gay

Author: admin

  • Thanksgiving Break

    My First Hometown Hookup

    This is the first year that I’ve missed Thanksgiving in my hometown. Thanks to the pandemic I decided to stay home this year (no regrets, wear a mask, stay safe) but this weekend I’ve been thinking a lot about something that happened over Thanksgiving break a few years ago when I was in college.

    It was Thanksgiving during my Freshman year and because it was the first time I’d been back in town since I went away to school. Of course, we had to do the big Thanksgiving eve outing to catch up with all our high school friends. We were still mostly under 21 so a few people had house parties where we could all catch up. I had a lot of friends in different groups so I’d been bouncing around all night. By the time I was ready to head home, it was almost 1 am.

    I parked my car on the street outside my house because we had family over and the driveway was packed. The house was already dark so I was sort of just chilling in the car working up the energy to head inside. I decided to open up Grindr, which was relatively new to me, and check out the local scene. I live in a small town so my grid was pretty much what you’d expect, lots of faceless 40 something torsos most of which were over 30 miles away. However, I was surprised to find one tile just a few hundred feet away.

    It was a mostly blank profile with no identifying information, but I was buzzed and curious so I tapped out a quick greeting. He responded immediately. I was expecting a closeted older neighbor, my limited experience with the apps had taught me that that was the most likely outcome. Instead, I got a “hi” followed by a string of images that were clearly of a guy around my age. He didn’t show his face but he had a tight slim waist, a nice thick cock, and a perfect round bubble but. Now I was really curious.

    It took a little coaxing but I finally managed to extract a face picture. To my surprise, it was Nick, my next-door neighbor. He was only two years younger than me, but he was shy and we’d never really hung out except in passing. I knew he was on the soccer team and nothing about him had ever made me think he was gay. I hadn’t come out until college and we lived in the kind of town where if someone was gay, you were going to hear about it. It was kind of hot knowing he was right there, but it was also kind of disappointing because it meant we couldn’t really meet up since neither of us could host. I was getting ready to say good night when he messaged me again.

    “Come to my garage”

    His house had a garage detached from the house that sat close to our property line. I hopped out of my car full of curiosity and probably one too many beers and walked over, being careful to stay out of sight. Both houses were dark but you never know. I made my way around to the side door, which I found open, and slowly turned the nob, trying to keep the noise to a minimum.

    I was slightly startled when I entered the garage and a light popped on. At first, I thought it was on a motion sensor but then I saw Nick standing by the switch. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts but he was shirtless. His hair was tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed. He smiled at me but didn’t say anything. Just turned around and slowly slid the shorts down. He was a lot more confident than I remembered, but I wasn’t going to complain.

    I unzipped my pants and stepped up to him, my eyes were locked on his ass. It was round and full with a light dusting of hair. I reached into my jeans and pulled out my already hard cock. I was getting reading to line it up with his hole when he spoke for the first time.

    “No,” he said looking back at me over his shoulder, “eat it.”

    I played it cool, but I’d actually never eaten ass before. Aside from a few twinks riding me in my dorm room, I didn’t have a ton of experience. In fact, if you’d asked me ten minutes before that if I was into rimming, I would have said no. But something about his butt hanging out of his shorts late at night in the garage made me sure that I wanted to.

    I dropped to my knees and grabbed his cheeks, spreading them apart and driving in. It took me a minute to work up the courage to use tongue, but soon I was pushing my tongue against his tight pink hole. I heard him moan and tried to pull away but his hand reached back and pushed my face deeper into him. I could feel him grinding his ass against my face and I felt my hard cock bobbing out of my pants as I continued to lick his hole.

    I don’t know how long I was down there but it felt like hours. I’ll never forget it. Once he was satisfied he removed his hand and let me come up for air. I was torn between wanting more and wanting to get off. Fortunately, he had already made up his mind. He walked over to the old Subaru parked nearby (his car I gathered) and opened the back door. Clearing a bunch of debris off the back seat he hopped in dropping his shorts along the way. Soon he was on his back, legs spread in looking at me in a way that was both demanding and inviting.

    I didn’t need an invitation. I dropped my jeans to my ankles and. crawled into the back seat. We didn’t have lube but my spit worked well enough and soon I was furiously pounding away at his furry boy hole. It felt amazing. I usually have great stamina but it was like he was pulling me in, I could feel his hold tightening around my cock and before I knew it I blew my load in him. I would come to regret that a minute later when he pushed my face down and made me eat him out again, but it was worth it.

    By the time he was ready to finish, I’d moved on, at his insistence, to biting his nipples. He didn’t even warm me before shooting a huge load, part of which landed in my face and hair. We hung out a few times after that, but I didn’t have a ton of free time over the break Soon I was back at school, and by winter break I had a boyfriend that I was naively loyal to. Still, Nick was able to coax me over to his place a few times when our parents were out. To this day, I still have a thing for bossy dominant bottoms.

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  • Relax: You Can Do It

    I’m browsing inside a sex toy shop as I reach a counter and some shelves displaying dildos, cock rings, and other toys. The shop is not specifically gay, but it caters for whomever is looking for sex stuff and porn. The attendant is a handsome young dude, sitting at the register, flipping through a magazine.

    I regard the dildos with mounting interest. I have never experienced cock up my butt, but the dildos initiated some ass twitching. All sizes, shapes and colors. I thought I understood the reason for the shapes and sizes, but the colors? From silver to pink to blue to red. Do I dare buy a dildo and see how it feels stretching my hole?

    The few times I hooked up with a guy, I knew how my thick 7-incher inflicted pain on them.  Would I want this to happen to me? Again the ass twitching.

    I reached for one of the thicker dildos and fisted it in my hand. Fuck! This would certainly inflict damage. I could notice that the attendant was not paying attention to me. After a while of consideration, deciding that I did want to experience ass stretching, I chose the thinnest dildo on display.

    As I walked over to pay for my purchase, I felt a bit weird and a bit embarrassed. This was a first time for me, and what did my buying a dildo say? The attendant sort of disinterestingly glanced at the dildo and started to ring it up.

    “That’s 26 dollars with tax,” he looked up at me, and I thought I could detect some kind of a smirk on his lightly bearded face. His nametag said “Ian”.

    I fished out my wallet, pulled out a fifty and handed it over.

    “Jeez,” Ian heaved. “Don’t you have anything smaller, dude? I’m out of ones.”

    “Sorry,” I said.

    Ian looked at the dildo again and then back up to me, meeting my gaze.

    “Tight, huh?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Whoever your buying this dildo for must be tight,” Ian smiled and winked.

    My hole twitched.

    “Would that be your first?” There was definitely a smirk on Ian’s face as he asked this. Rightly, he was assuming that the dildo was for me, probably telling by my blushing face cheeks.

    This conversation was making me uncomfortable, but I nodded, blushing even more.

    “Dude,” Ian lowered his voice. “You need to experience something a bit bigger. To get the real feel, you know?”

    “The real feel?” I croaked.

    “Uhuh. Tell you what. Why don’t I show you one that’s different from this hard plastic. More like rubbery and thicker. Dude, you will thank me for that.”

    Ian slid down from his perch and walked around the register counter leading me back to the dildo display. He took down a skin-colored dildo, and yes, thicker than the one I chose, with a ridged knob and veined shaft, looking so much more real than the others. Ian held it out for me.

    “Feel it,” he said.

    I did. It felt like a real cock, but still not that real. It didn’t throb, of course, but it was quite a good simulation of a man tool.

    “Or,” Ian’s look was more mischievous as he added, “you might want your first to be a real live one instead of a toy.”

    My heart raced. I studied Ian more closely now that I figured the guy was coming on to me. My eyes slowly went from his face down his flat chest to his low-hanging jeans, noticing a bulge, down to his sneakered feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than me, and he definitely looked hot now that I am considering him in a different perspective than before.

    Glancing around to check to see if there is anyone within earshot, I whispered, “You mean… you?”

    Ian’s mischievous smile widened, grabbing his crotch and nodding.

    “But dude. I mean… I never…” I stammered lamely, my hole twitch increasing by degrees.

    “Listen, man. Hey, relax. I’m Ian, and I would love to help a dude out.”

    “Tyler.”

    “Well, Tyler,” Ian smiled extending his hand while holding the dildo in his other hand, shaking it a little. “Want to experiment? I got what you need, dude. And, I’ve been told that what I got is so much better.” Ian winked.

    Conflicting thoughts and feelings crowded inside my head and I felt myself shiver as I glanced back down at Ian’s crotch. But what the fuck? The dude was hot and was offering.

    Seeing that I hesitated, Ian added: “I’ll be off on my half-hour break in a few minutes. We can go upstairs and see if we can make you happy. What say you?”

    I nodded, unbelieving myself, that I had just accepted getting fucked.

    “Cool, Ty. Keep on browsing.”

    With this Ian walked back to the register counter as a client approached with a couple of videos to buy. My whole body shaking, I tried to take control of myself. Was I really going to do it? With a stranger? A hot one, for sure, but still. He would be breaking my cherry. I always thought that fucking was an act of love. Now, my thinking was more of lust. It must have been all those dildos on display, and the handsomeness and forwardness of Ian that made me this susceptible.

    I stared unseeingly at the rack of magazines, reflecting, lusting, twitching, feeling my armpits get wet. I jumped when I suddenly felt a pair of arms encircling my waist and a body pressing on my back. I made to pull away when I felt wet warm lips on the side of the neck and Ian’s mumble: “Let’s do it, sexy dude.”

    With shaking legs, I followed Ian up the creaking stairs and into a medium-sized room. A couch. A desk with a laptop and a desk lamp on it. A chair. A set of shelves with boxes and magazines piled on them.

    Ian turned around to face me, unbuttoning his shirt and exposing his chest. A patch of chest hair. Flat and ripped abs. Defined pecs. Pinkish nipples, a trail of hair starting at his belly button and thickening down into his low-hanging jeans. I let out a low guttural moan. Fucking sexy.

    Ian grabbed my shirt and pulled me to him, placing his lips on mine. I relented and opened my mouth as his tongue darted inside. Both of us let out moans as we kissed. I was aware of his bare sexy chest pressing on me and his crotch plastered on my upper thigh.

    “Strip for me, Ty,” Ian said throatily as he started to undo his jeans buttons.

    I took a step back and started to undress. Down to my briefs, my cock already hard and stretching the fabric sideways, I watched Ian pull off his jeans and smile at me. He was wearing loose black boxers, and for some reason I thought that that was much more erotic than my boxer briefs, that what was still hidden inside those loose boxers was something to be discovered.

    I had been with dudes before, and fucked a few asses. But most of them were the slutty type that went onto my cock seconds after we were alone and naked. I didn’t want to do that with Ian, not wanting him to think of me as a slut. Something in my head was urging me, why should I care? Ian was a stranger. Who cared what he thought of me? Still I stood back.

    “Could anyone come up here?” I asked in a trembling voice.

    Ian laughed. “I share this place with Rick, but he’s downstairs minding the shop. Relax, dude.”

    “But what if he comes up?” I persisted.

    “Oh, you would like Rick,” Ian teased, standing in his sexy loose boxers. “I have to warn you, though, you don’t want his horse dick anywhere near your ass.”

    “Horse dick?” I stammered.

    “Ten thick inches of hard meat, dude. Listen, are we going to talk about Rick’s dick or are we going to fuck?”

    “Maybe I should have brought the thin dildo up,” I said, perhaps trying to delay the inevitable.

    Ian snickered and pulled me to him for more kissing, grinding on me. “Dude, don’t be a wimp.”

    I felt his hands slide under my briefs and grab my butt cheeks, pulling me tighter to him, his lips on my neck.

    “Ian,” I tried to pull back. “Can I see it?”

    Ian’s laugh was loud. He stepped back and pulled down his boxers, kicking them off to the side with one foot. I inhaled. Ian’s cock draped down over his nuts, and I estimated that in its limp state, it was even thicker than the dildo that I had wanted to buy and try on my virgin ass.

    “Fuck, dude, it’s… it’s big,” I mumbled.

    Again, Ian pulled me to him pushing my face down his chest guiding my mouth to his nipples. I licked and sucked on them as I felt his meat starting to get harder against my hip, thicker. I heard myself moan as I raised his arm and licked into his hairy armpit. Ian grunted, his hands rubbing up and down my back, then hooking my briefs waistband and pulling them down exposing my fuzzy butt.

    From somewhere far away I seemed to hear: “Damn, bro, this butt is made to be fucked!”

    My whole body shivered. I needed to see this cock that was prodding on me, now hard and throbbing. I slid down to my knees. What met my eyes was the largest dick I had ever seen. Trembling, I kissed the knob. Ian moaned. I kissed down the shaft. Down to the balls. I licked the insides of his hairy thighs.

    “Oh, yeah, Ty, dude,” Ian moaned.

    With my eyes glued to his thick bush, I took him into my mouth, my jaws stretching to accommodate the thickness. I gagged. I choked. I slobbered. And I swallowed.

    Ian bucked into my throat, his grunts and moans getting louder, his hands grabbing my head by the hair. I was being face fucked. By a big cock. I estimated at least 8 inches.

    Ian led me to the couch laying me on my belly. I felt so exposed, so out there, butt naked. Ian spread my thighs and went into my crack with his tongue. I almost screamed. Ian’s rimming was so experienced, the flicking, the slurping, the moaning. Ian lifted my hips to reach under me and grab my raging cock, pulling it backwards between my spread thighs. He alternated his licking and sucking between my cock, my balls, and my hole until I felt I was going to cream. I was getting sucked and rimmed at the same time and the sensations were out of this world.

    After what seemed like seconds, or perhaps ages, the slippery tongue was replaced by a greased finger. Ian covered my crack with lube and started working on my tight hole.

    “Relax, Tyler. This lube reduces pain.”

    “Ian, dude, I don’t think I can take you, man. It’s too big!” I protested.

    But Ian wasn’t going to be dissuaded. He kept massaging my crack and fingering my hole and when he inserted two fingers, it wasn’t that bad. I felt a bit numb down there, perhaps because of the lube or maybe I was too horned up to feel any pain.

    And then the thick knob. Pressing. Stretching. Throbbing. Greased and ready to pop in.

    “You ready, baby?” Ian said as he leaned on top of me and licked my neck.

    And then there was the thrust.

    “AAAAAAAAAHHHHWWWWWWWWWWW,” I screamed.

    “Oh fuck, Tyler. Shhhh, man, easy. Fuck,” Ian clamped his hand over my mouth trying to stifle my loud scream as my ass felt ripped in two, the thick knob just inside my ring, clamping hard on it.

    From far away, I seemed to hear the creaking of stairs.

    “Guys, what the fuck? I was going to call 911. Ian?”

    I strained my head backwards, saw flip-flopped feet, hairy legs, knee-high bermudas. I moaned into Ian’s clamping hand, squeezing my ring harder around the huge knob ridge planted inside me.

    “Sorry, Rick, dude. This guy is taking cock for the first time,” Ian heaved, not moving.

    “I fucking don’t care, Ian. You can fuck this bitch till kingdom come. But we have customers down there, and they were concerned when this fuck screamed. Keep it down.”

    I watched as the feet moved closer and I was staring at a crotch. Rick grabbed my hair pulling my face up, and glared down at me. “You hear, bitch? Keep your voice down. Fuck, dude, you’re fucking sexy looking. I wouldn’t mind taking turns with Ian. Too bad I got to mind the store.”

    The two guys were laughing with Ian’s knob just inside my hole. I panted. Rick left and I think I heard the slap of a high-five.

    I tried to relax. I mumbled into Ian’s hand.

    “What was that?” Ian said, removing his hand.

    “Please go easy, Ian,” I muttered.

    Ian pushed. I grunted burying my face into a cushion to stifle my scream. Although Ian was going easy, his cock was huge and I felt impaled. I desperately reached back and tried to push back on his thighs, but he owned me now that he was inside me. Was it only a just the head? Or a couple of inches? Or halfway in?

    Another push and I almost fainted. Ian’s cock head popped my inner ring and stretched my tunnel. I clamped hard, my ring burning around the thick cock shaft. Ian kept going, inch after inch. I squirmed under him panting and grunting as he wrapped his arm around my throat, nibbling on my ear.

    “Yeah, baby. So tight. Fuck, Tyler. I love your pussy, dude.”

    After ages of cock shaft forcing into me, I finally felt the tickling of bush hair at my butt cheeks, sending shivers throughout my spine. I automatically relaxed as Ian pressed down on me. And the fucking started. Was I bleeding? Probably. The pain was excruciating. I could feel Ian’s sweat rubbing on my back as he fucked. Suddenly, I shivered and cried out. Something inside my hole sent electricity throughout my body. Ian’s cock head must have found my spot and I felt him moan deliriously as I clutched hard on his pistoning cock shaft.

    “Ah, fuck,” Ian grunted. “Yeah, dude, do that again. Fuck. Squeeze on my fucking cock. Tyler, fuck yeah, baby.”

    I took Ian’s pounding and rubbing my prostate each time his cock head pushed into me. I was leaking like a faucet, my chest wet with pre-fuck. Ian increased his speed. He kept mumbling into my ear: “Oh, Ty, I’m gonna cum soon. Baby. Fuck yeah.”

    With a loud heave and grunt, not caring whether Rick or the fucking customers heard or not, I shot my load under me, pinned down by Ian, knowing that my hole was going crazy around his cock. He swelled, and with “Oh my God,” he spilled his jizz into my guts.

    As a top myself, I knew exactly how it felt when my bottom cummed as I was still inside his fuck tunnel, how his ring spasmed around my cock, and I knew the intensity with which I flooded his clinging ass.

    We lay panting and heaving, Ian pressed down on me, his thick dick still inside me, getting limp but pulsating, for what seemed like hours.

    When Ian pulled out, I almost screamed again. The burning returned, but I felt empty. Warm jizz seeped out into my crack and over my balls. I remained plastered down on the couch, not daring to move. I felt Ian’s wet lips on my fuzzy butt cheeks.

    “Awesome fuck, Tyler,” Ian said between kisses and little bites on my butt. “I bet Rick would love plowing this tight ass, too.” There was a snicker.

    “In your dreams,” I managed to say through my teeth. “I’m going to walk funny for days.”

    “Naah,” Ian said, and I could detect a smile, “I stretched you good. Stay here.”

    I heard clothes rustling, creaking stairs, silence, more creaking stairs, flip-flops, clothes rustling, body weight on me, cock knob knocking on my hole. Scream. Hand clamping my mouth. A tree trunk pushing into my sore hole.

    “Oh, god, Ian is right. This cunt is tight,” I heard Rick grunt as he buried his 10-incher balls deep.

    Rick fucked me long and hard. He cummed with a huge heave. Pulled out. Slapped my butt. Left.

    I remained sprawled on my belly on the couch, my own cum drying on my hairy chest, my hole screaming with pain, cum down my thighs.

    It was the most fantastic virgin ass fucking that I was lucky to get.

    I stumbled down, bought the thickest dildo, smirked at Ian and Rick, and walked out, trying my best not to moan. I thought I heard the smack of a high-five just before I exited the store.

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  • Rocks

    Circa 1979

    There must have been a half-dozen of them, standing on one side of the small patch of sand between mangroves where Derrick was fucking me. Some still wore their Speedos, with bulges in the vee-fronts; others were naked and masturbated while they watched.

    It had become a weekly bit of erotic theater at the gay end of the Miami beach where we all came to swim and play. I would arrive there at dawn on my ten-speed. Derrick would arrive an hour so later and wade out to jetty’s end where I was diving off the rocks into wave swells. We would hug, kiss and rub against each other before finally coming ashore, both of us sporting hard-ons (Derrick’s was considerably bigger than mine). The six or so men who would soon watch us fuck lined the beach, watching our inward progress. Then, after Derrick grabbed his backpack, they would follow us to the mangroves and our patch of partially hidden white sand. It was “our spot.”

    While Derrick lubed up his bare cock (this was before the AIDS epidemic and there was never any talk of wearing condoms) I would get in position on my elbows and knees. Then Derrick would kneel behind me and enter me and we would fuck and put on a show for the curious onlookers. Sometimes I enjoyed it, the exhibitionism, other times I felt like part of a circus act.

    Derrick was very verbal and grunted the whole time to my moans. It was if, with the pleasure-sounds we each made, we were batting an oral ping-pong ball back and forth.

    “Unh!”

    “Ohhhh.”

    The first time Derrick fucked me (I was not a virgin) I’d been quite tight. But as the weeks and months went on I opened up considerably. When Derrick penetrated me he went right in, all the way to his sandy-colored pubic hair. He fucked me—each stroke—with his full length, which must’ve been a good seven inches. His circumcised cock was thick as well, uniformly thick from its base to just behind his well-formed mushroom head. He had a beautiful one—a cock you wanted, as a bottom, a submissive, to worship. To give it your all.

    Derrick had good stamina as well. He would fuck me for a full fifteen minutes or so, though by the end he was huffing and puffing, as well as grunting. When he finally came he would let out a single cry—a kind of plaintive one, like a wounded animal alone in the woods.

    One of the excited onlookers would invariably ask, “Did you cum in him?” And an out-of-breath Derrick would answer by pulling back, and out of me, his glossy cock already beginning to droop. Derrick might give my ass—one cheek—a pat of acknowledgment before getting unsteadily to his feet, but the only true affection he ever showed occurred beforehand, out there in the waves.

    Derrick was my height but thicker-bodied. He always sported a few days’ growth of salt-and-pepper beard. It scratched when we kissed. I guessed he was in his early forties, or about twice my age. After fucking me Derrick would stagger down the strand and into the gentle waves, as if to cleanse himself. His stiff walk reminded me, comically, of the Frankenstein monster in movies. I would soon follow, some of the onlookers sometimes reaching out, touching my slender body, giving my just-used ass a caress or fondling my balls. I would wade out as well, and dive into the waves, though keeping my distance from my weekend lover, who preferred, by that point, to remain alone. It was a strange relationship—if you could call it one at all.

    In fact I would continue out to jetty’s end again, and resume diving, while Derrick soon waded ashore, dried off, gathered his things and left the beach through a break in the mangroves. Sometimes I would look back and see him talking, briefly, to one of the onlookers, the voyeurs. I assumed they were discussing me.

    When I finally came ashore, perhaps an hour later, as the day began to heat up and the sun turn blistering, I would invariably be approached by another man, an older man, who would ask if I’d like to go home with him. To his condo. To his beach bungalow. To his house on the bay…These men were always older, and always made it sound like they were wealthy, quite wealthy.

    They would ask me if I had cum and when I said no they would offer to make me cum with their mouths when/if I went home with them. I politely informed them that I didn’t mind (that my balls were still full) and in fact preferred it that way. I was saving it, I would tell them, with a smile.

    “For what?” they would always ask, wearing a confused look.

    It would still be morning, late morning, when I arrived back at the little two bedroom/two bath flamingo-pink house I shared with my pretty mother in south Miami. She was about the same age as my friend Derrick but looked younger. She had a slender, youthful body.

    I had no father. Or rather, he was not a presence in my life. I hadn’t seen him in something like 13 years and, besides that, my mother detested him. She didn’t want him around.

    She didn’t want him around and he didn’t want to be there in the first place. So it was a perfect symbiosis. At Christmas a mysterious gift would arrive, that was about it.

    Mom would always ask me how the beach was that morning. Fine, I would tell her.

    “Was your friend there?”

    “Derrick? Yes.”

    “He’s your age, right? Another student [at the community college I attended]?”

    “No, mom. I told you. He’s one of my instructors.”

    “Oh. So he’s older.”

    “He’s about your age.”

    “I don’t understand,” mom would say skeptically. “Why are you hanging out at the beach with some older man?”

    “I told you,” I would insist. “We go to the same beach. We met there by accident. I recognized him, that’s all.”

    Another suspicious frown. “What kind of beach is this?”

    A shrug. “A regular beach. The same one I used to go to with my [male and female] friends in highschool.”

    “What do you do with this…Derrick?”

    “Do? Nothing. It’s a beach, mom. People swim. I spend the whole time diving off the rocks.” I’m always anxious to change the subject. Mom is in slacks and a loose-fitting top, her pretty feet with their painted toenails bare. She’s been cleaning house. She has small breasts. “What can I do to help?” I offer.

    “Well…you can run the vacuum then do the dishes.”

    “OK.”

    “Then when I get back from the store you can help carry in the groceries.”

    “Sure!” I say enthusiastically. Anything to change the subject.

    “What do you want for dinner?”

    Despite her pretty face and slender body, mom rarely dates. Occasionally a man will stay over, but nothing ever sticks.

    On Friday nights, and sometimes on Saturdays as well, depending, I sleep with mom in her bed.

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  • Recruiting Jeeter

    “Shit. I’ve been avoiding him,” Steve Taggert thought as he pulled a number from the machine at the barber’s shop. If he’d seen Craig Littleton before he’d taken the number, he might have just turned around and left at the door. As it was, he’d gotten in ahead of a small crowd of men going to the machine after he’d gotten his number. A small victory in life was knowing the guy who walked into the barber shop right after you was going to have to wait twenty minutes longer than you to get his hair cut.

    Littleton saw him and waved. Steve smiled back and, luckily, there wasn’t a vacant waiting chair beside Littleton. Steve passed him by and went to the back of the shop. Unfortunately, there was a vacant chair next to the one he sat at.

    “Shit again,” Steve intoned under his breath. Littleton had left his seat and was coming to the back of the shop to sit next to Steve while they waited for a barber’s chair to be vacant when their number came up. Steve hoped Littleton’s number was next, although it didn’t look like any of the barbers would be ready for a new head of hair in the next ten minutes.

    Littleton had been friendly with Steve before recent events—before the local high school basketball phenom, Jeeter Malone, had been starting to look for a basketball college program. He had been all-state last year, in his junior year, and would undoubtedly make that team this year as well. North Carolina was a major university basketball state. All of the big teams were rushing him. Steve had gone to Hanson University in the Midwest, also a good basketball school, and Steve had been a star on that team eight years previously. It was natural that he’d want a high school phenom in his own Winston-Salem, North Carolina, town to go to his school rather than one of the Carolina colleges.

    That’s where Craig Littleton came in. He was a major donner and recruiter for the Hanson alumni. He’d put Jeeter Malone, Steve Taggert, Hanson University, and basketball together and had started leaning on Steve to help recruit Jeeter. Until now, he’d given Steve the cold shoulder, though. It wasn’t because Steve had been a star basketball player at Hanson, because he had been; it wasn’t because Steve wasn’t rich, because he was. He was an Adidas promotional rep throughout the state. And it wasn’t because Steve didn’t contribute heavily to Hanson, because he did. It was because Steve was gay and was known to be.

    But now Littleton really, really wanted to recruit Jeeter away from the Carolina schools, and he thought Steve could help with that.

    “Have you thought about approaching Jeeter Malone about taking the Hanson offer, Steve?” Craig leaned into him and asked in a low tone.

    “Hello, Craig. Good to see you too,” Steve answered, but he gave a sigh and continued, “I have but I don’t know what I could say that would influence him.”

    “You were a basketball star at Hanson.”

    “Eight years ago. We’re in North Carolina, which is crawling with current university-level basketball stars.”

    “Yes, but you have a leg up on all those we know about.”

    “How so?” Steve asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. And it turned out that he didn’t.

    “Jeeter is gay. That’s not well known, but we ferreted that out. And you’re gay. And you’re versatile, I’m told—by Cliff Neilson, if you are thinking of disputing me—so you can manage anything he wants.”

    “Whoa, Craig. I don’t think that means—”

    “I think it does mean something. We can put you close to him. He plays a lot ball on Saturday mornings at the Y. They have an opening for a volunteer basketball coach on Saturday mornings. You could get that job. Jeeter’s nineteen. He was held back a year in elementary school. He’s good to make his own decisions.”

    “That doesn’t sound—”

    “I’ve discussed you with Howard Stallings, the regional Adidas manager. He—”

    “Hold on, Steve, I don’t like—”

    But Craig Littleton wasn’t listening. “Stallings said that as long as they have to live with reaction to you being gay, they might as well get some mileage out of it. Speak of the devil. There’s Jeeter now.”

    The young man was standing by the number machine, looking around at the filled chairs of men waiting for their haircuts. He had a panicked look on his face—enough so that the manager of the barbershop, who was cutting hair, spoke up. Of course he knew Jeeter by sight. This was a sports town.

    “What’s the matter, Jeeter? You look like you lost your best friend.”

    “I think I’m gonna lose something,” the tall, slender, good-looking black youth answered. “You got a long waiting line. I just got out of class and Coach put me in a vice. Don’t be late to practice, he said, and don’t bother to come to practice without a haircut. Either one and you’re benched three games, he said. If I’m bench for three games, I can’t—”

    “Here, you can have my number,” Steve said, standing up from down the line of chairs. “I think I’m up after the next two. I’m not in a hurry. Give me your number.” They exchanged number slips.

    “That’s nice of you, but it’s OK,” the barber shop manager said. “If none of the gentlemen waiting cares if we help this basketball star not miss games, we’ll take him next.” No one in the shop objected.

    Jeeter went from almost crying to acting like he’d gone to heaven. He walked over to Steve with a big smile on his face and said, “Thanks, man, you saved my ass.”

    “No problem,” Steve said. The two exchanged numbers back, Steve having already given his up. In doing to, they spent a bit more time than was necessary with their hands together before the exchange and a look going between them that registered more than basic gratefulness. Jeeter was unguarded in his interest in the man holding his hand.

    The look wasn’t lost on Craig Littleton.

    Jeeter found a seat further up the line and Littleton leaned into Steve and whispered, “That was the god of Hanson speaking. The boy wants you. You’ve got this.”

    “Screw you,” Steve said. But his voice wasn’t too steady. This was the first time he’d seen the strapping black youth up close. He knew the import of the look that had gone between him and Jeeter as well—no, better—than Craig Littleton did. They’d exchanged looks before. A gay bar was another place a nineteen-year-old athlete shouldn’t be, but they’d both been in one one night and had given each other a raw and open look before passing on.

    “Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,” Littleton murmured, and he laughed. “But I understand it would be you screwing him.”

    The basketball star soon w as in a barber’s chair. As his hair was being cut, he was looking at Steve with something more than gratitude in his gaze. Steve looked back. Littleton kept poking Steve in his ribs with an elbow and popping his tongue in his cheek.

    Steve wanted to scream, but he didn’t.

    Then Jeeter was out the chair with his buzz cut and without his dreadlocks. He turned at the register and gave Steve another look before leaving the barber shop. After Craig had gotten his haircut, he came back to where Steve was sitting before he went to the register to pay.

    “Think about it, Steve,” Littleton said. “Hanson could win the conference for this kid’s last two years if you help get him there.”

    “I’ll think about it,” Steve answered. His first thought was to say that just to get Craig Littleton off his back for today at least, but, when he thought about it longer, he knew he’d probably give in—and not for any reason Littleton would assume he had.

    “I’ll get you the portfolio of what we can offer the kid.”

    “Make it the best deal you have to offer. I’ll look it over. But tell the program to make its best offer. If I decide to talk to him, I don’t want to get into any negotiations. It will either be a yes or no.”

    “You understand that I’m suggesting that you do more than just talk to the kid.”

    “Yes, I understand.” Don’t push me, Steve thought, with irritation. “I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll do this.”

    * * * *

    Jeeter’s eyes went real big when he realized that Mr. Taggert was standing to where he could see them in the bushes near the Y outdoor basketball courts and that he was just standing there, watching Ron suck his cock without looking shocked or mad or anything. He didn’t realize that this gave Steve Taggert just the opening he needed to start working on getting the star basketball player recruited for the Hanson University team.

    The surprise had started with Jeeter and his also nineteen friend and high school senior basketball teammate, Ron Halpern, showed up on Saturday morning at the Y as they often did to get in some pick-up basketballing with whoever showed up. Often older guys did who had played college ball and it helped the high schoolers train with someone who was heftier than they were and who had more experience. When the guys showed up this morning, they found that there was a new volunteer supervising the basketball courts on Saturday mornings and that it was someone Jeeter had seen recently—at the barber shop, where he’d been in a bind on getting a required haircut before practice and a really sexy-looking man had offered to give up his place in line for Jeeter.

    At the time Jeeter thought he and the guy had made a connection in a man-and-man sort of way and he knew he’d seen the man in a gay bar recently. He wasn’t real sure they were attracted to each other in a hookup way, because he was only beginning to get into this signaling of another guy thing, although he and Ron had been doing it for a couple of months when they could manage to get alone. Ron really wanted it, and, although he’d fought it for a while, Jeeter wanted to give it now too.

    As Jeeter and Ron walked in from the parking lot and he first saw Mr. Taggert standing there on the court, shirtless, looking like a million dollars, with a basketball under his arm and setting up a pickup game, Jeeter was even more sure the man was interested. He gave Jeeter a smile and almost a wink and he dropped his hand to where it hovered over his basket. When friends in the know told Jeeter about signaling wants, they included these things in gaydar hits. The man didn’t even look at Ron. All of his attention was going to Jeeter. Jeeter felt himself going hard. He hadn’t thought about doing it with a white guy before, and one several years older than he was. But this guy was a real hunk.

    The guy—Steve, he’d introduced himself as—was also showing he knew how to put balanced teams together and that he knew the game. He’d quickly established that he’d played in college. He set up teams that were shirts versus skins, assigning both himself and Jeeter to the skins team. He put Ron on the shirts team. They’d played for nearly an hour before enough other guys had shown up that Steve said the first two teams should take a break to give the later arrivals a chance to play.

    They’d played an aggressive game, though. The early arrivals were serious, talented players, and they played hard. There was a lot of body checking, although the Steve guy was good about keeping the physical stuff in check. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t all hands on himself, though, and Jeeter got the definite impression that the guy was touching him and putting his hands on him more than absolutely necessary to guide him into position. Once when Steve was behind him, close, and put his hand on Jeeter’s belly while palming the ball in front of Jeeter with the other, Jeeter realized that they were in a fuck position, the man covering him, and he almost lost it. That was OK with Jeeter, though—although it didn’t help him not to be hard. He wondered if the guys could see that he was. He was sure that Steve knew he was, as Steve’s hand brushed across his basket more than once.

    Steve didn’t play in the second set. Ron went off to the Y building to take a piss and Jeeter sat on a bench to wait for him to return. After getting the other game going, Steve came and sat with him on the bench. Jeeter could feel the sexual heat coming off the older man. He was a Nordic blond, muscular but trim, the veins standing out on his chest and arms because there was no fat for them to hide in. He had a great face too—rugged and handsome. And open, sunny facial expression. Jeeter would have known the man had been a good athlete even if he hadn’t said he played college ball for a school Jeeter knew had a good basketball program and that he was considering going to.

    Jeeter felt himself trembling and thinking thoughts about this guy. He thought of the two of them being alone and Steve being behind him close, like he’d been on the court, and with his hand on Jeeter’s belly. Jeeter had once thought of himself as an exclusive top, but there had been times when he became curious, and he had found that submitting was just as arousing. He wanted it both ways. He thought of the other man working his hand behind them, taking his cock out, which of course would be thick and long—and in erection—and then . . . But then Jeeter couldn’t think what happened next without blowing.

    That probably was why when Ron came back, he wanted to go off in the bushes and get some relief. Ron was always ready for that. Before Ron returned, though, there were a few minutes where he and Steve could get better acquainted.

    “You’re really good,” Steve said. “You thought of continuing with basketball when you get out of high school? You’re Jeeter Malone, aren’t you? I’ve seen your team play and I know your coach thinks you’re a real good college prospect. You were All-State this year, weren’t you?”

    “And last year too,” Jeeter said, with pride. He was impressed that the man knew who he was and had seen him play. “You’re really good too. Did you play in college?”

    “Yes, for Hanson University, in Indiana,” Steve answered. “Playing well got me through the university—and it got me my job too.”

    “You work with sports? I thought these Y jobs were volunteer.”

    “I did well enough that Adidas picked me up to do regional sales. Indiana is a great state for basketball. A lot of competition, and when you do well, sports companies pick you up. Companies like Adidas give out good athletic scholarships too. You can get a good education at a school like Hanson and turn that into a job too if you’re good at the sport. You are really good at basketball.”

    “Thanks,” Jeeter said, clearly pleased.

    “Uh, I can see your friend coming back from the Y, and I’ve got to sort some things out with these guys playing now. Good talking with you, though. If you’d like to talk with someone about colleges and basketball programs, just let me know.” Steve stood up from the bench as Ron approached. He smiled and nodded at Ron and went out onto the court, yelling at a couple of guys who were close to getting into a fight.

    It wasn’t long until Jeeter had conveyed his need to get off and he and Ron found a stand of bushes where they assumed they wouldn’t be seen. It wasn’t long either before Ron was on his knees in front of Jeeter, whose athletic shorts were pulled to below his low-hanging balls and Ron had taken Jeeter’s cock in his mouth. Jeeter was hung. The two had been getting it on for some three months. Ron preferred sucking cock. Jeeter preferred giving anal penetration. They had moved into a phase where they both could be satisfied. Jeeter wanted more, though. He was aching to have a man on top of him.

    They were well into Ron giving Jeeter a blow job when Jeeter looked up and saw Steve, leaning against a tree beyond the bushes but with an excellent view of what the young men were doing. He was just standing there, though, leaning into the tree, just in athletic shorts; looking really, really sexy; watching, with a smile on his face; and rubbing his crotch through the material of the shorts. He wasn’t showing shock or disgust or even disapproval.

    Jeeter knew he should stop Ron and they’d should leave, but he was too worked up and Ron was doing too good of a job on him. He put his hands on Ron’s head, holding it to his crotch, and let Ron suck him off, as he moved his hips in a rocking motion and locked his eyes on Steve, who was just standing there, watching him get a blow job. Ron had the waistband of his shorts pushed down and he was stroking himself off while he sucked Jeeter to an ejaculation.

    When Ron had taken Jeeter’s cream on his face, he stood, and seeing that Jeeter was looking off in the distance, turned his face in that direction.

    “Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “Was he watching us?”

    “Yes. I think it’s OK,” Jeeter said. “I don’t think he’ll call us out.” He and Steve were still locking eyes. Jeeter guided Ron out of the way and stood, full frontal, handing his massive cock so that Steve got a good view of him. Smiling, Steve pushed the waistband of his athletic shorts below his balls and handed his cock as well, showing that he was in erection. They only held for a moment, but it was long enough for an understanding to be established. Not a complete understanding, though. Jeeter pinned that down by turning away from Steve, bending over, and pulling is ass cheeks apart while he turned his face toward the man. Steve set his spread legs in a partial crouch, grasped his cock, and stroked it in Jeeter’s direction.

    Now they’d reached a complete understanding.

    The two youths pulled their shorts up and came out of the bushes. Steve held his ground, his erection protruding from his crotch.

    “If you two would like to use the staff men’s locker room to shower and dress, I can take you there. There aren’t any other male instructors on duty for another hour or so.”

    He folded himself back into his shorts, having made his point, and turned and started walking toward the Y building. Jeeter motioned to Ron and the two followed Steve.

    The shower room in the staff locker room had three shower head in it. The three men stripped and moved into the shower, each turning on his own stream of water, each ogling the other, all three of them in full erection. They soaped up and rinsed off, turning this way and that, posing for each other, two young, tall, trim, well-muscled black youths, one of whom was horse hung and an older, well-preserved, movie-star-handsome white guy, with a cock to be proud of as well.

    Steve motioned to Ron, who went down on his knees in front of the older man, palmed his buttocks, and took his cock in his mouth. As Ron sucked Steve off, Steve leaned his shoulder blades back into the slick tile of the shower wall, jutted his hips forward, and cupped Ron’s head in his hands. He and Jeeter maintained eye contact while Steve moved his pelvis. He nodded with his head and Jeeter saddled up behind Ron, penetrated him, and, grasping his hips between his hands, fucked him. Ron took them both to ejaculation.

    Afterward, as they were at the benches in front of the lockers and dressing, Steve said, “You know you boys don’t have to do it in the bushes. I live alone and in this neighborhood. You can come to my house anytime you want to fuck. I’ll give you my business card so you can call or e-mail me. It’s got my home address on it.”

    “Uh, I don’t know if we should,” Ron said. Steve and Jeeter were in an eye lock, though. Both of them knew the basketballers would.

    “I have a half basketball court and a pool table,” Steve said. He was speaking directly to Jeeter. “We could talk about college basketball programs. I know you both are getting scholarship offers. I could help you sort those out.”

    “Yeah, I guess that would be good,” Ron said.

    “And we could mess around,” Steve said.

    “Sounds good,” Jeeter responded. “You should know, though, that I don’t usually take cock.”

    “I do,” Steve said.

    “But sometimes I do,” Jeeter added.

    Steve laughed. “Then you are in luck. I do it all.”

    * * * *

    “Sorry, Ron couldn’t make it today.”

    “That’s OK with me. I think we can manage without him.” Steve, greeting the young man in just a silk robe, put a hand on Jeeter’s butt and drew him into the entrance hall of his house and shut and locked the door. The living area was essentially one large space with the kitchen off in an L. The back of the house was floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out onto a stone terrace, with a swimming pool. The backyard was fenced in with privacy fencing.

    Steve drew Jeeter to him and took the young man’s lips in a deep kiss.

    Coming out of the kiss, he whispered, “Could Ron really not make it today?”

    “I didn’t tell him I was coming today.”

    Steve’s hand went to Jeeter’s fly. He unzipped it and pulled the youth’s cock out. Jeeter was already in half erection.

    “The bedroom is back this way.”

    Steve lay on his back on the bed, holding his legs spread and raised, his hands gripping behind his knees. He was groaning, and it wasn’t just from the arousal or the tongue lapping at his hole. He wasn’t as flexible as he once had been. It had been some time since he’d let a man do this to him.

    Why had he stopped going to bars and bringing, first, older, and then after a couple of years, younger, men home? He’d forgotten how this got his engine revved up. He was panting. He groaned and let out a low moan as Jeeter’s mouth came down over his cock head and the young man’s tongue started to worry his piss slit. Flicking his piss slit. “Oh, god, yes. Yes!”

    The slender, tight-muscled ebony body came up over him, Jeeter searching out his mouth, the two going into a lip lock. Steve moaned, jerked, and instinctively moved to disengage their lips, but Jeeter wouldn’t let him. One of Jeeter’s hands was gripping Steve’s throat, holding the older man’s head pressed to the pillow. The other hand was guiding his cock in place.

    Steve did pull his face away from Jeeter’s then, though, arching his head up, his eyes focusing on ceiling. “Oh, shit. Fuck! You’re big. Too big! Fucccckk!”

    But Jeeter wasn’t too big. It was difficult, but Steve slowly gave into him as the young man penetrated and pressed in. Steve’s passage stretched for him. “Fuck. Fuck! Yes, fuck me!”

    Thick, long, inside, both of Jeeter’s hands went to gripping Steve’s throat. Steve’s hands moved down the sleek brown back from shoulder blades to the tight butt orbs. He dug his fingernails in, holding the young, virile stud to him, inside him, thick and long and throbbing, and the two moved together in the dance of the fuck.

    A half hour later, Steve had rolled off the bed and gone into the bathroom. Jeeter rose from the bed as well and went over to the window overlooking the terrace and the pool. Steve came up behind him and embraced him, palming the youth’s flat belly with one hand and the bulge of one of his muscular pecs with the other. Jeeter raised his arms in surrender and palmed the glass window. He moaned and turned his face toward Steve’s and they kissed. The hand left the young man’s chest and went behind him, stroking a buttocks cheek.

    “Jut your ass toward me,” Steve whispered into Jeeter’s ear. Giving a low groan, the basketball start did so. Steve put his cock head in position. Jeeter jerked and gave a little gasp as the shaft entered him. Then he spread and set his legs more, arched the back of his head into Steve’s chest, and panted, as the man fucked him.

    * * * *

    Steve was doing all the work, and, as it was the third time they’ve fucked that day, Jeeter let him do it. Jeeter, young, virile, ever ready, was letting the older man control the fucking—at least to the last minute, when, overcome with need and arousal, Jeeter would take over in frenzied, take-no-prisoners thrusting.

    “Just keep it hard. You’re a stud. Just keep it long and thick and hard as steel. Be the man,” Steve had said. They were on a lounge bed by the pool at Steve’s house. Jeeter, naked, black, body beautiful, was stretched out on his back on the bed, his erection proudly reaching for the sky. His contribution otherwise was to hold still, hold Steve’s waist between his hands, smile, groan, and thrust from time to time as the mood struck him. Steve straddled the nineteen-year-old’s pelvis, his passage burying the cock, and rose and fell on it, occasionally changing position, from facing the young man’s feet, grasping his ankles, and moving his own ass up and down on the shaft with the strength of his knees, to facing Jeeter’s head, leaning back, grasping the young man’s knees, and raising and lowering himself with the strength of the balls of his feet.

    They fucked like this for over twenty minutes, Steve controlling the edging, gauging his movement by which of them was tensing, ready to blow, and backing off, only to go again, taking the arousal to a new high each time—until, no longer being able to control it, in one powerful movement, Jeeter turned them both, putting Steve under him, holding him in close embrace, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, both exploding, releasing, crying out the satisfaction to the skies above.

    Pushing off from the lounge bed, laughing, both strode toward the edge of the pool, and dove in. They cavorted in the pool, until Steve lifted Jeeter up, sat him down on the rim of the pool, pressed the palm of a hand into the young man’s flat, muscular belly, coaxing him to lie flat on the stone terrace, took Jeeter’s cock in his mouth, and did his best to give the youth a deep-throated blow job. When Jeeter came, Steve rose up over him at the edge of the pool, grasped the young man’s ankles, raised and spread Jeeter’s legs, thrust up inside his channel, and fucked him hard and deep.

    Jeeter never had it so good, and he seemed to realize it. Every day in every way, he increasingly came under the spell and influence of Steve Taggert. It was time. They’d known each other for three weeks. Steve had attended Jeeter’s end-of-season high school basketball games. He’d played ball with Jeeter on Saturday mornings at the Y. He’d been balled by Jeeter and had balled Jeeter at his house, first on Saturday afternoons, but soon thereafter on Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday afternoons. They’d discussed what Jeeter wanted to do in life—how much of that was basketball and how much was something else. He’d taken Jeeter to a Harlem Globetrotters game when that high-performance, high-entertainment team came to the local arena. Jeeter’s single-parent mom had gone with them. When she wanted to talk about colleges and scholarship offers, Steve begged off, saying he just wanted to help Jeeter find the best offer. He’d also hinted that if he were judged to be recruiting Jeeter for a particular school, they’d be crossing a line, and he didn’t want to saddle Jeeter with that.

    But they did discuss programs and scholarships and offers. Steve did help Jeeter consider the pros and cons of each offer, being a neutral or possible, letting Jeeter work the advantages and disadvantages out for himself. Jeeter was a smart kid. And the offer from Hanson University was included in the mix.

    It was time.

    As they climbed out of the pool, Steve said, “You’ll have to make a final decision on a college to accept next week. Let’s dry off, dress, and settle down to some serious discussion about that.”

    * * * *

    Steve took Jeeter to the barbers for a haircut on college signing day. They gave the trip plenty of time. They both understood what the gesture meant. Steve took Jeeter’s mom along and on to the signing ceremony. She had no idea what the symbolism of the barber shop meant, but she was glad Jeeter got a haircut. He ignored her asking him to do such things. Jeeter didn’t ignore Steve’s gentle guidance, not giving conclusions, just making Jeeter think of all the angles on what would be best for him.

    Jeeter and his mom sat up front in the signing hall. Steve took a seat in the back, where Craig Littleton, the Hanson University alumni recruiter found him and sat beside him.

    “So, today’s the day and you lost him,” Littleton said.

    “UNC is a good school and it offered him the best package,” Steve answered.

    “He liked it better than your package, apparently. Does that make you feel less manly?”

    “Not in the least. And you didn’t check that angle out too well, just like you didn’t check out Jeeter’s college needs very well,” Steve responded. “It wasn’t my package that was in play here in a decision on his future.”

    “What do you mean I didn’t check his college needs out?”

    “Not just you. He visited Hanson twice and the coaches there pitched him. None of them found out that he wants to use the basketball as a way to get the education he wants, but he wants to be an environmental scientist. The University of North Carolina has a program in that. Hanson doesn’t. All he heard there was playing basketball and going on to playing basketball professionally. And that’s all the Hanson portfolio talked about too. You guys didn’t take into account that he might be headed to a different kind of life. And you didn’t find that out when putting a package together on him.”

    “You saw that before he made his decision, didn’t you? We could have sweetened the pot or changed the pitch.”

    “I told you from the top to give it your best pitch the first time around, Craig. If you could have sweetened the pot, you should have done it off the top. Nothing’s going to change that UNC has the academic program he wants and Hanson doesn’t. If he didn’t want to get a college degree out of this, he has the talent to go straight to pro. And that’s not all. You didn’t do too much thinking on his family situation.”

    “His family situation?”

    “His mother’s running a single-parent household. Jeeter has a younger brother coming up. He can get home in an hour’s drive from UNC. Hanson is in Indiana. Family is important to him. He could have told you that if you or the coaches who interviewed him had asked.”

    “You let us down, Steve.”

    “The important thing is that I didn’t let Jeeter down. I went over the Hanson offer with him. He knew I’d gone to Hanson. I think that made him keep Hanson in the mix longer than he would have otherwise. And if I’d pitched him any harder, Craig, we’d be getting into recruitment fixing. I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to be going there.” Steve said this knowing fully well that that was exactly where Craig had wanted him to go. “If I’d pushed harder on Hanson, Jeeter would be living with that being found out some day and coming back to bite him in the butt and screw up his prospects. I didn’t promise to cheat for Hanson—or to cheat Jeeter on his future. You got someone. Ron Halpern is signing with Hanson. He’s a good ball player.”

    “He’s good, yes,” Craig said, “or Hanson wouldn’t be signing him. But he’s no Jeeter. I don’t think we’ll be asking you to help us with basketball players again, Steve.” Upon saying this, Littleton pulled himself out of his chair.

    “Yes, that might be best, Craig,” Steve said as Littleton started to move away. “I don’t think Adidas would be happy with me getting caught up in a recruiting scandal anyway.”

    As Jeeter’s name was called and he and his mom moved forward for the signing for him to go to the University of North Carolina, Steve cringed a bit. He hadn’t been all the selfless, and, if anything, he’d leaned Jeeter toward UNC. UNC was the closest school to here that had rushed Jeeter. Jeeter wouldn’t have the best opportunity to visit his family from UNC. He’d have the best ability from UNC to visit Steve too. There was college recruiting and then there was recruiting for what Jeeter and Steve liked to do.

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

  • Next To Dad

    This one from Season 1 of my Xmas Tales was inspired by a piece by erotic artist Player. More Xmas Tales still to come…

    I felt the mattress dip and a cool draft waft across my body. Usually I’m a pretty heavy sleeper, but I was in a strange place, with traffic still humming by on the Interstate past the motel, even this late. So I woke up in confusion, a dark shape shifting in the gloom on the other side of the bed, sliding in beside me.

    “Huh… what…” I muttered sleepily, confused.

    “Shhh… sorry bud… your Mom’s snoring’s driving me nuts,” I heard Dad say, and instantly relaxed. They were sleeping in the adjoining room, and even though the wall, I could hear the slow, steady buzz of Mom’s snoring. For such a petite little thing, she sure could make some noise. Sounded like she was running a sawmill in her bedroom, half the time.

    “Hope you don’t mind, but I gotta get some rest, buddy, or we’ll never make it to Phoenix tomorrow. Get some sleep, big guy.”

    He slipped an arm over my side, gave me a quick side-hug, then rolled over onto the other side of the bed. Within minutes, he was sound asleep, and his deep, rhythmic breathing sent me back there too.

    The long blare of a truck horn from the freeway woke me up again, then the splash of headlights pulling into the motel parking lot. I looked at the clock – a little after 1am. Shit. This sucked. But I was warm, at least, the heat from Dad’s body warming my back, the soft warm breeze of his sleeping breath on the back of my neck really kinda nice, and… Wait. The fuck?

    Dad’s cock was hard, and it was nudging up against my ass. Fuck fuck fuck. I was wide awake now, very aware of the feeling of him. He was wearing boxers, I guessed, and I had boxer briefs on, but still, I could feel the hardness of him. He felt big – real big. I’d always kinda suspected Dad had a big dick. Suspected I was gonna have one too. Already, I’d caught a few guys in the locker room a school giving me the side-eye. I’d compared my cock to the dudes in porn, and I was pretty happy with what I saw. I wasn’t a big dude otherwise – kind of lean, tight. Played a lot of soccer, swam, ran track. Maybe that made my dick look bigger than it was, up against my trim frame. But I was pretty sure I had a big dick anyhow. I knew I had a couple years still to grow, too. And since I’d inherited Dad’s build – he’d been a soccer kid too, all lean and defined torso, with nice thick thighs and ass – I was getting kind of a sneak preview of what else I was inheriting from him. Weird as this whole situation was, I was still pretty impressed. And secretly a little bit excited. To know I was gonna have a big dick, sure – what dude doesn’t love that? But also… the fact that his big dick was hard, and pressed up against me.

    Still, though, this was weird, and exciting as it was, I knew I should pull away. I tried to stealthily pull closer to the side of the bed, and had managed to shift my ass away from the thick, throbbing hardness of him, when he snaked his forearm over my waist and pulled me back, muttering something sleepy and inaudible. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of my neck, growled a very contented “Mmmmm” sound, and squeezed me even tighter to him. No doubting it now – Dad was hard as fuck, nestling up the indent of my crack, even hunching his hips a little as he let out another deep-chested pleasure sound. And now, I was getting hard as fuck too.

    I guess I could have woken him up, or lifted his arm off me and pulled away again. Could have. Should have. But the longer and tighter he held me, the harder my cock got, and all those weird, horny little thoughts I’d tried not to think about my Dad came bubbling up to the front of my brain.

    Like, I don’t jack off thinking about Dad all the time. His thick, muscular thighs, his high, tight, rounded ass, the big bulge in his running shorts. Not all the time. Hardly ever, really. It’s not like he’s some super stud or anything. He’s just my Dad. A nice guy, funny, really decent, sweet-natured. The guy next door, who just happens to be packing a porn-star cock. I mean, I think about a lot of other stuff when I’m stroking on my bone. Other dudes, sometimes chicks… mainly dudes though. I saw this pic of Rob Gronkowski and JJ Watt shaking hands after a game the other day, and I shot like three loads imagining all kinds of dirty shit about them, and what they might do in the locker room afterwards. So with all the stroke material out there, there’s no good reason why I’d shoot loads all up my stomach, imagining Dad doing nasty things like that.

    But, still. I do. And right now, my cock was harder than it had ever been, and even though I should’ve been pulling away, maybe going to sleep on the hard little sofa, and my brain was kind of churning, my hand was snaking inside my boxer briefs and squeezing my dick, all by itself. It felt good. Dad felt good. And that cock of his just felt, well… big. Big, and starting to grind a little, up and down my ass, like he was having the sexiest dream. I wondered what he was dreaming about. I wondered if I could maybe jack a load out without waking him up. I guess I could just eat the cum afterwards, hide the evidence.

    Dad murmured against the rapid pulse on the side of my neck, pressing his lips there slowly, the tip of his tongue flicking against the skin. His hand roamed up and down my front, and his dreaming thrusts against my ass got slower, longer, more focused, kind of. When his fingers stroked up my smooth chest and found my nip, strumming on it a little, making it stiffen and tingle, just like I like to do when I’m getting some quality alone time with my cock, I let out a little whimper. I knew I was gonna have to beat off, for sure. My cock was throbbing in my hand, inside of my shorts, starting to get all sticky, and then I had the idea that maybe I should just, like, pull my shorts down in back, and then maybe his cock might push through the fly of his boxers, and then maybe…

    This is such a bad idea, dude, the logical part of my brain was warning me, but I’d already tugged my boxer briefs down over my ass, which freed up my cock, and now I could really feel the heat and moisture of Dad’s big dick, slow-grinding against my tail. It was amazing, even better now that I could get my hand around my cock and quietly, slowly jack it without my undies all in the way. I could feel the fabric of his boxers against the skin of my ass, with the occasional warmth of his cock flesh, and that sent another jolt through me every time it happened. So I reached back, real carefully, trying not to let my fingertips graze the head of his cock too much, while I searched for the button on the fly of his shorts. It took some trial and error, but there it was. Sure was hard trying to undo that button, though, especially with that fat, wet-tipped monster dick thrusting up hard against the fabric, slow and steady. I’d just managed to get the button halfway through the little hole, when he pushed his hips up, murmur-moaning against my neck, and his fly propped right open.

    Holy shit, now that he was out of his shorts, the sensation was intense. He felt even bigger, now that he was out in the open, all hot and fleshy and leaving sticky trails on my cheeks back there, and when he rumbled deeper in his chest and clutched me a little tighter, I had to stifle a moan myself, as my own cock burped out a bubble of pre into my palm. Found myself pushing back against him, a little, finding a kind of rhythm with him. It was kind of like when Taylor and me were at wrestling practice this one time, and I had him pinned, and suddenly I was starting to throw wood, and he felt it, and started to push his tight ass back against the bulge inside my singlet. I’d let it happen for a couple of minutes, the back of Taylor’s neck blushing like my face probably was, and then Coach had blown the whistle for the end of practice and I got up off him and couldn’t really look him in the eyes the rest of the day. I decided I was gonna call that dude when we got home from Grandma and Grandpa’s after the break.

    “Mmmm, baby,” Dad moaned in his sleep, his hand sliding down my front, over the abs I was starting to get real proud of, dipping down into the top of my bush, which was also coming in real nicely. I froze in place, hand on my throbbing cock, wondering if I should move, but it was like I couldn’t. Like I wanted to let it happen. And it did, his fingers grazing down through my pubes and bumping up against the base of my cock, then kind of swirling in the hair just above it, round and round in a little circle, and holy shit did that feel amazing. Then they grazed down past the base of my dick, like maybe he was dipping down to find the entrance to a pussy or something, I guess? Instead, they found my balls. And then froze right there.

    I heard the pace of his breathing change. A little grunt sound, like he was coming up out of sleep. Aw fuck, I thought to myself, cringing a little. I didn’t think he was gonna beat my ass, because he’d never been that kind of Dad. But he’d be disappointed. I could always pretend I’d been asleep. But how would I explain my shorts halfway down my thighs?

    “Mmmph… shit,” he mumbled foggily, pulling back from me a little. “Oh… shit…”

    I stayed frozen in place, no idea what to do.

    “Austin? Buddy? You awake?”

    My mouth gave me up, and I cringed inside, my cock wilting in my hand.

    “Uh… yeah Dad,” I said in a small voice.

    “Jesus… guess I was dreaming,” he muttered, pulling even further back. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back to the other room. Wait… are you naked?”

    Dude, you have SO fucked yourself now,     I thought, as I turned my head to look over my shoulder at him. There was a little light coming in from the parking lot, and I could just make out his face, kind of frowning at me as he looked from my bare hip up to my face.

    “I guess I… I don’t know why,” I blurted. “You don’t have to go to the other room again. I don’t… I didn’t mind…”

    “You didn’t mind?” he said after a moment, his voice low, serious. Testing me. I shook my head. Another long moment, and then his hand came to rest on my hip. I guess letting me know he wasn’t mad? So confusing.

    “Is that why my, uh… stuff is out of my shorts, Austin?”

    It was too dark to really read his face, and his voice was so neutral-sounding. All I knew to do was shrug. If I tried to speak, I’d probably squeak, like a scared little kid. Several long moments passed, us staring at each other in the dark. I was blushing so hard, I was surprised the room wasn’t glowing red from it. My dick had gone all floppy, and I’d quietly let it drop from my hand. Dad’s dick, though… shit, I couldn’t help but look down at it, and it was still halfway hard, sticking up out of the fly of his boxers.

    “What didn’t you mind about… what happened just now, son?” he asked in that quiet voice, and his hand on my hip gave a gentle, encouraging squeeze. He was like that, always squeezing your shoulder or upper arm – not touchy-feely so much as supportive, encouraging, showing you he was, like, connecting with you.

    “I- I guess it was… I dunno, just nice, feeling you close like that,” I mumbled.

    “Nice, huh?” he said neutrally.

    “Yeah… I dunno… it sounds weird,” I said, voice a little stronger. “I’ve never really… been with anybody before. Not like that. So it just felt really good, is all. Safe, kind of. Because it’s you.”

    He stayed quiet, letting me fill the silence.

    “And, like… you got a big dick, Dad,” I said, blushing extra hard now. “It felt good against me that way. Please don’t hate me, I know it’s weird… I’m just curious abut stuff, I guess…”

    Finally, I could just make out the shine of his teeth as he smiled.

    “I guess I do have a big dick,” he chuckled. His hand squeezed my hip again. “You liked how it felt against you, huh buddy?”

    I just nodded, too ashamed to say anything.

    “I remember how that goes,” he said, surprising me by easing down to rest on his elbow. Not up against me again, but closer, anyway. “I was your age once, too. Curious. Wondering about… things. Feeling weird sometimes. Not knowing what I wanted. Afraid of it, too.”

    Even though it was late, almost 2am, we talked for awhile, and it felt so good to just, like, be open with him about things. How I felt about that wrestling practice, when Taylor humped his tight, round ass back up against my crotch. Some of the things I thought about when I was alone.

    “It’s OK to want things, son,” he said, his hand rubbing my hip again. My cock had come back up some, half-hard like his now. “Even if they scare you. And sometimes you want to try something out, see how it fits. If it feels right, even if you think it’s wrong. Happens to all of us.”

    “Did it… feel good to you, Dad?”

    “Anything can feel good when your dick’s involved, bud,” he chuckled, low and kind of sexy, a side of him I hadn’t seen – or heard, I guess – before. “I know it felt good to you, judging by the size of that hardon you were sporting.”

    He was quiet for a minute, looking at my face, and then he scooted his ass a little closer again, and shocked the crap out of me by reaching over to run his hand down my stomach, to the top of my bush. Suddenly I could, like, smell him, his deodorant worn off, that smell he always seemed to have but I never really paid attention to, all around me like a fog. Smelling like, I dunno, man. Him. As soon as his fingers brushed the top of my pubes, my cock started to rise. So did his.

    Dad’s fingers ran around the side of my crotch, over my hip, and dragged slowly down the hard muscle of my thigh. Bella Pearce at school told me I had nice legs, back at the start of this school year. All that soccer, I guess. Just like Dad’s. My eyes flicked from the slow, steady thickening of his cock, to his face, half-shadowed. Then he ran his fingertips real lightly along just the inside of my thigh, and I tingled all over in that special way and let out a little moan, and how the hell did he know that was gonna feel so good to me? Didn’t matter – I was fully boned now, and I saw him smile again.

    “You got a big dick too, buddy,” he said, low and husky and proud, and I nearly jumped up in the air when he wrapped his hand around it and stroked it up and down, slowly, testing the weight and thickness of it. He shifted a little bit closer again, all warm and smelling so masculine, and I felt the tip of his big cock graze my thigh.

    “You liked your Dad’s big cock humping up against you, huh son?” he said, and his voice was different now. Deeper. More intense. It was like he was putting me in a trance with it. I just nodded, slowly, and I know he felt the throb of my cock in his fist. He leaned in closer, his face just a few inches from mine.

    “Can you keep a secret, Austin? Between us men?” he asked in that hypnotic voice, giving my cock another slow pump, and again, and again. I nodded.

    “I liked it too, son,” he almost whispered, and then he was leaning over my face and my lips were opening without me even thinking about it and his lips were touching mine, then pushing against mine, and oh fuck, me and Dad were kissing…

    I clung to him like a little kid as he started to feed me his tongue. I’d frenched a couple girls at school, and one time at a sleepover at his place, Ronnie Paxton and me kind of made out a little bit, like on a dare, and I think we both liked that a lot more than we’d ever say out loud. But all that was so lame compared to this. Kissing a real man. My Dad. One of the things I’d jacked off to, sometimes. Him deep-kissing me, tasting his tongue, feeling him suck on mine. Only he was doing it for real now, and I was doing it right back.

    It was surprisingly loud, the kissing, all lips smacking and little moans and grunts, his deep, mine higher, and that somehow made it even more intense. That and the hard, thick, heavy throb of his big fucking dick, pressed up against my quad, making it all sticky with his goo as it started to flow again.

    Don’t call it ‘goo’, you’re not a little fucking baby anymore, Aus, my brain said. It’s precum. That’s what men make. With their cocks. Together. Like now. Like Dad’s doing, with his big cock, all hard for you, dude…

    I was all of a sudden petty much ready to shoot, thinking that, and I guess he felt me tense up or some other kind of signal, because Dad quit kissing me, making this fucking hot little growling noise, and let go of my cock. Slipped his hand under my ass and lifted up, rolling me back onto my side like I was earlier.

    “Shit, buddy, you got a really nice ass too, you know that?” he said appreciatively, running his hand down over it. I silently thanked God Dad had encouraged me to get into soccer like him, and moaned out loud as he stroked over my smooth buttcheeks.

    “The hell with this,” he said in his sexy voice. “Let’s get naked, buddy.”

    He lifted his hips and wriggled out of his shorts, and man, I wanted to turn on the bedside lamp so bad so I could see him, but before I could think any more, he yanked my boxer briefs the rest of the way down and tossed them on the floor. All confident and sexy, it was so hot, just that little thing. Then he slid up against my back, all warm and firm and hard-cocked, that big unit sliding totally naked up into the deep crack of my ass, wrapping his strong arms around me and kissing the side of my neck as he started to grind up between my cheeks.

    “It’s late, bud, and we got a long day tomorrow,” he rumbled in my ear. Sounding so different from my day-to-day Dad. Deeper, huskier… manlier. “Why don’t we finish what we started, so we can get some rest?”

    What was I gonna do, say no? I turned my head back and leaned up towards his face, and he grinned and met me halfway, his tongue sliding right into my mouth as he held me tightly and started to thrust up against me for serious.

    We barely said anything, just grunts and moans and murmurs of “Ah Dad” and “Yeah, son” and stuff like that. Just the sounds of our skin moving together, the wet squelch of his precumming cock between my cheeks, the sound of mine in his fist, the bed squeaking, our breath panting between sloppy-wet kisses.

    “You got a cock like me,” he grunted, stroking it. “And an ass like me. Thighs like me. You’re my boy, you know that?”

    Damn, he was so intense right now. Like a Jekyll and Hyde kind of thing. I loved Jekyll. He was such a nice dude, so good to me, an awesome Dad. But shit… I was loving Hyde too. Maybe even more. All hungry, and dirty-talking, horny, just all man.

    “Gotta see you, buddy,” he growled, the arm that was cradling my head as he humped me reaching out for the bedside lamp. I shut my eyes against the sudden bright light, and when I opened them, there he was, and holy shit, his face… so intense, and on fire, his eyes all hot and hungry, his lips shiny with spit, staring deep into mine. Then he looked all the way down my body, slowly, nodding as he went, a little bit of a grin on the corners of his mouth.

    “Yeah, you’re mine, kid,” he murmured, and I don’t know if he meant that I came from him or I belonged to him or what, but they both sounded good to me. They sounded like… the future.

    Finally I got to see that great big cock of his, big enough so that I barely had to crane my head around to see it. Fuck. He really was huge, the head shaped like a helmet, all shiny, the piss slit thick and deep and bubbling up with precum like lava. The inside of my crack was all shiny with his precum, and my own cock was throbbing and shining and leaking too as he grabbed hold of it again and began to jack me off in time with his grinding, humping fuckstrokes up the trench of my ass. I pushed my ass back against him, so damn turned on, and squeezed my cheeks together, and he groaned out loud and thrust doubletime, letting go of my cock, his head falling back as he bit his lip.

    “Awww fuck yeah, you little stud,” he growled, and that made me feel like ten feet tall. Like a man. I let my hips and ass take over and just work with him, feeling all on fire inside, hotter than I’d ever felt. All deep and intense.

    “Fuck me, Dad,” I blurted out, and he growled and wrapped his arm back around me as he thrust up my slimed-up crack hard and fast.

    “Buddy, I wanna,” he growled, locking those crazy hot eyes on mine. “So bad. You’re not ready though. Not ready for your Daddy’s big cock. Not yet, son. But soon. You and me. Soon, son.”

    “Aw fuck Dad, I hope so,” I moaned, and he covered my mouth with his again, his tongue thrusting like his cock was, and I squirmed all over and worked with him the best I knew how.

    “Gonna cum, Dad,” I grunted, feeling it all boiling up inside of me all of a sudden.

    “Fuck yeah, stroke it out, stud,” he said. “Show Dad how you cum, buddy.”

    I moaned and stroked, my cock feeling so huge in my hand, bigger than it had ever been, and then it all kinda flowed over me in this warm, tingling wave, and I was cumming. Shot after shot, hard and fast and strong, stronger than I’d ever cum before, felt like. Dad’s hand covered mine and directed my cock up my body, jacking my load out with me, and the feeling of my cum hitting my chest and abs and side just made it even more intense. He started to thrust even faster, the bed really rocking now, as I moaned in his tight embrace and tightened my ass muscles aup gainst his thick Dad dick.

    “Daddy’s turn now, son,” he grunted in my ear. “Fine fucking ass making your Dad cum. So good, baby boy.”

    He thrust up hard, once, twice, three times, and then covered my mouth with his as he growled out his cum, the hot spurts of it shooting all up my back, in the crack of my ass, soaking into the sheets between us.

    It was fucking awesome.

    We were both sweaty as hell, and sticky too, panting as we caught our breath. Dad’s hand came up to rub my cum into my sweaty, sticky skin, and just his touch made me shiver all over. I could barely look at him, but when I did, I saw that whole Hyde intensity thing had drained out of him, and he was looking at me like my regular Dad again. Regular, except we were naked and covered in each other’s cum, and his big, thick dick was still resting half-hard and rubbery on crack of my ass.

    “You OK, Aus?” he said, his voice softer, a little concern on his regular-handsome face. I thought about it, and I was – more than OK. I felt like I’d just discovered, like, the secrets of the universe, or something. Like blowing my load had blown my mind. I smiled and nodded, and he smiled back, so warmly, I kind of wanted to cry a little. Everything was just so intense all of a sudden.

    But instead, I leaned up to kiss him, softer this time, and he kissed me back. Real love in that kiss, real tenderness – loving and tender like he always was, but there was that edge to him now. He’d shown me his other side, and that was just part of who he was for me now. And I loved that. I wanted to see more of it.

    “Were you, like, serious when you said we could, uh…” I said awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed to say the words for some stupid reason.

    “Fuck, son?” he grinned, and the easy way he said it made my spent cock twitch a little. “If you want to, we can try. I’m a big guy, and if you’ve never done it…”

    “I want to do it, Dad,” I said. “Do it right. With you. If you want to, Dad.”

    He looked at me for a long moment, then kissed me. A mix of that tenderness, and the heat too. Played tongues with mine. Then ruffled my sweaty hair affectionately.

    “Hell yeah I do, buddy,” he grinned. “You and me. We’ll make it happen. Maybe after Christmas, after we leave your grandparents’. But we’ll do it, son.”

    I smiled, and we kissed, and we never even bothered to shower. We just fell asleep like we were, cum drying on our skin with our sweat, Dad spooned up against my back, that big, thick dick of his resting happily against my ass.

    The next day, we were making our way down the Interstate again. Slow going, snow starting to come down in light, but steady drifts. The Acura was big and it had four-wheel drive, but it was still feeling all kinds of slick, the further we pushed down the road.

    “Ugh, this is going to be a nightmare,” Mom said from the passenger seat. “I’m worried about the drive back, too.”

    “Maybe you should fly back, honey,” Dad said. “Me and Aus can drive home.”

    “I don’t know, Mark,” Mom said uneasily. “It could be risky…”

    “Don’t worry, baby,” Dad said, reaching over to squeeze her knee in that reassuring way of his. “Me and Austin are big guys. We can handle it, right son?”

    He looked up in the rearview at me, and I saw that subtle little bit of heat in this eyes as he smiled at me. A little bit of Mr. Hyde there. I smiled back, spreading my thighs a little, and I know he could see the big bulge I was starting to get in my jeans as I thought about the two of us slowly making our way back to Kansas City without Mom. We’d probably need to take an extra day, maybe spend like a second night in a motel or something. Yeah. That sounded like a great idea to me.

    “Absolutely, Dad,” I grinned at him in the mirror. “We’ll make it happen, for sure.”

    The End

    (Copyright A4F Tales 2020)

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

  • Part time Christmas help

    My Sophomore year of college I was downtown looking for some new dress shoes.

    I entered an upscale men’s clothing store and asked the gentleman if he carried footwear…the gentleman was in his early fifties and was very engaging.

    He pointed to the back wall of the store and I looked at various dress shoes.

    Since I had been in college I had worn tennis shoes, boots and flip flops.

    I told the man I would be attending a wedding over the holidays and needed a black, Oxford style show.

    I told him I did not want a Wing-Tip since my dad always wore that style.

    The gentleman grinned and he pointed his finger to his feet.

    Holy fuck, this handsome daddy was wearing Wing-Tips.

    I felt so foolish. I had better manners than that. He winked and said it was fine.

    He went in the back and got a size 13.

    Yes, I do have big feet, big hands and most definitely a big pecker.

    The handsome man returned, squatted down in front of me and asked for my foot.

    When shopping in 1977 service was definitely an added level of customer care.

    As he untied my tennis shoe he commented that I needed a dress stocking.

    He went behind the counter and brought a sheer over the calf stocking.

    This man slowly removed my tube sock and rolled the stocking down to the toe and started putting the stocking sock on me.

    Fuck, I got so excited when he touched my foot.

    Gingerly sliding his fingers and thumb over my big toe.

    As he got the stocking past my ankle he didn’t say a word but scooted in closer to pull the sock over my hairy calf.

    In the meantime he had straddled my other leg with his leg.

    It was like we were in a scissors position with our legs. I noticed his crotch in his trousers.

    Definitely a thick basket indeed.

    Next, the salesman slide his hand over the sheer sock to adjust the toes before he guided my foot into the dress shoe.

    He proceeded to tie the laces into a proper knotted bow.

    Next, he scooted back and definitely noticed I had a hard on.

    As he stood up to go to the counter to get the matching sock I noticed he was growing as well.

    When he returned he took my other tennis shoe off leaving my foot naked and bare.

    He slowly started massaging my foot.

    I sat in the chair and rubbed my hard on.

    He bent over and started kissing my foot.

    He looked up as if to be told to stop, continue, etc….I followed his lead and placed my bare foot on his crotch.

    He leaned into my chest and kissed me.

    He spoke softly and said he needed to lock the front door.

    He walked to the front of the shop, turned the lock and placed the closed sign in the door.

    When he returned to me I had taken my cock out and was playing with my cock.

    He knelt in front of me and kissed the head of my dick.

    While he was teasing my cockhead with his tongue he was still rubbing my foot.

    I lifted my foot to his mouth and he slowly licked, kissed, swallowed each toe.

    He stopped and told me to follow him.

    We went into the back storage room and he unzipped his trousers and bent over to show me his hole.

    I licked a finger and started finger fucking him.

    Damn, he was so hungry for any attention to his ass.

    I rimmed him, hearing Him moan was phenomenal.

    This handsome, mature shop owner loved the attention his ass was getting from a college kid with big feet.

    As I continued to work his ass he told me where the KY jelly was in his desk drawer.

    I was opening the plastic container ready to lube up my cock when he turned and looked at me with big lustful eyes.

    He told me to sit down on the sofa.

    He lifted my right foot and applied KY to my big toe.

    Holy fuck, this guy proceeded to lube my toe and guide it to his ass.

    I must say, I’d never ever toe fucked anyone before or even imagined doing so.

    He was riding my foot that I could have cum right there on the spot.

    Eventually he stopped and sat down on my cock.

    He kissed me like he was a teenager.

    He rode my cock and I shot my hot, creamy load in his ass.

    When he lifted off me he got on his knees and sucked me clean.

    As we were getting dressed he told me he had missed the attention of young college guys.

    As I was writing a check for the shoes he asked me if I was interested in seasonal sales work at his store.

    We talked so more and he gave me his business card. I read the card, Gordon’s Men’s Ware.

    When I got back to my apartment I stripped naked and jacked off but I put on dress socks and my new shoes. 

    A couple of days later I returned to the store wearing trousers, dress shirt, my new shoes and a navy blazer sports jacket.

    He smiled, shook my hand and said he was hoping I’d return. We discussed the shop.

    Ties, bow ties, suspenders, garters for men’s stockings, and various accessories he wasn’t sure that I would be familiar with.

    Mr. Gordon took extra pride in shoeing me his line of Jockey bikini briefs that were modeled by baseball player Jim Palmer.

    I grinned and told him I was wearing a pair right then and there under my trousers.

    He winked and told me to follow him.

    We went to the middle of the store that had two, three way mirrors.

    He stood up and showed me how the mirrors gave the customers a view of their suits, etc….I stood in the mirror and he unzipped my fly and touched my briefs. He said he liked the texture and the feel.

    Suddenly the bell rang above the door and a gentleman walked in and Mr. Gordon nodded…go speak to the man.

    As I walked closer I recognized Dr. Tipton from the university.

    He is a very handsome man and I’d always admired him.

    He was looking for a tweed sports coat with the leather patched elbows.

    Definitely a look a professor would wear.

    He took off his cashmere sweater and I found Him a brown and a dark grey jacket to try.

    As I smoothed out his shoulders I realized how natural it felt to touch his body, shoulders, etc….he too seemed at ease.

    As we chatted and I continued to compliment him he decided he would take both jackets.

    He stated he didn’t need both…I immediately spoke up but sir you look so distinguished and dapper.

    I winked at him.

    Mr. Gordon took his money at the register and I bagged each jacket in a garment bag.

    I walked him to his Volvo and hung the jackets in his vehicle.

    He handed me a five dollar tip and told me I was a smart salesman.

    His hands lingered to the touch a little longer as he gave me my tip.

    I shoved the tip in my pocket.

    When I walked back into the shop Mr. Gordon was singing my praises. He went in the back and fixed us a cup of tea.

    At the end of the day he locked up the front door and pulled the blinds.

    He told me to get the Electrolux canister sweeper in the back.

    When I brought it out front he had placed a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

    He said I’d get another one if I ran the sweeper wearing only my briefs.

    Hell, I’m not bashful.

    I stripped off my clothes in a heartbeat.

    As I ran the sweeper Mr. Gordon just smiled. When I put the sweeper away he got on his knees and gave me an excellent blow job.

    I shot my load down his throat and he swallowed every drop.

    I worked every Thursday afternoons til closing, Friday evenings until nine during the holidays. Thursday evenings was when I got to meet professional men who wanted to have extra attention.

    I fucked one banker in the men’s fitting room who ended up taking me to his cabin one Sunday afternoon and we watched football naked on the bed while I sucked his toes.

    Tips were generous.

    To this day when I buy new dress shoes or trousers I reflect on my college part time job. Men’s Warehouse or Jos A Bank shopping experience just doesn’t compared to the personal care gentleman received years ago.

    Mr. Gordon always told me “dress for the job you want!”

    Whenever I see a gentleman wearing wing tip shoes I smile.

    Happy holidays to all of you who ever worked retail at Christmas.

  • It’s Christmas Again

    ≈ IT’S CHRISTMAS AGAIN ≈

    ~ Where it all begun ~

    My beloved Cameron,

    It’s Christmas again. It was Christmas time when we first met, do you remember? I love Christmas! But it wasn’t always like that. How many Christmases I spent alone, just waiting for the festivities to end? Countless. Thinking about it, I actually can count them: when we met it was my 42nd Christmas.

    I’ve never been as gorgeous as you, I don’t hit the gym every other day like you, I don’t have your chiseled abs and your powerful glutes, but I’m not chopped liver, if I may say it myself. I’m lean and flexible… something you came to appreciate a lot, over time. And apparently, I have “beautiful blue eyes as deep as the Ocean”, according to what you always say to me. You were quite surprised when I told you I was going to spend the Christmas alone and asked me why.

    And then I told you the truth. For the first time in my life I told you, the new tenant of this huge condo, a total stranger, what I never admitted even to myself, much less to my relatives and friends: I was gay. For too many years I had denied my true nature, but at 42 I had to face that there was something wrong in me.

    “There’s nothing wrong in you” – you told me, looking at me with such adoring eyes that still today I feel shivers down my spine – “You are just perfect the way you are”. And when you saw me sitting there on the sofa, beside you, totally speechless, you leaned to me and gave me the most tender and passionate kiss of my whole life. My head was spinning: I just invited you in my apartment an hour earlier, to let you rest after the move, I didn’t mean… I couldn’t imagine… And now your tongue, full of life and passion, was greedily exploring every inch of my mouth, you were sharing your breath with me, and I melted into your arms.

    But my damn mind couldn’t rest, I wish I could’ve had a switch to turn it off! With a gasp I jumped away, scared of what happened, as I was not ready to… totally change my life, my quiet, boring, comforting life. Love had never found a place into my heart so far, because I just couldn’t fall in love with a woman and I’d never let myself fall in love with a man. Whatever was happening to me, I didn’t know how to manage it. I said something totally stupid, like “This can’t be, you’d better go” and you blushed crimson red and fled away mumbling embarrassed excuses.

    It took me hours to understand that I was throwing my life out of the window just like I threw you out of my door. It was late in the night when I finally got off the sofa where you left me and went in search of you. I knocked at your door, and I heard you moving inside, but you didn’t answer, because you knew it was me.

    I begged you to open the door, to forgive me, but you were too hurt. And I couldn’t blame you: why on earth should you have wasted your time with the crazy tenant from downstairs you barely knew? But everything was clear for me – for the first time in my life all was crystal clear – and I told you “Cameron, please, it’s not too late to mend it. But tomorrow will be. If you send me away now, we both won’t be granted another chance”.

    I heard the lock click, and the door to my… to our new life opened up.

    ~ A new life ~

    I don’t know what inspired you back then, Cameron, but how different and sad could’ve been our lives if you didn’t open that door! I looked at you wearing only your pajama pants, my eyes wandered over your chiseled torso, your perfect abs, your bulging pecs and I felt my cock stirring into my pants.

    You were a man – and what a man! – and I loved you, I wanted you, no matter what. I finally found the switch to turn off my stupid rational mind. I threw myself into your arms so hard that we fell on the carpet, and I kissed you hungrily, desperately, 42 years of denial finally finding their way out. I was no more the man I used to be that morning. You changed me forever.

    After a while – for me, it was an eternity – you recoiled and stood up, pulling me with you. You took me by hand to your bedroom and I felt breathless: you wanted… you surely wanted to… but I’d never…

    “You are a virgin, aren’t you?” – you told me with a loving smile, while your hands slowly unbuttoned my shirt – “You have nothing to worry about. And… you’d better breathe, now”. This is why I love you so much, my wonderful Cameron: you always find the way to ease my tension, to make me laugh and get rid of my stupid inhibitions. And I did laugh that night, while you finished undressing me, but I stopped laughing when you dropped your pajama pants. You were perfect, your body exuded manliness from every pore, your half-hard circumcised cock was long and thick, with a wide pink helmet, and your low-hanging balls were big and inviting.

    “You can touch” – you said with a knowing grin, seeing me staring at such a piece of manhood, and you were a bit surprised when you saw me kneeling in front of you and engulf your growing cock into my mouth.

    I closed my eyes and for a long moment my world was that fat silky helmet that I was exploring with my tongue. Its taste was intoxicating and I couldn’t have enough of it. I didn’t even try to take it all like I’d seen in the porn movies, I knew I couldn’t do that (but as you know well, I quickly became an expert in that department, later on!). Every time you moaned with pleasure I felt my cock twitch and grow harder.

    And then you pulled me on my feet and gently pushed me on the bed, on my back. I didn’t put up any resistance, as by then I was totally in your hands, come what may. The light was dim, I didn’t really see what you were doing, I only felt your fingers, slick with lubricant sneak inside my hole gently, cautiously, caressing me in ways I’d never experienced. Oh, I had fingered myself sometimes, but that was something completely different. I kept my eyes shut and my legs up in the air, enjoying the intense inner massage, when suddenly you withdrew your fingers and replace them with the tip of your cock.

    My eyes snapped open and I looked at you, a bit scared, but again your loving eyes soothed my tension. Looking at you I knew there was nothing to worry about, I wanted you with every fiber of my being and I instinctively relaxed, welcoming your hot rod inside me. I felt it slowly moving further and further, and it seemed endless! Places inside me never touched before were caressed and filled by your invading cock, until I felt your pubes pressing hard against my perineum.

    You saw tears flowing down my eyes and asked me if you were hurting me; but they were not tears of pain: feeling joined to you in such an intimate and complete way was just emotionally overwhelming for me. I never felt like that, I never imagined it could feel like that, and I wanted it to never end.

    I watched in awe at you body swaying over me, at your concentrated expression, at your muscle all working in unison to give me the most sensational experience of my life. Your cock was as hard as steel, but touched me tenderly, pressing buttons inside me that sent shivers of pleasure throughout my body. I felt my own cock jerk spasmodically and I knew – incredible as it may seem ­– that I was about to explode without even touching myself.

    “I… I’m…” – I begun, but I didn’t need to finish my phrase: “Me too…” – you breathed, and then you tensed and stood still for a moment, and when I felt your cock pulse deep inside me, filling my depths with your essence, I lost control of myself and my cock erupted like a volcano, drenching my hairy chest with my own semen.

    ~ The Merriest Christmas ~

    I woke up the next morning like I was living a dream… a dream that I’m living still now, while writing you this letter, my sweet Cameron. How crazy we’ve been, back then, when we suddenly decided that you should’ve moved to my apartment – why pay two rents? Rationally, we said to each other that you were new in town, that you never actually lived in that apartment… but man, were we crazy! Crazy with love, but crazy nevertheless. We made a bet on our destiny, on our future, and we both won that bet, as after so many years we still live here and still love each other crazily.

    That first Christmas was unforgettable, you insisted to buy a tree and decorate it, and I dusted off the recipe of my granny’s Christmas Turkey. We went shopping, and for the first time I really felt the Christmas vibes around me. It was the Merriest Christmas of my whole life. Do you remember that old Santa entertaining the children in the general store? You saw me putting a folded paper in his bag and asked me what I wrote on it. I never told you, because if you reveal your wish it may not happen. But now I can tell you, because my wish has already been granted in full. I wrote: “Dear Santa, please make this happiness never end, because I love him”.

    And that was just the first of many happy and joyful Christmases! I still remember like it was yesterday that Christmas when we went to Paris. You didn’t want to go, at first, because it was a long journey, all over to France, but you didn’t regret, when we arrived there! I knew Paris, I had already been there several times, but I lived again its magic through your marveled eyes. The long boulevards sparkling with lights, the Eiffel Tower illuminated in blue, white and red, the cozy bistrots where we ate delicious food and sweets.

    And that hotel where we stayed, cheap as it was (we couldn’t spend more back then!) felt like a palace to us. Most people complain about the French size beds being too small for two persons, but for us it just added to our pleasure. The first night we slept there, no matter how hard we tried, we always ended up pressed against each other. I actually think you did it on purpose!

    You wanted to make love, but I (always the party crusher!) protested I was tired. You said “OK, good night then”, and leaned over to kiss me, but instead of my mouth, your lips closed around my nipple. You suckled on it and darted your tongue over its very tip, and I instantly got hard! I felt your sex pressing against my leg, your warm body pressing against mine, and suddenly a fire started consuming me. You’ve always known how to turn me on! But that night you turned me on more than you intended to. In that anonymous hotel, in a stranger metropolis, all my inhibitions dropped and I wanted you like never before.

    I rose on my knees and bent over, with my chest on the mattress and my ass in the air, and I spread my legs so wide that I heard you gasp, looking with lust at my hole, offered to you so openly and shamelessly. That night you discovered how flexible I am and how hungry for your cock I can sometimes be. “Fuck me, Cal… Fuck me hard! I want you like never, let me feel it!” – I told you, and if my blatant invite sounded like a script from a cheap porn movie, you didn’t seem to notice, because in less than a second your underwear was flying to the floor and your burning hot cock was pressed against my hole.

    You didn’t use lube, just spit, and I knew it would hurt, but that’s what I asked for! And still – you’re such a gentleman, I’ve always told you! – when you entered me you didn’t painfully impale me, but you restrained your lust and invaded me with a long steady thrust that gave me very little pain and a great pleasure. You placed your hands on my hips, to keep me in place while you pounded me hard, and gave it to me, like I asked for. Damn, you did give it to me! Your cock reached so deep inside me that I felt filled up to the brim with hot throbbing meat. Your manliness was overwhelming, in that moment I existed only to give you pleasure, and I squeezed hard my ass muscles to milk your cock, making you roar with lust.

    For a moment I thought I was biting more than I could chew, as your pounding became frantic, but not for a single moment you stopped being the wonderful man you are, because at my first moan of distress you slowed down and bent over to kiss the nape of my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. I knew you were on the verge of your climax and whispered “Go all the way, stud, fill me with your juice!”, and my dirty talking sent you through the roof. Boy, your orgasm seemed to never end! I was happy, as your pleasure has always been my pleasure, and I didn’t need anything else.

    But when you pulled out of my ass, and regained your breath, you pushed me down on my back, took hold of my still hard cock and gulped it down your throat in one swift motion. Now, I’m not hung like a horse, but watching you taking my proud six-and-half hard inches all the way without the slightest hesitation totally blew me. It took just few strokes for me to blow my load deep down your throat.

    I was astonished, as it was the hardest and most passionate sex we’d ever had, and I still was surprised at myself… and you!

    We looked deeply into each other’s eyes for a long silent moment, and then you said: “Well, I think I like Paris, after all…” and we both burst into loud laughter!

    ~ Love for the eternity ~

    Yes, that was a memorable Christmas…

    And then Christmas came again, and again and again, and every year we enjoyed it like children, surprising each other with little presents hidden under the pillow or under a dish, lighting up our beautiful Christmas tree and basking in the festive vibes of the town.

    Year after year, the magic of the Christmas never ceased to amaze us, while our hair became gray, your abs became… um… less sculpted, my belly grew bigger and our skin got covered with wrinkles. But I still love you like the first day, Cam. No, better: I love you much more! We’ve spent our life together, we could grow old together: what more could we ask for? Our love proved to be stronger than the passing time, so you can easily believe me when I say that I will love you for the eternity. And, at this point, I know what I’m talking about.

    Yours forever

    — Mitch

    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Cameron raised his eyes from the letter but he was not quick enough to prevent a tear from falling down and add a wet mark to the other ones already on the sheet. He stood up, carefully folded the letter and put it back in the small drawer of Mitch’s desk, where he found it the day they buried him, on a gloomy and rainy Christmas eve. One Christmas let Mitch enter his life, one Christmas took him away from him.

    “Why on earth I go through this every Christmas…” – he thought, but he already knew the answer: he still loved Mitch like crazy, and three years without him didn’t lessen in any way his love, nor his pain.

    Cameron turned around and looked at the apartment, where Mitch invited him to come in many years before to rest just few minutes, and then he stayed for the rest of his life. In a corner of the room, the tall Christmas tree sparkled with light and decorations: Cameron never quit this tradition, despite the sadness that now veiled the festive atmosphere; decorating the tree, like they did together for years, made him feel Mitch closer.

    He looked at himself in the wall mirror, noticed his receding hairline and his forehead crossed by wrinkles and sighed: despite his effort to keep in shape, time had taken an obvious toll over him. But Mitch seemed not to notice it. Until the last day he’d always looked at him with adoring eyes, full of love and even a sparkle of lust, that neither the age nor the illness could put out.

    Now that he was about to turn seventy-five, Cameron felt old. Inside, he still felt like the lean, chiseled guy who met Mitch on the day he moved to that big condo, but the mirror didn’t lie: he’d grown old. But Mitch was right, they had grown old together, they shared a love that shone bright for many long years, as strong as the first day. What more could he ask for?

    Cameron knew that sooner or later their life would’ve come to an end, and he was glad that Mitch was the first to go, as this way he was spared by the pain that Cameron had to bear. Somehow, somewhere they will be reunited, when Cameron’s moment would’ve come.

    “It’s Christmas again, Mitch” – Cameron said aloud, looking with loving eyes at Mitch’s picture on the bookcase – “and I’ll love you for the eternity”.

    * * * * *

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

  • I’m yours

    I’m Yours

    Liam was up late working on a new story for his collection of short stories. He had been dealing with a dry spell and struggled with his writing. He often found inspiration as he listened to music on his IPhone. He sat on the sofa, writing of a young man with a zest for life.

    The man drew a smiley face on his mirror after taking a shower. He danced to a tune that touched every part of his body. It had been awhile since he’d felt good about himself as he removed a hospital band around his wrist. It was an exciting day for Andy as he started his first day at the senior center. “Good morning Andy,” Mr. Miller, the director for the center said. “Hi, good morning,” Andy replied, as he put on his white lab jacket with his nametag pinned on the pocket. “I’ve got your patient schedule posted on the staff bulletin board,” Mr. Miller said.

    Another staff member walked into the back room. “Hi my name is Frank.” “Hi. Andy.” “First day?” “Yeah.” “Welcome to the center,” Frank said. “Thanks,” Andy replied, as he checked his patient schedule. “I see you’ve got Mrs. Garcia this morning. She’s a sweetheart,” Frank said.

    It was almost noon and all the patients were gathered in the dinning room for lunch. Andy had just picked up Mr. Jones and sat him next to Mr. Phillips. “Have a good lunch Mr. Jones,” Andy said. “Thank you Andy. You do the same,” Mr. Jones said. “Do you want to grab a bite from next door?” Frank asked. “That sounds great,” Andy replied, as the guys walked to the Deli next door.

    The guys sat at a vacant table with their sandwiches. “Do you live in the City?” Frank asked. “I just moved into a studio on Franklin,” Andy said. “I hear they are great for the price. I move to the City six months ago and I share an apartment with a couple of guys who attend City College,” Frank said. “How long have you been working at the center?” Andy asked. “It will be two years this month,” Frank said. “So why do you work at the center?” Andy asked. “My grandmother was a patient at the Center. She passed a couple of years ago and I stayed on to help others like her,” Frank said. “I’m sorry for your loss. That is really nice of you,” Andy said. “I wanted to show my appreciation to the center for taking good care of my grandmother and I just felt a connection, since she spent her last days here,” Frank said. “Sounds like you were close with your grandmother?” Andy asked. “She was my best friend,” Frank said. Andy smiled. The two guys became good friends as they worked at the center.

    It was the weekend and both Frank and Andy were off. “Hey do you want to hang out this weekend?” Frank asked. “What do you have in mind?” Andy replied. “I planned on doing a little shopping in Chinatown. Do you want to join me?” Frank asked. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been there. Sounds great,” Andy said.

    The next day the guys walked down Grant Street and they visited each of the stores along the way. They stopped at one of the restaurants to eat lunch and the food was served right away. Andy sat quietly as Frank started eating. “Is everything all right Andy?” Frank asked. Andy looked a bit out of sorts “It will pass,” Andy said, looking a little pale. “Why don’t we just get it to go and take you back to your place,” Frank said. The guys walked back to Andy’s apartment. “I’m sorry Frank. I just need to lay down for a bit,” Andy said, as Frank sat next to him. “Do you need anything?” Frank asked. “There is a prescription in my medicine cabinet in the bathroom,” Andy said. Frank got the medicine for Andy along with a glass of water. “Are you sick?” Frank asked. “Nothing to worry about,” Andy said as he popped a couple of pills into his mouth and washed it down with water. “It’s for the nausea that comes on whenever I overexert myself,” Andy said. “My uncle had similar problems with nausea when he dealt with Leukemia.” “Please don’t say anything to anyone,” Andy said. “How bad is it?” Frank asked. “I have a month or two,” Andy said. “So why are you working at the center?” Frank asked. “I wanted to help others that need my help while I can,” Andy said. “What about you? Who is going to help take care of you?” Frank asked. “I have always been a little selfish thinking that I was invincible when I was as a teen. Then I found out that I was dying. Everything changed for me and I realized that I needed to be a little nicer and to be kind to people, especially the elderly. I left home when I turned eighteen to conquer the world. Things have changed now and I have to live my life to the fullest, without any regrets. I used to think that getting a leather jacket would solve everything or if I made a million dollars I would prove to myself that I was worth something. It doesn’t matter anymore because I can’t take the leather jacket or the million dollars with me. It’s all about just living to the fullest, loving yourself, and just being happy,” Andy said. Frank sat next to Andy as he listened to his story and he started to get emotional. “Don’t Frank. This is why I don’t say anything to anyone. I just want to live as long as I can,” Andy said. Frank held Andy’s hand, squeezing it and nodding his head with a smile. “Okay,” Frank said.

    The next week the two guys worked together with their usual patient schedules. It was Andy’s third week on the job when he didn’t show up for work. “Frank have you seen Andy?” Mr. Miller asked. Frank looked concerned and rushed to his apartment. He knocked on Andy’s door. “Andy are you home?” Frank said. He knocked again, calling his name. A few minutes later Andy opened the door, still in his pajamas. “Hi Frank,” Andy said. “How are you doing?” Frank asked. “I was feeling a little weak this morning and I needed to sleep in,” Andy said. “Should we take you to the hospital?” Frank asked. “There is nothing they can do for me,” Andy said. “Let’s get you dressed and we’ll take a short ride,” Frank said. Frank drove Andy to the hospital. They checked him in and made him comfortable. “Is there anyone you like me to call Andy?” Frank asked. “There is no one,” Andy said. “What can I do for you?” Frank asked. “I would like to start arranging my affairs to make sure that everything is done before I go. I would like to donate what little money I have in my bank account to the center. I have a leather jacket that would look good on you,” Andy said. Frank did what Andy wanted done and returned to the hospital. Over the next few days Andy’s condition worsened. Frank sat next to Andy, holding his hands. “Thank you for being a good friend,” Andy said, as he closed his eyes for what would be the last time. The illness took over and Andy died.

    Frank made all the arrangements for Andy as he requested. His body was cremated and his ashes were scattered on the beach. Andy’s bank account, which totaled a little over a million dollars, was given to the center. A memorial picture of Andy was hung in the dinning room in his honor. There was an inscription: In loving memory of a wonderful friend and staff member of the center.

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

  • The War We Won

    “For some reason the sea was smooth as glass, quite unusual. I recall the water there was very, very clear when the surface was that smooth. You could see down through it quite a way. Now picture this—you suddenly have to enter auto-rotation….”

    Not enough, have to, can’t. By and by… Poverty’s lexicon, the language of my childhood except for one word:

    Honey.

    Honey was a luxury, seldom tasted in families with seven children in the deep and deeply religious South during the 1960s. We had cane syrup from tins, a familiar sweetener consumed among staunch defenders of conservative values. Couldn’t go acting high and mighty among the other fundamentalists church members of our area—so, no honey on our table.

    Stark changes lurked around cane syrup tins and long-held traditions; leaders had no time to readjust rights or address inequality in their staid lives and no amount of sweetener could soften their rigidity. Issues of racial integration were at the fore; Southerners dumped the issue in the schools. Children couldn’t do anything about it. Easier to beat a kid at home than jail adults when things got out of line, right?

    Southerners’ conventions caused incalculable losses which I couldn’t begin to fathom until I was able to afford honey for myself.

    * * *

    Being the middle child in a mess o’ kids, I held an invisible place, only called to watch my younger sisters, put them to bed—otherwise ignored. Being in the middle placed me in a subservient position to my older brothers. I accepted that position invisibly as well, else I’d be put back in my place by their fists.

    Brothers souped-up cars in a garage behind the house. The leaky old shack leaned to the side; partial concrete floor, cracked and stained. Got the old ‘48 Ford running, traded it for a ‘55 Chevy then moved into a classy ’57 Chevy—candy apple red. Major sport was drag racing on the streets. I stayed in the shadows of the garage while brothers talked carburetors and white walls with their crew of equally greasy, smelly friends. They were a scruffy collection of bonhommies who sneaked my brothers booze and Luckies.

    Among them was a guy, about sixteen, Steve. Short, wiry, quiet, Steve was the ace mechanic of the gang. Between stealing and dealing, they rebuilt and repaired the symbols of their manhood – their “wheels.” Most of the guys had girlfriends, and were always shootin’ the shit about girls while they cleaned parts, sanded putty. Hanging out with them seemed like the right thing to do in the man’s world I was readying to enter.

    Steve drove a pristine ‘59 El Camino. Sometimes he’d take me with him when he’d go on a part run. “The kid’s gotta learn how to deal with Peddigroos.” Local parts store was notorious for selling the wrong parts. Instead of the auto shop, one afternoon, we drove beyond the city limit. He turned off alongside a bayou, pulled the emergency brake and looked over at me.

    “You’re kinda cute.”

    Didn’t know what to say. He stared at me, flicked my earlobe. I looked away, skin burning scarlet.

    * * *

    “For some reason the sea was smooth as glass, quite unusual. I recall the water there was very, very clear when the surface was that smooth. You could see down through it at least a hundred feet.”

    * * *

    My family lived in cheap-rent areas, noisy places, beside a highway, always on the outskirts of town. Often had to deal with local wildlife which tumped over trash cans in the alley. As I went to toss the trash, I saw rustling in the chickweed and stopped, waited. Cottonmouth came to dine on mice.

    I was fourteen, snakes were nothing new to me. Pulling an empty can away from the row, rolled it slowly and turned it upside-down on the snake, yelled for my brothers to bring the shovel. Brothers had to make a big deal out of killing the snake. It was steaming-hot out and four of the guys all gathered ‘round laying their plan into action. From under the shade of a mulberry nearby, I watched.

    Steve came and stood beside me.

    “Found yourself a snake, honey?” Almost couldn’t hear him he spoke so softly.

    “Don’t call me that.” Was he saying I’m sissy?

    He grinned, glancing from the side of his eyes at me.

    “Why you callin’ me honey?”

    “Just curious to see what you’d say.”

    He turned away from the group, still beside me, “Got a boyfriend?” Fingers with grimy fingernails touched my hand, his eyes caught mine, then he walked away.

    I stopped breathing for a few moments.

    * * *

    That night, I lay in bed considering that “honey” business. Steve wasn’t being rough or teasing me, but asking about a boyfriend. Was he asking me to be his boyfriend? Did I want him for a boyfriend? Uneasy topics to consider.

    The more I thought about it, the surer I was Steve answered a lot more questions than he asked. Questions that didn’t have words; questions that made clear all the unspoken, avoided matters inside me. Matters so evil, so dark they were never mentioned by god-fearing folk.

    Those very matters had lived in me since I was small; figured it was my “original sin” in some way. Now, my fall from grace, sure damnation. Sodomite? Sodom and Gomorrah were blasted away due to their evil. Yet the thought of a boyfriend intrigued me, stirred my blurry feelings. A man with a boyfriend was abnormal, guaranteed hell-bound, and my urges were now bolder for being called forward.

    I’d ignore it. Hide it. I had to. A dead fag wasn’t of any concern.

    Watched Steve around my brothers, how he faked his way around the loud rednecks and Feron Young wanna-bees. Chuckled at pussy jokes, tit and ass comments, made stupid gestures and wolf whistles like they did.

    Started copying him; learned how to “pass.” Smart the ways he did that and my conscience tore my guts to pieces every time I did it. My urges put them back together quickly.

    * * *

    “I watched them take off to the north, turn out over the water and head south along the beach. They leveled off at about 800′ and seemed to be in the standard move.”

    * * *

    When a bottle of rum showed up in the garage, Steve and I left to get cola. He’d run a bluff with my brothers to get some time with me. Sneaking in the alleyways, through the woods we found secluded places to hide while we kissed. Sweaty, salted kisses the way men kissed women at the drive-in. Learned mutual hand jobs. Kissing and pulling each other off felt like a space launch from my chest. But it was the touches, affection—something I never had before.

    Steve was as keen for my skin as I was for his. Couldn’t get enough of each other and couldn’t slip up and give away our secret either. Had to switch on and off quickly, like changing stations on the radio.

    My secret prompted me to start showering, combing my hair, wearing clean clothes with new enthusiasm. Brothers noticed, asked me who was the impetus for all the grooming. “Cheryl?” I only smiled and shook my head, passing. Passing as straight and through my passing, I became more visible. Steve was my lodestar toward an oblique manhood.

    Adult female of the house complained that I wasn’t watching my sisters or attending church often enough. “You need to be re-consecrated.”

    My confidence had grown. Told her my sisters weren’t my children, not my responsibility. Sisters were on their own as I became more visible by my absence. Took part-time work in the afternoons. Wanted some power though hard to amass much installing eight-track players for minimum wage.

    * * *

    My brothers were notorious for cruising the Montrose area, mugging queers to get a few bucks for their Saturday nights. Steve and I avoided Montrose. We found a wooded place in Memorial Park, glanced through some old porn magazines while we waited for dark.

    Hard to keep from shooting off as soon I unzipped; we were young, no problem. Shy at first, I wanted all of him, “Are we gonna, you know…”

    Arms and legs all seemed to be in the wrong places until we found what we needed, and didn’t slow down. Slippery with sweat, slippery with our own lube and smelling like sex, we did it. Hurt at first. Pain propelled, fueled our thrusts, excited us for more until we found satisfaction and that sweet union of spirits.

    Between work, school and running that old bluff, I learned a good fingering, along with a BJ was plenty for at least one day apart. Kept an old shop rag under the seat for quick wiping. I came to associate the rough, red square of cotton with intense pleasure.

    Center of my life, I loved, admired and looked to him for the first and only real comfort I’d ever known. But tell him I loved him? I couldn’t; my early indoctrination was hard to shake.

    * * *

    “During the third attack of the night we launched again. The flare ship took off first and began an easterly ascent over the South China Sea.”

    * * *

    “Kill all the damn gooks.” My brother repeated the reports he heard on the radio, adding his commentary. Steve always nodded and looked away quietly. At seventeen, he might be drafted soon. I began to understand why he was afraid. Wasn’t about the war, it was winding down. It was about the military—the service wasn’t for fags. Soldiers were armed and played rougher games than the nickel-and-dimers in our garage.

    Steve wasn’t drafted. He volunteered, glad to get out of his part-time job stocking vending machines. Advised by his father and motivated by poverty, he’d get formal training in the service. Took the easy path, signed up to be a helicopter mechanic, move into aircraft maintenance.

    Young and ignorant, I thought he’d be stateside after basic training. We’d find a way to be together, we had to. Began studying the newspapers for small, third- and fourth-page articles about the homosexual protests on the West Coast. Maybe Los Angeles….

    * * *

    The night he before he left, we went to his house. First time I’d been there. An ancient shotgun house butted up to the railroad tracks, little more than an unpainted shack. Inside only a couch and a few tables, chairs, worn and ragged. “Where’s your mom?”

    “Gone.”

    We waited till his father came through the kitchen door and shook hands. Couldn’t help but notice him smelling like grease, beer and cigs. “This is the kid? Good to meetcha.”

    “Dad, if he comes over while I’m gone, help him out.”

    He nodded, turned, went into the only other room and shut the door.

    “Been drinking since Mom left.” Steve explained, grabbing his father’s car keys.

    “How do you get by?” Steve’s home felt empty.

    “Dad gives me a little money, not much here to clean…”

    * * *

    Hot-footed it down to Galveston that night. All the while I thought about Steve’s mother. In my mind, I knew she wanted her son to feel loved and knowing how long I’d have to wait to see Steve again, this awkward sixteen-year-old acted the best lover he could imagine. Doled out all my affection and kisses, gazes, touches between my gasps and tears.

    Sad night, quiet but for our breaths and the ocean’s waves. More silent tears in the dark before we left at dawn for the bus station.

    * * *

    “The descent appeared normal and I watched them all the way down, waiting for them to flare. The flare never occurred.”

    * * *

    Brothers left after high school. Garage was empty. I left shortly after them, barely finishing high school, no graduation ceremony. Kept working as an installer, lived in a rented room for a while. When I got a letter from Steve during his basic training, I’d take it to show his father, read it with him.

    Our letters didn’t mention love. Each referenced honey; dirty oil, thick as honey, honey of a deal…. Got a letter in October, I went to find Steve’s old shotgun house vacated.

    My brother showed up where I worked, “Steve’s dead.”

    * * *

    “…loud thump. They hit at full force. The impact probably rendered them all unconscious and initiated the breakup of the Huey. Their bodies were located on beach the next day.”

    Final Mission of U.S. Army helicopter VH-LL tail number 65-04453.

    * * *

    Dirt hit casket holding a body once warm. The body that excited me, the heart that wanted me; arms that held me.

    Dirt hit casket abruptly announcing that at eighteen, I was entirely alone.

    “I love you. I love you.” Between sobs on the long drive home from the piney East Texas graveyard. “I love you.”

    Words too late.

    * * *

    So young, so vulnerable, we emerged from privations with unforeseen courage and stealth. Our tender, camouflaged hearts dared to love. Held the ground we gained for our short time together to claim ourselves as victors.

    The war we won.

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  • In the ID Card Line

    A nerve-wracking few days described the start of my freshman year at the university. My roommate arrived a few hours after I did. He was a complete asshole, spoiled and entitled. He was pissed because he did not get an apartment with a room to himself. He wanted the side of the room that I had picked for myself, and after complaining that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep on the left side of the room. I told him that I would switch. Then he bitched that the bed on the right side was not as comfortable. I was ready to go screaming from the room.

    His mommy fixed everything for him, and after enduring him for almost twenty-four hours, he was gone. I needed the peace and quiet to put up with the stress of having my paperwork misplaced and my initial course schedule dropped. So, on that Monday, feeling tired and angry, I got in one of the two lines to get my ID badge.

    Several times on campus, I had the feeling that I was being watched. This time, when I looked up, I noticed a guy looking at me. He smiled. I turned to see at whom he was smiling. He seemed to chuckle at my surprise that he could be looking at me. Most people wouldn’t be surprised, though. I’m just an average looking guy. I’m five-ten, one hundred forty pounds of skinny. I have the world’s worst frizzy curly hair, so I keep it cut really short. My eyes are an ordinary brown, and my eyebrows are just a little too thick. My lips are thin, and my chin is rounded. And to make things worse, I have chest hair. It grew when I was fourteen. In fact, I considered myself ugly in high school until Kamran Evans moved to our town. That poor kid was truly unattractive. I realized that I wasn’t so bad, but I knew I wasn’t in the handsome category.

    This guy who was looking at me was definitely in that category. I estimated him to be a little taller than I was but with an athletic build. I’m sure he weighed at least one hundred seventy pounds of pure muscle. He had the face of a masturbation fantasy. A strong chin with a cleft and a straight jawline was topped by light brown straight hair that just fell into place. He had nice sideburns–real sideburns–that by themselves made my dick twitch. Perfectly arched eyebrows over bright green eyes and a straight nose over full lips that were completely kissable completed this awesome visage. He was out of my league by anyone’s definition. I looked down at the ground.

    He turned to the person behind him in line. “Hold my place for a minute, please.” Then he walked over to me. “Caleb Cooper.” He put his hand out.

    I thought about looking away. What if he was only doing this to mock me? He couldn’t really want to know me, could he? I looked into his eyes; they were so friendly. I took his hand and shook it. “Eric Oliver. People call me Ryan.”

    “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”

    “Same here.”

    “Wait for me at the exit, OK?” His request was polite, but I had the feeling he’d be disappointed if I didn’t, and that made me want to do it even more.

    “Of course,” I replied.

    He went back to his place in line.

    Was it that easy to meet new people? He told me later that the look I had permitted him to come over. I glanced over at him a few times. Was he just looking for a friend? Possibly a wingman? Could he tell that I was attracted to him? My mind was racing, and by the time I arrived at the photo station, we were just buying curtains together, I had the two of us walking down the aisle.

    As I positioned myself for my picture, Caleb walked behind the photographer. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, and my ID badge had the best looking photo I’d ever taken. A light breeze and a sunny sky met me as I walked outside. I squinted my eyes and saw Caleb waiting under a live oak tree next to the path. I walked over to him and nodded.

    “What else do you have planned for today?” he asked.

    “There’s some kind of orientation meeting in Bates Hall. I’ll have to see what it’s about,” I replied.

    “I think that’s a safe sex meeting. We should go. They hand out free stuff at the end. It’s the one that starts at two, isn’t it?”

    I slipped my lanyard over my head. “Let me look.” I opened the zip pouch I’d been placing everything in.

    “Holy shit. Is that the picture you just took?” Caleb pulled my badge up. “Very sexy smile.” He looked up into my eyes.

    I wanted to drop on my knees and blow him right there. “Yeah. I think it came out natural like that because you smiled at me when the guy was taking the picture.”

    “I need a copy of this,” he whispered, “for when I’m feeling lonely at night.”

    I felt my heart rate go up.

    “Ryan, will you go on a date with me after the meeting?”

    “Yeah?” I closed my eyes. That was a stupid response. I answered his question with a question. “Yes, Caleb. I’d love to go out with you.” I looked back at him. He reached down and touched my hand with his fingers.

    His voice became a whisper. “I wish I were comfortable enough to hold your hand. I come from a town where people still pick on gay guys.”

    “I understand. We can hold hands in the meeting.” I was a little surprised that he was so bold in coming over to introduce himself, yet he was reserved when it came to hand-holding. But I thought that we could go back to my room after the date and do plenty of holding hands.

    The meeting was the usual ‘get to know your partner’ and ‘always wear a condom’ and ‘get tested’ type meeting that I expected it to be. There were pamphlets about PrEP for those interested in knowing more, but the meeting was really designed for straight boys and girls who used their freshman year of college to see how many times they could have sex, and while I was interested in what that number might be, I was wondering whether all those times might be with the same guy.

    During dinner at Jack-in-the-Box, Caleb told me about his hometown, a small town in the eastern part of the state. The high school seemed to have a larger than average number of bullies, guys with small dicks, and guys who are worried that they are gay, so they all pick on the less masculine males in hopes of enhancing their manliness. Unfortunately, Caleb’s parents were not the supportive kind, so he had not come out to them. He told me about a boy named Cliff whom he’d fallen in love with in junior high and the first year of high school. Cliff had feelings for him as well but had moved away before their sophomore year.

    I was amazed at Caleb’s positive attitude. He told me that an Internet pen pal, someone he’d met while on a gay dating site, had helped him maintain his sanity. The guy, named Jay, was in his thirties and living in Tennessee. He’d been through something similar to Caleb’s situation and offered him the support he didn’t get from family.

    “Maybe we can drive to Tennessee next summer and visit him,” I suggested. “Or, take the bus. I don’t have a car.”

    “Mine belonged to my grandmother. It’s old, but it doesn’t have a lot of miles on it. We’d just have to save up for gas and a motel.”

    “Let’s make it a goal. I’ve got a job on campus that starts on Wednesday. I can put a little bit away from each payday.”

    “My job starts this Wednesday, too,” said an excited Caleb.

    “Where’s yours? I’m in the library,” I said.

    “Me, too. That’s crazy. I wonder whether we’ll be working together.”

    “I bet I’ll be shelving books.”

    “I’ll bet you get hit on all the time,” laughed Caleb.

    “Me?” I’m not sure what made me say what I said next. Maybe it was because I was so comfortable with him. “You’re the one who will get hit on. You’re so fucking handsome that just looking at you makes me hard.”

    There was silence, at least a minute of silence.

    “So,” started Caleb. “I make you hard?” He reached his hand over and touched mine. He lowered his voice even further. “You make me hard, too.”

    I made him hard. I never thought I’d hear a guy say that to me. “Do you want to go back to my room? I want to hold your hand and kiss you.”

    I saw Caleb smile. “I’d love to.”

    We took our last bites and headed back to the dorms. I found out that he lived in the building next to mine. His roommate was quiet, but he didn’t leave the room except for meals. I found that strange, but my roommate was also strange. My room was still empty when we arrived. It appeared as if no one else had been assigned. I wondered whether we could go tomorrow and get Caleb assigned to my room. Would that even be a good idea?

    My thoughts were interrupted when Caleb dropped his backpack and pushed me against the door, interlocked his fingers with mine, and kissed me passionately. I had never experienced someone’s tongue touching and exciting my lips; it was exhilarating but gave me butterflies that made me feel a little queasy. My heart raced more rapidly, and with his hand still in mine, I pulled him over to my bed. I had made it that morning and pushed it back, so it functioned as a sofa. We sat next to each other; Caleb kicked off his shoes and pulled his legs onto the mattress which made it easier for him to face me.

    I turned my face to his and, leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his. The tip of my tongue barely protruded between my lips. His lips tasted minty; I wondered whether he had slipped a peppermint into his mouth when he moaned and pushed his tongue against mine. I moved my hands to rub against his chest. I felt the buttons of his shirt, and my fingers automatically began to fumble with them. Managing to unbutton the first one, my hand moved down to the next.

    Caleb’s left hand slipped under my t-shirt and up to my chest. “Oh, fuck, your chest is hairy. That’s so sexy.”

    That little comment made me feel so good inside.

    I unbuttoned more of his shirt and rubbed my fingers over his nipples, Caleb’s head moved back. I dropped my hand to his crotch. I felt his hardness, and I pushed against him with more force. He gasped.

    His response made me want him more. I moved forward and covered his mouth with mine. He began to kiss me before pulling his head back. His eyes darted back and forth from my right eye to my left. His face developed a look that seemed to be fear. “I’m sorry. I need to go.” He turned from me and began to button his shirt.

    As he bent forward to tie his shoes, I sat up. “Are you ok? Talk to me.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

    “This scares me,” he whispered hoarsely.

    “Can you tell me how or why?”

    “I’m not sure.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been horny before, and I’ve met guys I really wanted to fuck. I’ve even been a little drunk and wanted sex, but this is different. It’s as though the other times, it was my dick that wanted it. Just now, I realized it’s my head and all of me that wants you, kind of like a desire overload.”

    “It’s more than just getting your rocks off, isn’t it?” That’s what I was feeling. I didn’t just want his dick inside me. I wanted him inside me, and I wanted to be inside him. Most of all, I didn’t want him to leave. If I couldn’t have us physically joined together, I at least wanted him with me. “Stay with me. We can talk, or we can just lie here next to each other.”

    “One of my failings is that I’m a conflict avoider.” Caleb turned and looked at me.

    “Call it a non-strength. Sometimes avoiding conflict is appropriate for the situation. Now is not one of those times. Now is the time to snuggle with me and be pensive.”

    “Thanks for saying that. I think that it’s one of the things about you that I like.” Caleb kicked off his shoes. “I want to leave my underwear on, at least for now. But let’s get under the covers.”

    I stood up and stripped to my underwear before pulling the mattress up and out. I opened the sheets. “Ready?” I looked over at Caleb. He was completely smooth. I saw a light muscle definition. I felt my dick twitch in my underwear.

    “Your body is so beautiful,” he said to me.

    I thought about how I hated looking at myself, the hairy pecs, the so-called treasure trail. The pubic hair above my cock often showed above the low-rise briefs that I found to be the most comfortable to wear. I always thought I looked as though I needed to shower; the hair made me look dirty. But Caleb liked it. “I love your hairless skin.”

    Caleb smiled. “Who gets in first?”

    “I will,” I said as I got between the sheets and held them open for him. I felt myself stiffen even more. I wondered whether I should push my dick back, but he would see me if I did, and that would be awkward.

    Caleb crawled in next to me. I was on my left side, and he was on his back. “Will you spoon me?” he asked.

    I reached over and pulled him to me as he rolled onto his left side. My nose was buried in his hair. We had been out and about all day, yet I smelled a bit of coconut mixed with the hint of cologne that he wore. My penis strained against the fabric of my briefs.

    “I feel that,” he whispered. “It tells me that you’re attracted to me. Thank you for that.”

    “I am attracted to you, but telling you that way is a bit out of my control.”

    He rolled over and faced me. His hand played with my nipple, and his hardness pressed against mine. “I think you can tell that I’m attracted to you as well. Thanks for being patient with me.” He rolled over again and pressed into me. I held him there. His breathing slowed. “I’m falling for you, Ryan Oliver.”

    “Ditto,” I whispered.

    “Ditto? That’s so romantic.”

    “That’s me.” I kissed the back of his head and moved my hand down to his belly. His breathing became slower and regular as he fell asleep. I moved my hand a little farther down. He had become soft. I closed my eyes and imagined the two of us walking near a lake. Would the feeling I had continue to grow? ‘And,’ I said aloud in my head, ‘will you still love me, tomorrow?’

    I awoke a few hours later with my lips pressed to the temple of the most attractive man I’d ever met. I stretched, and he stirred. He rolled on his side facing away from me as he began to wake up. I pushed my fingers under his arm and around his chest. I pulled him close and moved my head forward to kiss his shoulder. He rubbed his ass against me.

    “Tell me what you want,” I said. “Tell me what you need.”

    Caleb moved on his back again and pulled me onto him. I looked into his eyes. His pupils were so large that only a sliver of green was visible in each. We interlaced the fingers of each hand, and Caleb pulled them up over his head. The entire weight of my torso was on him. I felt the hardness of his shaft push against mine. Our lips brushed together, and I released his left hand and moved my right hand under his neck. I kissed him with more force. I felt his tongue traverse my lower lip. My dick got even harder. I opened my mouth, allowing our tongues to dance together. I pulled his tongue into my mouth and moved the tip of my tongue across it before releasing it. I licked the edge of his jawline and sucked on his ear lobe. Caleb moaned; his body tried to squirm.

    I moved my body down so I was aligned with his nipples. I kissed them and licked the edges before moving on to his navel. As I circled the rim of his navel, I felt his cock jerk up. Part of me wanted to grab his dick and shove it in my mouth and suck it for all I was worth, but another part of me wanted to tease him, and that’s the part that won. At least for now. I made another journey around his navel with my tongue before lifting up and kissing him again. His moans gave me the confidence to continue.

    With my head back down near his groin, I chewed softly on his dick through the fabric of his underwear. Caleb tried to pull his underwear down, but I moved his hands away. He sat up and grabbed the paper bag we’d carried with us since the safe sex meeting. He pulled several condoms from the bag and a foil pack of lube.

    “Are you anxious, baby?” I asked. I pulled his underwear down, freeing a wonderfully stiff, straight boner that was almost seven inches in length, and at least an inch and a half at its widest. “What a beautiful penis,” I said as I wrapped my lips around it and pulled it completely in my mouth. The practice sessions with my dildo had paid off.

    Caleb began making little squealing moans as I moved my lips up and down his shaft. My tongue rubbed across the bottom of his rock-hard rod. The squeals were more frequent with gasps of air between them when I felt Caleb perform an abdominal crunch and squirt a load of cum into my mouth. His cock jerked a few times in my mouth as he expelled more cum. I maintained a tight grip around his dick as I slid off. The ejaculate was slightly saltier than I had expected, but I savored it. It was a part of Caleb that I would be keeping with me; I allowed it to run down my throat until all that remained was some moisture on my lips.

    I looked at Caleb, and he pulled me to him. We began to kiss again. As our tongues began to explore our mouths once more, Caleb moved his legs up on each side of me. With his feet pointed down, he caught the elastic band of my underwear with his toes and pushed them down to my ankles.

    “That’s a real skill,” I chuckled.

    “I’d never done it before, but feeling your dick against me kind of inspired me.” He moved his knees apart and made little thrusting motions with his hips. My dick began to drip precum, and I wanted to be inside him. “Put your fingers inside me, Ryan. Here, use this.” He held up a packet of lube. I got on my knees, and Caleb held his legs apart. I put on a condom and squirted lube on his pucker. “Fuck. It’s cold,” he laughed.

    I rubbed the lube into his hole and began to fuck him with two fingers. His hole slowly relaxed. I rubbed his sphincter muscle with my thumb as I moved my fingers in and out.

    Caleb began to moan again, and under his breath, I could hear him say “yeah.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and inhaled a raggedy breath. He reached for my cock and pulled it closer to him. I adjusted and pressed my dick against his hole. As it popped inside, he gasped.

    “Oh, fuck, Ryan, you’re huge.”

    I knew that was just the initial sensation. I was slightly shorter than he was in both height and dick length. We were about the same girth. I held still for about thirty seconds before pushing deeper into him. I loved the sensation of Caleb’s body around my shaft. It was warm and soft, and as I began to push and pull into and out of him sent waves of pleasure through me. I called them the sensations of love, and they grew stronger as we fucked. I leaned forward and covered his mouth with mine. Caleb pulled his legs up and wrapped them around my waist. He grabbed my head and licked my chin. I began to hump him faster.

    I saw Caleb’s eyes roll back in his head. He began a stream of obscenities that were synchronized with my dick reaching the limit of penetration. “Oh, shit.” “Damn.” “Fuck.” “Yes.” The words drove me to increase the frequency of the intercourse, and as I neared the maximum speed, the urge to release overtook me. I slammed into him four times releasing a stream of cum each time. As I took a breath after my last load, Caleb grabbed my head and kissed me.

    My desire at that moment was to be filled by Caleb; I wanted to straddle him and slide his cock into me, but I needed to recover my strength. I stretched out next to Caleb. He smiled as I kissed his ear. I’d known him for fewer than twenty-four hours, yet I’d known him for a lifetime. Maybe it was because my life hadn’t started until that afternoon.

    “I’m going to share a concern with you.” Caleb’s tone was serious.

    “What’s that?”

    “When will we have time to go to class and study if we’re always in here cuddling and kissing and fucking?”

    “You forgot sucking and rimming.”

    “You’re right, I did.”

    “I suppose we’ll need to set a timer.”

    “To limit our love-making or to limit our studying?” he laughed.

    “We’ll decide later, after you take advantage of me,” I said.

    “The way you took advantage of me?” He began to tickle me.

    “Exactly,” I laughed.

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