? he’s been a buddy whether he meant to or not, some days he’s been….” I puddled up thinking about Jerry’s calm, he patience, his understanding… “He’s been a great guy.” Again, Jim, who still had his arms around our shoulders, did that thing where you grip one side and, somehow it helped.

“So, Friday, I’ll give you a card, got an address-not in Braille-phone….you need to meet someone new who already knows the back story. Okay?”

I don’t know why but we agreed, really looked forward to it. On our way home, we talked about what a great guy he was, shame he probably didn’t have anyone, good looking, too. But knowing there was a Jim and we could go to his place…helped.

Coincidentally, that was the evening when the folks had a brochure for a gay dating service, all filed out, all they needed was a head shot of each of us; We fled to my room and hid.

By the next morning-Phil slept over-we were actively embarrassed to go to school knowing what was thought of us. We knew we were gay, would have told anyone who asked but….what we weren’t was a couple, cousins yes, lovers no. It’s unfortunate that when it involves two people you involuntarily commit a sort of emotional folie a deux, not that we’d done anything it was concept that not only were we lovers but cousins who’d fucked each other. Phil said he would speak to his swimming coach…I told him not to; One thing of which I’m sure, you can always make a bad situation worse and dragging his coach in probably made it worse. After all, as I pointed out, the coach hadn’t said anything, what he thought, he’d kept to himself and did Phil really want to know what he thought? For that, did either want to know what anyone thought about our relationship-we’d already heard enough.

Our families and their misguided efforts to help us began to look better; At least they’d never suggested we try sex with each other before widening our search party. Okay, that was cold comfort but, just then, we needed any kind of comfort…which is why we gathered the families and told them.

To their credit, they were not only shocked but royally annoyed that anyone could think that…why…we were cousins, close yes but not that close. My Dad, who may have remembered the father/son masturbation episode, said he knew by personal experience that Paul and I did nothing. I wondered how he knew that but didn’t press the subject. And then they went over Niagara in a barrel; They would go to the Dean, after all, we were on his list, and protest!

Oh, Christ! Want to make a situation worse, more than we imagined? That would do it. For whatever else we had, we did have some very low visibility on campus, not only educationally, but in the sports we played. Even the college paper had referred to us as “Studs” for our teams…although we might have preferred ‘studs’ being redefined.

In Greek chorus we begged them to do nothing, please, nothing. As with any campus gossip, it would go away as some as something more interesting came along. Neither of us particularly believed that but, if it kept them out of the Deans office, fine.

It was that night we did sleep together, nude, wrapped in each others arms and cried. Not very stud like behavior? Huh?.

A note here because, well, I forgot to mention it earlier. Our overindulgent parents offered us, given their thrill at our educational progress, the vehicle of our choice as our only Christmas present. The words “our choice” seemed a little broad-as we discussed it, whatever we chose, it would probably boil down to a matching pair of used Cop Crown Vics with the black and white painted over. Given that thought, we took them at their word. Between us we decided to get cars that had two purposes, I asked for a Chevrolet Corvette and Phil said he’d be happy with a fully tricked out Ford Raptor. And gave that no thought until….Christmas morning on the driveways were…a Silver Corvette with black leather interior and, on the other one, a silver Ford Raptor with black leather upholstery. Stunned doesn’t begin to cover our reaction; We even insisted that we knew the cost and great as they were, please, return them. Nope, they were ours. Stud vehicles to the max. Just…no studs to ride in them. Oh well, they were great to drive, particularly the truck-taking the Vette to anywhere near campus was to conjure up our own version of, “Dude, Where’s My Car??”. The truck was probably as much a magnet for theft but, for whatever reason, we were more comfortable for its safety and, frankly, it was more comfortable than the Vette.

Friday was, if possible, worse. It was a full day of classes, team practices, exposure to every single person on campus, or so we felt. Phil said as he stood on the ten meter, all he could think of was..me…us…and promptly fluffed a dive he had done since he was ten. Elsewhere, I had ditched the show off jock, found a pair of long shorts, played badly, which got me a quizzical lecture from my coach then, after showers-assuming all the guys were staring at us, waiting to see if we’d get hard, look at anyone too long…we met in the parking lot, decided not to go home-we called in about sudden practices that might delay us or…we might bunk out in student housing which always had a few spots for visiting teams in the event that weather or whatever didn’t allow them to leave that evening.

Which proved to be true, the weather had fallen in very suddenly, all sorts of warnings were being issued to stay in, avoid driving…which justified our lies. Did we mention Jim to our folks? Are you kidding?

One thing we’d done which more college kids should do, is pay attention to the weather particularly when you lived in an area like ours where storms of all variety could and did descend on us with little warning. Also, since no one paid much attention to us, we were prepared, by listening to the early morning weather, to get into our cold weather gear, much of which had been acquired from a store that sold para military clothes. Good, sturdy material, your choice of climates and they could fit you out. That day we were in full uniform down to and including  heavy wool socks under lace up boots,  over our winter camos. There was also a bag of change out clothes, spares of everything…all we needed was a commanding officer and we’d be ready for action.

By four, ice was already a threat, snow was piling up, the wind shifted directions every ten minutes or so….we were glad to have the truck. Just to be on the safe side we found where Jim lived, went to a quick rip place, got a double coffee and, since it was dark and we knew he couldn’t see, went back and parked in front of his house. Looked more like he was prepared for Halloween-dark, dreary, not even a porch light. Well, for a person who was blind….

In the half hour or so we waited, maybe a half inch of snow and ice coated the truck-one trick, we put salted water in the locks plus a sealing cover over them. Finally it was time for whatever was going to happen. I grabbed the large change out bag, for no good reason we shook hands, opened the doors and headed up the walkway to whatever fate and Jim Patterson had in store for us.

“Get in here, now. Too cold to be outside.” He slammed the door behind him. “Can’t have your nuts frozen before they get talked about…”

As we’d seen, it was dark inside, even the little spill from a street light left only dim shadows. We shuffled in, not knowing where anything was, including Jim.

The lights snapped on.

“Great Jumping Jesus, the Marines have landed.” It was Jerry, leaning against a door jamb, one hand on the face plate of a light switch. “Didn’t think I’d let him have my two favorite men all to himself now did you? I’m guessing that bag you just dropped has other clothes, Oh, God, Jim, I wish you could see our soldiers…bet they’re warm…” He was trying not to laugh as he walked toward us. “Guys, I admire your taste in gear, kinda reminds us of the good old days…Jim, run your hands over the one nearest you, not to be  believed.”

With that, somehow we knew we were safe and…someone cared about us. Without our asking, Jerry went through the bag with our other clothes while Jim started to strip us, first making us sit down and untie our boots. When Jerry finished whatever he was looking for he joined Jim and they….stripped us. Nothing. Seated on the couch, Jerry stood in from of me and Jim stood in front of Phil.

“Guys, sit back and enjoy your first blow job by men who know how to do it.” With which they sank down between our legs and started… with fingers playing with us, pushing our perineum, tongues licking nuts, a hand grabbing them so they couldn’t withdraw, kissing our cocks, us, our balls, us, licking everything down there. Finally taking our diamond hard cocks in their mouths and, pretty quick, got a mouth full of us.

“Great, that’s the overture now for the first act, the good stuff….”

Having never had a blow job we had no idea what to expect but knew it sure as hell felt good. We’d never thought about how things would feel and now that we were quickly going up the learning curve, we sort of made a Dean’s list in having your dick sucked. Those two really knew what they were doing, no idea how long we sat there or rather our bodies undulated, we made very guttural sounds, couldn’t say much, just, Oh Jesus, if this had to do with losing your virginity, we were all for it.

The second time was both harder and far more intense, I knew I wanted to come but Jerry would only take me so far then back off, give my balls a good hard squeeze, lick the head, try and get his tongue in my piss slit, grasp my pole with his hand, clamp down, suddenly give it a deep suck…and this went on, hell, I lost track. What I do remember was the strange feeling that started in me and led to where Jerry was attached. I could feel my abdomen begin to spasm then Jesus Christ, for the second time, I blew a wad and almost passed out once I finished.

The guys did the cruel thing we’d heard was called edging in that they didn’t let us go, just kept pumping until we both were almost screaming in pain and desire….then turned loose.

Almost immediately a bowl with warm water and towels was produced as they cleaned both of us and them. When they finished that, they put a warm quilt over us then stood up and stripped
to the skin. They joined us under the quilts, giving us no time to think, started what I guess was making out ….We had no way to know what to do which they seemed to anticipate. Kissed, hugged, our nipples played with, kissed some more then a tentative tongue in our mouths….it was all terrific, they were terrific, we were…exhausted. Finally, they slowed down, picked us up-how Jim did it, but he was strong, his body looked like Jerry’s, hard, worked, able….took us to a bedroom and plunked us on a  bed, put pillows under our heads, pulled covers over us and somebody said….

“You two rest, we’re here, you’re okay, just…rest.”

Rest turned into sleep for when I woke, however much later that was, Jerry was laying on the bed beside me, dressed, on his side, smiling at me, just the two of us.

“Have you figured it out?”

I could only nod, ‘no’….

“See, Jim and I have had our eye on the two of you, knew you were great men, going to be better if you partnered up….but not with some kid which would be a lot about sex and, in not too much time, off he’d go. You’ve got all the equipment and, frankly, we held our breath waiting for an opportunity to tell, well, to tell you you’re not looking any more, you’ve found the men you deserve. See, along the way, all those days talking to me, Jim listening to your problems, we concluded, well, I did first, I more than liked you, I wanted you, I knew I could take your cherry about which you worried so much, and could do it right. I guess I half way fell in love with you. Same with Jim and Phil.”

He rolled on his back, stopped, thought, put an arm out and cuddled my face. “Jesus the two of you are Studs…why no one ever noticed, we wondered about that but then, the other day, when Phil said someone told him they knew he and you were paired up…it hit us, you’re so fucking much together, that’s what people thought and, my friend, I’m so glad they did, so glad otherwise, maybe you wouldn’t be here now, we’d be talking about those two great men…how we missed them. Paul, I’m telling you I love you.”

I could see the almost desperation in his eyes. He wasn’t lying, Phil was no doubt hearing something like that and from an equally great man. Jesus we were lucky. I reached for him, started to tear up, knew I was where I needed to be with whom I needed to  be…

“Look outside, you are spending the night, found the keys to your truck, put it in the garage so it’ll be safe, not get too cold. May even spend tomorrow. Want me to call your folks? Assure them all’s well?”

Yes, that was going to be interesting. The meeting of everybody, parents, sons, new lovers, one blind the other missing a leg, each about 15 years older than their sons….in all the work they put out trying to find what we wanted, nobody had planned on this. Whenever it happened, yes, it would be interesting.

“I’ll do it. We told them we might sleep over at the places for guest teams, said the weather looks bad. All they need to know is we’re okay….”

“Give them this number…”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how all this is going to be, honest. They may not love the idea of older men, handicapped men, Christ, look at all the work they’ve put in trying to find you something…we may not be what they had in mind….Jim and I talked about that.”

“Can I change the subject? You know what I want…”

“Sure, your cherry plucked and I guarantee that will happen just not tonight or tomorrow but soon. Some time needs to elapse, gotta get you moved in here…”

“Here?”

“Of course, guys always live with your partner…didn’t all that porn tell you that? ‘ Sides, I want you here, I want your enthusiasm, your zeal, your happiness, your love…when you get to that…your sex, your joy at having sex….just having you around the house, doing your work, going to school, those fancy cars…Proud to take my stud for a ride, top down, shirts off, shades….I want people to see I have one A number one prime man. I’d show ‘em your business but that’s just for me and Jim…”

“Jim?”

“Yes, Jim and I’ll take Paul but only when you  both want to change up. See, this isn’t ordinary, you don’t take two guys, bring them in and say, ‘you’re ours, welcome home we love you, we’re partners.”

“So….do I have to, you know, with Phil?”

“Probably, but that’s a long way down the pike. I’m here looking at my my man and I don’t think he even ever bothered to look. That shag on his chest, those big hairy balls, that cock, that butt that washboard stomach, you two thought of yourselves as kids for so long, that’s how you saw yourselves but, my dear friend, you are men from the cum in your cock to the waiting prostate in your ass to your mouth that gonna lick my nuts and then eat my sausage, that’s what men do, that’s what you will do. Fuck all that porn with perfect people, we’re real people and we’re gonna do what real men do with their man. Fuck ‘em, Suck ‘em, Rub ‘em, Piss on ‘em, Pinch their tits and then hold them so close cause you love ‘em. Got it?”

I lay there finding things out, finding out I no longer cared if I was fucked cuz I knew it would happen and by someone I wanted to do it. All the time Phil and I worried about the act itself, we never really thought who would do it. Just some amorphous man with a cock who knew what to do. Line us up on our knees, butts in the air, hands spreading the cheeks, he’d go along, plug us, give us a slap and a thanks then we wouldn’t be virgins.

“One thing I learned from porn…partners sleep in the same bed and they’re not wearing clothes. At least tell me for all that I got screwed up, that’s right, isn’t it?”

Jerry just smiled, reached down to start unbuttoning his shirt, paused, fiddled with something down his pants, something heavy fell on the floor…”I can’t run away from you with one leg.”

I rolled over until my face was on top of his. “I know, but…I kind of hope you’d always be running to me.” I helped him unbutton his shirt, got it off him, T shirt, pulled it over his head, unbuckled his belt, started to unzip his pants…

“Gotta warn you, I’m not wearing anything more except one sock…”. Geez he had a great smile. One that I figured I should kiss, he wouldn’t mind if I was a rookie…He didn’t.

The next morning I was told that he’d laid out the clothes I was to wear, no argument, just put ‘em on.

Okay.

Cowboy boots, Levi button fronts-already worn in-and a black turtleneck that I didn’t so much put on as slither into. Where had all this come from? Correct sizes? Why these clothes and, frankly, being told what to wear made me nervous. Whatever my deficiencies about sexual education, I knew how to dress myself as well as what to wear.

I turned back to see Jerry dressed just like me. “I do this for Jim, he’s challenged enough without trying to remember, only  by touch, what I’m wearing…you gotta have figured out that he and I were partners..maybe ten, twelve years now…?”

It was wounding, I suddenly felt like I’d been brought in as a relief batter, not part of the main team… “Okay then…you have each other, what’s the idea? Building up a stud farm so when you get bored with each other, there’s a place to go to get some fresh meat?” I started to undress, wherever my real clothes were, I’d put them on, find Phil, explain it to him and, I don’t know, thank the guys for the blow jobs and leave.

Jerry grabbed me from behind pinning my arms to my side. “No listen, yeah he’s my partner, has been ever since we met at the training center for the handicapped, hit it off and…here we are. BUT, you rascal, he sleeps in there, I sleep in here, only now I’m gonna be sleeping with my partner, you. Did we make it? Sure a time or two but it was just to get our rocks off, men do that you know…I’m halfway amazed you and Phil didn’t try it. But, Paul, you’re what I want, what I’ve got, what I’m holding in my arms…now, I’m gonna turn you around, put one hand on your chin, start to kiss you and the other hand on your nuts so I can take your pants off, just push ‘em down, and suck you off. Okay?”

“Jerry I’m so….”

Stupid fool didn’t let me finish. He did put his lips on mine plus his hand on my suddenly bulging jeans and….well….at least the coffee stayed warm. Phil and Jim gave us a smile that said, “I guess you put cream in your coffee”.

Two, three, four years passed. I’ll tell you how and when and where I lost my cherry but that’s sorta personal and I want to clear some other things up.

“Mom, hey, Mom….we’re here!”

“Oh, come here son, we just never get to see you enough….”

“Yeah, they’re weird about driving without eyes.”

They started into the living room. “Now, I’ve been working on that and GM is coming out with a car that drives itself so I thought….oh, here, I have some brochures on it somewhere….”

Almost from the start both sets of our parents liked our guys. For one thing, their age made it easier for them to have ‘adult’ conversations. For another, they liked their history, they liked that they’d chose us… As usual, we’d read things wrong but they’d gone in for gay overkill; What they’d wanted was happiness for us and that’s what they got. The age thing? No bid deal. The handicapped part? My mom was dabbing her eyes once, said, “It just shows how much you love them. I used to worry some Stud meat…” I glared at her. “Did I say something wrong dear?” “No, not for you, no.”

Okay, it was unusual. Phil and I are working on our Doctorates, Jerry is still at the library while Phil is teaching Braille reading to both the visually handicapped and the sighted. Yes, at home we wear the same things, kind of our trade mark and are we happy? I’ll get mom to get a brochure on happiness and the gay man, I’m sure she’ll love trying to find it. We could tell her but why spoil her fun?

CHERRIES JUBILEE or late one night…..

Jerry was curled up next to me, he liked to be in back-said running his hands through the hair on my chest made the furnace unnecessary. Yeah, sure…

“Phil?”

“Um.”

“How asleep are you, I mean, if I wanted to fuck you, could you go back to sleep?”

Said nothing just pushed my ass closer to where I thought his cock wasp-it was hard so it wasn’t difficult.

“Uh huh. So that’s how it is, my man is going be a slut for his man, that how it is?”

I was making my butt to its best example of the Tango, waving up, down up, down.

“Uh huh. Guess I better get a hold of the issue…can’t let you start alone.”

He started to gently press two fingers in, worked them around, exerted some pressure pushing out on my inner wall. Added another finger, pushed further in. I could feel he was almost at the tightest spot the one he told would hurt, just let him do the work, it happens to every man….once.

His cockhead was hard and hot and at the door to my virginity while I did everything I could think of to welcome it, pushed back, got my  butt slapped, told he knew what he was doing, just lay still…If you’ve never had a cock up your ass, can’t tell you how it really feels, if you haven’t had the cock of some man you love coming in for the first time….they’re afraid of hurting you, you’re afraid they won’t hurt you; Seems that moment of pain is when you give and they take your virginity, your cherry, your first man to man fuck, however you want to say it….you’re now full of him, waiting for what he’ll do, anxious to please and, then, oh shit, he hits your prostate and, he did know what he was doing, got it from the inside and the outside. He knew how to pump his prong up, no part of your internal tissue when unnoticed or unloved. His hands on your nipples, his teeth biting into your neck. The long smooth agony at first of the first thrusts and withdrawals then you’re with him, demanding whatever he wanted from you. Your former life, gone. I was now fully his man. Inside I could feel him get both softer and bigger as he pumped my prick, barely holding me back, I was losing track of which part of pleasure I was enjoying most and then he whispered…”I love you” just as he shot in me and I bred his hand.

A bit after that when we were just laying there, I was toying with his balls, his nipples, kissing him, trying to think how to thank him….For I wanted to thank him so much…

He said, “Remember the first time you met me, I was behind the reception desk, you rushed in, blurted out….remember?…you said in that over the top way of yours, ‘Sir, how do I get fucked?’ I guess you know now.”

And I did. 

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