As the night wore on and the drinks flowed and sailors overflowed our little bar, it was getting a little dicey for me. Hung Lee, the bar's proprietor and my virtual owner as well, kept a string of young Hawaiian men like me in the bar for when the sailors wanted something more exotic, smaller, more lithe and compact—and more undressed—than each other when they poured off their docked vessels, randy, needy, and with a month's pay in the back pockets of their regulation tight whites. Our main responsibility was to keep the men in the bar and paying for drinks. Inevitably, though, we left the bar with one or more of the men and took them to our small rooms in the upper floors of surrounding buildings. This was where the real money was, and Hung Lee let us keep a third of whatever we earned.
I had already left the bar once that night—with a blond, pimply young sailor of no more than nineteen, who was shy and embarrassed and didn't know for sure what to do. All he knew was that he was far from home, he was lonely and a bit scared, and he had had a raging hard on for weeks because he was missing poking some sweetie back in Ohio on the mainland.
I took him to my rooms mostly because he was being circled by the older, much more experienced and aggressive sailors, and I knew from experience that he was in danger of having something far different happen to him than what he had hesitatingly come into this bar for.
When we got to my small two-room working and living space, he didn't seem to know what to do, where to start. So I started for him. I untied and dropped my sarong, the only thing I wore at the bar, and directed him to disrobe, which he did almost furtively in the corner of the room and turned from me. Then I laid him on his belly on my single bed, the most sturdy piece of furniture in the room—out of professional necessity—and I rubbed his shoulders and back with fragrant oil, loosening up both his tension and his inhibitions. He was grinding the bed clothes with his pelvis by the time I had finished with his legs and had moved to his well-rounded butt cheeks. He was sighing and moaning like he was in the heights of sex, but then I turned him over and my hands and mouth showed him what real sex felt like. It had been some time since he'd had sex, so he shot off quickly and prodigiously almost as soon as I sank my mouth down on his throbbing cock.
And then he was very embarrassed and was stammering and was quite beside himself with apologies. I felt sorry for him and didn't want him to leave with a bad impression of how he would be with a man, so I shushed him and covered his mouth with kisses until he subsided back on the bed with a sigh. He was young and virile and in need, so he was already hard again. I mounted him and slid my hole down on his cock, straddling his pelvis as he lay back in the bed, and I taught him that all he had heard on shipboard of what a man could give him was true.
I was late in getting back to the bar because I had instilled such confidence in the young sailor that instead of leaving when I thought we were done, he bent me over the back of a straight chair and took control of a vigorous second fuck, covering me closely from behind. I cried out in the taking for him, telling him how good he was and how fully he was using me and how much I wanted him—all to help him get seasoned in this new lifestyle he was trying out.
When he asked me how much I wanted, I asked for far more than my usual fee. And I did so to be kind to him. I didn't want to leave him with a great deal of money to spend. I wanted him to go directly back to his ship from here, not return to the bar where the predators were circling the waters. I told him that if he just kept his eyes open for the possibilities, that he should be able to find a special friend on the ship who would bottom for him with more opportunities for encounters and less of a risk of falling in with those who would want to use him for their bottoms until he was more seasoned.
When I returned to the Dick Hut, Hung Lee was beside himself with anger and slapped me hard across the face and pushed me into the thick of the boisterous, rutting crowd of sailors. There were entirely too many ships in Pearl Harbor, too many sailors free in Honolulu. Too much testosterone flying around the red light district. Too much tension in the air. Too much frantic need with an eye on the curfew time.
And there were very few of us bar boys to go around. We were easy to spot in a swirling crowd like this. We wore only gaily colored sarongs knotted at our waists, hanging low on our slim hips. We were barefoot and bare chested and had orchids over our ears. We left the impression that all a sailor had to do was to pull loose that knot and we'd be accessible and ready for action.
The sailors, however, were heavily regulated to remain in their starched white uniforms, with the tight midsections and bell bottoms and the pullover top. The Navy didn't care too much what they did on port leave as long as they remained squared away in their sailor costumes while in public. The only saving grace was that they still had buttoned cod pieces for easy access when they needed to piss. It, of course, provided easy access for other things as well. Thus encumbered, the sailors, in their urgency, gravitated more to the half naked, willowy and exotic Hawaiian and Chinese bar boys than to each other.
And there were few even vaguely private places for the sailors to go together. Hung Lee had a back room, but it was quickly filled—at a premium price. As were the surrounding alleys, even if they were free, if you didn't count the danger of being accosted by a roving military police patrol. The sounds of grunts and groans and slurping floated above the whole backstreet and its allies, as white-dressed sailors gravitated to whatever unoccupied shadow could be found to kneel and suck or cover and dog fuck.
It was late enough in the evening, and there were so many sailors in the bar that most of the rest of the bar boys were off in the rooms over the bars, servicing the highest bidders. Hung Lee thought I'd spent entirely too long with the pimply blond, although he was less angry when I showed him how much money I'd gotten out the bumbling sailor.
I was no sooner back in the center of the barroom before the situation got out of control. I was surrounded by a sea of white and of lust-filled faces. A sailor was close behind me, lacing his arms under my pits, immobilizing my arms, and lifting my feet off the ground. A drunken buddy of his had a fist at my knot, pulling at it, and my sarong drifted down to the floor.
He was leering at me and unbuttoning his cod piece fly and pulling out a hardened cock.
Sailors were surrounding us, coming in close, licking their chops, and a rhythmic chant of "Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him" was swelling.
Hung Lee had gone up on the bar top and, red faced, was bellowing at the top of his lungs, yelling that he needed to be paid first and that this wasn't allowed in the barroom, that the military police would be along at any minute and shut them down.
I wasn't scared of the sailor's cock or even what he intended to do with it. But I was apprehensive about the ten sailors who might follow him and about the mob conditions in general, that I might be gravely hurt in the process.
The sailor in front of me was lifting and parting my legs and was crouching his hips under me and between my legs. My feet already were off the ground. Most of these sailors towered over me, all of them were bulked up and at least twice my size.
I winced and flinched as the cock head found my hole and just pressed inside and pushed higher and higher into me. The mob was crowding in closer and cheering at the initial invasion and picking up the "Fuck him, fuck him" chanting.
My assailant was sweating and smelled of too much beer. His cock wasn't thick, but it was long enough that he was rising up further in me with each thrust. He certainly was longer and more insistent and demanding than the young, inexperienced sailor I'd just serviced had been. He was palming my butt cheeks and leveraging on them to pull me up and down on his cock. His teeth went to one of my nipples, and I screamed out in pain at that. And the crowd cheered.
The crowd noise swelled and then inexplicably tapered off, and my tormentor had pulled his cock out of me and I was being lowered, more gently than I imagined was going to be the case, down to the floor. The grip of the man behind me lessened, and he was trembling. But he didn't drop me.
I looked up to see a gigantic, broken nose of an angry-faced head pushing its way through the crowd. The mouth was open, showing uneven, broken teeth; it was bellowing at a level that demanded attention. A monster of a man in sailor whites was cutting through the mob that had surrounded me, and the men were shrinking away from him. Those who didn't give way fast enough were being swatted into the men behind them, all struggling hard not to go down like bowling pens. The man mountain was virtually bulging with muscle. His torso was thick, but not fat, and the material of his sailor bell bottoms were straining to hold in his massive thigh and calf muscles. He was a good foot taller than any other man in the room. And he was ugly as sin.
But he had saved me and had quieted the crowd into docile and skittish sailors instantaneously. The two men who were my principle assailants melted into the crowd, and the mob somehow largely evaporated from the bar.
The man leaned down and lifted my sarong from the floor and held it out for me.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
"Yes, now," I replied, "Thanks to you, of course." He looked away, almost bashfully, while I reknotted my sarong low on my waist. I was trembling, but I fought to regain control. Just another night at work.
"May I buy you a drink?" he asked, diffidently, almost in a whisper. He still wasn't looking at me.
"Yes, of course. At the bar." This was what I was here for—to push drinks for lonely sailors. I looked over at the bar. Hung Lee was behind it now. I could tell that he was still half in shock, his whole future having passed before his eyes. I'm sure he figured he came close to having the bar closed down by the naval authorities because a riot had occurred here. And there was no question in my mind that he'd blame me. I'd have to walk very carefully until he forgot this incident.
We bellied up to the bar. I ordered a gin and tonic (which, of course, would come without the gin), and the sailor ordered a Coke. Anybody else in here who ordered a nonalcoholic drink would have been jeered out of the place. But I was pretty sure that no one messed with this monster of a man.
I discovered the source of his almost obscene bulk. He was a boilerman on the battleship the USS West Virginia, which was docked at Pearl Harbor. His was perhaps the dirtiest and most muscle taxing—and developing—job on the whole ship. His name was Dutch, which he seemed anxious for me to know. He seemed to want me to know more than that he was just in this bar to find some man to fuck—or be fucked by.
"And your name?" he asked quietly as we worked on our drinks. As required, I quickly downed my first one and was already on my second one, all on the sailor's tab, of course. He had saved me, so I felt badly about doing this, but Hung Lee was right there, watching my every step, and the sailor didn't seem to mind.
"'Ano'i," I answered.
"'Ano'i, 'Ano'i," he repeated, almost in a whisper, treating each syllable like velvet. "What a beautiful name. Is it Hawaiian?"
"Yes," I answered. "I'm Hawaiian. Well, mostly. A little Chinese blood, of course, and I'm told there's a Presbyterian missionary or two from the mainland in there too. We're all a mix of something here."
"And it turned out quite well, too," He said, giving me a smile that was almost pathetic as ugly as he was. I almost felt like laughing. It seemed like he was courting me. Here in a bar, where I got paid to lie on my back and open my legs, no real pleasantries exchanged.
"Thank you," I said. Then. "And thank you again what you did over there; I would have been in a lot of trouble if something had happened to get the bar closed down tonight. Now, I guess I should—" I was standing up, ready to mingle with the much smaller crowd in the room in the wake of the excitement.
"No, please. Can't you stay a bit longer?" he asked, his eyes pleading with me. "I have money; I can pay for the drinks. Barkeep, another round over here, please."
I looked at Hung Lee for a sign of what I should do. But he was being inscrutable. I knew he'd want me to jolly up the men around the tables and get them to drink faster to cool down their hard ons as I flirted with them. But it also was obvious that Hung Lee realized that it was only Dutch's presence that was maintaining calm on this unusually crowded night. A night full of tense talk of what was happening, why so many ships were in harbor, what were the Japs up to?
"'Ano'i," Dutch said again, almost in loving tones. "A beautiful name. Does it have a meaning?"
"Yes," I answered. "It means desired. And it can be either a boy's or a girl's name. They often use that name when—"
"I know what it means to me," Dutch said in a low, hoarse voice, cutting me off in midsentence.
I didn't respond. I just let that hang there. He was ugly and maybe three times bigger than I was, and it frightened me a bit to think that he was that proportionally big everywhere. And his hulking strength. He could smother me or break me in two in his excitement and lust. An uneducated sailor, a boilerman working in the bowels of a battleship. He might be cruel and rough and incapable of holding himself back at the height of passion. But he had saved me from possible harm, had saved the bar from maybe being closed down when there was so much profit to be made.
"Can we . . . could we . . . would you . . .? I have money; enough money." he was struggling to get the proposition out. But he wasn't looking at me. He was ugly as sin and frightfully big. He didn't need to be told that. He lived that.
I looked at Hung Lee, who nodded slightly. Not really an acquiescence as much as a command.
"Yes, yes. of course," and then an "I would like that." Ever mindful of the role I played the fantasies that were mine to weave for the money. "I have rooms across the street. We can go there. Now, if you'd like."
He perched precariously, straddling one of my straight chairs reversed, his massively muscled arms folded over the back resting his bulging chest against the slats, as I stood by the bed and unloosened the sarong and let it slide to the floor in swirls around my ankles. I had no idea how much of me he had seen in the ganging earlier in the bar, but his eyes at first went wide and then slitted when he saw me fully unclothed, and I heard his intake of breath.
He just looked at me for the longest time, and then he stood up from the chair and slowly stripped off his navy whites. It was my turn to take breath in when he was done. His muscling was inhumanely bulky, but all in proportion, and his cock, as I had feared, was enough for three men, not too abnormally long as it stood straight out from his thick thatch of reddish pubic hair but as thick as a normal man's wrist. I had never taken anything that thick. And his balls hung low and were the size of lemons. I hadn't the slightest doubt that they could provide semen to flow for hours.
He was holding back, unsure of whether I would want to continue after having seen him. But I lifted my arms in a welcoming, gathering gesture, and, with a sob, he moved to me, picked me up, gently and almost lovingly in his arms, and his mouth went to mine.
I closed my eyes, not least to close out the ugliness of his face. I wasn't resentful, but I wanted him to think my body would respond to him, and I was afraid that the ugliness of him would freeze my desires. But I need not have had any fears about that, because his kiss was soft and tender, and sweet tasting. I couldn't get enough of the taste of him, and sensing that, he tentatively darted his tongue into my mouth, and then when I sighed to that, he probed deeper, yet still tenderly. And all the while we were kissing, his gigantic hands were moving on my body, with tenderness and skill belying the clumsiness that would have been expected of him, knowing just what to do to make me melt.
When we broke from the kiss, I murmured "Oh god, take me, fuck me." It was a line I instinctively used to get sailors to get on with it so I could get back to the bar. But I wasn't at all sure that was what I meant now, in this instance.
I could feel him shudder at that. He was still holding me in his arms. But I could tell I had broken through the ice. He knew now that I would accept him.
"Yes, yes, in time . . . if we can manage. That's not always possible," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "But first I want to make love to you. You are so lovely."
He laid me gently down on the bed, on my back and sat down on the side of the bed next to my waist. "Do you have . . .?" he started to ask with hesitation.
"Sheaths? Yes, there, in the nightstand drawer."
"No, not that . . . and I've brought my own. I don't think yours would—"
No, probably not, I thought. And then a chill went up my spine at the realization of what was to come. How monstrously thick he was.
"I meant oil. I would like to give you a massage. I am longing to feel your curves and crevices."
"Oh, that's in the nightstand as well. And . . . well . . . it can be used for—"
"Yes, that's good," he broke in.
He was a divine masseur. He worked all of my muscles so lovingly and deeply and sensually that I was purring and getting close to dozing off when he gently turned me over. And the sensuality of what he was doing was so strong that I was fully engorged when he turned me. He worked my neck and chest and arm muscles and moved down from my chest to my pubic fringe and then up from my legs to under my ball sac.
And while he was working me, I was gliding my hands over any part of him I could reach. When I could reach his cock, he poured oil on my hand and I stroked him. I couldn't get my fist around what he had. And it was hard as a rock and was throbbing. I knew it wouldn't be long now before I was put to the test. He was sighing and groaning. With my eyes closed, I could completely blot out that he was a ogre of a man, in both bulk and visage.
I must have drifted off to a purring sleep, because I came back to full consciousness with a warm, moist, fully encasing sensation in my cock, which was completely sheathed in Dutch's mouth. Then I realized my channel was being filled as well—as fully as most men could with their cocks. Dutch was working on opening me to him with oil and his huge thumb.
His thumb had found and was stroking my prostate, and, with a flinch and a lurch, I exploded into his encasing throat. I murmured my appreciation and the extreme pleasure he had brought me in his sensitive and prolonged preparation.
But we weren't very far along in the preparation at all yet. Now it was time for Dutch's pleasure.
He turned me in the bed to where my butt was on the edge. He pulled over the straight chair and sat there now. Placing two pillow under the small of my back, he took my calves in his big fists and pulled my legs apart and folded them up and made me dig my heels in the wooden side piece of the bed. Then, using large quantities of the oil, he began to open me up. His thumb was replaced with his middle finger, which was as long and as thick as many of my men's cocks. He gently fucked me with this, in and out and around, opening me slowly. This wasn't so bad, and neither was it that difficult when he added his index finger. I began to pant and arch my back, though, when the third finger went it. He fisted my cock with his other hand and stroked me to another ejaculation to take my mind off the opening of my hole to his needs.
Not long before I spouted off, I felt I couldn't wait any longer. "Fuck me!" I cried. "Take me now! Fuck me. And no rubber. I'm clean. I want you to drown my insides! Now!" And it was true. I was doused regularly because some sailors just wouldn't wait. And I'd yet to have a problem. Hung Lee was Chinese. They knew what to do.
"Sorry, Not yet, I can't yet," he croaked, my begging for him affecting him deeply, almost choking him up to where he couldn't speaking. The three fingers inside me were quaking with excitement and anticipation. "I don't want to ruin you, and I'm afraid once I've started I won't be able to stop."
As I shot off, the fourth finger went in, the fingers cupped and gently pressing out, stretching me, if ever so slowly. I writhed under the invasion, moving my pelvis back and forth, trying to help stretch my channel. My fingernails clawing at the bed spread.
"And are you sure about the rubber? I don't want—"
"Yes, I sure." I spat out between clinched teeth. "Skin on skin. I want to feel that thick pulsing vein under your cock. Directly on your cock. My muscles moving on your cock, making love to your cock, Pulling you into me, being flooded by you. Deep, deep inside. NOW!"
That did it, With a sob, Dutch rose up off the chair and crouched between my legs, and I felt the gigantic bulb of his cock head at my hole, between his cupped fingers inside me. As the fingers withdrew, his cock head tried to push in, slowly and as gently as he could, but I had him worked up to the limit now and his legs were shaking.
I arched up to him and reached down and grabbed at the root of his cock and held it steady and tried to draw it into me, willing the cock head to breech the sphincter. We were both panting and groaning. With a plopping sound, the cock head was past the entrance, and he was inside me.
I screamed and flopped back onto the bed, arching my back up then, though, and clawing at the bed spread with my hands, taking up great globs of material in my fists. Panting hard and groaning and grunting at the strain.
"I can stop. Tell me to stop," Dutch cried out.
"Don't you dare," I yelled back. "All the way. Fuck me. Stretch me. Ah, I can feel the vein! Oh, Shitttttt!"
And then I was taking all of him. He had prepared me well. He was sliding up inside me and my muscles were making love to his cock, undulating around his huge cylinder, inviting him in, wanting him to force himself all the way in.
We didn't say anything for a half hour or more. We were concentrating on giving and taking as much as each of us could. When he had bottomed out and was sure that I could handle him, Dutch bent down to me and we kissed deeply. He buried his face in the hollow of my neck and kissed me deeply and gently bit me there. His mouth went to my pits, as I raised my arms, one after the other, and he licked and kissed and nipped me there. Then he worked his mouth down my torso as far as he could go, giving loving attention to my nipples.
He was pumping me. Slowly, but deeply. Alternating rhythms so I was never sure whether he was going shallow or deep, whether he was going straight or corkscrewing me. Holding me on the edge; taking me over the edge again and again. Both giving and taking a full measure of pleasure.
He nipped a nipple, and I ejaculated again, up his hard belly.
He picked me up with hands on my waist and turned and sat on the bed. My torso arched back and he crouched up off the bed and fucked down into me. Then he stood, still a bit crouched, with me suspended below him, my hands leveraging off the floor, my legs wrapped around his upper thighs, his hands holding my thighs, as he fucked down into me deeper and I met his thrusts with thrusts of my own, pushing off from the floor with my quaking hands.
With a cry of ecstatic passion, he fountained off down into me and then filled me and filled me and filled me, great flowings of semen burbling up around his cock and out the sides of my hole. Flowing for more than a minute. Emptying those lemon-sized balls inside me.
We lay on the bed panting, time in suspension while I reveled in hearing his ragged breathing of fulfilled passion, my back enfolded into the bulging muscles of his torso. When he entered me this time, I required no extra preparation and we needed no oil. His strokes were long and deep and slow and melting, and the flow of his semen was enough to lubricate us. I nestled my butt back into his pelvis, and he lifted my leg for greater access and gently fucked me to an exhausted sleep, his massive calloused fingers gently rubbing my nipples. All the time him whispering in my ear how good I was to him, me knowing that, rather, it was he who was giving me the stretched and sustained loving I hadn't had for several years. The thickness of that cock alone something that few had known and been able to take. Me only taking it because of the patience of his preparation.
I didn't wake until morning. He'd left enough money on the table to shut off any complaining Hung Lee might have done because I didn't come back to the bar the previous evening.
Dutch was a regular customer during the next couple of weeks. And I never again needed the preparation to take him that I did that first time. But I always felt stretched to the limit, fully taken.
We had to be careful how we fucked; if Dutch moved to a position on top of me, there was a danger I would be crushed. There was always the fear that he would lose control. Men were afraid of his bulk and the size of his cock, and when he came to me he was full of need and aching with semen. But he never did fully lose control; he always let me determine when we should stop to allow me time to open to him. It was only while he was in those long moments of miraculously long flow of semen at the height of passion that he would stroke hard and deep and fast. And by that moment, he had worked me so expertly that these were the most pleasurable moments for me as well.
He visited me every three days, and the men in the bar grew to know that when he entered the door, they were to move away from me. He couldn't get enough of me; he worshipped me. I invariably started by oiling his awesome muscles, hard and as beautifully cut as marble. I tried to give him suck, but I could hardly get more than the bulb of his engorged cock in my mouth. The rumbling groans of pleasure from him were well worth the effort, though.
Usually we would start with me sitting in his lap, facing him, my wrists locked behind his neck, my lips on his jutting nipples, while stretched me open with oiled fingers. I loved the feel of his pulsating cock pressing against my belly. Then, when I felt I was open enough, I'd rise on my straddling knees and either slowly impale my channel on his tool while facing him and kissing that ugly face of his or turn away from him, arched forward with his big mitts on my pecs, and lower my butt cheeks into his pubic bush. One glorious afternoon, he corkscrewed me, revolving me around and around on his lap as he sank farther and farther into me. In an equally melting, but not so advisable, fuck, he leveraged his back against the wall, crouching down to provide a perch for me on his thighs, and he lap fucked me, moving me up and down on his tool with strong hands at my waist—but the whole building shook when we got lost in passion, so we only did that the once. Invariably we ended stretched on the bed, me folded into his belly, and he side splitting me languidly until we both drifted into sleep. He would be sighing, and I would be thrilled that I had given him satisfaction.
I was awed at the thought of how an ugly sailor like that, only a boilerman on a battleship, could have learned to be such a gentle and expert lover. And a lover he was becoming. All of the rest of the men in my life for the previous three years had been quick-fuck marks—or a young sailor I fancied or pitied. But what I had for Dutch was very close to love. It certainly was love for him. And he told me so. And within two weeks of our first lovemaking, he was telling me that he wanted to take me from the Dick Hut and set me up in an apartment in a safer, less seedy neighborhood and have me for his own. That he wanted us to be life partners.
It pulled at my heartstrings. I'd been taught to avoid this. I knew what could and couldn't be. I knew that I would never be destined for that. But now I had received the offer. And within a week, I'd received another. And that was when the naval dilemma set in.
His name was Richard Randolph, and he made a point of never separating those names. They always went together. I gathered that the Randolph was supposed to mean something. Maybe it did, on the mainland, on the East Coast where he made clear his family was from. He was a lieutenant, serving on the light cruiser, the USS Raleigh.
He was all spit and polish, well groomed, extremely well turned out, his body obviously his temple. He marched into Dick Hut one Thursday afternoon, when business was light. He gave the distinct impression that he wouldn't come in such a place at night when the enlisted sailors held sway.
He marched right up to Hung Lee, who was at the bar supervising the Barkeep's cleaning of glasses. I and the other bar boys were milking the few afternoon drunks that we could—mostly civilians, because few of the Navy men were given leave from their ships in the middle of the day.
The lieutenant, standing straight and tall and slim, and pristinely white in his officer's uniform, stroked his thigh with some sort of stick, a swagger stick, maybe, but it looked more like a riding crop, as he spoke to Hung Lee in low tones.
I got both interested and a little apprehensive at the same time when both Hung Lee and the lieutenant started gazing in my direction as they talked. I saw Hung Lee's eyes go wide and his mouth begin to quiver. And then his eyes slitted and he said something to the lieutenant, which caused the lieutenant to take a wallet out of his tight white uniform and slap a big wad of bills down on the counter. And then the lieutenant turned and walked over to the entrance door and stood, as if ready to take a freeing, cleansing step out into the street as soon as he could. He was looking out the door, not at anyone in the bar.
Hung Lee shuffled over to me. "This gentleman has bought you for three days, 'Ano'i," he said. "In your rooms. He says he saw you on the street and wants you and followed you back here. Don't keep him waiting."
As soon as we entered my flat, the lieutenant kicked the door shut and pushed me over to the table I ate on and pushed my chest down roughly on the wood. he held my cheek painfully to the table top with a firm hold on the back of my neck, while he unknotted my sarong with his other hand. Once my sarong was falling down my legs, he had the palm of his hand on one of my butt cheeks and then worked it over to the crack and was roughly fingering the rim of my asshole.
"Open," he said with mild surprise. "Wide open for one so small." I could tell he was pleased.
Of course it was open. Dutch had been fucking me for weeks now.
He had knelt down, and I felt his mouth and tongue at my hole. He was licking and nibbling at me. I started to rise off the table and he slapped me on the rump.
"Stay down," he said. I put my cheek and chest back down on the table, and he went back to eating me out. While he was doing that, he slapped me on both sides of the rump until I felt myself chaffing.
"Where's the lube?" he asked. I noted that he didn't ask for a rubber. I assumed this had been covered with Hung Lee when they were talking. I told him it was in the night stand, and he told me not to move until he returned.
While at the nightstand, he stripped off his uniform, neatly folded it, and put it in the center of the bed. That was the clue that we probably wouldn't be using the bed for a while. Before he came back, he glanced around the room, zeroed in on a stool without a back on it, and pushed it over into the center of the room with his foot.
Then he was back at me. Working my hole with lubricated fingers with one hand and arching my back with his fist in my hair with the other.
He pulled me off the table and propelled me over to the center of the room and pushed my belly down on top of the stool. Then he was riding me like a horse and fucking me like a dog and beating on my thighs, arms, and back with his riding crop.
He had a respectable cock, but nothing I couldn't handle. His rough fucking, however, made something other than his cock the center of our sex. Whatever he lacked in cocking, he made up for in invention and maximizing of sensation and risk-edged ecstasy.
He played me alternately like a violin and a set of drums for three days and nights. He was not unlike the sailors I usually served in his intensity and concentration on his own needs and his cruelty in the fuck. But he went way beyond those others; he took me beyond what had become numbing sameness of the act. He would still be fucking when the others would have had their immediate needs met and wanted to get back to the liquor at the bar. And he would take me far out over the edge each time. I would moan for him to slow down or stop and he would quicken his pace and go on forever—and I would find that awakened me.
He made me hard, something that had been slipping away from me in the routineness of my life at the Dick Hut, and he kept me hard. And he brought me off—repeatedly in a session. The cruelty and invasiveness was overbalanced by the height of passion he brought me to—beyond, I must admit, even what Dutch transported me to. The sailor had to be very handsome and well built and hung to make me ejaculate these days—and most had no interest in doing so. They were only there for their own temporary needs.
I was only there for the lieutenant's needs too, but his needs included having me writhing and quivering like jelly and begging for mercy while incongruously also begging for the cruel fuck and crying out in passion and release—and not pretending to do so as I normally did with the other sailors. I had come to need the cruelty and explosion over the edge that he was providing. It was sweeping the numbness of my life away.
He'd leave for meals and then return to floor me wherever I was and fuck me and prod me and slap me and beat on me with his riding crop. I'd meet him at the door and he would push me down on the floor and fuck me roughly from behind as I tried to move across the floor, wanting to escape the onslaught, but equally wanting what the lieutenant was giving me. Once as I tried to escape him, he pulled a plump, curved cucumber off the table and fucked me with that, reminding me of Dutch's cock stretching me to the limit.
I'd wake up in the middle of the night flat on my belly with the lieutenant straddling me and working his cock into my ass. Then I'd find he'd bound me to the bed and he'd roll me over and attack my mouth with his hardened tool, slapping my cheeks and tweaking my nipples.
And, amazingly I found I loved it. The quick, impersonal, missionary- or dog-style fucks I'd been trapped in for years had deadened me to passion and lust, only relieved by Dutch's gentle, filling attentions. Now I had another lover, equally melting, but entirely different. For three days and nights, I found that I myself was perpetually hard and ready to ejaculate at the lieutenant's will. I didn't know what turned me on and fulfilled me the most, the giant but sensitive boilerman or the demanding, controlling, and cruel, but inventive officer.
But it seemed I would have to make a choice. At the end of the three days, the lieutenant informed me, while I was lashed by my wrists to a hook in the ceiling and he was crouched under me and fucking up into me and flicking my belly with riding crop, that I had pleased him.
He said nothing then, but the following Thursday night, the young, pimply sailor I had striven to save from the predators in the bar brought the situation with the lieutenant to a head.
The sailor appeared in the bar that night, the first time I had seen him since I had guided his floundering lovemaking. He looked around until he saw me. I saw several of the older sailors assessing him, so I walked quickly over to him.
"I thought I'd convinced you you didn't really need to come in here again," I whispered to him, while I latched on to his arm, as if I was flirting—an attempt to hold both Hung Lee and the sharks in the water off.
"I want to be with you again," he said in a little whining voice.
"Didn't I tell you that you could find someone on the ship to satisfy you. You fuck well. When that's known, you'll have all the bottoms you can handle."
"So far all I've found are guys willing to suck me off," he said. "I know I'll find someone, but my rocks are aching. And they're aching for you."
So, I took him to my room and let him fuck me. He took greater control than he had earlier, and I was laying on my back on the bed, my legs spread, his knees under and lifting my butt, and his cock working nicely inside me, when the lieutenant put in an unexpected appearance.
In the space of five minutes, he had the sailor clutching his clothes and escaping the room under the flailing of the lieutenant's crop, and the lieutenant had transferred his anger to me in a rough, wild, and totally satisfying fuck.
Immediately after that the lieutenant told me he must own me for his own and that he'd be negotiating with Hung Lee for my contract and wanted to set me up in an apartment away from here where only he could be fucking me.
This set me back on my haunches. I melted to Dutch. I loved what he did to me and the knowledge that I could take a cock that big and that he was so gentle with me, but Richard Randolph drove me wild and made me experience ecstasy to depths that my life of opening my legs for every randy and drunken sailor who sailed by had driven out of me.
Despite what the lieutenant thought, though, he couldn't just buy up my contract from Hung Lee—at least not without my concurrence. My mother had Hung Lee by the balls; he could shove me around like he did at the bar, but he couldn't "sell" me. He didn't own me. No one would own me without my permission. But if I chose to go with Richard Randolph and the condition was that he owned me, than I would let him own me. Certainly when he was fucking me, he owned me. And owning me was part of the thrill of sex with him, the depth of sensation I hadn't felt for years—until he and Dutch entered my life.
Sundays were my off day. When I brought men back to my place on Saturday night, they left on Saturday night. Sunday I slept in and pampered myself. Or at least I did until that first Sunday in December. That Sunday I was awakened before 8:00 in the morning with the most godawful noise I'd ever heard. I tied on my sarong and ran out into the street—only to see the diving of jets over Pearl Harbor and a cacophony of explosions. The Japs were attacking the fleet anchored in Pearl Harbor—more than ninety ships of the line, the largest part of America's fleet.
Like everyone else, I headed up the slopes away from Pearl Harbor, my first thought being for myself.
Later, when all was over other than the salvage of the tonnage bombed to the bottom of Pearl Harbor—not sunk, because the floor of the harbor was only a few feet lower than the ship's normally drew, but crippled at the minimum—I remembered my beloved Dutch and the lieutenant who touched me at my very depths and went down as close to the carnage as possible. All I could find out was that my lovers' ships, the USS West Virginia and the USS Raleigh, were among the ships that had sustained damage and that had lost a large number of crewmen in the Japanese attack. © For three days, I agonized. Men were starting to reappear at the Dick Hut, but they were there to bury themselves in drink, not to pursue hookups, and none of them could tell me about either Dutch or the lieutenant. On the second day, the pimply young sailor showed up, shell shocked, and I took him up to my rooms and we made love like he'd never done before. If nothing else, I was able to push the remembrance of that brutal attack out of his mind for a couple of hours.
But he couldn't fill the needs of my life. Only either Dutch or the lieutenant—or both—could do that for me.
On the third day, within three hours of each other, I found out that both Dutch and the lieutenant were alive and recovering from superficial wounds.
That was two days ago. Now I am back to my naval dilemma. Either Dutch or the lieutenant, both of whom are only fleeting pleasures, as they now surely will be transferred away from here quickly. Or neither—the continuing of my life as relief and comfort for needy, now increasingly frightened and endangered sailors, like my young, pimply sailor.
I don't know what to do. My story doesn't end here. All I can say is that both of my lovers survived that terrible attack on Pearl Harbor. And for now, maybe that's enough.
Angled Entries 1: Big Balling [Author’s Note: This series follows on from “Dueling Regeneration” of the Philippe LeCroix short story series.] Chas Angle strutted down the stairs of his new plantation house, gathered his extra-long sweat shirt around his waist, climbed onto his cycle, and roared off down the long driveway on his way to the Hornet’s basketball stadium in downtown New Orleans.
When Ms. Elisha came off the stage at the Bourbon Street female impersonators’ club and swished into her dressing room, Chas Angle was waiting for her. The meta hunk had worn a muscle shirt barely covering the superhuman bulges of his torso and a silky pair of shorts that barely held the bulge of his twelve thick inches. So, when he asked her if she’d come pose for him for photos, her quick
Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Philippe LeCroix's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Chas Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only when Chas brought him young men to
I take three- to five-mile hikes about twice weekly. I have five nearby nature trails I rotate through (in addition to a few more urban walks). The park I went to recently—at the town's reservoir—has been on the Internet for years as a male pickup spot, although the police seemed to have stopped that a few years ago, I thought—and the pickup spots (the restrooms and an old barn) aren't near where
Edgar steadied himself against the bulkhead as the wake of a passing yacht sent his own ship to wallowing and scraping against the dock. He was hunched over the sink in the closely confined space, space being at a premium even in a Latitude 44 such as he’d sailed from Marseilles to the harbor town of Horta on Azores’ Faial Island. He believed that he could find exactly what he wanted here, and
I rolled over in the bed, reaching for Esteban, but he wasn’t there, setting off in me a mild zing of irritation. He’d gone to sleep last night while I was fucking him and now he wasn’t there at all in the morning. This brought the decision I had to make back to mind and was, perhaps, yet another nail in the decision—two decisions actually. I had an opportunity to head up the Radio y Televisión
I had been told that the assignment was a bit kinky, but a weekend stopover in Hawaii and three days on my own in Tokyo, paid for by the generous fee addition, were enough for me not to care. My pimp, Leon, told me to make myself blond all over, which I had grown used to in any assignment sending me to the Orient. And I was a bit intrigued because I was told up front that the client was Matsu
I was going back from throwing some hoops with the guys one afternoon when I decided to drop in on Charlie and see how he was doing. He was a little high strung and had been having trouble with his latest live in of late. Denny was a real cocky asshole, so sure of himself and going directly for what he wanted—and usually getting it—and taking advantage of everyone along the way. And he was messy.
“A candidate for the Bermuda Triangle, might you say?” Dean said to Penn across the cocktail table. They were sitting at a window of the Splendor Lounge on the Champion of the Sea mega tourist ship on the first full night of its sail from Baltimore to Bermuda.The two, both members of the ship’s dance troupe were looking over a thirtiesh blond, well-formed, and obviously well-heeled hunk
I had been holding up the bar in the smoky lounge for more than a half hour, and Nick hadn’t shown. Felt pretty sorry for myself. That had been my story with my encounters with Nick: fuck ’em and leave ’em. I didn’t really want to play that game anymore, but here I sat, waiting for Nick. I had waved off several guys in obvious search of a pickup when the mystery man appeared at my elbow. As time
\Ham couldn’t sleep, and he thought he heard a noise from downstairs. Probably only one of the many ghosts haunting this old, rotting mansion, he thought. But, still, he was fully awake now. He rose off the cot he’d set up in his room until after everything was packed out and padded down the stairs into the music room. He was barefoot, only wearing his muslin sleeper pants. In twenty-four hours
Jacques, the young comte de la Arbois, nearly fell off his horse, both steed and rider trembling from exhaustion, into the arms of the innkeeper of the small village of Saint-Avold, a hard half-day's ride west of Metz. "A fresh horse," Jacques muttered feverishly through swollen lips. "We have such a horse for you," the innkeeper exclaimed. "But you are in no condition to ride on, young
I could not have been in any steamier place or time for my sexual awakening. Bangkok, Thailand, in the eighties was sin city extraordinaire. Anything went there; everything was tolerated. It was a mai bin rai (“nevermind; whatever, it’s OK”) place and everything was not only tolerated, but it also was on offer—and almost always for free or at a very good price. And it was an innocent time. The
I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.
I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to go through with this.”But, who was I kidding. Julio’s choices had been shut down that first night—the night I’d found him supposedly by chance, but with chance having nothing to do about it. He’d been had even before I approached him at the Noobai Café, the discreet little gay hookup bar in the Restele district of Lisbon, not far from the Cuban consulate.
After two years in the male-male paradise of Bangkok, a short assignment to Okinawa, Japan, seemed, for most of my tour, like entering a monastery. I was supposed to rotate directly back to the States with my SR71 supersonic photoreconnaissance unit, but the North Koreans were acting up on the DMZ, and the government wanted an intense look-see at whether or not they were building their troop
The riverboat hit a log, or something, on the hull right at my head, and I woke with a start. The first sensation in the soft, wavering light of a single lantern hung by the doorway was the sound of the drums and low chanting from somewhere above. The driver and cook at it again. The sound was monotonous and comforting all at the same time. It also seemed to be richer than before, almost
Tight, hard and hairless bodies with creamy thighs, resilient flesh on muscles of steel; and flexibility; flexibility is a must. I insist on that; and obedience and total subservience. And I possess them all. I fuck them all, women and men alike. I fuck them all regularly, without showing favor. That’s the only way to keep order. And they stand in line, audition for the privilege of being
I am Darien, magician to the D’Ibelins; son of Jared, magician to the D’Ibelins before me; and grandson of Deter, magician to the kings of the Aquitaine. Can anyone deny my powers after the Horns of Hattin? But, no, no one but me knows of what really happened there in miracle of the stronghold of Belvoir. And that, perhaps, is as it should be. But as I glide across the sky, I look at that brand
[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 just been renewed, and he was
As we strapped ourselves in across from each other, knee to knee in the sleek corporate jet, I was wondering why CJ had picked me to fly out to the coast to try to close this business deal. I was pretty new to the company and no where near to having the seniority to be included on this trip. But I wasn’t complaining. A week in California and time to get to know the vice president of sales better
We got into L.A. that night and CJ and I went straight to the hotel. I was exhausted after my in-flight service training. CJ had booked a suite with two separate bedrooms, so I went to my room after dinner, showered, and went straight to bed. I was laying there on the wide bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling and just about asleep, when CJ crept into the room, came up on the bed and sat on my
When I had cleaned up and returned, I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on full the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most
I often did things backwards in life. The old Hollywood adage goes that many a starlet—and we can add many a leading man, now that the cat is out of the closet on that—got their film career break by the audition they did on the director's or producer's couch. In my case, however, I got the part before the director had me taking direction under him on his couch. I had been a child actor on
Angelo had been so tense through his set at the café this evening, that he was afraid that it could be heard in his voice or in a change in how he coaxed the music out of the strings of his guitar. But those sitting around a smoking and drinking long after the food service had been shut down didn’t seem to have reacted any differently than before, with just those exceptions. Although all of the
(Suckered into betting against the double penetration myth) I should have known the sneaky Dutchman had all the angles figured when he suckered us into betting against a myth in the Men Only back room at Cowboy's Bar in Bangkok's Patpong district. He waited until the third revolution of the happy hour clock—when we were all soused and sluggish—and entered with a boy-built Thai. I recognized
[Author’s Note: This story completes the Philippe LeCroix series, which is 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 LeCroix, with his new chauffeur,
I was nearing the end of the fourth group lesson on self-defense techniques at the store-front gym under the instruction of a heavily muscled Egyptian wrestler named Anwar, when he took me aside and, after telling me he thought I’d make a natural wrestler, asked me if I’d like to stay after class and have him demonstrate some holds to me. I had admired his massive build—a bodybuilder’s barrel
Ad placed by Andre (9 slender inches) and Mike (8 thick inches) in the local weekly newspaper: - - - - Power Drills: GBM’s, Strong, hard, silent eight- and nine-inch power drills seek tight BWM or SWM who seeks filled fantasy experience for multiple drill role play says-no-but-wants-yes bottom. Call Mike at 945-6036. - - - - Ad Rob saw instead in the local weekly newspaper and decided
“But I don’t understand how you can just stand here, out on this beach, and declare that Jason Dunn has run away with his college football offensive team coach and lost his virginity, Doctor Klein. The Dunn’s paid us to find their son, and I very much doubt they will be amused with the elaborate and very offensive story you’ve come up with by way of explanation.” “It’s elementary, Snidely. And
I waited until we'd almost reached Miami's airport, but I couldn't leave it here.
We live in a university town, my wife and I, and we live in a neighborhood within five blocks of the edge of that university. It’s an affluent neighborhood, built on heavily wooded, well-manicured lots on the side of a ridge, with narrow streets running up and down and twisting here and there. Almost like the country, but a wealthy enclave right in the small city. Quite staid we are. Not ones for
“How about I treat you to a drink? You must be thirsty from all that naked time on the platform.”I had just climbed down from the velvet-covered bench on the platform where I’d been posing, in the nude, for the past hour for Chad Simmons’s Savannah College of Art and Design night school art class. I’d barely had time to shrug my white cotton dress shirt over my shoulders. That didn’t stop the
I’m not sure why I went to Club 216 that night. I’d joined months before but had gone only rarely. Joining put me on their e-mail list, though, and I kept seeing announcements go by of their semiannual beauty contest. It didn’t pay much attention to it—or at least I didn’t think I had—but that Saturday night found me there, just a couple of table rows away from the stage. I was by myself at the
When I left Bangkok, Thailand, the first time, I originally thought I'd be returning to a world that was almost completely straight and that my days of enjoying a rich and active bi lifestyle were over. My work with the government, with its strong homophobic policies, just didn't seem to leave that avenue safely open to me. And for a couple of years, when I was assigned to Washington, D.C., and
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
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
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
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
[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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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;
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,
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
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
“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
“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
[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
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
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
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
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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.
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
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
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
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
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
“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
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
“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
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
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
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
[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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
* * * 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
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 [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
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
(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,
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
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(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
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
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
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
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
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
“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
“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?”
“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
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
“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 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
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
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
“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 [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
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
“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
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
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, 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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
© 1995-2024 FREYA Communications, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.