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Picking the First Fruit

by Habu


I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn’t just me boasting. That’s what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I’ve heard both men say that, in the peach business, it’s getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does that can mean the difference between a good season and a break-even or bad season.

I’ve been picking peaches—the last couple of years for the Mennonite, Brother Jebodiah, down near Singers Glen—for a good seven years now. Brother Jeb’s good people. Some Baptists here won’t work for the Mennonites, thinking they are too peculiar and dress all old fashioned and stuff and just might not even be Christian, but I found them to be honest, fair, and themselves hard workers. Brother Jeb doesn’t just send men out into his orchards in the heat of July to pick the first fruit to race to market with. He’s right out there with them, working his butt off too. Of course in those dark clothes and that hat he has to wear, he has to take more breaks than most.

He goes over and leans on the fence next to the road, under the oak trees he’s got his orchards bordered in. Standing there, he’ll jaw with anyone who wants to stop and talk. This summer it’s been mostly that Mr. Howell stopping in his big, new red Ford F-450 double cab. He’s got his own orchards over near Timberville. I’ve heard tell about him being competitive and all, and some say he’s a little underhanded. Not to his face, of course. He’s one big, muscled-up sonofabitch.

My uncle, Rick, worked in his orchards for awhile, and he told me more than once, “It’s good you want to work the orchards to save up for school, Johnny. But there’s some orchards you’ll want to give a pass on even if they offer good money. There’s the Mennonites. They’re strange folks and just don’t mix well with good Baptists. It’s never good to get in with the heathens. And then there’s that Clarence Howell over in Timberville. He pays top dollar, but I’d stay out of the way of working under him, if I was you. He has more demands than a soul wants to talk about.”

He’d give me a meaningful look, just itching to talk about it and daring me to ask why. But I never did. And I did want to earn up money for my electricians school as soon as I got out of high school, so after working for good Baptists for a couple of summers, and finding my paychecks shorted more times than I could count, I went against what Uncle Rick said and hired up with a Mennonite. And I haven’t had any complaints with Brother Jeb for two picking seasons.

The first week of the picking after finishing high school, I was out there, working just as fast as I could on Brother Jeb’s peach trees. Brother Jeb had bragged on me at the end of the last season, saying I was his best and fastest picker. That meant something in Rockingham, and I’d gotten some good offers from other growers here and about, but Brother Jeb had been fair with me, so I was fair with him and came back to him.

Speed meant something this year if we were going to be early to market. For some reason not that many Mexicans were coming up for the picking as usually did. I don’t know if they were having trouble getting here or if conditions were better in Mexico than they were here this season. But, whatever, there were fewer of us picking. It was hitting everyone, and for the first time, I felt the pressure to be working for someone else who could put more pickers into the field.

It was hot as hell out in the orchard on a Tuesday afternoon. I was down to my soggy and sagging gym shorts and working just as fast as I could, trying to help get enough bushels down off the trees from Brother Jeb to take a truck load down to the stores in Harrisonburg. Brother Jeb had already had to take two breaks, but I didn’t resent that. The heat was really just too much for those black clothes he couldn’t take off. The few others there, a couple of local boys, and a few Hispanics who either already managed to live here or who were so loyal to Brother Jeb that they managed to some back to him, were all as tongue hanging out as I was in the heat. Summer here in Shenandoah valley was always a scorcher, and we were hitting heat records day after day this season. The white boys had been slogging along like zombies for some time, and now even the Hispanics and blacks, who could take heat better than most, were slowing down. Heeding the reputation I’d gotten and Brother Jeb’s need to get a truckload of peaches to Harrisonburg before others did—and thus be able to pay me that time and a half he’d promised—I was working all the faster.

When I had to stop for a breath and a swig of water from my water bottle, the flashy red color of that big, new F-450 truck made me look over toward the fence under the shade of the oak tree. Brother Jeb was there, standing and leaning on the fence. And on the other side, one foot up on the fence’s lower rail and looking pretty intently out at the orchard—at me specifically, so it seemed—was that Mr. Howell from over Timberville way. They talked for a while and then Brother Jeb came back to the orchard to take another crack at the picking. Mr. Howell went back over to his truck, but he turned and watched us for a couple of more minutes before he got in his truck and drove off.

I was exhausted at the end of the day. All the rest, including Brother Jeb, had gone after we loaded up the truck. Brother Jeb was pleased because we’d managed to get a truck filled. He said he’d go ahead and drive those peaches down to Harrisonburg this evening to get a steal on anyone else racing for first fruit honors.

The Hispanics had all gone off in their ancient trucks, loading them to the gills with pickers, all laughing and having a jolly time.

I’d overworked myself, keeping to my goal of being the best and fastest. I hadn’t paced myself like they had. So, I just plopped down on my back under that oak tree Brother Jeb usually stood under and moaned and luxuriated in the shade. My bicycle was propped up against the tree beside me, waiting for me to get up the energy to ride the five miles east over toward Eddom, where I lived with my mother in a little country house. In the fall I’d be going down to Harrisonburg for technical school—if I had saved enough money—but I’d still be driving back to Eddom in Mom’s old Cavalier every night. I’d have to work a couple of years as an electrician before I could afford a place or even a car of my own. And even then, I’m not sure my mom would want me to leave her all alone in Eddom.

I was dozing off when I heard the rumble of a truck. I expected it to pass on down the road, but it didn’t. It stopped. I opened my eyes, and all I saw was a big blotch of cherry red on the other side of the fence.

“You look all spent out.”

It was the Mr. Howell, and he was standing by his truck and looking down at me over the fence. I groaned and sat up. I pulled up my T-shirt from under my back and folded it over my belly, suddenly feeling naked.

“It’s been a rough day,” I said. “But we managed to get a truckload picked.”

“So soon?” Mr. Howell asked. “Taking it to market tomorrow, is he, is Jebodiah?”

“He’s already driving to market with it,” I answered.

I instinctively knew I had to speak polite and straight with Mr. Howell. He was one of the biggest growers around here. And a bull of a man in his own right. He was tall and thick necked and across the chest too. Maybe in his forties. He was one of those men who looked like he didn’t dirty his hands but somehow had managed to work his body to high muscle tone. He was bald as a billiard cue, but he had a thick beard and mustache and a big patch of black hair pushing out the top of his buttoned shirt, which wasn’t fastened down the top three buttons. It was like his chest was just aching to burst out of that shirt. He probably was fighting the heat as much as anyone, but he looked cool as a cumber now.

“Which market?”

“Harrisonburg,” I answered. Not much that any of the other peach growers could do about that now, I knew, so there was no reason I could think of not just saying it. I was pretty proud of what we had accomplished for Brother Jeb today—not the least because Brother Jeb was right in there working with us as best he could and because he then knew which of his workers was giving him their best. It made me feel as much ownership of getting that first fruit to market as Brother Jeb did.

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll send mine to New Market tomorrow then. A good tip is worth a ride home, if you’re interested. You probably don’t want to have to bike all the way to Eddom after a work day like you’ve had. I’ve had my eye on you. Everyone says you’re the best and fastest picker in the county.”

“Thanks. I like to give good work when I can. You know where I live?” I asked.

“Yep. Been checking up on you. Like what I see. So, do you want a ride home?”

“In that new truck?” I asked. “I’m not clean enough to be riding in that truck.”

“If it doesn’t bother me, I don’t know why it should bother you. Here hoist that bicycle over the fence, and I’ll put it in the back. If it makes you feel better, I’ve got towels I can lay down in the passenger seat.”

It was not long after he started the truck up that he came out with the proposition. “I hear you’re saving up to go to electricians school down in Harrisonburg now that you graduated from high school.”

“Yep, that’s right,” I answered.

“Pretty pricey school that is. Almost as much as going to a community college. Your grades not good enough for college?”

“I made good grades. The wages of an electrician are good and it’s honest work that there’s always a need for,” I answered. “It’s the fastest way of making money. College would be even more expensive and I don’t have the time to put off making money.”

“But a big part of going to college is to then have a college team to root for. You have a favorite college team?”

“Tech, of course. Doesn’t everyone in the valley follow Virginia Tech?”

“I went to UVa. myself, but I’ll have to admit I follow the Tech teams too. They’re a lot better. I even get tapes of their summer football team practices. I don’t bother doing that for UVa.”

“Yeah, Tech’s good,” I answered. I didn’t know what else to say. I was intimated sitting in the cab of that fancy truck of his. I’d slipped my T on, which wasn’t too wet from sweat. But, even with the towels on the seat and back, I still did what I could not to touch any more surface of the truck seat than I had to.

Mr. Howell just looked over at me from time to time with an amused look on his face.

“You know you could be making a whole lot more money that you are at Jebodiah’s. Maybe even enough for college and a car too. You wouldn’t have to go around the county on that old bike. You’ve got a real good reputation now. In fact, I’d be willing to pay you twice what he is no matter what that is. It’s a picker’s market this summer. You could make enough to go to a junior college, not just to electrician’s school. Or maybe both at once if you want to have a good skill to fall back on. That’s a pretty smart idea, I’ve got to admit. And you hit me as a pretty smart young guy.”

“Brother Jeb’s good to me,” I said. “I’m happy with him.”

“Well, think about it. I’d be really happy to have you.”

“I like working for Brother Jeb just fine,” I said. I was trying to keep my voice polite, but it wasn’t something I needed to think about or answer to more than once.

We were pulling up in front of my mother’s house. She was out on the porch watering the hanging basket flowers with that old plastic watering can of hers. She did a double take at seeing the big red truck and dropped the can as well as her jaw.

“That your mama?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. “She’s not used to seeing anything this new drive up and stop in front of her house. I’d best get out fast so she knows it’s me.”

“Looks like she broke that watering can when she dropped it.”

I looked through the windshield and saw her holding the can up, with water cascading out of a rip in the plastic side. She had a forlorn look on her face. Mom didn’t have the wherewithal to be buying a lot of new stuff like watering cans.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, as I climbed out of the cab. “Mom, it’s just me. Mr. Howell gave me a ride home.” I was already trying to work my way back into my mom’s and my world. Mr. Howell’s world was a lot more expensive than I could dream about.

“Give it a thought,” he said as I stepped down on the ground. “I can give you a lot that Jebodiah can’t.”

“Sure, Mr. Howell. Thanks again for the ride.”

“I’ll be seeing you around, Johnny.”

The next day when I biked home from the orchard, remembering with every huff and puff how easy the air-conditioned truck ride was in comparison with biking at the end of a picking day, Mom was out on the porch again, watering her hanging baskets. She was using a new, shiny-red watering can and she had a smile on her face that went from ear to ear.

“Went to the market and bought yourself a new can?” I asked.

“Nope. That nice Mr. Howell who brought you home yesterday stopped and gave it to me. He said he was sorry that he had scared me and made me drop the other one. He wanted me to pass on his regards to you. And he told me he’d offered you a job with double the pay. He seems a right nice man, Johnny.”

“I’m sure he is, Mom,” I answered, “But Brother Jeb is a right nice man too.”

* * * *

“Hope your mom liked the watering can.”

My eyes popped open. Brother Jeb had called it a day early, because the swelter of summer in the valley was continuing and it was just too damn hot to be working outside. We were ahead on the peach picking, though. He was real pleased with that. Said it was mostly my doing. And it might have been; I couldn’t remember much past noon today. It was so sweltering that I had just put myself on autopilot and tried to forget the temperature as I worked. Both Brother and Jeb and all those milling Hispanics and the other young white guys had piled in their rides and ridden off more than a half hour ago. I was laying under the tree working up the energy to bike back home.

I looked up and Mr. Howell was leaning there on the fence. He must have been really hot too, because he was shirtless. I almost swallowed my breath on how well-developed his torso was, especially for a man his age. He was really ripped. And he was hairy too—and deep tanned. Not hairy like a bear, really. I could see the skin through the dark, curly hair. But it pretty much covered his pecs and forearms and it trailed down his sternum and across his flat belly and then disappeared below his low-rise gym shorts. They were pretty baggy.

“Yeah, she liked it a lot. My mom doesn’t get much new stuff, so that was a real treat. But you didn’t have to do that.”

“I caused her to drop and split the other one, so it was only fair I got her a new one.”

“But you must have made a special trip to take it to her.”

“Least I could do for that tip you gave me—that Jebodiah had taken his first fruit to Harrisonburg. I got to New Market first with mine the next day. Sold out in not much more than an hour. Getting the first fruit like that to the right market is real lucky. It sets off the rest of the season real good. Of course, if I had more help picking my peaches, I could really rake up the profit.”

“It wasn’t that great a tip. But I’m glad it worked out for you. It worked out for Brother Jeb too, so it’s a win, win situation all around.”

“Not that much of a win for you, Johnny. All you got was a watering can for your mother and a ride home. And you had to be back picking peaches the next morning.”

“It was good enough. I got the time and a half Brother Jeb promised for making a first-fruit goal. He’s real honest that way. I’ve had Baptist bosses that promised something but then didn’t give it.” I stopped, thinking I maybe went too far. Chances were good Mr. Howell was Baptist. I tried to smooth that over a bit. “But that ride home was real nice, thanks.”

“You want another ride today? I’d be happy to give you a ride.”

I thought about that—maybe for three seconds. “Yeah, sure, thanks.” I looked up and saw that he was grinning down at me.

“I can’t help thinking I should do more to show my gratitude,” Mr. Howell said not long after we started off in his rumbling Ford F-450. “Of course, if you came and worked for me, I could make it up in wages.”

“Thanks. I like working for Brother Jeb, though. Thanks all the same.”

“Well, maybe some other way. Say, I’ll bet you’re hot as a fire cracker.”

“Yeah, close to that I think.”

“Bet a dip in a pool and a couple of really cold brewskies would help with that.”

“Yeah, that’s certainly something to dream about,” I agreed.

“Hell, no need to dream. I’ve got a pool at my house, and a refrigerator full of beer.”

“You’ve got a swimming pool?”

“Yeah, sure. Not just a pond either. Concrete sides and bottom and everything.”

“Neat. But . . .”

“And I know something else. We talked about films of the Tech squad’s summer football practices the other day. I’ve got those on the machine. We could hit the pool and then watch the films while knocking a couple back. Waddya say to that? God it’s a hot day. This air-conditioning is great, but once out of that. Probably OK if you have air-conditioning at your mom’s place.”

We barely had walls at my mom’s place.

“Well, I don’t know . . .”

“And I could have Lynn put some steaks on for us. Make it an evening. I’d take you back after dinner.”

“My mom will be expecting me home.”

“I don’t think she will. I was over at your house before coming here. She said she was going to a show with her neighbor . . . Mrs. . . .”

“Steele. Mrs. Steele. She said that? That they were going to a show? That’s strange.”

“So it looks like you need to fend for yourself for supper. As I said, I can get Lynn to broil us up a couple T-bones. I’m betting you could put that away after the hard day’s work you’ve done. I made a killing off that first fruit to the New Market market. I’d really like to express my gratitude to you for the tip.”

Well, if his wife was happy enough cooking up a meal for us . . .

Standing looking at the pool on the terrace behind his house made me want to jump right in. The pool was big. The house was big. Everything about his spread was big—and expensive looking.

“Too bad I don’t have a suit with me,” I said.

“No worry about that. It’s just the two of us. Lynn’s in the kitchen. Won’t see a thing.” With that, he stripped off his gym shorts, stood long enough for me to tout up his horse-hung cock and low-slung balls in the extra big category—a particular shock being as it was centered in that small V of whitish skin that wasn’t deep tanned—dove neatly into the pool, and did a vigorous Australian crawl to the far side. Reaching that, he did a neat turn and stood up in the pool. “Your turn. Come on, strip and dive.”

Embarrassed, I dropped my shorts and did an awkward dive into the pool as quick as I could.

We swam about. I couldn’t swim very well. He was a regular sea otter, disappearing under the water in one place and surfacing someplace unexpected. A couple of times he came right up in front of me, his body bumping mine.

I was getting self-conscious, and worse, feeling myself getting aroused and going hard. So I swam over to the ladder and pulled myself up quickly. Turning away from him, I quickly toweled off and pulled my shorts back on. Only then did I turn back to him, seeing him dog paddling in the pool and looking at me with an amused look on his face.

“More hungry than in the mood to swim?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty hungry,” I answered. “As you said, I put in a long day. Quite a few hours since lunch now.”

“OK, you go on into the house. I’ll be in in a minute or two.”

I happily did as he asked. I was having feelings I’d had before and mostly tried to repress. There was a guy a couple of times on the basketball team. Older than me. But that was just fooling around. We didn’t do anything serious. But it had set me to thinking—and I’d been trying not to think too much along those lines. Going into the house would be good. Mrs. Howell would be in there. We’d watch the films, eat the steaks, and Mr. Howell would take me home. And that would be that.

I felt warm and trembly, though. Mr. Howell was so . . . built. I’d watched some films. But I didn’t want to think about that. And especially by how his privates and tight, bulbous buns were accentuated by not being dark tanned like the rest of him.

I was in the house, waiting for Mr. Howell to come in, when a young guy came out of the kitchen and set some plates on a dining table.

“How do you like your steak?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you like your steak? I won’t put them on yet, because Clarence says you’ll watch football films first. But I’ll fix the steaks to order.”

“Uh, medium rare, I guess.” I hoped the confusion in my mind didn’t sound that much like confusion. The guy wasn’t much older than I was, and he was acting like he belonged here.

“And baked potato or fries? I’m Lynn, by the way. I cook for Clarence.”

Lynn. Not a woman’s name in this case. “Uh, baked potato, I guess.”

We were sitting side by side on the sofa, Mr. Howell and me, with the DVD player running, showing Tech football practice. The lights were dim, and it was starting to get dark outside, although Mr. Howell had turned lights on in and around the pool, which we could see beyond a big, two-story window wall.

I was trying to keep my attention on the film, but I have to say that a college football practice is a bit boring. There’s no scoring to keep track of and no school to cheer against. There was a brief flurry of excitement when I saw someone on the film I thought I knew, though.

“Hey, that looks like someone I went to school with. Wes what’s his name.”

“Wes Shelton? Yeah, that’s who gave me the films. He’s working for me this summer. Supervising the picking. I can’t be there full time watching to see that everyone is working.”

Yeah, I thought. You seem to be spending more time watching us work Brother Jeb’s orchard than at your own. But I was feeling nervous. I knew Wes. I knew him real well. That’s who I’d done a little fooling around with. Nothing heavy, I thought. Just measuring and seeing who was biggest and what might make us bigger—and then, admittedly, who could shoot the farthest, and whether you could get more by doing yourself or having another guy do you. There’s nothing real heavy in jacking each other off, though. I do that just by myself maybe a couple of times a day. It’s not that much more to do it with another guy your age who’s just curious like you are. We both talked about girls and doing it to them while we did it.

What was trying to get my attention more was the purple, bulbous cap on Mr. Howell’s dick. He was wearing those baggy gym shorts and they were riding up his leg so that the tip of his prick was peeking out of a leg hole.

I was tenting up in my own shorts. I sure hoped that Mr. Howell didn’t see that. It wasn’t something I wanted to do—it was just happening without me being able to stop it.

He must have noticed my stiffening, because, without me being aware of it, he had snaked an arm around me on the top of the sofa, and the first thing I knew I was feeling fingers on my bicep on the opposite side of him, and he was soft stroking me there with his fingers.

“Umm, Mr. Howell.”

“Don’t be nervous, Johnny. I know you’re interested. I can see you’re hard.” He had the remote in his other hand and, with a stroke of a button, he had changed the DVD over to a sex film—a homo sex film. A hairy middle-aged guy—but in real good shape, just like Mr. Howell—sucking off a young blond guy.

“I don’t think . . . I didn’t come here for. I don’t . . .”

“Wes told me that you did, Johnny. He told me that you were a real good fuck, that you begged it from him. And that he fucked you a lot.”

“He told you that?” I could barely get it out. I was hyperventilating. In any event, Mr. Howell didn’t seem to give a shit what I said about me and Wes. That Wes. He was always boasting. We didn’t ever . . . “Ohhhh, god.”

“Like that, do you? Hard for me, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t breathe, let alone object. All I could do was shudder and moan. He’d moved his free hand below my waistband and had a thumb on the bulb of my cock. He was moving the thumb around in the precum that had involuntarily oozed out there. I gave a little jerk as he tried to push into my piss hole with the tip of his finger.

“I’m going to be very good to you, Johnny. And you’re going to be good to me too.”

I wanted to object. To say this was all a mistake. And push him off me and stand up and go get my bicycle and start peddling home. I should never have . . . “mooooaan.”

The hand on my shoulder had moved to the back of my head and turned my face to his. He took possession of my mouth with his, pressing his tongue deep inside my mouth cavity. I had to breathe through my nose, giving a rasping gagging sound. He pushed my shorts down to around my knees, and while his hand was off my cock, he grabbed one of my hands and pushed it under his waistband and onto his cock. Then his hand was gripping my cock again and pumping it slowly.

My hand had a mind of its own. I didn’t take it away from his cock. I didn’t fist him, but I let my hand run along the sides of his cock. I moaned again at the feel of how big and long it had gotten. And how hot it was. I could feel the pulsating, bulging vein running up the underside of it. That made me think of Wes. He was big like that too.

The kiss was over and he was kneeling in front of me as I sat on the sofa. My shorts were coming off and being cast aside.

“No, Mr. Howell. This is all a mistake. I’ve never . . . Oh, fuck. Oh shit.”

His mouth had come down over my cock and he was deep throating me. I lay back, powerless. “Noooo.”

I began to pant. Nothing like this ever before. It had to stop. I didn’t want it to stop. Not ever. “Yesssss.”

“You like this. You want this.”

It wasn’t a question, but I groaned my assent.

“You want me to fuck you. You’ve just been teasing me.”

All I could manage was a moan.

He pushed me over on my side on the sofa, my head on the arm. Then he pulled me around on my back and was straddling me, his mouth working my cock. I grabbed his bald head in my hands, thinking I was meaning to try to push him away. That wasn’t what I wanted at all. I was holding him there, instead, enjoying the rhythmic up and down movement on my cock between his lips and the bobbing of his head in the rhythm.

“God, Mr. Howell,” I murmured, my voice feeling far away and weak even to me. “Wes lied. I’ve never . . . he lied.”

He pulled his mouth off my cock and looked up at my face. “You’ve never been fucked before?”

“Ne . . . never,” I moaned.

“Oh, fuck, this is delicious,” he said in guttural voice. “First fruit. My favorite. You want it. I know you want it. Your body doesn’t lie.”

I moaned.

“Tell me you want me to stop. We can just suck. You have to suck me too. But tell me you don’t want it all—that you don’t want me to fuck you.”

“I . . . I . . .” it ended in a moan as his mouth came down over my cock again.

No fair, no fuckin’ fair, I cried out. But that was all inside my head. I wasn’t actually crying anything out. I was groaning and moaning too loud. And my hips were beginning to move with the rhythm of his mouth pumping.

I collapsed. I tensed up and then relaxed again. I tensed yet again as I felt a finger at my hole, entering me, slowly. Finding a spot that made me grip his ears and arch my back and moan a deeper moan than I’d given him before. I felt fireworks. Didn’t hear them or see them. Felt them in a way I can’t describe, as nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I shuddered and tensed. Then tensed even more. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, God, I’m coming!”

And I did.

After cleaning my cock with his tongue, he was lifting my legs, my ankles above my shoulders. His tongue going down across my perineum. To my asshole.

I gasped. I groaned, I moaned. I was being tongue fucked. I was putty in his hands now—not that I’d put up anything like a fight before. He could do anything he wanted to me now. But that cock he had. The size of what I’d felt. I began to tremble. And to cry. Softly, trying not to let him hear. Trying not to be there at all. But the pleasure. The arousal. I was already getting hard again. My hand went to my cock, and I was slow pumping it.

He was hovering over me. His teeth were nipping at my nipples and I was giving little nipping sounds and my body was jerking. I had no control. It wasn’t even my body. I didn’t want it to be my body. But, yes, of course I did. I wanted this pleasure, this ultimate arousal.

“Yessss, oh shit, yes,” I hissed. I pushed my chest up, my nipples search his mouth. He laughed and raised his mouth to mine again and possessed me as before. I ran my hands down his chest, luxuriating in the matting of hair and in the hard curves of his muscles. Taking his cock in my hand, brushing my own cock against it, and then holding them together in my fist. His so much thicker and longer than mine. Both hot, hard, pulsating. His moving slowly in and out, rubbing across my fingers.

Shuddering again at the thought of what he said he was going to do to me. With that big dick.

He was pulling away from me. Rising up my body. His cock level with my mouth. “Suck it.”

“Oh, God. I’ve never.”

“Not that either?” He laughed. “Just open wide, keep your teeth off it, and don’t gag anymore than you have to. I’ll do the rest.”

Holding the sides of my head with his meaty fists. Pushing inside me with that bulb of his. I couldn’t take much, at first, and he didn’t press hard . . . at first. Before he was finished, though, I felt that my tonsils had been battered and that he was a jackhammer machine.

“Can’t yet,” I heard him say, and then he was pulling out of me. “Not bad for the first time. Just about had me coming.”

I wasn’t sure my jaw would ever snap back in place. My nose was running, tears were streaming down my face, my tongue felt like it was twice its normal size, and the musky taste of him lingered on after he’d pulled out. My chest was heaving from the effort. But I was exhilarated at the experience. I’d done it. I always wondered what it would be like. The next time I’d take more control. I’d try to give more pleasure—like he did for me.

The next time? Oh, god, what was I thinking?

I lay there panting, not able to move. Thinking that this was when I should get up and flee. He was off the sofa, looking down at me. Smiling. He was fiddling with a small square packet. A condom! And he had a small can of something in his hand.

He really was going to do it. He was going to fuck me in the ass. In the ass! I’d never. I couldn’t. No fucking way would I . . .

I moaned and tried to move. I was turning on my side on the sofa when I felt a hand gliding under my waist. A hairy forearm. He wasn’t fighting me. He was helping me. To turn over on my stomach. But when I was about to put my leg out onto the floor and rise from the sofa, he was holding me firm, pulling me up on my knees on the sofa, my head on the armrest.

Crouched over me, he was moving fingers back to my asshole. Cold, wet fingers. Probing me. His torso over mine, holding me close. His teeth on an earlobe, breathing heavily.

“Steady, steady as she goes. It will only hurt at the beginning. Slowly, slowly I’m going to take you to heaven.”

“I haven’t. I can’t. I . . .”

“You’re honey. Meant to be taken. To be fucked. It’s a man you want. A man with a big cock. More man than Wes was. I’m that man. I’m gonna fuck you. Here, now. You’re gonna love it. Gonna beg for it.”

He hadn’t been convinced. He still thought that Wes had fucked me, that he was competing with Wes, and that I was comparing him to a younger guy. He was right, though. I wanted it. But I was scared, oh so scared. I started to squirm, feeling not thickish fingers inside me, but something thicker, slick, bigger than the hole but pressing in. At my asshole.

“Steady, steady.” His voice was thick, growly. “God, you’re tight. But we’re going to do this. You’re going to get fucked.”

“Nooo,” I moan. “Oh, god. Oh, shit. Ohh. Ohhhhhh.”

It was gigantic. A gourd, a watermelon. There was no . . . way. “Oh Fuckkkk.”

Inside me. Expanding pushing. In, in, in. Stop and hold. Both of us panting.

“Tight, tight. This is going to be great.”

He’d found the spot again. He was rubbing it with his dick head. I felt the jizm rise. Hot . . . waves . . . of pleasure. “Ahhhhhhhhh, yess.”

“Like that, do you?”

“Oh fuck yessss.”

I was building up the capability of saying something else, telling him the “however” part, when there was a searing pain, and I was fighting him hard, squirming within his grasp. Ineffectually. He was a big, strong man. And his dick was sinking deep inside me. Heavy breathing in harmony again. I began to sob, aloud. Defeated, taken, fucked.

And then he began to pump me. I came again and just went limp. He held me firmly, though, pulling me up to where my torso was erect. I was still on my knees. He had a grip under my chin with one hand, and his other, hairy forearm wrapped around my belly. His mouth was next to my ear, and his voice became thicker, more excited as he counted the strokes up his cock up inside me.

“Better now? I feel you relaxing. It’s good for you now, isn’t it?”

I could do more than moan. But he was right. The pain was subsiding, the pleasure welling up.

I no longer cared. It didn’t hurt that much anymore. And there was not going back from here. This was all his show now. As he breathed harder and his voice began to crack with lust and emotion, something else entered my mind. Power. Was it Mr. Howell who was controlling me, or me controlling his lust? I could tell he wanted me in a way he no longer controlled. I was the treasure. He lusted after me so much that he’d set this up and he couldn’t get enough of me.

Maybe I could get him to come—to do so when I wanted him to. He’d milked me twice. Maybe I could control something here. I began to work my butt. Back and forth. Slowly. Contracting away from him and then slowly back on his cock, drawing him into me. Discovering that I could tighten and released my channel muscles on his cock and could tell that this made him moan—and made him harder inside me. He was breathing harder and moaning. Fucking faster, deeper. I moved my butt in circles, around his cock. Tightened my muscles and relaxed; tightened and relaxed. And with a deep grunt and release of his breath, he came, filling out the bulb of his condom.

Fifteen minutes later we were in better rhythm, more equal, as I lay on my back on the sofa and his knees spread my thighs, pushed under my butt, raising it for an angle that gave his cock deep penetration. He had greased up his staff and my hole more than the first time. There was more glide, less friction. And my channel was opening more to him now. I was more relaxed. My pleasure was heightened this time with the sensation that I had that gigantic cock inside me, that I could handle it. That he wanted to be inside me so much. Nothing to fight anymore. I had been fucked by a man—a real man, a horse-hung daddy of a man—and I loved it. I loved the connection, the wanting of me, the managing and controlling of such a powerful men—with such a big, vigorous cock.

My hands were running up and down his torso, my fingers nipping at his nipples as he gave low huffing sounds and grinned down at me. One of his hands was working my cock. I was moving my hips with the deep thrusts of his cock—and my channel muscles. Playing his cock as much as he was working me.

“Let’s . . . try . . . to come together. It’s a special feeling that . . . no matter, we’ll try again later.”

Later? I thought, having just come for the third time that evening. He thinks we’ll do this again. That I’ll let him do this to me again. What do I think of that. For the life of me I didn’t know what I thought of that. All I knew at the moment was that I wanted to make him come. I wanted it to me something I did to his body that made him come.

Ten minutes later, after he’d come and we’d just laid there, cooling down, me feeling for the first time the sensation of a man’s monster cock softening up inside me, he leaned over and whispered, “We can cool down in the pool. I want to fuck you in the pool.”

“Get it like that from Wes, did you? He fuck you as hard or as deep, or as long? He make you beg for more of it, harder, longer, deeper that I did?”

He was standing in four feet of water, with my butt plastered to his pelvis, feeling him soften inside me. His hands were gripping my waist and I was arched out toward the lip of the pool, my fists gripping the edge. The agitation of the water that his fucking motion had created was only slowly ebbing away. My ankles were locked together behind him, beneath his buttocks.

For the first time, we had come together.

“You are the greatest, Mr. Howell . . . Clarence. The absolute greatest.”

“Call your mother and tell her you’re sleeping out tonight.”

* * * *

It had been a week. He’d come to the fence at Brother Jeb’s orchard and watched and waited. But I’d put my bicycle on the other side of the orchard. And when he wasn’t looking I’d been slipping off and taking different routes home.

He’d been to the house. But I’d managed to never be there. He’d bring little gifts for my mother, trying to get her to help me decide to come work for him—at least that’s what he said he wanted. And my mother, knowing he was offering twice what Brother Jeb was and, being a good Baptist and never having been too pleased I was working for a Mennonite anyway, was doing what she could to get me to go with him.

She just didn’t know what going with him entailed. She’d probably run off to the church and drown herself in the baptismal pool if she got even a whiff of what he was sniffing around for—what he’d already gotten.

After a week, though, I walked right up to him as he was standing, looking forlorn at the fence and said, “I sure could use a ride home.”

He looked like a little boy in a candy store. He was all tongue tied and smiling.

“Just a ride home,” I said, enjoying the teasing.

His face fell, but he just got looked a little pouty and went around to the driver’s side.

When we’d shoved off, I said, in a low voice. “You know somewhere private we can pull this truck off?”

He almost swerved off the road as his head snapped around so he could get a good look at my face. I smiled at him, but I didn’t use a “I’m just jerking you around” sort of smile.

He had no trouble finding an overgrown drive into an abandoned homestead and pulling in behind a collapsed structure of some sort.

I had him sit in the center of the backseat of the Ford F-450 double cab, naked, while I sat in his lap, facing him, and, leveraging off the heels of my feet on the carpeting floor, fucked myself good and deep on his hungry staff.

“Yes, I’ll come work for you,” I said. “You want me this much, I’ll pick your peaches.”

I’d thought long and hard. The morning after I’d slept in his bed with him—and with that Lynn guy too, with Mr. Howell going back and forth between us, having enough hard cock and stamina to service us both to exhaustion—he’d begged me to come work for him, saying he couldn’t be without me, and that if I worked under him, there would be more opportunities for us to be together. He’d given me such a puppy dog look then—and when he’d come to the fence during the following week—that I finally gave in to him. I’d never had anyone want me that bad—or who gave me that much pleasure. I was in a whole new world.

* * * *

There were several young guys picking peaches in Mr. Howell’s orchard. Young and good looking, white, black, and Hispanic. He had just as many working his orchards as Brother Jeb had—maybe more.

But they were a lethargic lot in most cases. Being as how I was Mr. Howell’s boy now, I knew it was up to me to set a pace and an example. So I worked as hard as I’d done at Brother Jeb’s. Wes Shelton was there, acting as field supervisor, just as Mr. Howell had said he would be. He smirked a little in my direction when I showed up for work on my bike. I hadn’t decided, though, if I was going to call him out for lying about me to Mr. Howell. I couldn’t very well work up a deep mad when Mr. Howell had fucked me so well—and when most of my sleeping moments and some of my awake ones now were of Mr. Howell’s cock working my channel deep. I didn’t have much of a chance to speak alone with Wes for the first three hours of the day anyway.

I was working hard and fast, being a good example to the guys working the trees around me when I saw the big, red F-450 rumble up and through the orchard. When I looked up again, I didn’t see it, though.

Twenty or so minutes later, Wes was walking near my tree and I called him over.

“I see that Mr. H. got you working here after all,” Wes said. He was looking real good. All bulked up and tanned. My guess was that it was the football practices that was doing that for him, because he sure as hell wasn’t lifting much other than a finger on this orchard picking.

“Yes. He pays double what I got before. I’m saving to go to school in Harrisonburg.”

“I heard as much. There’s a good technical school in Blacksburg, you know. Better than the one in Harrisonburg, I hear.”

“I have to live at home. I don’t have the money yet to live away as far as Blacksburg.”

“Mr. H. is paying you double now. Maybe you could get him to pay you even more. You’re the best of the lot around here, you know.”

It didn’t take much, I thought, for anyone to see that I was three times the worker that any of these other lazy pretty boys were.

“Speaking of Mr. Howell,” I said. “Have you seen him? I thought I saw his truck come into the field a little while ago.”

“Sure,” Wes said, with a little smirk on his face. “Why don’t you go look behind that storage shed over there.”

I climbed down out of the tree. Wes was standing close to where I came down. Reaching out and putting a hand on my arm, he said, “You know you and I were getting to finding some real pleasure with each other. You go on and do it within anyone—go all the way?”

“No,” I said.

“Not before Mr. H., you mean? You look well fucked by someone. My money’s on Mr. H.” He gave me a knowing laugh.

I gave him a dirty look, pulled away from him, and walked as steadily as I could over to the shed.

Rounding the corner, I saw the big, red F-450. That’s not all I saw, though. The passenger door was open and one of the young Hispanic guys was laying, naked, half in and half out of the truck with the small of his back on the passenger seat. His legs were raised, and the his toes were dug into the top sides of the door frame on either side. Mr. Howell, also naked, was standing on the running board between the Hispanic’s legs, crouched over the passenger side, and was fucking the Hispanic’s hole fast and furiously.

The muscles of the Hispanic’s legs were undulating in rhythm to the fuck. The sounds he was making told me he was having a good time. And knowing what Mr. Howell packed between his legs and what he could do with it, my butt twitched in envy. I could see into the cab to where the Hispanic’s arms were thrown over his head and his head was lolled to one side on the towel on the passenger side of the truck—the same towel I’d sat on that day of my first ride in the red truck. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and I could see even from here the dreamy look on his face. I knew from the thrusting of Mr. Howell’s hips that he was fucking deep. The whiteness of his tightening and expanding alabaster butt cheeks in contrast to the deep tan of the rest of his body made me moan.

Red faced, I turned and walked quickly back around the side of the shed.

Wes was standing there in front of the shed. Not wanting to approach him, I turned my body back toward the truck. That was a mistake. The second view of what Mr. Howell was doing to that young Hispanic field worker, with the shock of the first sighting gone, was just too enticing now. I stood there and watched. Wes came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. One of his hands went to my cock, having no trouble finding the hardness of it and holding it through the material of my gym shorts. His breathing was ragged, sounding like a low roar as close as his mouth was to my ear. I leaned back into him in defeat and just moaned as his hand went below my waistband.

“You knew what he was doing,” I said, accusingly, but in a low voice that I hardly could get out.

“I sure did. And you should have known too. That’s how he got you to come work here. That’s his recruiting style. He’s got the biggest dick in the county and all the guys who might be interested know that. They flock here—for the double wages, and for the fucks. What, did you think he wanted you so bad that you’d be his one and only?”

“You lied to him . . . about me.”

“Best way I knew of to get you here and to be ready for me. He’s good, but he’s an old man, Johnny. I’m young and in great shape. I’ll be better to you than he can be.”

I couldn’t say anything. All I could do is look at my feet. I felt such a fool. I had been stupid enough to think that it was I who was in control. That Mr. Howell. He just wanted his orchard picked fast and clean. And Wes. He was no better. He just wanted to control me too.

“Pretty shitty thing to do, I know,” Wes said. “I know how you can get your own back, though.”

We fucked right there inside the shed. I could hear the Hispanic’s cries, so I supposed that Mr. Howell could hear mine as well. But I didn’t give a shit.

The irony was that Wes was a better fucker than Mr. Howell was. He also was more susceptible to my charms and my growing sense of control. By the end of the summer he was begging me to go to Blacksburg rather than Harrisonburg and was willing to let me live with him—for free. And I had plenty of money to start junior college as well as study for my electrician’s credentials.

Mr. Howell came sniffing around often, but denying him and letting him see Wes fuck me in the bushes made up for him plucking the first fruit off me. He reacted badly enough that I guess I did have some form of control over him. It wasn’t as unequal as he thought. I was still best peach picker in the whole county. And, knowing that, he couldn’t fire me.


###

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I had always thought that about the only thing you could do on a pool table was play pool, but the Taylor brothers went to great length and depth to teach me otherwise. I’d met the three brothers on the beach at Pataya, Thailand. Their family owned a hotel construction company and was making money hand over fist in throwing up fancy hotels in downtown Bangkok and at the Pataya and Hua Hin

First Threesome

My first, memorable threesome was in that fancy gym in Bangkok where I had recently met who I called my Indian magician, who had seduced and initiated me. And the threesome was orchestrated by that Indian diplomat as well. He had been eyeing a military attaché from the Israeli embassy on the exercise floor—a man pushing his forties, built close to the ground but with long arms, almost simian in

Firsts With An Indian Magician

My first time for a lot of things came within a three-week period. I was a young Air Force pilot, living in Bangkok, Thailand, and flying the SR71 photoreconnaissance airplane. I was as virginal as they came before arriving in Bangkok. Sports through school and Air Force training and heavy workouts pretty much had taken all of my time and energy. I was about as Mom, apple pie, and country first

Friday Nights with Lenny

I stepped back from the sidewalk, hugging my arms close to my sides, and leaned back on the wall at the corner into the alley, raising one leg, knee bent, and my cowboy booted foot flat against the wall. The hole in the sole of that boot was worn clean through and the cold of the wall wasn’t as cold as that of the sidewalk pavement. Besides, it was a good pose for the purpose. While still

Garden District Plunge

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment,” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe watched them from the shadows in

Getting . . . Educated, Conclusion

The next day was my next tennis date with Ben. As I had thought and hoped for, after we’d played and I’d beaten him for the first time, I learned that he was in bad condition again and needed help. We both took showers, and he started back for the massage room, but I stopped him, telling him I had found a better place for him to get relief. We hurriedly both put gym shorts and T-shirts on, and I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 1

It was the first month of my graduate school, and it was my turn for the “introductory” evening with my Logic professor, Paul Hollings. When I’d asked someone who’d taken his class the previous year what the proper attire for such an event was, he had just given me a lopsided grin and said, “For a handsome guy like you? I’d suggest very bulky clothes.” He hadn’t elaborated, but I probably

Getting . . . Educated, Part 10

Although I had several white bandana encounters that week in which all a stranger needed to do to get submissive sex from me was to ask for my bandana, none were as strange as the one I had while I was on my way to play tennis with Ben the first time. I was strolling along, racket case under my arm, when a big black limousine, with smoked windows rolled up beside me, the driver’s window rolled

Getting . . . Educated, Part 12

My next team punch event day was more memorable for being the day of the double massage than for my losing a wrestling match and getting fucked. I lost the match, of course. This time to Greg, who was perverse enough to make me swing both my arms and legs over the parallel bars and then got on a bench under me and fucked me first from the front, my ass tipped up and then from the back, my ass

Getting . . . Educated, Part 13

I still felt better about the possibilities of taking control the next evening, which may be why I took that ticket the doped up rocker had given me and attended his concert. His band really was quite good. He had a large crowd in the university’s soccer stadium and it was even filmed for national sale as a video. The rocker who had fucked me had a great, raspy, character-laden voice and he

Getting . . . Educated, Part 14

At my next tennis match with Ben, he allowed as how he wasn’t in nearly the same painfully hard condition that he had been when we’d done the prostate procedure, but he did show a bit too much eagerness to repeat the massage that day if I thought it was advisable. I wanted him at full staff for presentation to the coach, so I asked him if he could hold off until our next practice match, to which

Getting . . . Educated, Part 15

Coach Seeman had told all of the wrestlers that they could come over and use his swimming pool at any time, and I was so sore and strung out later that afternoon that I took him up on the offer. I knew there was a wrestling meet during that time and figured that Seeman and the real wrestlers would be busy with that and that I’d have the pool to myself. I did, in fact, have the pool to myself

Getting . . . Educated, Part 2

I trudged back to the dorm from having been raped by my Logic professor, feeling very down and very sore, hoping that no one would ever learn about my humiliation; angry at the professor, not knowing how I was going to be able to sit in his class in front of him now. Worried about whether and what demands he might make on me for the rest of the semester. I wasn’t that way. I didn’t want to be

Getting . . . Educated, Part 3

I had been sexually assaulted by three men within my first week at school. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I let it go for several days and then, when I was on my way to throw some hoops at the gym, I just snapped and found myself seeking out the dean of men students. I didn’t know if I could get a walk-in appointment with him, but I felt like I needed to talk to someone about

Getting . . . Educated, Part 4

It had been three days since I had been raped four times within two days, and I was hiding out. I had taken a by-week apartment made over from a motel not too far from the campus, dropped the logic class, and kept as low a profile as I could. I’d found the former motel too noisy to study in, so I was camped out in a small overgrown park nearby, where I was studying on an old picnic table. I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 5

I’d had enough of these repeated sexual assaults; being used like this. The next day, I packed my car and headed for home. No more than three miles beyond the campus gate, though, I heard a police siren and was pulled over to the side of the road. I sat in the car, wondering what I had done wrong, as a policeman strutted around and took a look at both license plates, all the time swishing a

Getting . . . Educated, Part 6

Coach Seeman delivered me to Nate’s door, ravished and still in handcuffs, which had been moved so that my arms were in front of me, and with my jeans barely covering me. When Nate answered the door, he was wearing only his briefs. As the dorm counselor, he had an actual one-bedroom apartment, including separate bedroom, a kitchenette, and a bath—which made me wonder why he showered in the common

Getting . . . Educated, Part 7

I stayed with Nate for the next two weeks, taking in my regular classes in the afternoon and spending most of the mornings learning the fundamentals of wrestling from Nate and Greg in a small room off the main wrestling gym while the coach’s regular “Greek Wrestling” class went on in the main wrestling gym. I thought I was getting the hang of it until I was called in for what coach termed one of

Getting . . . Educated, Part 8

Later that afternoon I got my first glimpse of my possible ticket out of this “team punch” hell. I went to class and the professor, who was also my faculty advisor, asked me to come see her in her office after her next class. When I appeared there, she wasn’t alone. A young student was sitting and chatting with her. I took to him immediately. He was perhaps the most handsome youth I’d ever seen;

Getting . . . Educated, Part 9

My next team punch event defeat wasn’t too taxing. I was getting steeled to these attacks on my body. The winner was one of those lean, mean Marines, without an ounce of fat on a very efficient body and a shaved haircut. Not much to brag about in the below-the-belt category, which probably is why I’d seen him hang out with one of the bantam-weight wrestlers, a willowy, but obviously strong,

Getting. . . Educated, Part 11

The exhaustion of and loss of strength from the previous day’s unexpected sex encounters may have accounted for my tennis match the next day, but it’s just as likely that Ben was just a much better tennis player than I was. He agreed to let me try to recoup the loss and set up another match for two days hence. As I had hoped, we were the only ones in the graduate gym shower room when we went in

Gotta Keep This Job

I had been summoned to the medical suite at my office at the end of the Friday dayshift of my second week on the job, and I showed up with a great sense of trepidation. It had been hard finding this job, and I just had to keep it. But I’d scored drugs for a short time when I’d been in college, and I knew this company had a strict drug policy. I hoped that they hadn’t found out about that—or that

Handed On

“I really do worry about you. When did you eat last?”“Please, please, don’t stop,” Marc whimpered between pants. “Finish me, please. Don’t make me wait.”“Now you want it,” the dance master laughed. “We’ll see how badly you want it.”The two young men were lying on a pile of old costumes in the dark corner of the back of the stage behind the wings. The dance master, Patrick Moran, only

Harmony and Dissonance

“Are you sure this is the address?” Lars Krieger asked, as the hotel car stopped in front of a massive, carved-wood, two-panel door in an otherwise blank concrete wall on Bangkok’s Soi 51 Sukhumvit. The road was narrow, almost an alley, it seemed, to the young German engineer, with one, long stuccoed wall running down its full length on each side with doors like this and wider garage doors at

Harvesting In The Park

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had found this one particularly

Highballing

If the CEO of my company hadn’t seen me recently in that gay bar over on 12th and Madison, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get invited to the executive floor. But Pete Peterson had seen me, and there I was, in his conference room, sitting in a second-row position in the weekly executive meeting. I’d been surprised, but pleasantly so, to see Peterson in the bar. He was one of

Iced

If I didn’t get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We’d come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we’d attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we’d been at Skate Canada a couple of

Iced Flip Side

I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands

Into the Dark

Momma, please. I won’t talk back anymore. Let me out of the closet, Momma. Or turn on a light. You know how scared I am of the dark. Don’t leave me here in the dark, Momma. Please. Please Momma. Momma? Momma?* * * *Brandon leaned over the low, padded cubicle wall and winked at Colleen and told her she was looking mighty fine today. Then, as he turned and moved down the corridor between

Israeli Assault

I'll always remember the Israeli by the image of him standing there at the window of the Oriental Hotel room, the strong Bangkok sun bathing his body in afternoon light—that and by the cockiness with which he took control. The Israeli army officer, a military attaché at his country's embassy in Thailand, had just two weeks earlier been part of my first threesome. He had seen me working out in

Joggered

“Open to me. Open to daddy.” And I spread my legs for him. Before he pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen, he had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over ten inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the jogger emitting little sighs and moans of

Kasem's Kitchen

If the kitchen of Kasem’s family in the upcountry jungle of Thailand hadn’t burnt to the ground, I possibly never would have found out what the special Bangkok sports massage was all about. Kasem was my masseur at a fancy Bangkok gym, which was open for “men only” a couple of nights a week and which was a major pickup place for prime cuts of male meat. Of course, when I’d started going to the

Last Rodeo

Lattimore stopped at corner of the cookhouse as he was crossing from the main house of his ranch outside Laramie, Wyoming, to the corral to train the quarter horse he’d bought on the last cattle drive to Omaha. He leaned on a fence and watched young Kit chopping wood. The young man was stripped to the waist while he chopped.Bulking up real good, Lattimore thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad

Late Night Workout

I had been going to Gabe and Steve’s Gym for a couple of months, and I was quite pleased with the results. I could tell that Gabe and Steve were pleased too, as they’d both been giving me the eye when I was in the shower. I didn’t mind all that much; it was a free world and looks didn’t cost me anything—or so I thought at the time. I knew that Gabe and Steve were a couple, but that didn’t mean

Legend of Cowboy

All sorts of expatriate “characters” gravitated to Bangkok, Thailand, in the seventies and eighties, and none were more colorful than the man known simply as Cowboy. Cowboy was a six-and-a-half foot black American stud, who was said to have been a pro basketball player of some note who had retreated to Bangkok in the face of possible charges for point shaving and racketeering. In Bangkok, Cowboy

Like Father Like Son

As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg. I had thought of this possibility on and off for the whole cruise down

Locker Room Revelation

It wasn’t a regular day of practice; only Hank and I had come in, and we’d worked out in the gym after we’d done laps on the field. I could tell he was steamed about something, but I didn’t ask about what. He had finished first, and it looked like I had the locker room to myself when I came in from the gym. I took a quick shower and pulled on my briefs and some baggy shorts and an athletic T, and

Loving Wife

“What’s for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well.”“Of course, if that’s what you want, Ely. If that’s what you want, than that’s what we’ll have.”He’s got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it’s lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don’t have any lamb chops in

Master of the Boardroom

The reports of the week were winding down, and I looked around the table, only half conscious of what was being reported. The three older guys at the table would take care of all that for me. I was sizing up all of the young and beautiful people I’d stocked the board with. The power to do this was the joy of heading a robust family business; I could stock the board with the pick of the crop, and

Mentoring

Is this the very café table where we sat? Yes, I think it is. In fact, I’m sure it is. It’s as if time has stood still. The café is just as it was nearly thirty years ago—or at least I don’t remember anything as different. It’s hard to believe that as much as London has changed over the last twenty years, Norwich might not have changed at all. Or so it seems. And so I want it to be. I don’t want

Nailed By Obsession

He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous and our eyes had met across the room and he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he’d sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and had put his hand on my thigh and had given me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not

Natchez Refreshment

The cyclist was racing along the top of the Mississippi levee, anxious to get back into Natchez before the rains hit. Sweating profusely in the humidity and under the blazing sun, he had stripped his jersey off and wrapped it around the handlebars of the bike. It was almost dusk now, however, and the storm clouds were rumbling in. He felt chilled and tried to free the jersey from the handlebars

Naval Dilemma

Dutch came first. It was a particularly busy and boisterous night in the Dick Hut, tucked in the back shadows of an alley off the Nuuanu Stream in the heart of Honolulu's red light district. The sign over the door actually said

Neighbor's Hot Tub

My wife was off to see her mother, and for the first time since he’d gotten it, my neighbor, Marty, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. His house backed onto my side yard, and he’d done a whole lot of nice renovation on his property since he had moved in. Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite

New Master at Riverbend

Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn’t ready to go yet. That’s all Thomas, Master John’s carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he’d found when he’d entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall

New Orleans Rejuvenation

I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his chest,

No More Evening Shifts

There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and gave me a air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

Norwegian Stallion

One of the saddest—and most ironic—casualties of the internecine Greek-Turkish war on Cyprus that divided the island into warring camps three decades ago was the once-famous and elegant Ledra Palace Hotel. The Treaty Room of the Ledra Palace, a hulking stone edifice in the Moorish style, had been the venue where the British secretly committed the crime of slicing up the Arabian Peninsula and

Nuclear Meltdown

It was all happening so fast. I didn’t even have time to feel panic. I just felt a dullness and a foreboding—and a creeping sense of being trapped in a web of some sort. No, more like a cocoon, the sticky thread winding around and around me. Smothering me.“Just a few minutes, Dr. Winthrop, and you can go back to your room. I know this has been a shock to you. We have just a few more questions

On a String in Bangkok

In more recent years I look back on my mid-1970s (and then again early 1980s) Bangkok adventure and just shake my head, wondering what we were thinking we were doing then and how shallow we must have been to be so totally focused on beautiful bodies and the striving for perpetual orgasm.I think that for most of those I played with for two-and-a-half years in the 1970s, the hedonist urges

On The Roof

It was a hot day, and I was out doing my laps in the pool when the roofers arrived. They had started the previous afternoon, just diddling around and getting their supplies where they wanted them. The older of the two was a well-turned-out, chiseled-featured, and solidly built dude, probably in his early forties, with prematurely graying dark hair. He looked like he’d taken real good care of

On The Trail

I had never tried to seduce another guy before, but Dale was just there at the right time and place. We were both runners—he because he was on the college football team and running up and down the Pine Mountain trail helped keep him in shape and I because I wasn’t that long out of college myself and I was doing the best I could to keep my fine form in shape. We had passed each other a couple

Only a Custodian

“And a ten-inch cock.”“You’re shitting us now,” Oliver said.“Yes, I’m shitting you,” Porter answered. “But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him.”“Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to,” Adrian interjected.“And put the toilet seat down too?” someone asked. They all laughed.“No, thank god,” Adrian answered

Pay-as-You-Go Hitching

I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a hitchhiker on the

Pianoman

“First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . .”Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like “Ebb Tide,” when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.It wasn’t a question of being a prima donna and

Picking the First Fruit

I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn’t just me boasting. That’s what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I’ve heard both men say that, in the peach business, it’s getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does

Pirated

I was just about home free with the tasty wench the lads had brought on board for me from Kingston when the attack started. After some mouth play, she hadn’t objected in the least when I’d unlaced her bodice and started giving her ripe melons the attention they deserved. We were entwined together in the window seat of my vessel’s fantail, and, forward lass that she was, she had unbuttoned my

Porn War

The song “Kisses Sweeter than Wine” sprang to my mind, because that was what his kisses were. As far as I could tell in the dimly lit Blue Moon resort hotel room in Las Vegas, he was a young hunk, no older than I was. Most of the men in the room were older, a few probably twice or more my age. None were complete throwaways, but he was prime among them. And he had latched on to me as soon as I’d

Reconnected Recovery

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The young, drunk construction worker

Remembering Miles

I hadn’t seen Cousin Miles for nearly twenty years, and he looked more like it had been thirty. He looked so defeated and withdrawn into himself. And my memories were of a vibrant athlete. He wasn’t really a cousin in the blood-relative sense. Uncle John and Aunt Frieda had adopted both him and his sister, Mandy, because they couldn’t have any of their own. You could have told he wasn’t really

Renewal of Passion

I had been down and just marking time ever since I'd left Beirut three years earlier. I hadn't really been able to write that whole time either; I was just floating on the royalties from my earlier novels, written in the passion of my youth—passion that I just couldn't find in me anymore. Perhaps it was having hit that deadly age of fifty; perhaps passion naturally dissipated from that point.

Rest Stop

We were tooling down the highway in the early evening at a pretty good clip in my BMW Z4 Roadster when Perry started to get frisky. Perry was this hulking blond roommate of mine who also was on the football team, but who was a couple of years older than I was and played first-string tailback. I’d just started college this year and was still warming the bench, although I’d impressed the coach

Resting a Demon

I thought I was going to be sick. His mother asked him to entertain us, to play something for us on the piano, and the pert-butt blond tossed the curl out of his face and flowed over to the piano and started to fill the room with Chopin. I’d had this kid in my craw for a good fifteen years, and all I wanted to do was to slam him to the floor and fuck the stuffing out of him. And that was when he

Ride Em Cowboy

Since the 1930s my extended family has had a remote ranch in a hidden Colorado Rockies valley abutting Medicine Bow National Park south from Laramie, Wyoming. The mountain fasts there—almost alpine in environment—are majestic, but they can be raw and cruel as well. Our family raised cattle there and took timber off the mountainsides in a planned "thinning" harvest pattern that supported a

Rude Awakening

The most wonderful thing a lover has ever done for me was to give me my life. I didn’t understand it at the time, but if he had loved me as I wanted him to—as I begged him to—I would be long dead today. The days of my sexual coming of age in Bangkok, Thailand, during the early eighties were paradise followed by a rude awakening, a realization of how life can come back at you hard that I didn’t

Sacrificed by Curiosity

Doug had been conditioning me for months. We had met at the gym, and several weeks after we’d become regular spotting partners, he revealed to me, almost in an off-hand manner, that he was bisexual and that he actually preferred gay sex. He didn’t come on to me—at least not directly—and I consider myself fairly open-minded, so I continued with our informal spotting arrangements. I also had an

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 1

* * * The coven was good enough to dump Doug on the steps of an ER in a cross-town hospital and to drop me off at home with one of the younger men from the group there with me to clean me and the damage to our bedroom up and to provide an alibi for me when the police arrived later that evening. After the police left, I went into the bathroom and ran a steaming bath. I stretched out in the

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 2

I had been playing with the brunette’s tits, just as she was playing with mine, and I just got my hands away in time for Doug to take over. He must have been rougher on her tits than I was, because she was yipping and moaning and groaning and bouncing a bit on my skewer, which went to twelve inches under her attention. After a few minutes, he wish boned my legs again so that he could bury meat

Sailing Back into Life

Sailing Back into Life [Author’s Note: When the Philippe Lecroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” "Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Alphonse waved

Sailors and Flyboys

FlyboysPete swung into the gym with a big grin on his face. “Fleet’s in and I’ve already talked with Javier. His ship will be in early, on Thursday. Says he can get a three-day shore pass. Time for a special weekend.”“I’m game,” Todd answered, but he was looking up at the man spotting him on the bench press and asked, “How about you, Dan?”“Every weekend’s special with you, babe,” Dan

Satin Circus

(Written by request for a satin fetish story by James A.)The music swells and the lights dim under the big tent, as the excitement builds in the audience and the buzzing conversations subside with the rising expectation that something—something special—is about to happen. Strobing lights and laser beams come up, gyrating around on the floor below and under the canopy of the tent above,

Satin Sleigh Ride

Count Gregor Arninov towered over his elegantly dressed host and hostess in the foyer of their winter dacha as his sleigh was being brought around. He was leaning over them and holding the admiral’s wife’s small silk-gloved hand in his appreciably larger satin-clad one while he murmured how wonderful their ball had been and that, yes, he had enjoyed dancing with their daughter immensely. The

Satisfaction Ashram

As I stood outside the entrance to the old British colonial-style Windsor Hotel in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka, in the shadow of Mount Pidurutagala, waiting for someone to take me up to the ashram, I couldn’t believe how far—and how far back in time—I had moved from Teddy’s cabin in the Catskills. From the moment Teddy’s business partner, Mort Whitley, had driven up to the cabin and told me how

Searching for It

Searching for It(Corbin and Ethan both go looking for it on the New York docks)(sounding, fetish, docks, gay male clubs, domination, gay anal, rough sex, daddies, obsession, collections)“Yo, there, buddy. Lookin’ for somethin’? Cause I got somethin’ for you.”Corbin took a good look at the burly man who had materialized from behind a stack of metal barrels beyond where the light

Snaked on Anjajavy Beach

I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I’d better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth.The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on

Snow Trap

Boyd had been leery of the arrangement from the very beginning, but he hadn’t said anything to his father about it. His father seemed so happy about having found Vic, one of Boyd’s college prep school coaches, two years after Aaron, his former lover, had died. Boyd would much rather it had been anyone other than Vic, someone who Boyd hadn’t known before Aaron died. But, when he was being honest

Snowy, Snowy Nights

In most senses Bran had been invisible at the Hayden saloon the couple of months he’d been there. But as he came out of the back room into the main saloon hall, carrying the bucket of water Levi Yost, the saloon keeper, had told him to use to freshen the bowls in the rooms upstairs, he looked at the tall Christmas tree in the corner. Sadie, Katie, and Faye were busy happily decorating the tree

Solicitous Service

Goran saw the young man standing nervously at the reservations desk and liked what he saw. He was even happy that Serge, the maître d, was pretending not to see the young man, because that meant that Goran, the waiter, could see him to the table—and could make contact of some sort with him on the way there. Goran was one to make an immediate assessment of the playing field and pick out who he

Someday My Prince Will . . .

Last night I dreamt I went to paradise again. I believe we can credit the encounter to Daphne du Maurier. My tour in Cyprus was at an end, but I had hung on for a month, sending my wife back to Washington, D.C., to get the house open up again and everything there back in working order and to guide one of our children into a new university year. I had stayed past my assignment rotation date to

Sweet Sanjay

I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said “Clifford Jenkins” with “New York” written under it. That was me. But I wasn’t being met by anyone that I knew of. The

Swimming Lessons

“I’d like to make an Australian Crawl.” Stan gave a hearty laugh and acknowledged an empty glass up the bar. While he was gone, Keith, in turn, acknowledged that his own beer glass had miraculously filled on its own. He didn’t have much doubt that Stan was trying to get him drunk so that Keith would go in the back room with him. The burly barkeep had been putting the moves on him for some time

Ten Slash Two

I had been jittery and conflicted for the entire two weeks since I’d seen that big black topping a guy at a pool party in Bangkok. I had been bottoming for a Swede in a nearby patio lounge when I looked over and saw this monster cock jack-hammering in out of the other guy—who clearly was in seventh heaven—and I almost melted on the spot. I was conflict, though. Obsessed with desire because the

That One Exception

I have always managed to keep my bisexual world in check and separate from my public straight world by always putting my wife and children first and by committing only to them—that is, possibly, with one notable exception. I had an atypical long-term relationship with an Australian colleague that seemed innocuous at least at the beginning but that has grown stronger over the years—possibly beyond

The Awakening

I guess it may have been because of my mother—and of the strange beliefs my grandmother formed around her. Up until the time my grandmother’s ill health coincided with me being old enough to go to college, I’d been kept in the dark about so many things. I knew that my mother must have done some really, really bad things from the way that my grandmother just tightened up, crossing her arms under

The Caregiver

Perhaps I gave in so easily because Lenny embodied the best of two worlds. First, he was a wonderful, gentle caregiver. He had been coming to my house twice a day for several weeks to take care of my bed-bound grandmother, who was recovering from a broken hip. Second, he was drop-dead gorgeous. All blond Swedish muscle with a shy smile to accompany his sensuous mouth. I’d had a rough week

The Celtic Sonata of Life

I was sitting outside the cottage door, just in my shorts, wondering if the farmer who had rented the rustic Cotswold cottage with the thatched roof and the rose trellis beside the door to me for two weeks had misinterpreted my offer. It hadn’t been in so many words, but I think I had been clear enough in my nonverbal delivery. But maybe not. Maybe signaling here in England was much different

The Clothes Horse

“You’d get half of the bid, plus you’d get to keep the clothes.”I didn’t know that I was all that wild about being auctioned off, but I had to admit that I liked—no, I loved—Zhao Zeng’s clothes. That was what had attracted me to him in the first place. His black satin shirt and trousers were cut so well—and so provocatively—on him that I could hardly keep my eyes off him, even though I’d come

The Commander

“Ahhh, that were very nice,” I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des’s chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we’d have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.“Cig?”

The Compassionate Reporter

“Lou is chasing another story down, Gavin, and this one doesn’t look like more than a short paragraph in the local news section. So if you’ve got an hour or two, could you check this out? And if you don’t have an hour or two, I’d like to know what you’re doing; what you’re working on now was due on my desk an hour ago.”The city editor handed Gavin a telephone message form.“OK, boss. I’ll

The Cure

I came to slowly, the flashing colored lights taking their time to form in my consciousness and whatever Tony had spiked my drink with slow to let loose of me. I was lying on a bed. I tried to rise, but my hands were cuffed together above me and my legs were cuffed as well to the lower corners of the bed. But the bounds were loose there. I could raise my legs as I wanted, but I couldn’t rise from

The Darling

“I’m going to take you to the Darling tonight.”I froze. I’d been chatting with three other guys on the sectional sofa in the conversation pit, not even aware that the major had reentered the house. I was studiously avoiding thinking of where he was. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in this conversation group at all. I normally tried to stay well away from these three. The three pansies we had

The Day the Earth Moved

The two construction workers worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning up for the evening around the construction site on the new house on the steep hillside overlooking the pounding surf on the rugged coast below. The two moved together, in fluid motion. They were having a boisterous and obscene conversation of what the two horny hunks planned to do to their girl friends that evening after a

The Netotiator

I wondered what he could tell about me that no one at home or the office—at least I hoped and always had thought—knew. He had introduced himself as Hal when he’d appeared beside me in Business Class and I’d stood from my aisle seat so that he could get over to the window. He’d had a friendly smile, and if I hadn’t been busy during the first two hours over the Atlantic from New York going over the

The Thunderstorm

I fully acknowledge my weakness, but I think Janine has a share in the shattering of my vows to her. I’d only had that one fling back in college—with Phil. But Chet and Phil had had an affair after college, and now Chet was living in the next acreage to ours. Obviously Phil and Chet had talked about me, and Chet knew all about me before he moved here, because he had made quite clear to me that he

The Video List

“It sounds too complicated for you, Matt,” Jason had said. “Getting a list would be the hardest part—impossible, I think. This is a small potatoes town. I think you should just keep it to the street and be happy when it works out. And get a job.”I’ll admit that getting a job was what got the plan rolling. Then getting a list turned out to be one of the easiest parts. The roughest part,

Theatrical Revival

Theatrical Revival [Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The bodybuilder

To Die in Madeira

I closed my lips over Sir Guy’s cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.We were half way

Training Asu

“You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu’s. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny.”“I know that, Sargon, it is just so hard . . .”Baltasar, the wood merchant, was sitting at a table outside of the tea shop in the bazaar, sipping

Trip Money

I had become a regular at the gym on Tuesday nights, and this 40-something businessman named Clint, who was also a regular on that night, and I had gotten to where we regularly spotted each other through our bar bell work. He was in great shape for his age, leaner than I was, but with well-defined, ropy muscles and chiseled square-cut features. I’d been trying to save the money for some time to

Trucker Bait

As I came up from the beach, I saw Carl and Angela on the deck, He had her top off and was stroking her breasts, and she was sitting astride his lap, having made who knows what connection. I knew what they’d be doing for the next couple of hours, which would leave me at loose ends again. I decided to take the initiative. “Hey, Carl,” I yelled out from below the deck sight line. “Would now be

Trunk Of The Car, 1

Trunk of the Car, Part 1 I found I had a carefree weekend on my hands, so I had driven into the small town to answer an ad for a classic Triumph convertible that I might want to add to my collection. But I had been up and down the street several times without finding the address I was looking for. So, I just parked my car and started hunting on foot. I did find the address, but no one seemed

Trunk Of The Car, Part 2

Eric must have enjoyed the polishing job we’d done on the trunk of his Tempest, because when I’d finished shooting off into him, he said, “Well, Peter if you’ll get this beautiful body off mine and stop entertaining the neighbors, perhaps we should go in and shower.” “I want to fuck again. I want you to fuck me,” I said, without moving. “That’s not out of the equation,” Eric said, with a

Trunk Of The Car, Part 3

As we were leaving the shower, Eric took the tube of mentholated lubricant, squeezed out a large glob, and asked Claude to apply it, which Claude was more than happy to do, pushing his hand deep down the back of Eric’s silk shorts and massaging the gel into Eric’s ass as Eric grunted and twitched his butt. “As soon as this does it’s magic,” Eric said. “I want you to have another go at me, Claude.

Trunk Of The Car, Part 4

Sometime later, I was awakened by Eric pressing on my shoulder. I raised my arms to bring him into bed with me, but he shushed me and said in a low voice, “No, not that. We hear something downstairs. Claude’s gone ahead to check it out. He wants us to follow him down. When we got to the first floor, we could see Claude at the back of the house, near a door that went into a workout room. Claude

Trunk Of The Car, Part 5

After hosing ourselves off again and getting back into those silk shorts, Claude suggested we go down to the living room and drink beer and watch a football game on TV. So, down we went. After I tossed off my first beer, I began to feel a little sorry for the dude hanging up in the gym and asked if it would be okay if I went in there and cleaned him up a bit and put some salve on the new hole

Trunk Of The Car, Part 6

When I awoke, the room was dim, and the house seemed very quiet. It had been a great day, but it was time to shower off one last time and hit the road. But first I’d find the guys and see what they were up to. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard some noises from the back of the house and padded into the gym. The pizza guy was still on delivery, I could see. They’d pulled out the

Turkish Delight Times Six

While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't

Two Men in a Dungeon

The Hulk crouched near the bolted heavy oak door, eyeing Rab, ready to pounce, trying to anticipate where Rab might try to scurry next. The stone-walled chamber wasn’t small, but it wasn’t so large that Rab had much of a chance evading the Hulk much longer. Both men were panting, having played this cat-and-mouse game for several minutes, but Rab was more winded than the Hulk was. No one in his

Wrong Choice

It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn’t brought my suit. I had assumed this

Zonked

I had literally creamed myself almost nightly for Phil’s body, but Phil was about as straight as they come--and getting all the female tail he could handle if all the talk around campus was true. We were both attending the university on athletic scholarships--Phil on a football and baseball scholarship and me on a wrestling scholarship, wrestling being a good way for me to get down and dirty with

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