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  • The Jock Showers

    I showed up to SkyGym on Monday. I’d been on the compound for a week, in addition to PReP and DoxyPEP medication so that contact with any fluids would be safe for me as well as the patient. I’ve been instructed to call them patients, though I suspect to me they’ll be more like “dudes who are sitting on me.”

    The construct of the bioshower itself was something of a marvel. It comprised of a section of the locker room which had previously held bins for used towels. Instead, 4 ‘showers’ were installed. These were side-by-side saddle-shaped seats, lacking partitions, raised to a bit above waist height. The plastic outer casing stretched over the entire area, making the entire apparatus resemble a series of minimalist lounge chairs melded together. The men would disrobe, taking a towel with them around their waist or going in fully naked. They’d straddle the seats, which resembled columns jutting out from the wall which melted down to be flush with the floor. Their asses, balls, and cocks would fall into the opening. I’d be under them, moving from shower to shower to lick their prone, sweaty undercarriages. Two openings in bottom of the plastic shell of the ‘shower’ allowed for me to get below and bathe their feet. Finally, the plastic jutted out on either side of their torsos up until the shoulder, making the men naturally rest their raised arms to each side of the seat, even with the ground. Two more holes in these armrests game me access to their pits. All this, done without the men knowing what you looked like, or even if you were a guy or a chick.

    I was instructed to get there at 5:45 am for the gym’s opening at 6. The parking lot already had several cars with eager gymgoers, happy to return after a shutdown of close to six months. I dressed in a light tank top with huge cutouts for my arms and a pair of gym shorts with a way-too-short inseam. I thought about going commando but decided on a grey jock to keep everything tight.

    A fit guy in lululemon joggers and a quick-dry shirt was waiting over near the employee entrance on the right side of the building. I approached and he introduced himself as Matt, one of the personal trainers and employees at this location. He explained that after today, I was to key into this door by myself, which would lead directly to the locker rooms. There, I could get everything sorted in a locker before getting into the bioshowers. I could key in once I was inside the shower, and Vettera could track the hours I logged in the shower servicing sweaty men.

    Matt asked if I had any questions, and I jumped at the chance. I asked if I was fine wearing what I had on, and he said that he didn’t care what I wore as long as I’d prevent his clients from catching Andro. I asked if I could take any breaks; the onboarding info I’d received told me that I’d work Monday/Wednesday/Friday from 6am to 2 pm. He said I was welcome to take breaks as I needed, but also made it clear that every guy going to the gym *needed* to be washed down. I told him that I didn’t intend to miss a single one.

    “So are you like…” Matt prompted as he handed me my keycard and swiped his own to enter the locker room. “… into this stuff?”

    “I mean,” I stalled as I tried to figure out if I should lie or not. “Not really. It’s more for the money.”

    “Ah, sure. They must make it pretty enticing.”

    “Yeah, I guess.” We walked into the locker room, noticing instantly that the air was doused in cleaning supplies. They must have given it a once-over before opening again. We walked in on 4 neat rows of lockers in this main room; I saw over to the left was the gym access hallway. Farther to the right, there were a few toilet stalls and urinals, then just past the urinals were the freshly installed bio-showers, along with an accompanying glass-framed sign.

    “But you’re not into dudes?” I shifted a little at Matt’s question.

    “No, I mean, I am. But I’ve never like. Licked a guy’s armpit.”

    “Ah see! I knew it bro. You just seemed like you would be. No judgement though,” Matt covered. I was getting less interested in our little conversation.

    I took a few steps over and admired the shower; it was as I read it would be. The sign pictured a cartoon man first sitting down straddling the shower and leaning forward, so that his puckered asshole, taint, balls, and cock fell into the central opening. There was an accompanying stopwatch icon with 30 seconds marked out. The second step pictured him leaning back and raising his arms, along with lowering his feet into the holes in the bottom of the shower. The time icon here finished the stopwatch with another 30 second interval. It seemed like, at minimum, I would be sanitizing these guys for a minute each.

    “The entrance is back behind, here I’ll show you. Do you wanna put anything in a locker first?” I tried to think if I had anything I needed to put up; I needed my key card to log my hours, and I figured I should keep my phone with me in case there was ever a lull in the foot traffic. I said no, and he pulled me around the corner where there were about 15 shower heads in a white tile room. He led me over to the side and took my key from me, sliding it against the wall. I could barely tell that it was a door, but it propped open easily. Inside, the space was dark, and while there was about a closet’s worth of standing space immediately visible I could see further down that the space dropped down a bit so that I’d be at least kneeling while I was actively doing the deed. Matt pointed out the scanner against the inside of the chamber, where I scanned my key card and the small indicator light lit up green.

    “There, you should be all set up. Another trainer will be back to retrieve you at the end of your shift, though in the future you can just clock out. And a coworker of yours should be here around noon. Until then, enjoy your new experience.” Matt hid something in the tone of his last sentence, leading me to believe that I was getting myself into more than I’d anticipated. He shut the door behind me and I was alone in the shower.

    I got used to my new workspace. The largest compartment in the chamber was the rear section, which was tall enough to stand up in. Eight slant holes opened up to the fluorescent lighting in the locker room. The height of the shower then dropped down so that I’d have to drop to my knees to get under the ‘seat’ portion. This was aided in a cushioned flooring that extended out below the lower regions, assuring that I could stay on my knees for as long as I needed. The material felt plastic, like the fabric they’d use on a decent piece of outside furniture. Stain and water resistant. Perfect for wear and tear.

    The chamber dropped one final time, so that I’d have to crawl on my hands and knees to get down into the space. The holes were angled such that men using the shower would drop their feet down and back, displaying the soles of their feet to my waiting face. This was the part I was least excited for and would almost certainly be the most demeaning. There’s something about the notion of pressing your body to the ground and crawling to lick the foot of a stranger that really embarrassed me.

    The first few minutes were spent in tense anticipation. The gym would open soon, and my curiosity for the experience had me almost shaking. I shed my tank top as the small enclosed space had already begun to grow humid. My thoughts wondered to Matt’s last few words to me. I hadn’t thought of another person working in the showers with me, but with four ‘stalls’ I suppose it only made sense to get more work for peak hours. They hadn’t told me anything about another employee in Vettera’s email though.

    I was in the middle of thinking about my potential companion when I heard a commotion from the locker room. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to smell and lick sweaty men for a living.

    It took anyone a while before they sat down in the bioshowers. I had neglected to bring a watch and there was no clock in the chamber, so I was left to guess at time intervals. I’d heard multiple people getting their lockers sorted, and I could only imagine the first batch of gym-goers was out in the gym working out that very moment. The clanging of the lockers and shuffling of clothing bled into the background and I was left waiting for my first customer.

    I felt like about 40 minutes had gone by when I finally saw the shaft of light coming from the seat above me eclipsed and then blocked entirely. I looked up from my seated position and was greeted with exactly what was promised; a muscular, hairy gym bro’s ass.

    The ambient light in the chamber was enough for me to marvel at his toned glutes. They were pulled apart by the seat of the chair, allowing me to see not only his round full asscheeks but his tight hole too. Curly, brown hairs coated his big ass, with fuller patches near his asshole and running along both sides of his perineum. He had worked out pretty hard and his ball sack hung low and sweaty, covered in the same brown curls. I had anticipated that most of these straight gym bros would skip out on the manscaping, and he was prime evidence for my theory. Sitting behind him, his sagging ballsack obscured my vision of his cock. That was alright, though. I’d get a pretty good look soon enough.

    I sat more squarely below him and lined my mouth up with his hole. My dick started to chub up as I leaned in, eager to experience worshipping another man as I had fantasized. Now only inches away, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I could tell that he was breathing heavily above me, and as I closed in I took a deep sniff of his ripe, sweaty asshole. My first breath was full of masculine musk, organic and heady. I moved my nose towards the center and brushed up against his clenched, knit muscle of an asshole. I felt his ring instinctually close around the tip of my nose before becoming soft and pliable. I was pleasantly surprised and tilted my head upwards to take another deep whiff before I began to bathe him. This second inhale was more raw and organic, much like the taste I’d lick off my finger after playing with my prostate. The accrued musk was once again intoxicating and I flattened my tongue against the base of his perineum. I licked upwards in one slow move, aiming to coat the entirety of his furry trench.

    The salt on his sweaty skin made me flinch; it was unlike the musk that I’d been smelling from his hole. I should have expected such an exhausted guy to be drenched in sweat; I pushed past the initial shock and continued to run my tongue up along his hole. I was rewarded with more earthy musk and a slightly funky BO as I rimmed the stud as far as he would let me.

    I heard and felt the jock snort above me, treating this whole thing like a trip to the shitter. I guess in many ways, it was. He adjusted himself slightly, which I took to be my sign to move on. I dragged my tongue up and across his perineum, moving back and forth a few times to cover the width of his undercarriage. I turned around as I moved towards the balls and cock, pivoting around such that I was sitting facing his package. A completely soft, uncut cock sat above his pendulous ball sack. Pubic hair radiated out from the base of his dick over his inner thighs and as far up his stomach as I could see. What’s more, the smells were a lot stronger facing in this direction. I anticipated some pretty strong scents trapped in that mat of hair.

    I stooped down and opened my mouth wide, awaiting his sweaty, hair-coated sack. I then proceeded to teabag myself on accident as I misjudged the distance. As I pulled away, I could feel the moisture on my cheek and nose from his drenched balls. I went again, feeling his ball hairs tracing short paths on my tongue as I cradled his sack. His balls were heavy, and I had to stretch a bit to fit them both in my mouth. I bathed the soft skin with my saliva, making sure that I covered all of the folds as I licked up to the base of his cock.

    The man above me cleared his throat as I enveloped his organ. Compared to his ass and his balls, his cock was relatively free of taste. He did not seem like he would respond to oral pleasures, as he remained soft and pliable even as he reached towards my throat. Though his cock was clean, the unmistakable musk of his pubic hairs pressed itself into my nose as I made contact with his pelvis. Soft, his cock was a very manageable four inches. I took the opportunity to maneuver my tongue around so I could lick around the base of his shaft.

    I leaned back on my haunches to take a breath. His cock glistened before me, slick with my antiarchaebiotic agent-laden spit. I took a moment to assess myself and found that my enthusiastic oral service had left trails of saliva running down my face, streaking my tank top with darkened blobs. Those weren’t the only dark spots, though. Even with limited time for me to enjoy this sexual exploration, I couldn’t ignore the throbbing hardon in my shorts and the coin-sized precum stain on my left inner thigh. “Fuck,” I barely whispered to myself, as I shot a hand down to give my dick a few quick over-the-clothes strokes.

    The man above me shifted in the seat, pushing his cock farther out towards the opening. I assume he tilted slightly to assume the second position, in which his feet and armpits would be cleaned. There’s work to do.

    I considered briefly that an order of operations was not strictly defined for this step. I was already crouching down in the lower section of the chamber, so I decided feet would be first. I pivoted once again and forced my head and upper body down to the cushioned floor. Awaiting, framed by the halos of gym light filtering in around his set of ankles, was a pair of large, calloused feet. They were wide, and–in bending his knees back to fit them into the holes in the chamber–he flexed them back so that the toes were all held tightly together.

    I began by licking long stripes from the ball of his foot to the heel. It was relatively devoid of flavor, though with my entire face smushed between both feet, the smell of his old sneakers and used socks was strong. Bathing the bulk of his feet did not relieve his tension as I had hoped, and if he did not relax I knew I’d have a tough time getting between his toes. I lingered on his the meat of his calloused sole, attempting to work out the muscle and relax his foot. After some time, I gave up and began to force my tongue between his toes. Here it was much clearer that this man did not change his socks frequently; dots of lint from old pairs remained stuck as I worked to dislodge these potential contaminants from his firm toes. By the end, I was desperate for a palette cleanser.

    Thank god I was in store for one. I backed out carefully before spinning around to stand in the back of the chamber. There was another reason I had wanted to do the feet before the armpits; if another man didn’t come for a while, I’d have whatever taste I last serviced to keep me company. I’d much rather that be a rank armpit than a funky foot.

    I leaned in and lifted my nose, desperate to dive into this guy’s hairy right pit. To my gratitude, it didn’t appear that this guy ever thought to shave his pits. The brown hair here was lighter and less distinct, forming tufts below his muscular arms. The only exception was the strands matted down with sweat that ran radially from the pit of his arm, stuck to his sweaty skin.

    The musk here was better than anything I’d smelled from this guy thus far. Unfortunately, it was dampened by a very faint taste of old spice deodorant. Still, the man had a real animal appeal to his pheromones, immediately calling to mind what it would be like to be buried in his pit while he was fucking the shit out of me. I began to lick full stripes beginning down by the chest and running up to his upper arm. I dragged my nose greedily through his forest of pit hair, feeling like a pervert as my cock pulsed below me.

    And then, it was done. The guy shifted and I pulled my face away. The musky pit was replaced with bright blue-toned light as it opened up the the gym once again. I had the opportunity to look up into the hole to see the man whose ass, taint, balls, cock, feet, and pits I had just serviced. However, he could also look down at me. I decided to take a step back into the darkness; I didn’t want to make trouble with my very first customer. I heard him heave himself up and the flapping of a towel being unfurled. Anything more than that blended in with the background of the locker room.

  • The Guncle & The Army Dad

    1. The Look

    Paul was already sweating by the time he reached security. His sister, Jen, was somewhere ahead, wrangling her two kids like a professional sheepdog, but Paul had inherited the backpack, the neon pink carry-on, and a sticky half-open granola bar. He’d agreed to “play dad” for this trip—the reliable guncle—good for piggybacks, zoo dates, and the kind of jokes that made Jen roll her eyes but secretly laugh.

    A week in, and the glow was fading fast. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his niece and nephew—he did—but the relentless chorus of “Uncle Paul, Uncle Paul!” had started to grind on his nerves. In his real life, he was used to dinners out, sweating gym sessions, and grown-up conversations that didn’t involve who farted in the car. 

    The layover, with its screaming children, rolling luggage clatter, and bad coffee, felt like a purgatory built just for him.

    Dragging the carry-on past Hudson News, he saw them—a family so perfectly “American Dad” it could’ve been an ad. Four boys, all in various states of motion, and at the center, the dad: square jaw, tight t-shirt over a body carved from stone, a baseball cap pulled low, and a look of calm that suggested nothing fazed him. 

    His blond mustache was trimmed precisely, not a hair past or over his upper lip. It looked good on his square jaw, sharp and clean. What Paul’s knew of the military could fit on a cocktail olive, but the man’s hard body, his posture—Paul would bet money he was between deployments. 

    The mom was fit, made-up, athleisure-wrapped, and totally unbothered by the circus around her—the kind of woman who probably crushed it in her Peloton class the afternoon after giving birth. Feminine but tough as nails, every bit the match for a guy like that. 

    Paul’s eyes lingered, maybe a second too long on the dad. He was used to trading those glances—he was good-looking enough himself that he’d never felt shy—but this was different. The guy was a dad, and not just hot, he was mythic, the kind of man Paul’s buddies would whisper about after a beer too many.

    And then it happened: the dad looked up. He took off his cap for a brief moment, ran a broad hand over his military buzzcut, then slid the cap back on with practiced ease. Their eyes met. Not a scowl, not a “watch yourself, buddy,” but something else—a half-smile curling at the edge of his mouth. Paul blinked, startled. The dad held his gaze a beat longer, then turned back to his sons, who were already wrestling over a bag of chips.

    Paul felt a flush creep up his neck. For the first time in days, “Uncle Paul” subsided, and he felt more like himself. He grinned, the moment replaying in his mind as he hustled to catch up with his family, heart thumping just a little faster than before.


    2. The Train and the Food Court

    The security line felt like it might actually be the end of him. His nephew zigzagged under the stanchions like a wild rabbit, his niece was mid-meltdown over a confiscated juice pouch, and Jen radiated that particular non-reactive energy only single mothers and hostage negotiators can achieve. Paul tried to keep it together, shucking his sneakers with one hand and untangling a backpack strap from his niece’s arm with the other.

    What he wouldn’t give for a cocktail in the airline lounge.

    That’s when he saw the dad again, a few lanes over. Even from behind Paul would’ve recognized that body anywhere—shoulders broad enough to block out the airport fluorescents, a faded t-shirt straining against hard biceps. The dad was herding his own kids through the metal detector with military precision, voice low and calm, ending with, “At ease, boys.”

    Their eyes met again. The dad’s mouth twitched just barely as he handed off his thick belt to a TSA agent. This time, Paul didn’t look away. He cocked an eyebrow, letting a little of his own confidence show through. The dad caught it, then turned back to wrangling his brood, but not before Paul caught the flash of recognition.

    They made it through security in one piece, more or less, and hustled toward the airport train. By some cosmic joke, both families ended up crammed into the same car. Paul found himself standing, one hand gripping the overhead strap, the other clutching his niece’s wrist. The dad stood across from him, anchoring his youngest with an easy arm, cap still low.

    The train lurched forward. The dad’s hips swayed, loose, bicep flexing subtly as he steadied himself. Paul tried not to stare but failed completely. He watched the way the dad’s shoulders filled his shirt, saw the thighs and hips made for breeding, feeling his mouth salivate.

    Then the train made a sudden, jerky stop. Paul lost his grip on the strap and, before he could catch himself, stumbled forward—heading toward a face plant at the dad’s feet.

    The dad barely moved—one hand catching Paul with a quick, firm grip at his arm. Paul’s niece squealed in delight, still hanging on him—but Paul was mostly aware of the heat and scent of the dad, the strength of the hand around his bicep.

    “How’d you get those guns through security?” the dad said, voice low, a teasing edge.

    Paul blinked, caught off guard. “What, these?” He lifted his arms a little, unsure if the compliment was real or just a joke. 

    The dad’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Be careful, city boy. Those’ll cause a scene.”

    City boy? Hokey, but Paul’s cheeks flushed, and he grinned despite himself. The moment hung between them—warm, charged, a little uncertain.

    At the next stop, the families spilled out and, by fate or chaos, wound up in the same corner of the food court. Jen was negotiating with the kids over smoothies; the dad’s wife was corralling her own four into a booth. Paul made a beeline for coffee. He was halfway through his first sip when disaster struck—a smoothie cup, launched by his nephew’s elbow, arced through the air and landed squarely at the dad’s feet.

    Mortified, Paul scrambled over, dropping to his knees with a wad of napkins, right in front of the dad’s sneakers. He looked up, about to apologize, and found himself staring at the solid bulge, the dad’s thighs, the faded denim stretched just so. Paul’s gaze travelled up, meeting the dad’s eyes—amused, unbothered, the cap tipped back as he looked down, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

    Paul dabbed at the puddle as the dad laughed—a deep, easy sound—and crouched down, helping mop up the mess. Up close, he smelled like aftershave and the faint travel sweat that couldn’t be masked entirely.

    Paul grimaced, meeting his gaze. “Sorry about the mess—”

    “No worries,” the dad said, glancing up with a sly grin. “Boys will be boys.”

    His eyes flicked up and down Paul, and his voice dropped just enough for Paul to catch the real message: You too, maybe.

    Paul grinned back, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

    “You keep popping up at my feet, people are gonna talk,” the dad said, voice pitched low enough for only Paul to hear.

    Then he heard his name in the distance. Then again. It was Jen calling for him. The moment broke.

    The dad straightened, and slipped back to his family. Paul crouched there, heart racing.


    3. The Proposition

    The airport had that weird, timeless vibe airports always do—no day, no night, just a constant flow of travelers in questionable outfits and announcements crackling over tinny speakers. Paul was on guncle autopilot: racing his nephew down the long corridor, ferrying napkins to his niece, breaking up a Pokémon card war—but his mind kept drifting back to the dad: the look, the body, the laugh.

    They were packing up to move toward their gate when Paul saw him again, just beyond the food court, standing near a row of vending machines. The dad’s wife was admonishing two of the boys; the other two were orbiting him, but he was momentarily unoccupied, scanning his phone. Paul hesitated, then found himself drifting closer, under the pretense of checking out the snack options.

    The dad glanced up, caught him, and didn’t bother pretending. “Need a protein fix?” he drawled, eyes lingering.

    Paul blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

    Rob smirked and nodded toward the vending machine column stocked with hard-boiled eggs. “That.”

    Paul grinned, catching the joke. “Something like that.”

    There was a beat. The dad looked Paul up and down, then tilted his head toward a nearby corridor, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You got two minutes?”

    Paul blinked, then shrugged. “Sure.”

    They ducked around the corner, away from the main traffic, landing in the shadow of a bank of private work booths. The dad checked over his shoulder—no wife, no kids in sight—then fixed Paul with a look so direct it pinned him in place.

    “I’m about to be locked in a tin can for ten hours with four little monsters,” the dad said, voice pitched low. “If I don’t get some relief now, I might not make it. You interested?”

    Paul stared for a second, thrown by the bluntness, then laughed—part nerves, part disbelief, all arousal. “You’re not shy, are you?”

    The dad grinned, stepping closer, their bodies nearly touching. “Not about this. You’ve been looking at me like you want to climb me since Hudson News.”

    Paul glanced toward the hall where the dad’s wife was probably corralling the kids and asked with a smirk, “What about her?”

    Rob shrugged, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “If I even look at her funny, she gets pregnant. So… we have an understanding.” He glanced back at Paul. “And you? You fit the bill.”

    Paul laughed, feeling the weight of the unspoken agreement between them, and the moment shifted, charged with something more than just lust, as he texted Jen: “Coffee. Back in 5.” She replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a picture of his niece making a mess of her fries.

    He looked up, meeting the dad’s full-jawed grin. “What do you have in mind?”

    The dad reached for the handle of a work booth, glancing up and down the hallway. “Come on,” he said, voice soft but commanding. “Before someone needs to jump on a Zoom meeting.”

    Paul barely hesitated. He slipped inside, the dad squeezed right behind, the door clicking shut behind them—kids and departures and guncle duties on the other side.


    4. The Encounter

    Rob grinned, body filling the cramped space, unbuckling his belt. “I’m Rob, by the way,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “Just so you know who to blame if your knees hurt later.”

    Paul let out a short, surprised laugh. “Paul. And I’m not exactly fragile.”

    Rob’s hands landed on Paul’s hips, big and steady, pinning him gently against the wall. “You look like you need this as much as I do,” he said, brushing his thumb along Paul’s waistband.

    Paul’s breath caught. Rob leaned in, kissing him once, rough and sure. Then Rob’s hands pushed, a gentle nudge down. “Let’s see what you can do, city boy.”

    Paul’s knees bent automatically. He dropped in the cramped space, hands gliding up Rob’s thighs. Rob looked down, then—grinning—turned his baseball cap backwards, the move practiced and cocky. “Don’t want to block the view,” he said, voice playful.

    Rob shoved his jeans down just enough, and Paul’s eyes widened—okay, maybe the gym did not, in fact, prepare him for this—the thick, veined, hard cock. For a split second, Paul just stared, torn between awe and the sudden urge to laugh at the sheer, over-the-top masculinity of it.

    Rob raised his t-shirt slightly, thick forearm flexing, the hard flat of his lower abs  and his blond pubes exposed. “Careful—this thing only shoots Y chromosomes. Four boys. Doc says I’m practically a genetic weapon.”

    Paul laughed, mouth full, the sound vibrating against Rob. He broke away, licking his lips. “Figures. I always had a thing for dangerous men.”

    Paul’s heart pounded as he leaned in, tasting the salty skin. Rob’s hand went to the back of his head, not forcing, just guiding, fingers threading through his hair. Paul took him in, slow at first, tongue teasing, feeling the weight and heat and hearing Rob sigh above him.

    The booth was cramped and the risk only made it hotter. Paul’s own heart hammered as he worked, hands gripping Rob’s hard ass, pulling him in. Rob groaned, hips loose, sinking his cock into the hot, wet mouth, beginning a slow glide in and nearly out. He rocked just a little, cap nearly slipping off. “Fuck, city boy. That’s it. You’re gonna get me off right here, aren’t you?”

    Paul replied with a glance up, mouth still full, eyes sparkling—he loved the absurdity, the heat, the feeling of getting this ridiculously hot alpha dad off. He worked Rob with skill and enthusiasm, not caring for a second about the world outside.

    Then a distant voice crackled over the airport intercom: “Beginning boarding call for Flight 542 to London Heathrow. All passengers, please proceed to Gate C7.”

    The sound sliced through the cramped booth, a sharp reminder that time was running out.

    The pace picked up, and the booth was filled with the sounds of their bodies: the wet, slick slide of skin, the rhythmic gunk gunk gunk of Paul’s mouth working Rob’s length, Rob’s low, guttural groans vibrating through the tight space, and muttered encouragement—“Fuck yeah, city boy, you’re driving me crazy. Keep that up and I swear I’m gonna miss my flight.”

    Rob’s meat worked into Paul’s throat, lubed with thick spit and precum, and he began to thrust in the tight space, triggering throaty, wet sounds, the gunk gunk gunk filling the work station as Rob’s hips moved with mounting urgency.

    “Fuck yeahhhh,” Rob groaned deep and ragged as he pushed deeper into Paul’s throat, filling it, then his hand tightened. “Gonna—FUCK! Here it comes—” and with a grunt and a shudder, his body stiffened, his cock swelled. There was a thick, sudden surge—a salty heat flooding Paul’s mouth and throat, nearly his nose, making him snort and choke.

    His body tensed sharply, hands reflexively pushing back against Rob’s rock-hard thighs as he gulped, swallowing, barely keeping pace with the waves of cum.

    “That’s it, city boy,” Rob said, half words, half moans, a big calloused hand cushioning Paul’s head from the wall as his hips slowly pumped. “Take it all.”

    Through sheer will and desire Paul kept swallowing, almost cumming himself as he sucked the last of the army dad’s load straight from his fat cock.

    Rob pressed against the wall, catching his breath. He pulled Paul to his feet with one big hand. “Damn. Best layover I’ve had in years.”

    Paul grinned, voice raw. “Glad I could help.”

    His reply was cut off as Rob suddenly kissed him—hungry, confident, but with a playfulness that made Paul’s knees go a little wobbly. Rob’s hands slid down, fingers digging in.

    When he broke away, a lazy grin spread across his face. He looked down, still catching his breath, and nodded at Paul’s obvious arousal. “You need a little relief yourself, city boy?”

    Paul smirked, shifting in the cramped space. Rob’s schtick—”city boy”—on anyone else would be so cringe. But on him? “Wouldn’t say no.”

    Rob gripped him by the hips and dropped to his knees—big hands moving with practiced speed, undoing Paul’s waistband before Paul even fully registered what was happening. His cap was fixed firmly backwards on his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he locked onto the prize.

    Paul barely had time to brace himself before Rob’s mouth was on him, warm and confident, swallowing him down in one smooth, eager motion. The sensation hit him all at once—the wet heat, the firm grip of Rob’s hands on his thighs, the quick, skilled movements that made his breath catch. It was fast, almost too fast for Paul to process, but electric, raw, and consuming.

    Paul bit his fist to keep quiet, hips pumping instinctively as Rob worked him expertly, a low, satisfied hum vibrating through the tight space. The absurdity of the hot army dad flipping the script, sucking him off so eagerly, made it even hotter.

    He came with a muffled gasp, face pressed hard against the wall, shuddering as he pumped into Rob’s waiting mouth, Rob swallowing him down with practiced ease. “Fuck yeah.”

    Rob straightened, chest rising, eyes bright with tears. Their breaths mingled, lips brushed, and then a hot, wet kiss—sticky with each other’s taste, the afterglow softening even the army dad’s usual tough facade.

    Rob zipped up, eyes soft, fixed his cap, and slapped Paul on the shoulder. “Now that’s what I call a fair exchange.” 

    Paul grinned, still catching his breath. “Best layover I’ve ever had.”

    They slipped out of the workstation,  into the bright, humming anonymity of the airport, each adjusting their spent junk. 

    Rob winked, turning away. “See you in another life, city boy.”


    5. Return to Normal

    Paul rejoined his family at the gate, cheeks still flushed, pulse skipping. Jen looked up from her phone, eyebrow cocked.

    “Geez, Paul, I thought you were gonna miss boarding.” She looked him over—the damp of his hair, the flush of his cheeks. “You disappear for five minutes and come back looking like you ran a marathon. You’re as bad as the kids.” She nudged him, smirking. “You sure you’re up for this whole ‘dad’ gig?”

    Paul tried to muster indignation, but all he could do was grin, wiping a stray drop of sweat from his brow. “Trust me, Jen, I feel better than in a long time. Ready for anything.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Well, save some of it for chasing after these two on the plane. You’re the best guncle in the business, even if you act like a twelve-year-old yourself half the time.”

    The boarding line was chaos: kids whining, as first class and military passengers boarded, Jen searching for the right group number. Paul juggling snacks and his niece, who clung to him like a baby koala. And then, as he squeezed through his aisle, he spotted Rob—already settled in an aisle seat, cap low, two boys wedged beside him, the other two and his wife seated just ahead.

    Rob’s eyes met Paul’s. Then a quick, discreet two-fingered salute, the secret just between them.

    Paul kept moving, niece on his hip, dropping into place a few rows behind, as if nothing at all had happened, but the grin he couldn’t contain. But the secret thrill hummed under his skin, making the crowded, noisy cabin feel like the most exciting place on earth.

    As the plane taxied out, Jen nudged him. “What’s got you smiling, guncle? You’re way too cheerful for someone about to be trapped with kids for ten hours.”

    Rob caught Paul’s eye one more time. With a tiny, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, he nodded back toward the mid-plane lavatory. His lips quirked, a private, wolfish grin. The unspoken dare: round two, if you’re brave enough.

    Paul laughed out loud. “Guess I’m getting used to the chaos.”

    He settled back, heart pounding, and let himself savor the ridiculous, intoxicating possibility of what might come next.

    END


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  • I Proved It to My Straight Friends

    The evening was simple, a little too quiet for us. The table was empty after the pizza, music played between the bottles, and we laughed at anything.

    There were four of us sitting there: me, Jason, Ethan, and Ryan.

    Jason was the loud, confident type. He always talked the most, laughed the loudest, and looked like he had just come back from the gym, tanned, slightly flushed from beer, with his biceps protruding from his rolled-up sleeves.

    Ethan was the opposite: quiet but brilliant. A bit nerdy, a bit mysterious, with light hair and neatly trimmed facial hair. He sat with his leg on his knee, twirling a bottle between his fingers.

    And Ryan… Ryan was the golden boy everyone talks about. Athletic, handsome, with a perfect smile and the ease that only comes to those who have always had everything. He had strong arms, tanned skin, and that confidence in his eyes, until now.

    “I can’t remember the last time we had this much fun,” Jason said, leaning back on the couch.

    “That’s because there are no girls,” Ethan replied, clinking his bottle with mine. “No drama. No sulking. Paradise.”

    Ryan laughed. “Speak for yourself. Mine is perfect. Gold.”

    I raised an eyebrow. “Gold, meaning?”

    “Everything.” He took a sip of beer and looked away, as if smiling to himself at the memory. “In bed… no one can beat her.”

    Jason snorted. “Sure, everyone says that about theirs.”

    Ryan shook his head. “No, seriously. No one could give me the kind of pleasure she does.”

    I don’t know why it struck me. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the way his jaw tightened when he said it. The way his voice dropped slightly, as if he were saying something he shouldn’t.

    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said calmly.

    Silence. Everyone looked at me.

    Ryan raised his eyebrows. “What?”

    “I’m just saying you’re wrong.”

    Jason snorted with laughter, Ethan looked amused, but Ryan no longer seemed relaxed.

    His smile faded a little.

    For a second, I saw something else in his eyes, like a shadow of curiosity.

    “Meaning?” he asked, glancing at me from under his eyelashes.

    I shrugged as if it meant nothing.

    “Nothing, man. Just… not everything good has to be with a girl.”

    Ethan burst out laughing, trying to lighten the mood, but I could already see that the seed had been planted.

    Ryan looked at me again, longer than he should have.

    Then he went back to his beer.

    But I knew this was just the beginning.

    Ryan laughed, but there was something different in his tone, less confidence, more nerves.

    “Matt, come on. You don’t know how it works with us.”

    “I know exactly,” I replied calmly, not taking my eyes off him. “Gay guys know cocks better than girls do. I know when a guy is really losing himself in it.”

    Ethan raised an eyebrow, smiling half-heartedly. “Oh, here we go.”

    Jason looked between us. “Well, now you have something to prove, man.”

    Ryan shook his head, trying to laugh, but the laugh sounded too high, as if he was trying to cover something up. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

    “I’m not joking.” I leaned over the table. “Five minutes. If I don’t knock you down, we forget about it.”

    “And if you knock me down?” he asked, with a smile that tried to be ironic, but there was something else in his eyes.

    “Then you’ll admit you were wrong.”

    Ethan snorted. “Ryan, come on. Do science a favor.”

    “Okay,” Ryan said after a moment. “You have five minutes.”

    I moved the bottles and pushed the table aside. The silence became heavy, strangely tense. Jason and Ethan fell silent, as if they had suddenly forgotten that it was just a joke.

    I stood up slowly. Ryan sat motionless, his mouth slightly open. I could see his chest rising too quickly.

    “What are you…” he began, but stopped when I knelt between his legs.

    The zipper on his jeans clicked loudly, metallically, as if in an empty room.

    I pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees.

    Everything fell silent.

    Ethan looked at Jason, but neither of them spoke.

    There was something in the air that had long since ceased to be a joke.

    And I… for the first time that evening, I felt that I was in complete control.

    “Hey, are you really doing this?” Ryan tried to laugh, but his voice trembled.

    “You’ll understand in a moment,” I replied quietly.

    He was already semi-hard, heavy, hot under my hand. I could feel the pulsing, the warmth of his skin, and the scent that hit me like something forbidden, yet damn familiar. I relaxed my lips and ran my tongue over the tip, slowly, barely touching it. His body jerked immediately, as if he had been touched by electricity.

    “Fuck, Matt…” he murmured, but it wasn’t laughter anymore.

    I wrapped my lips around him, slowly pulling him deeper until I felt his breath catch. I wrapped one hand around the base and rested the other on his thigh. The rhythm was calm, steady, confident. I could feel his muscles tense with every movement of my head.

    “Does she do that to you?” I whispered between movements, without stopping. “Does she look you in the eyes when you’re on the edge?”

    I looked up.

    He was looking at me.

    There was no confidence left in his eyes. Only pure, raw desire.

    I slid him deeper until I felt him touch my throat. The sound was wet, heavy, loud. I could feel his whole body tense at the sound. Jason and Ethan sat in silence. No one moved.

    Ryan grabbed my hair, but not to push me away, just to feel it harder.

    “Matt… fuck… I’m about to…”

    I didn’t stop. I pulled him deeper until his hips jerked. His cum hit my throat, hard and fast. I swallowed it all without breaking eye contact.

    Silence. Only his rapid breathing and the sound of me wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

    I lifted my head. Ryan sat motionless, his eyes wide open, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

    His shoulders were heavy, his eyes empty and full at the same time. Moisture glistened on his thighs, which he couldn’t hide. His jaw was clenched, his breathing rapid. As if he was afraid to look, but couldn’t stop.

    Jason was the first to break the silence. “I can’t believe that just happened…”

    Ethan looked at me, then at Ryan. “Dude… that was sick. And… I don’t know if it was awesome or terrifying.”

    I wiped my mouth slowly, tasting the lingering flavor on my tongue. “Now you know who does it better,” I said calmly, without a smile.

    Ryan looked up. No irony, no pretense. Just the truth. “Yeah…” he whispered softly. “One hundred percent you.”

    For a second, it became unnaturally quiet. Ethan looked at Jason as if expecting a comment, but no one spoke. Everyone felt that we had crossed a line of no return.

    I looked at Ryan and said, “But compared to what I can do… that’s nothing.”

    Ryan was surprised, not knowing what was going on.

    I leaned in slightly, my voice barely a whisper. “My ass will give you more pleasure than your girlfriend.”

    Silence filled the room.

    Jason looked down, Ethan cleared his throat, but Ryan didn’t move an inch. He just looked at me, as if he didn’t know if it was a provocation or a promise.


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  • Gay Enclave

    Halloween Voyeur

    I owned a restored Victorian house in a rural, gay enclave. The vast majority of the town was inhabited by the gay community. And on weekends and holidays, lots more gays from the nearby city came to relax in their second homes, and a few tourists looking for a gay escape jointed the mix. Our town billed itself as an adult, gay haven. But while the town itself was always busy, the residential streets were quaint and peaceful.

    Halloween, and other holidays, were a delightful excuse for the town to go overboard. The town square and main street were festooned with décor and almost all the homes joined in the revelry. 

    It was a warm Saturday in late September when I was outside in my front yard putting up my Halloween decorations. The town square and main street were in the midst of their own transformations, and most of the homes on my street were in the process of being decorated. 

    Clint, my neighbor from across the street who’d moved in a few months back, was walking across the street to his mailbox. Our mailboxes were side-by-side at the edge of my yard. We were evenly matched for height at 6’1, but he was more muscular than me. The tank top and tight mesh shorts he wore nicely accentuated his muscles and hefty crotch. 

    He waved to me with a smile, “Hi neighbor. How’s it going?”

    I waved back and stopped my work, walking across the small lawn. “Pretty well,” I said. “Just getting into the spirit,” I nodded at the in-progress decorations. 

    Clint looked up and down the street, “Seems I’m behind the ball here,” he said, nonchalantly scratching his sac, making his bulge even more obvious. Since we met two months ago when he moved in, Clint and I have had palpable sexual tension, though neither of us had yet to make any attempt to move on it.

    “Halloween, or really any holiday, are taken pretty seriously here,” I explained, nonchalantly scratching my bush, my ample package bouncing in my short shorts. “There’s no pressure, but our town loves dressing up, and down,” I teased with a cheeky wink. And it was true. The town had a liberal clothing – or should I say nudity – policy, as long as the crotch area was largely covered, the outfit was good to go.

    “What’s your plan then, to dress up or down,” Clint said, his light blue eyes glinting, playing into my tease.

    “Bit of both. I’m going to be a Greek god. Gold leaf crown, armlet, skimpy toga…” I let the description trail off and pointed to my yard, “here I’m working on building a kraken to dress up the yard. Figured I’d stick to a theme.”

    “I’m sure it will look great,” he said, eyeing me.

    “What’s your plan? Dress up or down?”

    “Honestly, I have no idea yet. After seeing all this,” he gestured at our street, decorations coming to fruition, “I think I need to go shopping and figure out my plan. But it will likely be dress down,” he said with a wink.

    “I look forward to seeing that,” I grinned.

    “I’d better do a good job then,” Clint retorted, picking up his mail. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

    “Take care.”

    I returned to my work, watching Clint’s muscular butt from the corner of my eye glide underneath his mesh shorts walking back across the street. His front door closed behind him. I continued to look out of the corner of my eye as he stripped off his tank top and shorts, standing in his living room in just a jock, watching me work. His living room had an oversized picture window that never had the drapes closed, like me, making it easy to see much of his first floor. I turned, working on a different section, and scratched at my crotch in his direction.

    Clint turned; his jockstrap framed, smooth ass bouncing as he disappeared into the shadows of his house. This teasing was part of our burgeoning sexual tension. The first weekend he moved in, I caught sight of his naked ass, wet from stepping out of the shower, getting toweled off. He saw me looking and intentionally took extra time rubbing the towel up and down his crack. Unfortunately, he didn’t turn around. I still haven’t seen his package in all its glory. 

    In return, a week later when he was outside trimming his hedges, I went outside in just a jockstrap to mow my lawn. Since we have small yards, I had a walking mower. My hairy ass and full pouch bouncing for him to drink in. 

    A week later, my kraken completed, spreading over the small trees and bushes and the front porch of my home, the town was ready. All the homes were decorated, including Clint’s. He’d gone with a witches’ cauldron theme.

    Visitors had packed into the town square for the festivities there. Many of the town’s folk head into town to join them the fun and man the booths. The rest of us stay home and give out candy. The town bills itself as an adult only Halloween destination, so all of the trick-or-treaters were adults. And in keeping with the town’s dress policy, they let their freedom fly. 

    I had my gold leaf crown and gold armlet on, a skimpy toga over one shoulder showing most of my muscular chest and abs. It was also open at the side, hinting that I was free-balling underneath. A few of the trick or treaters went in for a jostle, preferring that treat to the candy.

    I could see Clint’s yard and home lit for the mood of Halloween, but unfortunately the low light and shadows made it impossible to see his costume clearly. He had some sort of helmet on, with his chest exposed and some cloth covering his crotch, and held something long in his hand, but I couldn’t make out the details. 

    Checking the time, hours had passed since the sun had set. I took one final look down the street to see if any last-minute trick-or-treaters were coming. The town set the time from 6-9pm on the residential streets.

    I flipped off my lights and went inside, taking some time to tidy up. A few cars drove by with some neighbors on the move, heading to parties. Enjoying a piece of candy, I looked out my living room window hoping to get a view of Clint and was rewarded. He was packing up for the night and flipped on the light in his living room, giving me a perfect view of his costume. 

    He was Pyramid Head. The helmet I saw was a large pyramid structure, his chest was bare but for a leather harness and some fake blood splatter. The fabric covering his crotch was sheer, also splattered with fake blood, draped over his large cock, and held at his waist by a leather band. In his hand he carried a three-foot-long double-sided dildo, also splattered in fake blood. 

    My breath caught and my cock was instantly hard, lifting my short toga. He was fucking hot.

    That’s when I caught movement down the street. A twinky guy clad in a skintight Spiderman outfit was walking toward Clint’s house. The outfit was so tight it nestled his crotch like a cup. The young guy was also fucking hot.

    As Spiderman walked up Clint’s yard, he stopped, frozen by the view of my neighbor through the window. 

    Clint finished organizing inside and looked out his window at me and then saw Spiderman.

    Clint disappeared and opened his front door, one foot stepping out onto his porch, the other foot straddling the doorframe. Still wearing the pyramid head helmet, he waved Spiderman inside with the dildo hand.

    Spiderman inched forward, tweaking one of Clint’s nipples and rubbing his barely covered crotch past him into the house. The door closed, giving me a glimpse of Clint’s naked ass before it shut. 

    My neighbor pushed Spiderman backward to stand in the picture window. The twink dropped to his knees and Clint pushed his cock and balls into his face, slapping Spiderman’s face with this cock and grinding against the mask. He bent over and rubbed his hand up and down Spiderman’s crack.

    Clint wrapped his arms about Spiderman and flipped him upside down and turned him around, knocking the pyramid helmet off, the twink’s costume covered ass facing Clint’s face. The tight costume formed to the twink’s small, curved butt. Somewhere Clint found a pair of scissors and gently cut open Spiderman’s suit along his butt crack. A tight, hairless, white ass was revealed, and Clint dove right in, licking, nibbling, and prodding at the treat. 

    My erection was leaking, making the white toga fabric see-through at the precum soaked spots. Otherwise, the toga was slipping down the top of my shaft, my 8inch erection tenting the costume beyond its limits to keep my crotch decent. Driven by lust and months of sexual tension, I opened my door and slipped across the street, finding a closer vantagepoint in Clint’s yard where I was partially hidden by his hedge and able to see the enticing encounter unfolding in my neighbor’s living room. 

    Clint flipped Spiderman back around and now had a lube bottle in his hand. His cock pressed into Spiderman’s face while drop by drop, lube slipped down Spiderman’s exposed butt. Clint lubed the dildo and started gliding it up and down Spiderman’s crack. I could hear his muffled moans from my new location. My cock throbbed and precum continued to leak out, dripping onto Clint’s yard.

    Clint leaned over, inserting the dildo into Spiderman’s ass. His twink ass swallowed the toy until several inches were comfortably inside. Clint then began to fuck him with it, slowly at first, letting his ass get used to it, and then roughly. Spiderman’s moans increased. He pressed his face harder into Clint’s crotch, licking the erect cock, precum leaking through the sheer covering onto Spiderman’s mask covered forehead. 

    My neighbor lifted Spiderman again, dildo lodged in his ass, and flipped him around, face looking out the window. One of Clint’s muscular arms held firmly across Spiderman’s chest, holding him up, feet of the floor, against his own chest, the other hand pounding the dildo into his ass. Spiderman’s crotch was wet with his precum and his cock was clearly strained, throbbing against the tight suit. 

    Clint looked up and that’s when he noticed my nearby viewpoint. He leaned into Spiderman’s ear and jackhammered his ass with the dildo. 

    Spiderman looked out the window, eyes trying to focus as they rolled in their sockets, and saw me. He screamed in pleasure and his legs spasmed, thick white cum seeped through the suit. Clint and I watched each other while Spiderman orgasmed. 

    Clint slowed his fucking but didn’t stop. He waved me inside.

    Grinning, I entered Clint’s home, “Trick or treat.”

    “Come get a treat,” Clint said, setting Spiderman down on his feet and coming around to his front, still fucking him with the dildo.

    Clint leaned in and licked a glob of the thick cum off Spiderman’s suit, grinning at me as he swallowed. 

    I joined my neighbor, our tongues licking up the twink’s cum. Clint opened his mouth and sucked on the suit, squeezing a testicle, pulling more cum from the fabric. 

    I saw the scissors on the floor and picked them up, pinching the suit, and cut open Spiderman’s crotch. His 5.5inch cut cock flopped out and into my mouth. I licked the cum off while Clint cleaned up his scrotum and taint. 

    Spiderman was moaning again, and his cock grew rigid in my mouth.

    “Fuck guys,” he yelled. “FFfuuucccckkkk.”

    Cum sprayed forth, coating my mouth. I popped off and aimed the orgasming cock at Clint. A jet of cum hit his cheek before he sucked the cock inside and swallowed the rest of Spiderman’s second load.

    His orgasm subsided and Spiderman slumped. Clint slipped the dildo from his ass.

    “Would you like some candy before you go,” Clint asked the twink.

    Spiderman shook his head, “I’ve had my treat. This town does not disappoint.” 

    Clint escorted him to the door and he walked off into the night, ass satiated, cummy dick folded back into his suit, his butt and crotch nipped by the crisp breeze.

    “Look at you getting into the spirit of the town so quickly,” I teased.

    Clint locked the door and turned to me, his 7inch cock pointing toward the ceiling. The sheer fabric was glued to his cock with precum making the fake blood look darker, more real. Thick veins pumping real blood into the dick.

    “Lots more treats to enjoy,” I said grinning.


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  • Billy Boy’s First Photoshoot

    Billy prayed to the universe that he wouldn’t get hard as he stripped off his clothes in front of his new boss and four Seniors from the college tennis team. When the pants came down and his sexy underwear was revealed he heard hoots and hollers erupted in the locker room. “You a stripper?!” Got a hot date tonight Coach??!!” “Sexy man panties!!” He dropped his underwear quickly as Jorge handed him a jock in a plastic bag. In a low voice Jorge observed. “Nice dick, dude.” 

    Billy pulled up his jock and kicked into Coach mode. “Okay boys let’s settle down.” He sat on the bench as Sean took the control. “Parker tell Coach Noff why we hold meetings in our jockstraps.”

    Parker stood up and addressed Coach O’Toole “This way we are all equal. Our coaches and our fellow players. No one is in charge. We all are equal.”

    The smart ass in the group boldly said, “We’re all equal but some of us have bigger dicks.”

    Smiling , “Okay. I get it!”

    Coach O’Toole told the boys to hit the showers and turned to me. “Come on grab your clothes, let me show you around.” He looked like he just walked out of a GQ magazine. Sculpted Irish face. His body was white, pale even. His ginger crew cut accentuated his pleasing features. And yes … he was getting a woody just thinking about the man

    The only door into the gym was found in the locker room. The student showers were tucked away for privacy.

    “So, we can just walk around in our jocks.”

    “Today, sure. It’s Sunday. Did you find a place to live yet?”

    “Found a nice apartment with a pool. Few miles South of here. Palm Grove apartments.”

    “Palm Grove? I know that place. I hired a photographer last semester to shoot the boys individually and in groups. Nice guy. Big guy! Come on let’s play a few rounds.”

    He led me into the gymnasium  which contained the basketball court. Passed that and down a hall were the Sports offices. “This is your office. Par for the course, desk, phone, file cabinet and that door leads to a bathroom which you and I share. My office is next-door and the cafeteria is down the hall. Get some shorts on and lets play a few rounds. I’d leave your shirt off Indiana boy. Hotter than hell today.”

    The men were accomplished tennis players and knew their game well. 

    But Billy was distracted. As Sean bounced all over the court Billy could see he was wearing flimsy shorts and his obviously large cock bounced up and down frantically. Afterwards they went to their offices. Billy got naked grabbed a towel and opened the door to his bathroom at the same time the naked Sean was opening his.

    “Oh Jezz, sorry.” Billy stammered covering his gen.

    “No problem. Shower’s big enough.” Sean turned on the water, soaped up a wash cloth, “Get in here.” Billy stepped into the shower, Sean started washing Billy’s back and holy fuck the man from Indiana started getting a hard on. Calmly he took the wash cloth from his boss and started washing his back Taking.  With a second washcloth Sean washed his own junk and turned to Billy and began washing his junk. “A little hard-on, huh? The boys they pop boners all the time when they shower.” Sean squeezed some shampoo in his palm and attacked Billy’s hair, so he took suds and spread it on Sean’s crew cut. They started laughing while they rinsed off their bodies. 

    “I’m so grateful you accepted the position. You and I are gonna rock this team!!!

    Driving home Billy decided he admired the way Sean O’Toole carried himself and he was obviously good natured. His body was beautiful. Showering next to Sean was breathtaking. He told himself to go straight to his computer and jackoff to a sex story on GayDemon.

    Unfortunately when he got back to the apartment. he saw Big Jim taping a note on my door.

    “Hi Jim!”

    The old gentlemen turned around. “Hello there Billy Boy. Just got a call from a former client, your new boss, Sean. 

    “He mentioned you. Spoke very highly of you. He said you did a great with the individual shots of the players.”

    “And I think his nudes were beautiful. His body is so perfect.”

    Billy smiled. “You paid him to pose?”

    “Oh No! He found me for the tennis shoots but used me when he wanted nude photos for his girlfriend.”

    His heart sank. Girlfriend? Then what was the whole thing about being in the shower together? If he wants some nudes of himself. Why not! “Okay Big Jim I’ll let you pay me a hundred dollars and I will strip for you..”

    “Sweet.” Big Jim put his arm around Billy’s shoulder walking him to his apartment. “I get the feeling I should jump on this opportunity before you get too nervous.”

    Once inside the apartment was set up like a studio. Multiply cameras. The small dining room had a light set up.  A fancy French sette and an old leather saddle were in the corner. Photos in large frames mostly of naked men and men having sex with each other. His dick was getting hard. After setting up his camera Big Jim asked Billy if ever smoked pot. Billy nodded. 

    “Go to the light table. There’s a joint there and a lighter from last night.” Billy sucked the joint halfway down in 2 minutes.   

    “Have you got white briefs on?”

    “No, just a white jock.”

    “That’ll do. Put the saddle on top of the sofa, please.” Big Jim instructed, “then get on the saddle with your very beautiful round ass in the air.” Snap. Snap. Then suddenly he felt his neighbors tongue licking his butthole. Big Jim pulled the camera closer. He leaned in and spat on Billy’s hole. The close-up was perfect and included one of straps from the jock. Snap. Snap.

    The pot hit Billy as Big Jim put the saddle back. “Get on the sofa Billy and start whacking off.” A series of photos were taken. Then Big Jim handed him a dildo, “start fucking yourself.” Stoned as he was …  Billy was having difficulty time. 

    “What’s a matter, kiddo?”

    “Big Jim, I have never been fucked up my butt. I’m sorry.”

    “Okay.” Big Jim pulled out a tube of astro glide, greased two of his fingers and smeared the lube on Billy’s Boy beautiful butthole. Then greased Billy’s middle finger and  helped him stick it up his ass. Snap. Snap. Snap. “What I should do is fuck you!”

    NEXT Chapter – Billy has to get fucked but by who!

  • Begging for Master’s Filthy Creampie Praise

    The phone glowed in the dim light of my bedroom, another night spent scrolling through a curated feed of leather, rope, and powerful silhouettes. My thumb paused on a photo. Ansh. The name was simple, the man was not. He was all sharp jawline and dark, piercing eyes that seemed to look right through the screen, through me. A caption read: ‘Discipline is the highest form of care.’ My heart hammered against my ribs. I took a shaky breath and typed a DM before I could lose my nerve.

    ‘Hi. I saw your profile. I’m… curious.’

    I didn’t expect a reply, not from someone who looked like that. But my phone buzzed barely a minute later.

    Ansh:Curious is a good starting point. What intrigues you, boy?

    The word ‘boy’ sent a jolt straight to my cock. I fumbled typing a response.

    Me:Everything. I don’t know anything, not really. Just what I’ve read. I want to know what it feels like.

    Ansh:Feels like to be owned? To have your every pleasure and pain controlled by someone who knows exactly what you need?

    Yes, I thought, my skin heating. Exactly that.

    Me:How do you know what I need?

    Ansh:Because you messaged me. You’re a good boy looking for a firm hand. Aren’t you?

    I was already hard, my thin pajama pants doing nothing to hide it. I typed back, my fingers trembling.

    Me:I think I am.

    Ansh:Think? We will need more certainty than that. But we can start with a trial. Online. My rules. Your obedience. Do you agree?

    A trial. This was happening. A rush of fear and dizzying excitement flooded me.

    Me:I agree.

    Ansh:Good. First rule: You will call me Master. Say it.

    I licked my lips, my throat dry. I typed the word, feeling its weight.

    Me:Master.

    Ansh:Very good, boy. Now, I want you to get comfortable. Take your clothes off. All of them. I want you naked for me.

    A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through me. I kicked off my pants and pulled my shirt over my head, the cool air hitting my bare skin. I was completely exposed, alone in my room, yet I felt his gaze on me.

    Me:I’m naked, Master.

    Ansh:Touch yourself. Slowly. I want to know what my new boy feels like. Start with your chest. Tell me.

    My hand drifted to my chest, fingers brushing over a nipple. It peaked instantly under my touch.

    Me:My nipples are hard, Master. Really sensitive.

    Ansh:Pinch one. Harder. Don’t be gentle. You’re not here for gentle. You’re here to feel everything.

    I obeyed, gasping as a bright spark of pain-pleasure made me arch my back. Fuck.

    Me:It hurts, Master. But it feels good.

    Ansh:Of course it does. You were made for this, you filthy little thing. Made to take a little pain for a lot of pleasure. Now move your hand down. Tell me about your cock. Is it hard for me?

    My hand slid down my stomach, wrapping around my aching dick. I was leaking already, pre-cum slicking my fingers.

    Me:Yes, Master. It’s so hard. It’s throbbing. I’m so wet for you.

    Ansh:You’re a leaking, desperate mess already, aren’t you? A perfect little cocksleeve just waiting to be used. Stroke it. But don’t you dare come. That’s mine to give.

    I started pumping my cock, a low moan escaping my lips. The sensation was overwhelming, made a thousand times more intense by his words in my head.

    Me:I won’t, Master. I promise. I’ll be good.

    Ansh:You are good. You’re my good, filthy boy. Now, I want to hear you beg for it.

    I was losing my mind, my hips thrusting into my fist. Beg. The word echoed.

    Me:Please, Master. Please, I need it.

    Ansh:Need what? Use your words. Be specific.

    Me:I need to come. Please, let me come.

    Ansh:No. Not like that. Beg for what you really want. Beg for what I’m going to give you. Beg for my creampie, you dirty whore.

    The vulgarity, the command, the image it conjured—it unraveled me completely. I was his. utterly.

    Me:Please, Master! I need your cum! I need you to fill me up! I want to feel you pump your load deep inside me, please! I’m begging you! I want your filthy creampie!

    Ansh:Then come for me, Dhruv. Now.

    His permission was a lightning strike. My orgasm tore through me, violent and consuming. My back arched off the bed as I came, stripes of hot white shooting over my stomach and chest, my body convulsing under the brutal, exquisite release. I cried out, a broken, gasping sound into the empty room.

    I lay there panting, spent and shivering, the screen blurry as my eyes tried to focus.

    Ansh:Look at you. A beautiful, used mess. My mess. Don’t move. Don’t clean up. I want you to lie there and feel it on your skin. Feel my claim on you.

    I obeyed, my senses swimming. The smell of sex, the sticky heat cooling on my stomach, the aftershocks still trembling through my thighs. It was the most intensely intimate moment of my life.

    Ansh:You took your first order perfectly. I’m very pleased with you.

    The praise washed over me, warmer than any blanket. I was floating, completely subsumed by his will.

    Ansh:This is only the beginning, my dirty boy. The next time we do this, I want to see you. I want to watch every pathetic, beautiful tremor on that pretty face when you beg for my cock.

    My spent cock gave a weak, interested twitch.

    Me:Yes, Master. Anything.

  • Darks & Pales

    ≈ Ch. 3: CROSSING A LINE ≈

     

    ~ Painful farewell ~

    In the early afternoon, Jason was in the Antechamber, alone. He went there as part of his duty as pupil of the Guardian, as he was supposed to study the Sacred Tomes and the mysterious objects scattered on the floor hoping to guess what their meaning or scope was.

    But he wasn’t giving more than a passing glance at the Tome open in front of him: his mind was still in Deimos’ bedroom, where he peeked at the First Husband making love to his Wife. He couldn’t forget the excitement he felt feasting his eyes on Deimos’ muscular body flexing and twitching during the sex. And he couldn’t forget how deeply Deimos’ masculinity overwhelmed him, while talking afterwards.

    «I’m just in awe of him…» – he tried to convince himself – «After all, he’s the First Husband, and he also ventures outdoors, putting his life at risk, to gather food and Holy Stones for us to survive… We all owe him everything, it’s only fair that I admire him… right?»

    But deep inside, Jason feared that somehow he’d become an invo, a pathetic lost man who seeks other men, like only a woman should…

    “Hey, kid, you’re here…” – the Guardian’s voice boomed in the room, making Jason leap on the chair – “Claire’s funeral is about to begin, you’d better come with me.”

    “Yes, Archon” – Jason promptly replied, quickly putting away the Sacred Tome and his hidden fears, and followed his mentor.

    They exited the Antechamber, crossed the Birth Room, and entered the spacious main hall. Archon opened a door hidden in the stone wall and began climbing a rusty spiral staircase, with Jason close behind. At the top, they emerged into a wide circular chamber enclosed by stone; but a large section of the wall was made of glass, allowing Jason, for the first time in his life, to glimpse the outside world.

    It was blindingly bright; in the blue sky two fiery Suns cast their lethal rays on an arid land made of reddish dirt. A few sparse low trees and bushes were the only things alive visible in the desolate panorama. It wasn’t an inviting environment, not at all; and Jason knew well that for a Pale, going outdoors would’ve meant sure death, as the unmerciful rays of the twin Suns were lethal for everyone, except the Darks. And yet, Jason’s heart thumped hard in his chest, while he pushed his gaze as far as he could, without any stone wall blocking his sight. He almost felt dizzy, unused as he was to such a wide sight, and tore his gaze away from the breathtaking panorama.

    “This is the Entrance Hall” – the Guardian explained – “and Pales are not allowed here, because it’s dangerous for them. Boba-Maiii prevents the lethal radiations of the twin Suns from passing through the glass, but still staying here it’s dangerous for us. You’d better stand over there, in that shadowy corner. Now silence: they’re bringing Claire in.”

    Four Darks entered the Entrance Hall from a different, wider door hidden in the stone wall, and Jason immediately recognized Deimos, in the front row; they were carrying on their shoulders a low catafalque, with Claire on top of it. She was covered with a white linen that hid her body but left visible her beautiful face and her delicate pale feet. The men stood for a moment in the middle of the hall, in silence, and then moved toward the glass doors.

    “Quick!” – the Guardian warned Jason – “Move to the farthest and most shadowy corner! They’re opening the doors!”

    The doors slid automatically sideways when the men got close, letting them go outside. A gentle zephyr filled the hall with the outside air, that smelled of dust and exotic spices. Both Archon and Jason inhaled deeply, as that was the only fleeting contact they could have with the harsh outside world.

    The men placed the catafalque on the ground, a bit afar from the doors, and came back in, taking their place around the Guardian.

    Archon stood silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and stood high, raising his hands: “Laudon!” – he invoked, and then waited until all the men, including Jason, bent a knee in sign of reverence. All around the glass doors appeared an ethereal blue light, and Archon prayed aloud: “O mighty Boba-Maiii, hear the plea of your servants! Take our beloved Claire with you and bring her up in the sky, to give her the resting place she deserves!”

    A bright light exploded outside, enveloping the catafalque; through the light, the men looked with wide eyes Claire levitating mid-air, and then slowly turning into a myriad of small colored rays of light the wandered randomly around the vanishing corpse to then move upwards, to get lost in the blue sky. In no more than a couple minutes, the white linen that covered Claire’s corpse fell down, empty.

    “She’s no more” – Archon announced in a sad tone – “but she will live forever in our hearts. May Boba-Maiii have mercy on her soul.”

    Jason was deeply touched. He loved Claire, though he never had many chances to talk to her, and the astounding way her body had vanished in the thin air had left him breathless. He raised his head and saw Deimos, with his head turned a bit away, to hide his deep frown. A single tear was leaving a thin wet trail on his handsome face.

    Jason felt his heart throb, seeing the fierce black man crushed by the pain of losing again his Wife, like he already had to do too many times. With small, cautious steps he moved closer to Deimos and placed his hand on Deimos’ back, to comfort him. Deimos winced and turned around with an alarmed expression: “Don’t touch me!” – he hissed, and then added in a commanding, almost rude tone: “You’d better stay in the shadow. It’s dangerous for a Pale stay in the light, didn’t the Guardian warn you?”

    Jason nodded his head, ashamed, and moved back to the dark corner. He didn’t expect Deimos to react that way, and felt hurt. Apparently, it wasn’t really true what Deimos said that very morning, after the Insemination, when he claimed that he felt at ease with Jason and was not afraid to show him even his most intimate sides.

    He heard a choked gasp, and turned to Archon, who was watching with a worried expression the ethereal light surrounding the door turning from blue to red.

    “Boba-Maiii is angry” – the Guardian said gravely – “He won’t answer our pleas again until he’s satisfied. Deimos, you and the other Darks will venture outside tomorrow to dig for Holy Stones. Make sure you return with at least two, so that Boba-Maiii may once again bestow his favor upon us. And if you can hunt some prey, or gather fruit, it would be much appreciated, but your priority must be digging the Holy Stones.”

    “Come, quick!” – Archon then curtly said to Jason, moving to the small spiral staircase – “Without Boba-Maiii’s protection, even staying in the Entrance Hall can be deadly for us Pales!”

     

    ~ Overtime insemination ~

    When they landed in the main hall, they noticed there was some commotion, and several Pales were talking with anxiety, in a low voice. The Guardian talked to a group of Pales nearby and then came back to Jason: “There’s a problem with Pearl. Apparently, this morning she took her bath too early after the Insemination, and part of the five loads she got were lost. Her monthly fertility window is about to close: the husbands must inseminate her again, as soon as possible! Quick, go to the Nuptial Chambers, look for the First Husband and help him get ready.”

    Jason ran to Deimos’ room and found him sitting on the massage table, with a disconsolate expression. As soon as he saw Jason entering the room, he shot him a pleading glance and implored: “I can’t do it… Please, don’t force me… I couldn’t bear it now…”

    “So, you know about Pearl…” – Jason replied, and then moved closer to Deimos, looking straight into his eyes. “I know this seems the worst moment ever for an insemination, but life and death have always been intertwined, they’re two faces of the same medal. You’re mourning a loved one, but you can now fill another loved one with the sparkle of a new life. Don’t give up on this chance. Not for the Guardian, not for Eclipse: do it for yourself and for Pearl. Trust me and let me help you, and you’ll soon find comfort in the warm embrace of your wife.”

    Deimos was hit by Jason’s words, and though still unsure, he removed his own loincloth and lay down on the table, while Jason took the perfumed oil. When Jason was about to lower his hands, Deimos said in a whisper: “Please… be gentle…”

    With a tender smile, Jason put his palms on Deimos’ chest, like the first time, and began a slow, sensual massage, taking handfuls of his bulging pecs and gently brushing his fingertips on the dark nipples. Deimos closed his eyes and literally put himself into Jason’s hands, hoping he could do his magic again.

    Jason’s hands moved all over Deimos’ body, exploring with reverence every crevice and every mound, sneaking between the balls and the thighs, and further down, toward Deimos’ inviolate backdoor. Jason expected the man to stiffen and reject his touch, but he slightly bent his legs, granting an easier access to the prying fingers.

    Not even for a second Jason thought of violating Deimos’ most guarded portal: he poured more oil on his hand and gently massaged the wrinkled areola, playing with the tuft of curly hair protecting the tight hole.

    A twitch of the black meat rewarded Jason’s efforts, and he moved again his slick hands up, roaming with deliberate moves the abdomen, the shoulders and the massive biceps. Once more, Deimos gasped when he felt Jason’s trembling lips closing around his nipple, sending shivers of secret pleasure to course through his body, down to his crotch.

    Jason glanced down, seeing the thick member coming to life, but it wasn’t enough, and for a moment he feared that Deimos, emotionally drained as he was, just couldn’t get an erection, at that moment. So, Jason went on kissing with passion the man’s torso slowly moving down. He briefly intruded the tip of his tongue into Deimos’ belly button, and the man groaned with unexpected pleasure, while his cock thickened a bit more.

    Deimos felt like putty in Jason’s hands. He stood still on the table, with his eyes closed, letting him do his magic. Earlier that morning, a single kiss on his nipple seemed too an ‘invo’ act, but now the many kisses Jason was bestowing on him were making him feel alive and at peace. He trusted Jason, he wouldn’t ever cross that line…

    But suddenly he felt Jason’s lips closing around his half-hard cock. His eyes snapped open, and he shot an alarmed glance at Jason, who recoiled a bit to say: “Let me do it, Deimos. You need it.”

    “But… it’s… it’s…”

    “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” – Jason said in a warm voice – “As you said, only a real man knows what another real man needs…”

    Jason engulfed again Deimos’ meat with his wet mouth and put all his passion in servicing the man at his best. He barely knew what to do, as it was the very first time he sucked a virile member, but Deimos couldn’t notice, as it was the first time for him, too.

    In a moment, Jason’s world shrank to the now engorged cock filling his mouth. The tip felt velvety under his tongue, and the shaft was both hard and soft at the same time, like a warm cloth enveloping a bar of steel. And the warmth! Deimos’ member seemed to radiate heat waves that made Jason’s mouth eager to go deeper, to take it all.

    Deimos opened and closed his mouth, trying to cope with the overwhelming sensations coming from his inflamed cock. Jason’s tongue seemed to be everywhere, on the tip of the glans, on the hard shaft, on the sensitive corona, dancing a maddening dance on his most sensitive spots, while two determined lips massaged his stiff pole, up and down, tirelessly. But what drove Deison crazy was when Jason created a vacuum in his mouth, literally sucking the juices out of his manhood.

    “Ohmygod…!” – Deimos groaned when Jason, in the heat of the moment, pushed his face down hard, making the engorged cock bump on the back of his throat. Jason gagged and quickly recoiled, but the contact was long enough to make Deimos fantasize about the pleasure that violating that ultimate door could grant him.

    “Do it again…” – Deimos pleaded under his breath, and Jason did it, he pushed again his head down, as far as he could go, trying to relax his throat muscles; it was hard to control the gag reflex, but his man wanted him to do it, and he put all his passion in his task. Deimos groaned softly, waiting… hoping…

    “OoooOOOHHH!!!” – the black man moaned loud, when his wide glans finally forced open Jason’s inexperienced throat. Jason gurgled and tried hard to resist, but soon he had to recoil, his eyes filled with tears. Deimos shot a worried glance at him: “Jason… you… you are…”

    “I’m your Helper” – he simply replied, wiping his face and proudly pointing to Deimos’ hard and throbbing cock – “It’s about time you go to your Wife. Make love to her like only you can do, take your time and make her delirious again. And don’t leave the door ajar, this time: this must be your private moment of love. I’ll be here when you come back.”

     

    ~ Hot bath ~

    Deimos moved to the Alcove, where Pearl was waiting for him, just like last time; but this time, true to his word, Jason firmly closed the door behind Deimos, and didn’t peek inside, to give the lovers the privacy they needed. While tidying up the massage table, Jason stifled a knowing grin, hearing Pearl moan loud, hitting her climax; and a while later, she moaned even louder, making Jason proud of Deimos, whose virility was making Pearl delirious again, and proud of himself, for having ‘helped’ Deimos being such an intense lover.

    Deimos’ guttural moan echoed through the door, and Jason felt a warm shiver, picturing in his mind his massive black body straining in the ecstasy of the orgasm, while his mighty member pumped gallons of man juice deep into his wife.

    He turned to the door, and after a few moments Deimos came out, with a thin gossamer thread of sperm still dripping from his cock; his eyes were shiny and his smile lit up the room. “You did your magic again” – he said with an admired glance, and Jason shook his head: “I’d say that you did your magic again. Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear something, and I guess you made Pearl cum twice again, didn’t you? I bet she’s madly in love with you, you’re such a caring and tireless lover… Come, you deserve a prize for your valiance!”

    Jason took Deimos by his hand and pulled him toward the sunken bathtub; the water was warm and clean. He gently pushed Deimos inside and waited for him to lie down comfortably: “No massage for you, this time: I’ll pay homage to your superior manliness by thoroughly washing you”. Deimos smiled, shaking his head, because never in his life a helper had such sweet attentions to him; but his smile faded when he saw Jason pulling up his tunic: “Are you going to lie in the water with me… naked?”

    Jason shot him a fatherly glance, like he was letting his child throw a tantrum. “OK, I won’t get naked, then” – he replied, entering the water without taking away his tunic.

    “No, wait…” – Deimos protested, but it was too late: Jason was already immersed in the water and taking the sponge. It didn’t take long for Deimos to notice that the wet fabric clung to Jason’s skin in a very erotic way, giving clear glimpses of his hairy chest, his chiseled abs and his remarkable manhood. If possible, Jason looked more naked than if he was actually naked. Deimos smiled shyly and said: “Stupid me… I think I don’t mind if you take away the tunic, after all…”

    The wet tunic quickly fell to the floor, next to the bathtub, and Jason started brushing the sponge on Deimos’ back with slow, caring movements, making Deimos sigh for the pleasure of being worshipped that way.

    A raucous voice came from the Alcove: the co-husbands had arrived to provide their loads. Jason looked at Deimos and cringed, looking at the suffering expression suddenly darkening his handsome face.

    “Take a deep breath!” – he immediately ordered, and when Deimos complied, though not understanding the reason, Jason pushed him underwater and kept him there. He himself dove down the surface and looked straight into Deimos’ eyes, through the clear water, where nothing but silence could be heard. There, under the veil of the merciful warm water, there were no co-husbands, no muffled screams, no lewd comments. There were only the two of them, looking into each other’s eyes.

    Jason moved his face an inch toward Deimos’, tentatively, and then another inch… and their lips touched.

    It was a chaste kiss, just a brush of the lips, but Jason felt his heart leap out of his chest. Some bubbles escaped from Deimos’ mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t recoil, he didn’t push Jason away.

    The kiss ended and they looked again into each other’s eyes, but while in Jason’s gaze there was a tender affection, Deimos looked scared.

    They emerged from the water and Jason immediately let out an anxious stream of consciousness: “Forgive me… I should’ve never done it… Please, tell me you’re not angry with me! I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t want to scare you…!”

    “I’m not scared for myself” – Deimos hissed, glancing with worried eyes at the door to the Alcove – “I’m worried for you! The co-husbands are behind that door, and you know how… evil they can be with those I care for! Even earlier, in the Entrance Hall, I knew you only wanted to comfort me, and I loved your heartfelt gesture, but I had to push you away, lest to let them know… how much we care for each other.”

    “Do you feel we’re doing… uhm… something wrong?” – Jason asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but Deimos smiled: “No, but if I were you, I wouldn’t ask the same question to the co-husbands. They just… can’t understand.”

    “I’m not sure I understand myself…” – Jason confessed – “I’m so confused…”

    “Don’t tell me… When I’m with Pearl I’m on the seventh heaven, but earlier, on the table, when you did… that thing with your mouth, I felt… I don’t know how to put it into words… I felt twice the man I am! I felt at the center of the world, at the center of your world, and the sensations coming from my manhood were… overwhelming!”

    “Say…” – Jason asked, shyly – “What about me? You said you felt twice the man you are, but… didn’t you think of me as half of a man, servicing you that way?”

    Deimos’ eyes opened wide: “How can you even think of it! I’ve never met anyone, Pale or Dark, who has your determination, your caring attitude, your guts and your nerve! Do you think I didn’t understand how hard it’s been for you to take that step? But you sensed I needed it to perform my husbandly duty, and you didn’t chicken out, you went all the way, I saw the tears in your eyes, and they looked like precious gems to me…”

    Jason smiled faintly. He was too shaken, but Deimos’ words had hit him straight to his heart.

     

    ~ Heavenly meal ~

    “Take a towel and dry yourself” – Deimos said, suddenly all business – “I’ll go to the Pales’ quarters and take a clean tunic for you.”

    “I can’t let you, Deimos! It would be… inappropriate! I’m your helper, not the other way round!”

    “This is something that should change” – Deimos stated, seriously – “You’re not my servant, and I’m not better or more important than you. We are a team… if this is OK for you.”

    “I’m all for it, but… it would be weird. This is a small community, there are social conventions, habits, expectations… and co-husbands.”

    “I know, and that’s why we should be careful. I cherish the deep friendship that blossomed between us in such a short span of time, moreover in the moment I most needed support. But the bad-minded co-husbands, who already think ill of me, could easily mistake our friendship for… something else. I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if something bad happens to you because of me…”

    Jason looked deeply at Deimos, hit by his sincere and tender tone, and once more he realized how wonderful a man he was. With a sudden, cryptic smile, Jason said: “Sit down on the armchair. You must be exhausted and mentally drained, after all it happened in the last day and a half. Just sit down and relax.”

    The helper grabbed a towel, dried off and tied the towel around his waist. He went to the small altar carved in a corner of the room and pronounced the traditional invocation “Laudon!”, immediately bending a knee when the faint blue light appeared around the black cylinder placed in the middle of the altar.

    “O mighty Boba-Maiii, you who know all things, you see how Deimos, the First Husband, devotes himself selflessly to you and to Eclipse. His soul is pure, and his heart is valiant. As you know well, omniscient Boba-Maiii, he has recently suffered a terrible loss, and without a moment to mourn his beloved, he’s had to pour all his strength into ensuring offspring for Eclipse. I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, grant him food, nourishing enough to restore his body and… err… his manly vigor, and delightful enough to bring comfort to his grieving heart. Please, Boba-Maiii, do not be angered by my bold plea; but if I have offended you, let your punishment fall upon me, not upon Deimos, who is worthy of all our love and respect.”

    When Jason stood up and turned around, holding a steaming bowl of food, Deimos was watching him with wide wet eyes: “No one ever talked about me using such sweet and loving words. I… I’m just a Dark, I do my duty, I don’t think I deserve such high praises…”

    “Let Boba-Maiii be the judge of that” – Jason replied with a smile, offering to Deimos the bowl, that was filled with small chunks of weird things in different colors, covered by a thick sauce that neither of them could recognize. The smell was mysterious and inebriating. Deimos took a few chunks with the spoon and cautiously put them into his mouth. His reaction warmed Jason’s heart: he closed his eyes, moaned softly for the pleasure, and then exclaimed: “This comes straight from the high seat of Boba-Maiii! It’s… out of this world! You must taste it!”

    Deimos took some more chunks in the spoon and tried to feed them to Jason, who recoiled: “Boba-Maiii created this food for you…”

    “If Boba-Maiii didn’t think you are a special guy, he wouldn’t have listened to your plea. Taste it.”

    Jason opened his mouth and closed it around the spoon held by Deimos; and while he savored the amazing taste of the food, his mind couldn’t stop thinking that that very spoon came straight from Deimos’ mouth, he’d brushed his plump lips and his moist tongue on it, and had wetted it with his saliva… He munched on the delicious food, but held Deimos’ wrist, preventing him from taking the spoon away. After swallowing, Jason took again the empty spoon on his mouth, washing it thoroughly with his saliva, brushing his tongue all over its surface, and then recoiled, looking straight at Deimos. The spoon was perfectly empty and clean, and yet Deimos, still locking eyes with Jason, brought it again to his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and enjoying the warmth left by Jason’s mouth on the slick surface.

    It was like they were kissing without actually touching each other…

    Jason felt his heart race and his face blush beet red for the excitement. He lowered his gaze with embarrassment and noticed that Deimos’ manhood, that so far had rested exhausted and spent on the seat, was slowly coming to life again.

    With a mischievous grin, he pointed his chin to the thickening member and breathed: “I’d say that Boba-Maiii truly answered my plea: just one bite of his heavenly food, and your… uhm… energy looks totally replenished…”

    “You are wicked and impertinent, boy…” – Deimos chuckled – “but remember what we said about being careful. No stunts.”

    But despite his own stern warning, each bite Deimos took from the bowl seemed to invigorate and fuel his spent virility more and more…

    Jason knew he shouldn’t do that, but he couldn’t help himself: he reached for the beautiful, stiffening member and started giving it an excruciating massage. Deimos put down the empty bowl and faintly shook his head, with a conflicted expression: “Wait… There’s no wife to inseminate… I shouldn’t… We shouldn’t… MMMMHH!!”

    Deimos’ weak protest died in a muffled moan of pleasure when Jason took once more the now throbbing member into his mouth. The young Helper was a quick learner, and this second time he immediately focused on the flared ridge and the underside of the glans, swirling his tongue and lapping the sensitive skin with passion.

    “Jason… ooohh… stop… don’t do that… MMMHH… Stop!”

    “D… Don’t you like it?” – Jason asked, shyly, and Deimos looked at him with half-closed eyes veiled with unrestrained lust: “It’s even better than Boba-Maiii’s food… but we can’t do it… I must not enjoy it… Pearl doesn’t need to be inseminated…”

    “You’re not just a source of sperm for the Inseminations” – Jason replied, still stroking Deimos’ rock-hard – “You’re a man… A man who has his strong needs…”

    Feeling again Jason’s velvety mouth enveloping his member, Deimos silently gasped for pleasure, desperately trying to resist: “I’m a man… but you are, too…! If the co-husbands find out… ooohh… what we do… Nnngghh… I can’t hold it… Please stop…”

    Jason had no intention whatsoever to stop: he was actually ready to go all the way with Deimos, pushing him over the edge, but harsh laughter echoed from the hallway, and both of them recognized the co-husbands’ voices.

    “Quick!!” – Deimos breathed in alarm, dismissing Jason with an anxious nod of his head. Jason leapt to his feet and ran to the massage table, pretending to be tidying it up; he purposely gave his back to Deimos, who in turn desperately tried to hide his massive erection.

    Vesper was the first to crash into the room, followed by Rufus and the youngsters, Helios and Castor; eight inquisitive eyes flashed around, immediately taking in that Deimos was still naked and his Helper was wearing only a towel around his waist.

    And Deimos’ obvious erection couldn’t possibly go unnoticed.

    “What’s that?” – Vesper sneered at Deimos, pointing his chin to the throbbing cock – “Are you in the mood for giving Pearl a sixth load? Or maybe…” – he added, narrowing his eyes – “…is there something more going on here?”

    Deimos leapt to his feet, careless of showing off his bouncing stiff cock, and strode to Vesper, incinerating him with his eyes: “You tell me, shithead! You crash into my room, uninvited and unwelcomed, and the first thing you spot is my hard cock? Yeah, I’m in the mood of providing an additional load, so be my guest…”

    “Fuck you, invo!” – Vesper hissed, and Deimos grabbed him by his throat: “How did you call me? I don’t give a fuck if we Darks are only five: say it another time and I’ll break your skull in two!”

    Vesper was about to brawl with Deimos, but young Helios put a hand on his shoulder: “Vesper… let’s go”. The older Dark wriggled from Deimos’ grip on his throat and shoved hard Helios, sending him sprawled to the floor: “Don’t cross my path, kid!”

    With a hasty move, Vesper gestured to the other Darks and headed to the door, immediately followed by Castor and Rufus; Helios hastened to get up to follow them, but he paused for a moment, looking straight at Deimos, who silently praised him with a nod. Helios wore a timid smile, while his eyes lingered briefly on Deimos’ massive erection. It was just a moment, but a moment too many.

    With a stifled gasp, Helios turned around and fled away. 

     

    -~~~≈≈≈ooOoo≈≈≈~~~-

     


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  • The Education of Billy Boy

    After graduating from IU, Billy and his handsome, Stepdad, Jack drove down from Indiana to Coconut Bay, FL. Billy was elated to be an adult, in a new city, with the best job in the world. After touring several apartments they chose Palm Grove because it had a pool.  While Billy explored Jack sought out the manager/owner. Five apartments on either side of the pool. The patio featured three tables with umbrellas and a grill. There was a mail room, an Office, Laundry room (three washers and dryers) and a trash room. Jack gave Billy fifty dollars. “We passed a grocery store a block away. Pick up some food yourself, maybe cereal for the morning. I’m going to find the manager.

    When Jack walked into the office. the manager, a very tall attractive black man with big muscles stood up. Jack smiled. Hello, I’m Jack Noff. We spoke on the phone.”

    “Yes. I’m Bryan. I’m I have one apartment available. Come I’ll show you.”

    “My step-son just graduated college up north. He got a job at Coconut Bay College. We’ve seen some other places but when he saw the pool … “

    “I understand. Now on the phone you said you were going to pay the first six months.”

    “Yes.” Jack removed his check book and wrote the check.  In a lower voice, “He’s … sensitive.” His mother, my wife, passed when he four. This will be the first time he and I have ever been apart. Look after him. I’ll make it worth your wild.” 

    A big smile widen on Bryan lips as he placed his large hand on his crotch. Jack didn’t need to think twice. He moved to the chair the manager sat in, got down on his knees and unzipped the managers fly pulling out a large brown cock. Licking the slit, Jack engulfed the big veiny cock like a pro. It felt good having cock in his mouth again.

    “So when you say sensitive … you mean he’s gay like you and I.”

    “Yes”

    “Keep sucking my dick, you’re damn good, Mr. Noff. I will watch over your son. We’ll do the paperwork after I cum. Two minutes later Bryan shot a heavy load down Jack’s throat.

    Outside Billy put the bag of groceries on a patio table. An older big man come out of a door wearing a pink bikini. Barrell chested and hairy from top to bottom. There was something magnetic about him. He saw Billy and walked toward him like a cowboy.

    “Howdy young man. You moving in?

    “Yes sir.”

    “What’s your name, son.”

    “Billy. Despite Big Jim being much older with big arms, big chest and a big ass, there was something sexually alluring about him. “My Dad’s making the arrangements now.”

    “What do you do?

    “Just graduated IU. Got hired to be the assistant coach of Coconut Bay College Tennis team.”

    “Good for you!! I’m a photographer. And you’re very attractive. Take your shirt off.” Billy instantly removed his t-shirt.  Big Jim took a few shots of “They call me Big Jim. I’m retired so now I just take photos that are a little sexy… I pay a hundred bucks an hour for taking nude photos of young men. If you’re ever in need of money. Just Knock on my door, Billy.” With that Big Jim ran, then leaped in the air and did a cannon ball into the pool soaking everything nearby including Billy.

    Later in their day father and son bought a double bed, a desk, coffee table, sheets, a loveseat, TV set at the local Home Goods. That night Billy fell asleep in his fathers arms. 

    In the morning when Billy woke his Dad had already slipped away not wanting to have a scene. His little boy has now grown into a wonderful man. “Let him go,”

    And Billy did feel like a man laying there in his manly underwear with his manly dick poking out his fly. This is adulthood, he laughed. A knock at the front door broke the silly spell. Without thinking he opened the door. Bryan the hot manager was standing tall holding two bathing suits. “I just love a man in his tighty whities first thing in the morning. Good Morning may I come in?”

    “Sure thing. Let me get dressed.”

    “Oh hell no!” I love little white boys in their undies. With a big smile Bryan said, “First off Billy, your Dad wanted you to have this.” Bryan handed him an envelope. Inside was a hundred dollars. 

    “And this young Billy Boy, is from me.” Bryan dropped to his knees, pulled Billy’s white briefs down and swallowed 95% of the young man’s cock.  Bryan sped up his blow job with spit flying every which way, Billy groaning as he got closer to cumming. Bryan felt the boy getting close, so he sucked on his finger getting it good and wet then rammed it up Billy’s tight hole.  A tidal wave of cum flooded Bryan’s mouth and he savored every drop.

    “Oh. One last thing your father wanted me to remind you of your 12:00 lunch meeting with Sean O’Toole the Tennis coach in the Gym room. Bryan licked his lips. And just so you know, young thing, the photographer, Big Jim, he’s got a huge dick, if you’re a size queen, Jump on it! See you later, Handsome!” 

    After a quick shower he chose a casual outfit, Polo Shirt and nice shorts. He pulled up his mesh bikini underwear that his Dad bought him along with 5 shirts, 3 shorts, 1 pair of jeans and a black suit. Dad left the car keys on the coffee table along with a map to the college. Billy smiled at his father’s thoughtfulness. As he drove to the school Billy observed how Florida houses were so colorful with a backdrop of Palm trees and the crystal blue Atlantic ocean. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. 

    The college itself was beautiful, architecturally speaking. He parked the car, found the main entrance. He asked where the Gym was and followed their directions to the locker room. Billy walked in to a strange but erotic scene. Coach Sean O’Toole and four Seniors was standing against a row of lockers wearing nothing but a jockstrap. The jock featured the school’s logo on the crotch.

    “This is our new assistant coach, Billy Boy Noff or to you all Coach Noff. Jorge get our new coach his official jockstrap. Coach Noff please take your clothes off.”

    To be continued in the next exciting chapter – Billy Boy’s unexpected Photoshoot

  • Flight 069: Two Big Men

    The airport was buzzing with the crowds of Floridian heatwave. I had just finished visiting some family and was headed back home to Maine. The warm air and 8 days of pure sunshine helped provide some relief from the bitter November days that were to come. I sat in my gray sweatpants and hoodie, a rare outlier in the sea of shorts and tank tops. As I sat and waited for my flight to board, I scanned the gate sitting area and studied the different characters moving around me. A couple going off to get some coffee. A young child playing with their mom. An elderly woman reading a book.

    I played this game for several minutes before my attention shifted toward somebody new. A man had approached from the security terminal and was walking slowly toward my end of the seating area. He stood around 6’2, a solid build of a man. Almost a Henry Cavill look a like if you squinted for a moment. He wore a tight thin sweater rolled up to his elbows that hugged the his pecs. This guy clearly worked out a lot. I tried not to stare as I continued taking in the detail of his form. His blue faded jeans hugged the bulk of his thighs as he passed my seat toward the airline counter, his black tousled hair just peeking out from the back of his baseball cap. He gave off an effortless charm that I could not seem to look away from. I watched as he placed his carry-on bag down down and began speaking to the employee. Even his ass was huge. I admired his body with obsessive precision as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. After a few shared exchanges and a laugh, he picked up his bag once more and started back toward the seats across from me before choosing one a bit to my left and plopping himself down. I could see the shape of his nipples piercing through his sweater and that was driving me crazy for some reason. Guess I didn’t really have time to jack off during the last week. Just some pent up sexual energy I had to do my best to ignore.

    I tried to distract myself with my phone but I found myself stealing glances at him every so often. He was lost in the depth of his own screen, scrolling away at something. I watched carefully, waiting for any new movement that might reveal a new angle to his seemingly limitless hotness. Luck seemed to strike, as the man seemed to get an itch toward his groin. He lowered his hand thoughtfully at first, gently itching at the inner corner of his thigh before using his whole hand to grab onto his bulge and scratch below his balls. It was no surprise that he seemed to have a lot of meat to shuffle around as he repositioned himself. A long stretch of his arms revealed a hairy trail leading down under his jeans. I could only imagine those huge pecs were also covered in a nice layer of fur.

    I was becoming relentless to the point where I began to frustrate myself. I decided to get up and remove myself from his view. There was no sense gawking at a guy I was never going to see again. I grabbed my backpack and made my way toward the coffee shop for a little treat. As I waited and stared at the menu, I searched for my wallet in my back pocket only to find its usual spot empty. Fuck. It probably fell back into the chair. I seemed to do that all the time. I turned myself around with force only to collide directly into somebody that I had failed to sense waiting in line behind me. I looked forward at the person, losing my train of thought as two beautiful pecs bound tight in blue cashmere greeted my eyes. I looked up to greet the man with a nervous smile, apologizing quickly for colliding into him.

    “No, please don’t be sorry. I was looking for you actually. You left this in your seat!” I looked down and saw my wallet sitting neatly in the palm of his hand.

    “Oh my god! Thank you so much. This would be the worst place to lose that. Let me buy you a coffee, I was just about to order.”

    He let out a warm chuckle. “That’s okay, I better go catch my flight. But glad I was able to locate you. Safe travels, Stuart!”

    And just like that he was off. I wondered how he knew my name, but then remembered he had my wallet and probably looked at my ID. I went to go grab some cash when a piece of white paper fell out of my wallet. I picked it up and read the message scribbled in pen. “Hi Stuart. This is Vaughn. I think you may find me attractive. I think you are handsome. Call me maybe?” . I stared in disbelief at the number written out underneath. This was impossible. Or maybe it was possible. I mean, I was an attractive guy. I worked out a lot. I had some good bulk to me. But shit like this still never happened to me. I wondered if he would actually ever answer my call. Or if he even lived anywhere near me.

    By the time I got back to my gate, people had already started boarding. I shuffled my way into the loading tunnel and waiting patiently as I got closer to the plane entrance. I glanced down at my ticket one more time to recall my seat number. 19B. Only two seats on each side which was good as this airline was notorious for tight cramped economy seats. At least I had the aisle. As I made my way to row 19, I looked up to see Vaughn sitting in 19A, directly next to my currently empty seat. We both caught each others eye and immediately shook our heads with a laugh.

    “Well isn’t this interesting luck.” I said as a tossed myself down into the seat next to him. Our legs immediately collided with one another, barely enough space for us both to fit without me knocking someone over in the aisle with my thigh.

    Vaughn let out a warm laugh. “I think they make these planes tighter and tighter. Maybe we move this for sake of comfort?” He asked as he pushed up the arm rest that separated our chairs, not waiting for my permission.

    “Don’t know if it will help. They think they are funny for putting the two biggest guys in the same row.” I joked.

    Vaughn took a moment to study my chest and arms. “I don’t know, you may have me beat there pal.”

    “No way. I may be a little bulkier but you look solid. I’m all cushion.”

    “Well that’s good. I made need some cushion. It’s a long flight home.”

    As the first hour of the flight went under way, Vaughn and I began to make small talk and get to know each other a bit more. I learned he was a contractor and also lived in Maine. We joked about my losing my wallet. I admitted I got his note. There seemed to be something there. But even more than romantic, there was an intense desire in me to rip his clothes off right there and the fact that I couldn’t was driving me crazy. At some point we got on the discussion of tattoos. He had complimented the piece of ivy I had on my outer forearm and so I asked him if he had any himself.

    “None that I can show right now.” He laughed playfully. “Well maybe one of them.” He looked around for a moment, determining that it was clear nobody was paying any attention to us. He then lifted up the front of his sweater and presented the front of his chest to me. I didn’t even see the tattoo at first, my mind was lost in his beautifully sculpted chest and glorious chest hair. His pecs were thick and full, his nipples large and flushed pink. That’s when I noticed a beautiful swallow on his upper right pec.

    All I seemed to be able to verbalize was “Wow”. He laughed and lowered his sweater back down. I stared down at my feet for a moment, trying to control the firming erection in my pants. I think Vaughn had noticed the growing bulge because he lowered his right hand onto my thigh and leaned over to whisper in my ear.

    “Something tells me you weren’t that focused on my tattoo.” I could feel my dick throbbing at the suggestion of his hand’s weight on me.

    “Pull up your right leg.” He directed. I did as he said, moving my right foot up onto the foot rest and using my bent leg to conceal his hand from view from the people across. Vaughn then took hold of my sweatpants waistband with force, pulled it forward, and dragged it down to below my cock and balls, revealing my firm erection glistening with sweat, already throbbing red . He brought his hand back to his mouth and wet several of his fingers with his own saliva. I could not believe he was about to do this but I could not stop him. I wouldn’t stop him.

    He brought his hand back to my head and began to tease it with his fingers. He allowed his slick skin to rub along the tip of my shaft just below my head, causing me to audibly moan. I did my best to make the sound appear natural, like a yawn. He continued to jerk my slowly as we stared into each others eyes. I looked back down at his hand, his pace still slow to not make any excess noise. He had me so horny that I was already dripping precum onto his fingers. He paused in between strokes to lubricate his fingers once more and lick my precum off, seeming to savor the taste. We stopped when we heard the announcement of the airline staff coming around with drinks. I tucked my cock back into my pants, my head tense with the pressure of a orgasm ready to shoot my load all over my seat.

    While we waited for the airline staff to finish their rounds, I could not help but touch him in whatever casual way I could. First his thigh, then his bulge when I gained enough courage. He smiled softly at me as I could feel his cock firming through his jeans. I then found my hand making its way under his sweater, using my fingers to tease those nipples that I could not stop thinking about. We locked eyes as I grabbed his pecs with one hand and squeezed his thigh with the other. I leaned in and gave him a long wet kiss as we allowed our tongues to entangle into one another’s.

    “Gentlemen, I-..” The male flight attendant trailed off as he came to our row. I turned quickly, taking my hands off Vaughn and turning toward him, trying to act as casually as possible.

    “Hi sir. So sorry about that. We are all set. Thank you.”

    The flight attendant was older, maybe in his 60s. He stared at us intently. We waited for him to leave but he just kept looking back down the aisle before leaning in closer to us.

    “You two lads seem like you could use some alone time. I happen to know that this aircraft has a small room in the back of the plane designed for mothers for lactation. But there are no such customers in need on this flight. Perhaps you two may be interested in seeing the space?”

    We looked at each other for a moment before standing and following the man down the aisle. It didn’t sound like the best idea, we could be caught and banned from the airline. Even face a fine. But I was so fucking horny for Vaughn’s body. His cock in my mouth. I could not think of anything else. The man practically pushed us down a little hallway past the bathroom and unlocked the tiny doorway. Inside, there was nothing more than a table strapped up to the wall folded away, a padded chair, and a shelf with some hygiene supplies. As I lunged forward into the room, the man grabbed my chest and held me back.

    “You two can do whatever you like in here. I will cover and you will not be disturbed. I only ask one favor.” We watched as he took his cell phone out of his pocket before pulling up his camera app and pressing record on the video. He then placed the phone on the shelf facing toward the chair. “Put on a good show for me.” He winked before walking away.

    I once again lunged into the room and pulled in Vaughn by his sweater, the door sealing shut behind us. There was barely enough room for two bodies, our legs practically touching each end of the wall. But we didn’t care. We began to claw at each other like animals, ripping each piece of clothing off with haste. Vaughn’s body was beautiful, every part of him thick and furry. I admired the girth of his cock as I pulled down his boxers and he sprung to life through his bush of pubes. The last to go was his baseball cap, which I tossed on the floor into the corner.

    Vaughn then began to pull off my pants and underwear, verbally admiring the bulk of my body. “God damn it, Stuart. You are a fucking beast. Look at these arms. This chest. You could wrestle me to the ground and take me down.”

    With that, I playfully took hold of Vaughn and slammed him down onto the chair, my thighs now pinning him down as my cock hung mere inches from his mouth. I held his hands against the wall, exposing beautifully hairy pits that firmed my cock into its completely erect state.

    “Bet it’s not everyday you get a man who can make you feel small, huh big boy?” I winked.

    Vaughn was in his glory. The view he had from beneath my cock and chest had his dick slapping up and down between my ass cheeks. He dove his mouth up to the tip of my head and began sucking enthusiastically. I began to fuck his mouth back and forth as he used his hands to play with my balls. Soon, the surge of cum was almost too  strong to subdue, but I was able to slide my cock free just in time and flipped myself down onto the chair so that I could return the favor before I shot my load, Vaughn now pinning me down. He looked back at the phone still on the shelf.

    “I think we better give this perv a good show.” He smirked. He picked the phone up and began filming closer as he shoved his cock into my mouth and began to fuck my throat with force. I played with his chest as he forced his dick back and forth to the far reaches of my throat. I noticed that when I played his nipples, the tip of his head began to swell. He was close. He pulled his throbbing dick out of my mouth for a moment, strands of precum leaking on my chest. He leaned down against me as we began to make out again. He pointed the camera at my face as he stood back up.

    “Now Stuart. I think this guy would like to see me empty a load down your throat. I bet he’d even like to see you swallow it. What do you think?

    “Yes, please.” I whimpered.

    “Don’t you mean please…sir.” Vaughn stared at me, his testosterone surging as the sweat dripped from the perfect symmetry of his jaw.

    “Please sir. Feed me your load.” I begged.

    Vaughn pointed the camera back toward me and launched his dick back into my wet mouth as I swirled my tongue up and down his shaft.

    “Close now.” He grunted.

    His head was throbbing. Precum salty on my tongue. Closer. Closer.

    Vaughn let out a loud cry of pleasure as he collapsed his body weight completely onto me, his dick pulsing hot sperm into my mouth as I took over and began to suck every drip of cum from his cock. I pulled it out as some of the cum continued to shoot at my face, using my tongue to clean it as he leaned down onto my chest and kiss me softly. He looked completed elated.

    “Alright Vaughn. You had your fun. But I have wanted to blow my load all over you since I first caught a glimpse of those pecs walking past me by the gate. Flex your biceps.”

    Vaughn smirked as he began to flex his biceps. I placed the phone, still recording, back on the shelf before grabbing ahold of my cock and beginning to jack off vigorously. I leaned in and took a big whiff of his sweaty pits.

    “Yeah, that’s it stud.” He told me. “Cum for me. Cum all over these hairy pecs. Show this fucker how much cum you have in that massive cock for me.”

    Vaughn’s dirty talk along squeezed the last bit of precum from my throbbing head and soon I was shooting huge ropes of cum all over his chest. I blacked out for a moment as the waves of pleasure came over me, my moans audible and loud. I opened my eyes to see pools of cum running down between his peck and toward his sides. I had never shot out that much cum in my life. Vaughn was in awe of my orgasm. We paused for a moment, both breathless, still naked, and full of cum.

    A knock on the door startled us. I paused for a moment, before whispering, “Hello?” in a hushed tone.

    “It’s me. The flight attendant. Can you crack the door?”

    I opened the door ajar. The man’s eyes became wide as he took in the view of us naked on top of each other, covered in sweat and cum. He had one hand on his cock through his pants, probably listening to us fuck the whole time.

    “Can I help you?” I said in a cocky tone, turning the front of my body toward him to tease him with a quick view. He was almost speechless.

    “I- I- Just know there are towels and wipes on the shelf. We will be landing in 40 minutes so best to get to your seats.”

    “Thanks man.” Vaughn stood up next to me, his cock now slightly soft and hanging between his thighs. “I believe this is yours?” He said cooly before grabbing the phone off the shelf. We both noticed in that moment that we got cum all over the screen but the video was still rolling. Pretty sure the guy would not mind.

    “Th…thank you.” He stood there, staring at Vaughn’s cock. I looked over at Vaughn playful and gave him few kisses and played with his balls just to give the guy a quick show. We then let the door slam shut, his face still in awe as we caught the last glimpse of his stare.

  • Erupting an Almost Limp Cock

    Danish Man’s Weakness Ends in Come Flow

    … “I am Tue,” he said on the first day of class after a Christmas break. “You know, like, one, two, three—well, I am Tue.” And he laughed, the lanky tall Danish kid who enrolled in my Intercultural Communication in the Gay World class.  Soon we were friends—he showed me his art, crazy drawings of angular people in vibrant colors, Picasso simplified yet exaggerated, and I helped him organize an exhibition of his crazy cockerels, hugging men and dancing women in all colors of the crayon rainbow in the Student Center.  He was brokenhearted in May, sobbing on the shoulder of his Canadian boyfriend, who promised to come to Denmark as soon as he could, and forgetting all about Tue as soon as his plane lifted… 

    We kept writing to each other, and he sent me several parcels of his new paintings, now strangely cubic, like Picasso was living his life inside of him…  When I told him I was coming to Denmark to the Christiania Art Festival, he sent back a set of 100 exclamation points and an invitation to stay at his loft in Christiania.

    … He met me at the airport as the sun rose lazily; he was dressed as a free artist should—an oversized t-shirt and loose sneakers that scuffed softly against the polished floor. He grinned without ceremony, tugging my bag along with one hand while keeping the other in the pocket of his worn jacket. “Straight to the apartment first,” he said, his soft Danish-English carrying the easy rhythm of someone accustomed to moving slowly through life, “before the city wakes.”

    The morning air outside was sharp and moist, fog curling in silver coils around lamp posts and over the canals, muffling the usual clamor of cyclists and early deliveries. Even inside the airport, the sense of quiet felt deliberate, a pause before the day began.

    The walk through Christiania was almost surreal. Mist hung over the cobblestones and the painted walls, softening the bright graffiti and the rough wood of the sheds that lined our path. It smelled faintly of wet earth, wood smoke, and something richer—linseed oil or turpentine, I couldn’t be certain. Tue unlocked the door to his apartment, a two-room space that smelled of coffee, wood polish, and quiet mornings. His roommates were awake: Søren and Mikkel, a gentle-eyed couple, already moving around the kitchen, slicing rye bread and brewing tea.

    Tue introduced me and I felt enormous pride just beneath the casual tone of his voice. “This is Dr. Auguste du Pont for you, Augie for me,” he said, and Søren and Mikkel rolled their eyes, smirking at me with friendly yet cheeky openness.  “Augie for you, too, guys,” I said, we shook hands and sat down.

    The apartment was snug but alive. Sunlight spilled through a small window, glinting across scattered brushes, sketchbooks, and half-finished canvases stacked against the walls. One room served as a studio, the other a combination kitchen and living space, where a sofa sagged slightly under the weight of years of sitting and laughter. Everything bore the mark of hands that worked constantly—painting, carving, moving pieces of a shared life into place.

    We sat for breakfast on mismatched chairs, sipping black coffee so strong it left a heat at the back of the throat. Tue spoke softly of his art, the ways Christiania’s quiet chaos fed his work, of the choice to remain independent rather than chase galleries downtown. Søren joked about having to “steal him away for chores later,” and Mikkel passed me a plate of warm cinnamon rolls. Watching the three of them interact, I realized how effortless their intimacy was: a glance, a small smile, a hand sliding across the table, and the air itself seemed to bend around them in careful balance.

    After breakfast we left  Søren and Mikkel to their own devices, and stepped out again into the city still half-asleep. Tue led me past narrow alleys where murals glimmered through ivy, stopping to point out small details: the way one artist had layered colors to mimic the movement of water, the carved initials left by a friend years ago on some other mural, a set of tiny fledglings painted under a water chute so that only who knew could notice.  Then we paused at a kinetic sculpture outside a workshop, the wind spinning it slowly, catching the mist in flashes of metal light. It was a mesmerizing view, and we lingered there for a few minutes.

    Then Tue turned into a small gateway, and we found ourselves in a small courtyard with an exhibition of the most amazing marble, clay and plaster statues of men I have ever seen.  “Rodin! Gay Rodin, squared, cubed!” I exclaimed, and Tue looked proud.

    Sunlight poured over the sculptures, tracing every curve and hollow until marble and clay seemed to pulse like warm, aroused skin, shadows pooling in clefts and ridges that mimicked the most intimate folds of male desire.

    The first pair stood upright, close enough that their shoulders nearly merged, their naked bodies frozen in a moment of raw initiation—one figure’s hand cupped the other’s heavy balls, fingers splayed possessively, while the recipient’s cock—veined and semi-erect, the foreskin pulled halfway back—brushed the inside of his partner’s thigh. The tilt forward suggested not just confession but the brink of a kiss, lips parted as if exhaling a moan, the sculptor’s chisel capturing the subtle twitch of arousal in the marble glans.

    Another, cast in rougher clay, was unpolished and visceral—two bodies turned toward each other, hands finding purchase where words might have failed: one man’s palm gripped the base of the other’s thick shaft, thumb pressing the frenulum in a teasing hold, while the other guy’s fingers dug into a firm ass cheek, spreading it slightly to reveal the shadowed promise of entry. The surface still carried the sculptor’s fingerprints, like evidence of frantic touch, the cocks aligned and leaking imagined pre-cum in glistening clay drips.

    A third piece lay half-reclined on a stone plinth, the figures twined in quiet exhaustion after climax, foreheads touching, one man’s spent cock draped soft and slick across the other’s thigh, a trail of sculpted semen arcing from the tip to pool in the navel below. Their legs intertwined lazily, one knee hooked high to expose the relaxed pucker of an ass still wide from recent use but with the calm that follows something deeply felt etched in the subtle sag of balls and the faint smile on parted lips.

    One sculpture, smaller and more delicate in polished alabaster, showed a man lifting another—the lifter’s thighs corded with tension, his erection buried halfway into the lifted man’s ass, the receiving figure’s legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked, his own cock trapped between them, rubbing against his abs. The tremor in the marble forearms suggested the strain of holding that mid-thrust ecstasy, both tender and unflinching, the veins on the penetrating shaft bulging as if mid-pulse.

    The fifth was pure movement: two figures spiraling around each other, caught in an embrace that might also be a struggle, cocks grinding, one head nudging the other’s navel while hands clutched hips, pulling closer in a grind that promised friction-born release. From certain angles it was impossible to tell who held whom, the sculpted pre-cum trails linking their shafts like silver threads, muscles rippling in marble waves of impending orgasm.

    The last stood apart—one solitary man, his gaze turned toward the others, hand wrapped around his full erection in a self-caress, fingers mid-stroke along the veined length, balls drawn tight in anticipation. The line of his back spoke of longing, but also of peace in having witnessed it, his free hand extended as if inviting touch, the tip of his cock glistening with a single, eternal bead.

    Tue lingered at the center, hands in his pockets, his own body taut under his loose shirt as he watched me—gauging, teasing, the reason for this detour clear in his knowing smile. “They make stillness look alive,” he said quietly, voice low with that Danish lilt, stepping closer to brush my arm. I answered, my voice steadier than I felt, delight bubbling up like champagne despite the heat in my cheeks, “That’s what love does when it’s honest—it holds still long enough to be seen… and touched.” The light slipped lower, turning the marble the color of bone and honey, shadows deepening the explicit grooves. For a few minutes, neither of us wanted to leave, our fingers intertwining as if echoing the statues’ eternal grasp…

    … Lunch found us at a floating café along the canal, the water lapping softly against the wooden hull. Tue ordered stuvning, a stew of fresh vegetables from the local market, fragrant and earthy. I went again with smørrebrød, an open sandwich on crisp rye bread beneath a generous slice of smoked salmon and droplets of sweet mustard sauce.  Tue told me about his project to create a series of collector postcards based on Andersen’s fairy tales and his cooperation on a garden of metal profile sculptures mimicking famous paintings… He looked inspired, and in the middle of the conversation he grabbed my hand and placed it against his chest.

    The afternoon drifted into exploration. Tue guided me across bridges, down narrow alleys, past tiny bookshops that smelled of dust and ink, and into Nyhavn, along the back streets that had never seen tourist crowds. He pointed out walls he had painted himself, introduced me to a group of funny street musicians, and a friend sculpting metal in a sunlit courtyard. I watched him talk, hands moving lightly, shoulders relaxed, the kind of effortless charm that comes from belonging somewhere without needing attention.

    By evening, we returned to the apartment. Søren and Mikkel were already preparing dinner: frikadeller with pickled red cabbage, potatoes roasted in mustard and fat, and a small side of crisp rye. I offered to make a quick vegetable salad with rye bread croutons and sour apples.  We ate at a small table, lamplight spilling across bread, plates, and glasses.  Conversation drifted freely from art to philosophy, then to the quiet humor of shared routines of their unusual partnership.  .Outside, the canal glimmered under streetlights, each ripple catching the yellowed reflections of old brick.

    After dinner, Tue and I walked along the canal. He stopped at a wall he had recently painted, pointing out the subtle layers, the emotion hidden in brushstrokes, the careful balance of chaos and harmony. I watched him, noticing how much pride he carried in small, unspoken ways. The apartment behind us glowed faintly, a safe harbor from the cool night, yet the city beyond seemed alive and breathing, the quiet canal reflecting a whole world of stories.

    We finished the night in a bar—a dimly lit haven of mismatched stools and flickering candles, where the air thick with the scent of akvavit and smoked herring from the kitchen. We slipped into a corner booth, and Tue ordered for us without asking: two large glasses of Gammel Dansk. The bitter herbal snap of the liquor hit us instantly, and Tue’s blue eyes caught the flame of the tea-colored light.

    He leaned forward, his knee brushing mine under the scarred wooden table, voice dropping to that soft Danish murmur laced with vulnerability. “You know, Augie, sharing the flat with Søren and Mikkel… it’s like living in a love poem I can’t read.” He swirled the amber liquid, staring into it as if it held the words he couldn’t say. “They’re so… them. Movie nights on the sofa, where they pull me in for cuddles like I’m family, cooking those endless smørrebrød spreads and laughing till my sides ache. They include me in everything—the hikes, the brunches, even their silly dance parties in the kitchen.”

    I nodded, my hand finding his across the table, fingers interlacing with his—warm and soft, a quiet anchor as the bar’s jazz hummed low. He squeezed back, not pulling away, his thumb tracing my knuckle in absent rhythm. “But evenings… God, the evenings,” he continued, voice cracking just a fraction, the Gammel Dansk loosening the edges. “They retreat to their room, hand in hand, all whispers and giggles behind that door, and suddenly it’s just me on the couch with the TV flickering like a bad dream. The flat goes quiet, and I’m… lonely. Like I’m the outsider in my own life, watching love happen without me.”

    The words hung there, raw and unvarnished, and I held his hands tighter, both now clasped between us on the table, my thumbs stroking his palms in slow circles—reassuring, intimate, the bar’s haze making the world shrink to us. “Tue,” I said softly, my own shyness surfacing in the warmth of the liquor spreading through my chest, “you’re not an outsider. Not to them… and not to me.” We downed the first glasses in unison, the burn chasing his confession like a chaser, his laugh bubbling up—half-relief, half-nerves—as he signaled for two more, the bartender sliding them over with a knowing wink.

    The second round went down smoother, the herbal bite mellowing into a golden haze, Tue’s free hand now resting on my knee under the table, a tentative claim that sent sparks up my thigh. He talked on, the loneliness spilling out like the liquor—how Søren and Mikkel’s door clicks echoed like finality, leaving him scrolling endless feeds in the dark, yearning for that easy tangle of limbs he’d glimpsed but never touched. “It’s not jealousy,” he insisted, eyes earnest on mine, “just… ache. For someone to pull me in, too.” I lifted his hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, the gesture bold for my reserved heart, and his breath hitched, a flush creeping up his neck.

    By the third glasses—large, heady pours that left us loose-limbed and laughing at nothing—the bar felt like a cocoon, the jazz swelling to match the pulse in my veins. Tue’s fingers traced mine openly now, no hiding, his voice dropping to confessions laced with heat: “Nights like this, I imagine it’s me they retreat with… or someone like you.” We drained them in a shared toast—”To not being alone”—the burn settling warm in our bellies, knowing the walk back to his flat was mere steps away, up the cobbled path past the muraled walls, the door just a key-turn from privacy. He stood first, pulling me up with him, hands still linked, the night’s promise electric in the cool Christiania air as we stumbled out, laughter trailing us like smoke.

    ***

    It was all clear to both of us, as Tue led me to the rumpled king-sized bed; we undressed quickly as if it couldn’t wait, both in our own corner, and then amber lamplight painted our skin honey-gold while sandalwood and nervous sweat hung in the thick air.

    We settled side by side on cool linen, and my gaze drifted to the soft centerpiece between his thighs: a pale, slightly-over-five-centimetre shaft lying curved like a comma against his thigh, foreskin bunched upward so the blush-pink glans peeked halfway from its hood, the tiny slit showing shyly.  Beneath, his balls—dark, compact, no larger than plump olives—rested snug in a wrinkled sac that hugged his groin, and above them a neat thicket of black pubic hair framed the whole portrait.

    I cupped him gently, lifted the cool weight, then let it flop left—right—left; each swing tugged the delicate skin and sent a visible shudder rippling up his abdomen, his breath hitching as though the small motion rewired every nerve in his body. I let the soft little shaft rest across my open palm, still as a sleeping bird. Then I felt it: a barely-there twitch, a faint pulse that lifted the skin a millimetre before settling again. The glans nudged a fraction farther from its hood, but the flesh stayed pliant—no lift, no swell beyond that trembling flutter, as though the cock itself was trying to answer but hadn’t quite found its voice. 

    Our mouths crashed together—hungry, devouring—tasting faint coffee and years of quiet longing. Tongues twisted in a fierce, probing dance that stole breaths and muffled small groans. My hand drifted lower, cradled the tight, dark sac that had lain cool against his thigh; I rolled those small, precious orbs with feather pressure, feeling the faintest arterial throb answer under thin skin. His exhale broke ragged across my cheek, broad chest lifting fast, and between us the soft five-centimetre shaft gave another helpless twitch—still limp, still small, yet vibrating like a plucked string as arousal coiled low inside him without a single millimetre of hardness to show for it.

    I broke the kiss with a reluctant gasp, my lips trailing fire down the column of his neck, nipping at the pulse point before latching onto a flat, dusky nipple with a swirling vortex of tongue and a light, teasing suck that drew it into a tight, aching peak. My free hand encircled the flaccid shaft in a loose, exploratory grip, my thumb circling the velvety head with lazy, hypnotic swirls that mimicked the rhythm of our heartbeats. He arched subtly, a low Danish murmur escaping—”Åh, Gud”—as pleasure radiated from his chest to his core, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

    I descended like a pilgrim on a sacred path, peppering open-mouthed kisses across the taut plane of his abdomen, my chin rasping delightfully against the sensitive, fair-dusted skin that quivered under each press of my lips. The hand on his cock maintained a slow, rhythmic squeeze along the limp flesh—firm enough to create delicious friction, gentle enough to honor its softness—building a low, insistent hum of arousal deep in his belly, where heat gathered like a storm on the horizon, his hips shifting restlessly as beads of sweat pearled on his skin.

    With a firm nudge, I parted his thighs, exposing the vulnerable hollows where muscle met tenderness, and dove in with playful nips at the inner flesh—sharp little bites softened by the broad swipe of my tongue, leaving faint red marks like love letters in Braille. My fingers feathered the delicate underside of his cock, tracing the subtle veins that pulsed faintly under the persistent touch, sending jolts of sensation straight to his spine. His legs trembled, a husky laugh bubbling into a moan, his softness forgotten in the symphony of bites and licks that made his body sing without needing to stand at attention.

    Then I knelt, sliding my knees between his parted thighs, and lifted the soft little shaft like something fragile yet sacred. Its warmth pooled in my palm, a trusting weight no heavier than a sparrow, skin silky over the pliant core. Starting at the dark, wiry base, I closed my fingers and drew upward—one slow, deliberate glide that stretched loose skin over the half-revealed glans and back again. Each stroke stayed unhurried, palm firm enough to wake nerves but gentle enough to keep him soft; the friction coaxed a clear bead from the slit, thin slick that let my next pass whisper. His eyebrows twitched together, surprise melting into raw bliss; lips parted, a long, tremulous exhale slipping out as his toes curled hard into the sheets and the limp member quivered yet refused to stiffen—pleasure burning purely through sensation, not size.

    I dipped my head and drew the soft little shaft between my lips without pressure—just a slow, humid envelopment. Tongue lay flat beneath him, cradling that pliant length like velvet ribbon, gliding from buried base to shy crown in long, cartographic sweeps that tasted faint salt and clean skin. No suction, no demand: only heat mapping every fold of foreskin, every subtle vein. My thumb circled the soft root in steady, kneading presses, nudging blood awake yet letting it pool where it would. His groan rolled raw above me, fingers spearing my hair, hips giving tiny involuntary rocks as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through belly and spine—no hardness needed, only the wet, steady worship of the soft flesh.

    I pulled back with a glistening pop, and both of my hands started a masterful duet—one rubbing the shaft in steady, hypnotic circles that twisted just so at the crown, the other delving lower to tease his perineum with insistent, pressing fingertips. The combined assault drew out a cascade of moans from him, raw and unfiltered, his body writhing as the limpness yielded slightly to the mounting friction and need, his sweat-slick skin flushing pink, every nerve alight in this symphony of touch that defied his body’s betrayals.

    With a dollop of cool lube he handed me after rummaging through the bedside drawer, my oiled finger circled the tight, puckered entrance with teasing patience, slipping in shallowly to curl upward and brush the swollen prostate with a precise, come-hither motion that sent shockwaves of ecstasy radiating outward. I synced it perfectly with the persistent rub on the flaccid cock—my hand gliding in tandem with the internal stroke—amplifying the waves until his hips lifted off the bed in instinctive bucks, and a guttural plea in Danish spilled forth, signifying the gradual onslaught of profound, prostate-fueled rapture.

    The rubbing quickened then to a fervent tempo, my palm twisting slightly over the hypersensitive glans with each upward pull, slicked by the steady leak of pre-cum that beaded and dripped despite the persistent softness, turning every glide into a silken torment. His Danish curses blended with ragged gasps—”Fan, Augie, ja!”—and a newly found ecstasy coiled tighter in his gut like a spring wound to the breaking point.  His thighs shook, the air filled with the musky scent of our arousal, every fiber of his being focused on my relentless hand that coaxed the pleasure from the flesh that refused to rise.

    I dove back in, my mouth claiming the tip of his dick in a hot, swirling vortex of suction and licks that synced flawlessly with my hand’s fervent, full-length strokes along the shaft—a dual assault that ravaged the limp flesh. His body arched like a tightly drawn bowstring. In this onslaught his moans turned to plaintive cries, the pleasure in his prostate and shaft building to a fever pitch that blurred the line between pain and paradise.

    I sensed the precipice approaching in the frantic sequence of short shallow breaths and the desperate clench of his fists in the sheets; I slowed to torturous, feather-light drags that barely skimmed the surface, alternating with sudden firmer grips that yanked him back from the brink, prolonging the exquisite build with exquisite tenderness. He begged me in husky, broken whispers—”Please, don’t stop… more”—and his body turned into a live wire of need, sweat flowing down his temples, his limpness no longer an obstacle for this drawn-out desire.

    Mercy granted, I resumed at full throttle, my hand a blur of motion—up and down in piston-like strokes, twisting at the peak, pressing firmly at the base—the limp cock trapped in a blissful whirlwind of torment, every nerve firing in chaotic harmony as orgasm barreled closer like an unstoppable freight train. His world narrowed to the slick heat of that unyielding grip, his chest heaving, veins standing out on his neck, the raw power of the stimulation wringing ecstasy from depths untouched by hardness, his pleas dissolving into animalistic grunts.

    Then suddenly his body seized in a cataclysmic lock, every muscle coiling like forged steel as a deep, primal groan ripped from his throat—”Kommer nu!”—and he erupted in endless shaking moaning streams of thick cum flowing in silver rivers across my knuckles, some of it splattering hot and thick onto his own heaving chest, the release pulsing with uninhibited fury, wrung from the very marrow of his being by the devoted, unceasing stimulation that honored his limp dick with as much reverence as any solid erection.

    Undeterred by the mess, I didn’t cease my worship his cock and balls, one of my hands slowing to a languid, loving rhythm that milked the aftershocks with slow, deliberate rubs—squeezing out every last tremor and quiver—while the other pushed fiercely on his perineum until his body unclenched in shuddering waves of residual bliss. He collapsed back against the pillows, spent and radiant, his fair skin now aglow with exertion, chest rising and falling in sync with mine as our eyes met in a gaze brimming with shared triumph.

    I stayed curled against him, cheek on his thigh, watching the tiny drama still playing out on his spent cock. The slit had long stopped weeping; only a glassy thread clung to the rim, drying in cool air. Yet every few seconds a minute ripple rolled under the soft skin—an aftershock lifting the shaft a millimetre, then releasing. Each twitch dragged a faint tremor through his lower belly, muscles flickering like candlewick.

    I brushed a knuckle along the half-exposed glans; the contact sparked a full-body shiver, hips jerking an inch, breath catching on a half-wordless gasp. His balls, still drawn close, gave a single reflexive tighten, then relaxed again. It was as if pleasure continued to echo in circuits his nerves hadn’t switched off—quiet seismic waves long after the eruption had stilled, proof that satisfaction can linger far beyond the final drop…

    ***

    Steam billowed around us as I tilted Tue’s head beneath the spray, water flattening his copper fringe against his brow.

    “I swear you’re man enough,” I said, voice echoing off wet tile. “You’ll find a guy who’ll respect every inch of your situation—soft, hard, whatever.”

    Tue’s eyes shone through rivulets. “I’m relocating to Canada,” he answered, palms sliding down my ribs. “Marry me, Augie. You just let me be.”

    “No, no, Tue, you’ll find someone younger,” I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I always travel, my home is in planes and trains, that’s not good for you.  You need your place, your art, your friends.  And—if this happens often—I am sure you can get treated, too…”

    Tue nodded silently and we hugged closer, as my mind flicked through snapshots: the proud host offering aquavit toasts; the artist proudly showing me his work; the rag-doll fucker who’d streamed flows of thick come through his foreskin fold; now this peaceful, freckled body under warm water. I shuddered, joy bubbling up—made sharper by the sweet ache in my untouched cock, still hard, still waiting, for one, single, final push of tenderness over the edge.

    I leaned in to kiss his wet shoulder and my stiff cock brushed the damp fuzz of his thigh—one accidental drag of skin on hair. Lightning shot up my shaft; hips jerked forward, trapped hardness grinding along that coarse line. A low moan tore out of me as the want and endless tenderness toward this guy in my arms peaked. The first spurt arced hot across his shin, followed by a second, a third—five, maybe six stripes of white lashing dark hair on his leg before I could draw breath. I quaked through the final pulse, knees buckling, and folded against his chest. Tue caught me, water drumming on our backs, my come sliding slow down his leg while he held me steady, murmuring soft Danish vowels into my ear until the tremors stopped.

    ***

    At the airport we stood at the glass divider, crowded by other passengers and blissfully alone. I expected a tearful sniff, maybe a trembling smile—nothing prepared me for the ragged sob that ripped out of him, shoulders shaking like broken wings. He clutched me hard and his tears flowed hot against my neck while other travelers passed around us in awkward curves. “Teams—every night if we can,” he choked into my ear, repeating it like a prayer.

    When we approached passport control, he still wouldn’t release me; a border guard cleared his throat and held out his palm for my passport, impatience flickering in his eyes. Tue’s arms finally loosened, fingers dragging down my sleeves until only our fingertips touched—then air. I stepped forward, handed over my passport; Tue’s sniffs and words of love still echoed off the high ceiling as the gate swallowed me whole…

    ***

    Now when I write this, I know that everything is fine with Tue.  He found an older guy who celebrates him every single night with love and devotion.  They visited me in Canada a year later, and Ash reminded me so much of myself, except perhaps for his broken English.  I saw such care in Ash’s touches and such love in their smiles that I know we’ve done just the right thing.  Oh, and now his problem has been solved.  I know because I heard them over a thin wall in my apartment, and I knew who was the driving force in the passionate pushes that made me join in the lonely quiet of my bachelor room.  Ah, the rosy cheeks of a satisfied man in the morning! Times two. Three.


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