Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Combine

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

I walk into the gymnasium. I’m clad only in my underwear. I hand my card off to some guy I’ve never seen before. Hot day, even for June. As I walk across the surprisingly cool floor I hear my information being announced.

“Robert Legend. First Year. St. Mary’s. 5’2” 108. 6th & 7th baseball. 6th & 7th basketball. 6th and 7th swimming…”


As I walk to the crest of St. Matt’s I make the decision. I walk up to the red mark on the wood floor in  front the entire athletic staff of the school. Sitting in the front is The Bishop as well as the Dean of Moral Guidance, Brother Gabriel. As I stop on the line—in a seamless move—I pull down my shorts and step back. The room goes quiet. I hear someone gasp.



At an all-boys College Prep, sport is king. Football rules all. The Combine separates the men from the boys. Over a period of a week in early June, everyone trying out for football shows up—which is most of the school. The best I could hope for is First Year Football. If I were bigger, I’d have a slight chance at Freshman Football. Varsity and JV are out of the question for First Years.

Sunday afternoon the day before the first day of Combine. I’ll be starting at St. Matt’s in the Fall. My oldest brother James is a senior. He’s showing my brother Erik and his buddies what he does for “the drop.” Strictly Juniors and Seniors.


Walking in from the dining room, where he just striped to his boxers. James enters confidently and stops. In a swift move he bends and drops his shorts. He stands back. James has a big one and likes showing it off. James shouts as they will tomorrow, “Raise your arms.” His arms go up. “Turn to two!” He drops his arms, making a quarter turn. “Turn to three.” Another quarter turn and we’re staring at his muscled ass. “Arms!” He raises his arms. He turns to us, “Sometimes, they’ll say ‘Turn to four’, but almost never. Guys always fuck up on that.” He turns back to one, does a flick with his foot, flinging his underwear up, and walks out. “Wait for them to tell you to leave. They want to see you take direction well.”


Erik and his buddies just have to stand there in their shorts, as do I.

I’m hearing his words as I stand there in front of these men. These guys have been doing this all day. Seniors and Juniors were in the morning. They’re bored. First years are a formality. Freshman are the lowest at most schools. At St. Matthews College Preparatory the First Years are insignificant and pushed in and out of The Combine quickly. I hear them chatting. Something about a guy named Archie Bunker.

Legends hit puberty in a particular way: we get pubes, tiny bit of pit hair and our junk grows full size… then we stop. And wait. Suddenly, about two years in, we start to grow hard and fast. My balls dropped the previous summer. I’m still small.


In a fluid motion James would be proud of, I drop my briefs. Stand back on the one and stare straight ahead. My junk looks huge on my small frame. They are silent. I’m ready for them to send me on my way.

After what seems like an eternity: “Arms…” I raise my arms up from my side.

“Go to two…”

“…three…” I hear some whispers, pencils scratching.

“Back to one…” Quick half turn. My dick swings and slaps my thigh. In the silence of the room, it makes a clear and loud “smack.” I hear someone mutter “Jesus…” as it swings down.

 “Yeah…” the voice says. “…you can go.” I hear a muttered, “And don’t trip over that…” followed by some muffled laughs. I glance at the Bishop and Brother Gabriel who do not look pleased.

By the time I get into the locker room to get my clothes, I’m already known as “The First Year Flasher.” The guys are joking and laughing. I grab my school uniform. The room goes cold and quiet. Brother Gabriel places his cool hand on my bare shoulder. He stands over me. I feel very naked.  


“Follow me to my office.” He turns and walks to the door. I stumble along, dressing as I try to keep up. He does not slow his pace as I cross campus scrambling to pull on my clothes. I manage to get my shirt on as we arrive at his office. I don’t even bother with my tie.

His secretary takes down my information. “Another Legend?” She sighs. “How many of them are you?” I stammer, a voice calls out from the office, “Come.”


I shut the door slowly. I’m worried this is going to be the end of my life. It’s just the beginning. His office is dark. Plain. Multiple degrees on the wall. Not much else except for several crosses and a lot of books. I stand in front of his desk. I’m Shaking.  

Father Gabriel asks me if I was trying to provoke a response. I don’t understand the question. He tries another approach which I also don’t get. Finally, “You are a prideful boy. What did you hope to achieve by that stunt?”

I stare at him for a second. He looks so cross. I think it bothers me more because he’s so good looking. Tall, athletic, extremely handsome. Dark hair, light blue eyes. To a kid, he seems old. He’s barely 40. He rarely smiles. When he does, he’s one of those guys you wonder why he isn’t fucking everything in sight when he’s that good looking.


He has me sit. He comes around the desk and sits close. He holds my hands and sighs. “The truth…” He closes his eyes. “I believe in the truth…” He pauses for what feels like an eternity. “Perhaps confession would be best.” I don’t want to, but I nod. Confession is private. He notes confession can’t go on my school record.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

He moves in closer and grasps my hands. It’s so close and intimate. I whisper as I go through the normal things: impure thoughts. Touching myself. Swearing. Disrespectful to my parents, etc. He asks about today. I repeat my earlier response.

“Do you feel confidant because of your… size?” I shrug.

“Speak up boy. Do you feel prideful of your gift?” I don’t know what to say.

He moves his hands to my knees—gives them a firm, disciplinary squeeze. “A response please…”

“I guess.”

“Did you hope to get a response from us?” His hands gently rub my thighs. Like he’s my buddy…

“I guess…”

“You guess?” I can feel his breath on my neck as he moves in.

“Um… Yeah. Yes, Brother Gabriel.”

His voice drops lower, “Did you mean to arouse me?”

I start to answer when I realize he said “Me.” He’s aroused? But he’s a Man of God. Is this a trick? I’m paralyzed with fear.  I don’t know how to answer.  He hands move up my thighs.

“Are you aroused?” His hand moves to my crotch. He feels my hardening dick through the fabric of my slacks. “Yes. You prideful boy…” He pushes me back in the chair. Starts unbucking my belt. Pulling open my pants. He tugs hard. My dick Flops out. He whispers, “My, Heavenly Lord…”

He’s down on my rod in a second. I pull back. I grow rigid in his mouth. He grabs my pants at the sides and pulls me deeper into his mouth. I’m trying not to freak out. I stare at one of the crosses. This is sinful, right? Sports jizz aside, this is wasting sperm. It’s not going towards recreation. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It feels really good. He takes me all the way down and chokes a little. That’s all I need. “Father, I’m gonna…!” Without looking up, he reaches up and smacks his hand over my mouth. I do all I can not to cry out as my balls release.


I unleash my load down his throat. He gags. He tries to swallow, it spills down his chin. Brother Gabriel milks me as I twitch. He pulls off. Wipes his chin. He stands above me. His hands move fast as he pulls his pants down. His dick is nice. Not too large. Big bush. Smooth. Uncut. I’d even say it’s pretty. He pulls me close and stuffs it into my mouth.


“Take it, you prideful boy…” It enters my mouth and instantly starts coming. I don’t even taste his dick before I taste his cum. I swallow it all. I pull off, look up and grin. He looks down at me and smiles. “You are so prideful.”


He pulls his pants up and walks silently back to his desk. I stuff my dick back in my pants and zip up.

Father Gabriel flips through a file. My file. I already have a file. “You have a free period on Tuesdays at 3pm. We’ll meet then.” He looks up. I’m not sure what this means, so I just stare like an idiot. “When school starts, I expect to see you in my office at 3:00pm every Tuesday for private confession. Is that clear?” I nod. “You may go…”

I stand. “Father…”

“Yes, Robert.” He does not look up.

“Was that a sin?” He raises those blue eyes and glares. “I mean, sperm should be used for procreation and…”

He stops me. “It is the basis of life. It feeds and nourishes. Do you think the Lord does not want us to be nourished?”

Not sure what to say. I manage a long “Uh…”

He sits back and looks me up and down. “Your family has quite a checkered past at this school, Mr. Legend. I kindly suggest we keep this quiet between us—I know your grandfather is paying for your education, but you family history is quite… questionable.” I nod. Message received.

He stops me as I leave. Brother Gabriel walks over and tucks in my shirt, fixes pants, adjusts my collar. “For someone so prideful, one would think you’d pay more attention to how you dress.” I thank him and start to leave.

He pulls me back. “A gentleman shakes hand upon entering and upon leaving.” I shake his hand, thank him. He holds onto my hand. He brings his left hand to my face and leans forward. Is he going to kiss me? He whispers in my ear, “Be a good soul…” I have no response, so I leave.  

Later that summer I’ll find out that my brothers also had confession with Brother Gabriel. James was lustful on Fridays, Erik impertinent on Wednesday mornings.

That night I can’t sleep. This was my first day, what will the rest of the week hold?

BTW: Never made Varsity...



   

Saturday, July 20, 2013

The Boosters

I’ve been hesitant about writing about some of my high school experiences. Being whored out is not easy to write about. Less so when it was enjoyable. Even less than that when I pursued much of it. It’s hard to convey the whole situation. Where to start? How much to reveal?

So I’ve decided just to post some experiences. Not always in sequence. Just as they come to me. Let others figure out how the puzzle all fits together. Take from it what you will…


Private Jesuit boys school. I’m a poor kid. Not on scholarship. My grandparents pay for our tuition, but nothing else. Extras have to be earned. In order to play sports, we have to volunteer. We have to help raise money for the school. We have to grease the wheels.

Make no mistake, the Bishop and Board know. Impossible that they don’t. The ends justifies the means. If that means some of the boys have to sin, so be it. Forgiveness comes from good works and confession. Sin all you want… confession is at 8:00am on Saturdays. And just to make it all Kosher, the very priests involved were the ones who heard my confession.



Freshman football.  I' never make Varsity. I spend most of my time trying to avoid my coach’s wrath. I spend the rest receiving it.


Still developing. Won’t have a true growth spurt until the fall of my Junior year. Until then, I move awkwardly along. My dick grows, the rest of my body takes time to catch up.  My time in football gives me discipline in the gym. Teaches me about teamwork. I make some great friends. I have some great sex.


But my heart and dick will belong to my baseball coach. I first saw him when I attended one of my brothers’ games. He owned me from the moment I saw him. He would become my mentor. My lover. My friend. More on him another time.


Being on the team was a big stretch for me. Making it wasn’t. Pretty much everyone who tries out gets on. You just don’t get playing time. If you want more playing time, you’ve gotta earn it. Any way you can.

That’s where the Boosters come in. They pay for everything. Uniforms. Weight rooms. Travel. The coaches and the priests allow them free reign. What they want, they get. Often they want the athletes. They watch our practices and games. They study us. The covet us. We are offered up on the altar of free money. For private schools, that money buys trophies and championships.

My brothers gave me the low-down before I even applied. I saw what it got them. I was ready to play.


Saturday. A week before our first preseason game. We’re running drills. Not in pads. More for muscle memory—although no one will call it that for years. The Boosters are on the sidelines watching. Always watching.

I head into the locker room. Coach tells me to head into the supply room. Years ago they used to pass out fresh towels and wash them.  The equipment and towels are gone. It’s mostly empty. The room is full of a lot of old broken equipment. And Mr. Randall.


I’ve seen him at a lot of practices. I went to grade school with his oldest son Jerry. Died of Leukemia when we were ten.  His youngest won’t be here for a few years. He's about 6'. Thick, fuzzy body. Reminds me of a bulldog. All muscle. Tough. Marine. The kind of guy everyone says "Yes, sir" to him a lot. He's got piercing blue eyes that when he stares you, makes you want to piss in your pants. You don't want him on your bad side.

“You did well out there today.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ve improved a lot… getting bigger.” I nod.  He puts his hand on my shoulder. He smiles.  “You know why you’re here?” I nod. “Okay, then.” He unbuckles his pants. Pulls them down a bit. Stops. Looks at me. “Get to it.”

I’m in a daze. It doesn’t feel real. My first experience in a truly surreal situation. I drop to my knees. I pull down his pants. He’s hard in his BVDs.


It’s not that big. It’s thick. Just not long. The way he’s stands there, I’d imagined it being huge. He’s got the confidence of a well hung man. His dick is dark. It looks different from the rest of him. It’s nice, just different. His balls are huge. Big hairy globes that hang low. As I take him into my mouth, I roll those beautiful balls in my hands.

He tastes musky and I taste a little pee. I don’t think he showered this morning. He tastes like a man. A real man. Not a boy. Not the boys I’ve been blowing. I look up to him. His eyes are closed. I wonder what he’s thinking? He opens his eyes. Looks down. I’d stopped sucking. e He grabs my head. Fucks my face.


Our eyes lock. He slows. Watching me take his dick. “Yeah…” He gives me a slight smile. “Here you go boy…” I feel his huge balls rise.  He looks straight ahead and sighs. His dick begins to pulse. “Yes… yeah…”

My mouth is filling with his load. Fuck, it’s big. I try to swallow, but he’s so damn thick. He pulls me down on his dark dick. I can’t close my mouth.  I begin to choke. I cough up some of his jizz. It splatters back onto his dick and furry stomach.

I pull back and swallow. It’s thick. It’s salty. It’s delicious. He’s still shooting and a glob shoots on my face, just below my eye. I drop back on it. He releases more spunk into my mouth. I drink it down.


I lick up the jizz I coughed up on him earlier. He makes me suck up the last drops still dripping out of his dark dong.  Using his finger, he pushes the glob on my face into my mouth.

Minutes later we’re walking back into the locker room. Guys are changing. Showering. No one seems to notice. Those that do just nod and move on.  Been there. Done that.

We continue to the office.  Up the eight steps. The coaches offices look down on the locker room. Easy to watch over the guys in the showers.

Mr. Randall tells coach he thinks it’s going to be a great season. Hands him an envelope. It’s got a check in it. First payment. Keep him happy and future checks will come. He pats me on the shoulder. Tells coach I’ve got a future ahead of me. As Mr. Randall leaves, he shakes my hand and winks.  He slips me fifty bucks.

I’m officially a whore.

I don’t care. Fifty bucks is a shitload of money for me back then.

Sunday morning. Mass is over.  I’m changing out of my altar boy vestments. Father Anthony tells me he’s heard great things about me. Mr. Randall called him to tell him that he should be very proud. I start to kneel. He stops me. “He’d like to give you a ride home…”

Mr. Randall drives a 1978 Ford Mustang Cobra II. We drive for a while.  It’s sweet. He asks me if I want to drive it. I don’t have my license. I say “sure.”  We drive into the hills. Other than the occasional “Slow down” he says little.

Along a secluded road, he tells me to pull over. He tells me he enjoyed the other day. Asks me if we can meet now and again. I shrug. I don’t want to seem too eager. Don’t want to seem like a fag.  He leans in close. “Shuck your pants.” 


He drives back. Both of us a big load lighter. I came faster than I wanted to. I worry he thinks I’m a fag. As he drops me off at my house, he shakes my hand and winks. He slips me fifty bucks. Awesome.

Two Saturdays later. We’ve lost both our games. I played for a total of three plays. I barely have a grass stain on my uniform.  As I pack my gear up and head out, Coach calls me. He’s got an envelope in his hand.  Mr. Randall would like to give me a ride home.

He drives me to his house.  Not sure where his wife and kids are. I don’t ask. We’re in his bedroom. I’ve been here twice before. The first time, when his son was still alive. Before he was sick. Mr. Randall was in the shower and Jerry wanted money to go to the movies. It was the first time I’d seen his dark dick. He didn’t shy from showing it off. He threw the towel over his shoulder.

The second time was the previouis week when he brought me over to blow him. He sat back on the bed and let me work on his rod for an hour. When he’d get close, he’d push me off and have me suck on his balls.


On this Indian Summer afternoon, he has something new in store for me.  We roll around for a while. Chewing on each other. Blowing each other. Sucking on various parts. We never kiss. Because that would be gay. He rolls me onto my stomach and smacks my ass. I push it up for him to play with. He fingers it. Spits. Licks it. I push back.

“I know what you need…”


I’m on my back and he’s trying to enter me. His thick cock tries forcing its way in. I cry out in pain. He tells me to “man up” and take it. I’ve been fucked before. But this is the thickest I’ve taken. His log seems to get thicker and hurt more with each push. I want to tell him to use more lube. I lack the confidence to tell an adult how I should be fucked.

I finally start to relax and let him pummel my ass. He stops to change positions. Each time, it feels a little better. After being fucked bent over the bed, he throws me back on the bed. “Time to take this home.” He climbs onto to me. My legs instinctively open up for him. He moves over me.


He’s in me. It feels great. “I’m going to cum deep in you, son.” He keeps up his assault on my ass until I beg him to fuck me harder. I hold on to him. Staring into his eyes. “Please… papa…”  I’d never used that term before, but it does the trick. He empties that thick, dark penis into my ass.  I lay there, feeling his thick cock continually twitch and pump in my hole.

After, in the shower, he jerks me off from behind. I’m so turned on, I beg him to fuck me one more time. Using conditioner for lube, he obliges me. He doesn’t last very long. Again, I called him “Papa” and he nuts.

Totally spent, he drives me home.  Drops me off a block from the house. Doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on.  As get out, he shakes my hand and winks. I thank him. Again he slipped me fifty bucks.  He won’t be the last Booster to pay me for sex. By the time I graduate, I will earn more than 500 times that amount. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Scruffy


The kid is sitting on my bed. Waiting. Cute. Young. Willing.

We’ve been texting for a while. Friend of a fuck buddy. He’s straight. Or so he claims. Plays around occasionally. Has a girlfriend. Wants to be a man. But he’s still a boy. Looks it, too.

Short. 5’6”. Light brown curly hair. A little too long. Deep brown eyes. In shape, but not too built. Surprisingly fuzzy. Lots of scruff. Kids today seem to like to show they can grow a beard. Even if it’s shitty. We get it: you’ve got pubes. Relax.

His texts usually come late at night. Probably drunk based on his spelling. He usually balks at the last minute. Almost always a lame excuse.

He kept me up late the previous night: “Im horny”  “wanna fuk?”  “my dick is so hard!!!!!!” I’m surprised to see him up this  early as I walk by the coffee shop. We chat. On my way to the gym. As I leave, I tussle his hair. “Get a haircut, hippie.” I can smell him… “and take a shower for Christ’s sake!” Laughing as I walk away.

He texts me constantly as I’m working out. Keeps interrupting my music. The BF is out of town, otherwise he’d be busting my balls with some Crossfit nuttery. (I like the results and the feeling I get from Crossfit, but the fanaticism of everyone involved—including the BF—annoys the shit out of me.)

I don’t like people fucking with my workout. I want to get this shit done. I want to focus. Work on my goals and get the fuck way from the assholes who use the gym to socialize.

I belong to three gyms: The 24-hour social—lots of networking. I’m still intense, but I’m willing to talk, mostly coworkers and the like. The High End—serious networking with clients, don’t get shit of a workout. The Real Gym—where the BF is a trainer. Crossfit. Intense. Can barely walk after. Whole body is destroyed the next day. It’s awesome.  All are in the City and I don’t feel like driving in on a nice day—bridges and roads are packed with goofballs wanting to picnic, etc.

Scruffy is still at the coffee shop when I walk out. He stands when I walk by. “Did you get my last message?” I glare at him. “Did you get mine?”  I’d told him “fuck off, tease” after the tenth “I’m horny” text.
I look at my phone. “I’m ready.” He follows me home in a 1992 Toyota Piece of Shit. I’m tempted to tell him to park down the street. His car is embarrassing.



He starts looking around as we walk in. There will be no tour. “Upstairs.” I keep him in front of me. Shit, he’s got a hot ass.

We walk in the bedroom. He turns around. Stares for a second. Then starts licking my sweaty chest. I lean down and get a whiff of his hair. Shit. It stinks. I tell him to shower. He tries that “it’s my scent” bullshit. “This is scent,” I say, wiping my pit and smearing it on his lips. “You’re dirty. You stink. Clean the fuck up.”

He tries to be sexy as he takes off his clothes. “Just get in the goddamn shower.” He says his girlfriend likes it. I tell him his girlfriend is an idiot. He doesn't argue.

He stands under the water, letting it cascade down his body. Then he starts to play with the shower head. Fuck this. I climb in.Before he can really react, I grab the shower head and put it back on its craddle. I take his arms and hold them at his side. “Stay.” Not sure what his expression is. Don’t care. He’s acting like a child, I’ll treat him as such. He starts to speak. “Shut up.”

I put the shampoo in his hair. Get my hands in. Barely any foam. How fucking dirty is he? Rinse. Repeat. Just like the bottle says. It’s nicer the second time. I stand a little closer. My flushed cock bounces a little just above his cheeks. He starts to reach back. “Hands. Sides. Now.” He’s going to be clean before I fuck him. He pisses me off. I like some stink on a guy. I love a man’s scent. There’s a line between stink and stank. He’s got the latter.

He’s the perfect height for washing. Almost a foot shorter I can really dominate him. I rub soap on a washcloth. “Close your eyes”. I scrub his face. Ears. Neck. I push him under the water to rinse.  More soap. I get his arms and really scrub his back.

More soap. I reach around. I pull him into me as I scrub his chest and stomach.

“Arms up.”

I get those stanky pits. I didn’t reload the soap for those. They need to be washed, but not scrubbed of all his scent.

I kneel and get his legs. I turn him around. His bone is up against his stomach. I haven’t touched that. Yet. I get his feet. Fucking gross. I tell him he needs a pedicure. He tells me that’s for fags. I tell him he’s an adult and needs to start acting like it.

Still on my knees, I grab the soap. I lather up my hands well. Time for his junk. Uncut. Thick. Looks like it has a nice head under the foreskin. Does not shave or trim his pubes. Sweet. Finally, a point in his favor. I start to clean his junk. Working the balls. Getting the pubes good. I rub the soap on his pubes to get real foamy. I pull back his foreskin. I’m expecting cheese but find it very clean. I mention it. “I’m pretty good about that.” He starts to tell me his routine. I tell him I don’t care. He seems to like the abuse. I intend to keep it up.

I’m still not clean and I don’t feel like fucking in the shower. I smack his ass. Tell him to dry off and wait for me. When I’m done, he’s waiting for me. Sitting on the edge of the bed like a dutiful student.

The towel is on the floor. He’s still got that hardon. I run my hands through his damp hair. “Much better.” He pulls his head away. I lean down to kiss him. Scruffy pulls away. “I don’t kiss.” Seriously.

“Seriously…?”

“I just…” I stop him. He’ll suck my dick and take it up the ass, but won’t kiss? “I’m not a fag. My girlfriend…” I stop him again.

My argument goes something like this: "You won’t kiss because you’re straight, but you’ll suck my dick. Trust me, when you’re on my dick or taking it in your mouth, so swallowing my load, I’m thinking you’re a total fucking fag. When you leave, I’ll pretend you’re straight. When you’re here, you’re a fag.”  We continue back and forth until I finally say, “Fine. Whatever. Suck my dick.” He does. Because that’s so fucking straight.

Like all totally-straight-kind-of-bi-because-their-girlfriend-is-out-of-town-guys he gives an amazing blowjob. Treats the head right. Sucks on my balls. Chews and nibbles all around the base, shaft and balls. He takes it down pretty deep, too. The thickness of the base prevents him from swallowing.

Actually, I prevent him from swallowing: his teeth are starting to scrape.



I get him up on the bed and crawl over him. I turn his head so I can nibble on his scruffy neck. I lick and nibble. He moans softly. Doesn’t kiss, but doesn’t mind getting kissed.

I move to his right pit. It’s clean, but there is still a hint of b.o. Nice. I lick and chew; Scruffy moans and wriggles around. I give his left the same treatment. Must have done that after the right. It’s definitely got more funk. I give it more attention. I soak it with my spit. I slurp it back up.

I kiss my way down his trim muscled torso. Suckling on each bubble of an ab and licking the fuzzy valleys between each. He coos.

I pull on his balls so his beautiful cock rises off his body. I take it in. I work my tongue on his foreskin before swallowing it all. I pull the foreskin back, sucking on the head. Then I push it back and lightly nibble and chew on that delicious extra skin. I take the whole shaft down. I keep on it for a while. Unlike most of his contemporaries he lasts. Which only makes me work harder.

Scruff doesn’t say much. He groans and coos a lot. Says “shit” and “fuck” a lot, too. I keep going. It’s a perfect dick for sucking. Not too long or two thick. But enough to enjoy. It just starts to go down my throat. I can practically feel his foreskin kiss my tonsils. This goes on for a while. I like the way he holds my head. Not from the top. Not fucking my face. But from the side. The jaw. Gentle encouragement.

I pull up his legs and push him back. I lift his hefty balls and start licking the taint. He calls out. When I start licking his hairy hole he practically starts speaking in tongues. I roll him over and start really chewing on his furry ass. He pushes back against my mouth and tongue. Begging for more. I give it him. I keep my tongue in there and wiggle it around. The noises he makes are incredible. Tongue fucking him elicits even more odd noises. I decide I need to stay for a while and work on his ass. Twenty minutes later, he's still not complaining--but my tongue is tired.

I pull off. I grab lube and condoms from the nightstand. I begin to lube up his ass. He likes this almost as much as my rimming. “You’ve bottomed before, right?” He nods. “How many times?” He holds up three fingers. Final question: “Any as big as me?” He shakes his head.

Great. I hate newbies. Too much time training them to enjoy fucking ‘em. I don’t want to ruin him, so I go slow. I carefully play with his asshole. Fingers. Tongue. More lube. More fingers. More tongue. When he starts to back up onto three fingers, he’s more than ready.

I start to slide in to Scruffy’s tight furry hole. I love watching the head disappear into the dark crevice between his fuzzy cheeks. He whimpers. Tells me to stop. I slowly pull out. We try again. And again. The next time I just leave it and tell him to breathe. Finally, he nods. Slight push back.

I push a little farther. He groans but it’s now acceptance. I push in. Pull back. Push in farther. Pull back. His legs start shaking. Some slow fucking. I pull out.

On his back. Pillow underneath. I start to slide in again. I watch his beautiful face. Pain and pleasure keep crossing. I lean forward, giving his neck gentle kisses. “Good…?” He reaches around, grabbing my shoulders, his hand gripping my neck.



I look into his eyes on my last, gentle push in. Scruffy’s eyes go wide and a smile crosses his face. I pull back and gently start fucking him. Locking my eyes on his the entire time. Gentle breaths from him. He still is holding on tight. I love it. Each thrust is met with a tighter grip on my arm and neck. He keeps looking at my lips. I move my mouth to his. Straight boy’s tongue dives into my mouth. We thrust our tongues into each other’s mouth as my engorged cock thrusts deep into his tight hole. I begin to thrust harder. Fucking him with a faster pace as our tongues intertwine.

I pull my mouth away. Scruffy’s eyes roll back. He whispers, “Please… please, fuck me…”



At this point, I’m convinced he’s been fucked more than just a few times. I'm sure his ass has been harshly pounded before. No more gentle fucking for this boy. I turn Scruffy onto his left side, lifting his right leg up and thrusting deeply. Each thrust is met with a hard grunt. He keeps nodding. I keep fucking hard.

I play with his dick. Pulling the foreskin back. Slapping it against his stomach. I roll him onto his knees so I can stand and thrust into him harder and deeper. I have to squat a bit, which causes my balls to slap hard into his with each thrust. The pleasure/pain with each sharp smack of my nuts hitting his is delicious. It keeps me fucking harder, longer.

After a bit, I lay down on the bed and let Scruffy crawl on top. He faces me so I can play with his chest and dick. The boy rides it like a champ. He’s jumping up and down so hard and fast, I’m afraid he’ll slip and break my dick. I keep rubbing his tight body. Watching the sweat pour across his fuzz.



I have him turn around so I can watch my shaft slide in and out of his hole as he rides me. I keep one hand on the base of his neck by his shoulder. He really seems to like that. He likes me being in control.

I move back against the headboard so I can sit up. He drops back on. He leans back. I nibble on his back and neck. He continues to ride. My arms are around him. Holding him. Feeling my cock deep in him.

He turns around to ride me from the front. We are face-to-face. He immediately starts kissing me. I jerk his dick as he bounces up and down. “I’m gonna…! Jeez… I’m gonna…!” He unleashes a torrent of jizz onto my chest and neck. It just keeps pumping creamy white spunk. I keep pumping his shaft. He's whispering "cum" with each shot of milky white rope. Empty, he looks at me.

Without pulling out. I pull Scruffy close and flip him on his back. I hammer his ass until my cock throbs. His jizz drips from me back on to him. I lean forward and bite his neck. The sweat/jizz mixture on our bodies makes a slurping sucking sound almost as loud as my dick in his ass.



Slamming my cock harder and faster into his hole. His fingers tear up my back. He tries to grab my ass but can’t get a grip on it: each time I pull back it eludes his grasp. Scruffy’s hands grip on the side of my lower back until I call out.

As I cum I stop pulling back. I push further into his ass. As if I will go deeper than I’ve been. As if I can push through the condom. My mouth is clamped onto his neck. His hands grab my cheeks, but the sweat causes them to lose their grip. A taller man with bigger arms could have kept ahold. He keeps trying. He keeps slipping. Scruffy is inadvertently smacking my ass. Fuck yeah.

I lay there for a moment. Still inside him. Spent. I pull back. I bit his neck hard when I came. They’re will be a bruise later. I roll off. Lay back and stare at the ceiling. I pull the condom off my still throbbing shaft. Toss it over to the trash. Hoping it doesn’t land on the carpet. (It does).

Scruffy is immediately on top of me. Kissing. Cooing. He wants another round.

Who am I to say no?

We fuck two more times. Once more on the bed. Similar to before but harder. Louder. Sweatier. Another by the mirrored closet doors. We both like to watch ourselves fuck. So we put on a show for ourselves. Scruffy looks good riding my cock.

Finished, he asks if he can use my shower again.  I tell him no.

“I sorta stink again.”

I smack Scruffy’s ass, “Yeah, but it’s my stink you go on you.”

As he dresses, I see him lean down a little and sniff, trying to see if he can smell me on him.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

New Post Coming on Wednesday! (Seriously, it's TRUE!)

FYI: I just finished a post regarding a recent hookup... it will post on Wednesday, July 18.


In the meantime, check out Benny Feilhaber... try not to drool on your keyboard.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Frat Life

I have friends that fantasize over what my experiences being in a Frat in college was like. While it was fun. Hot. Exciting. Homoerotic. It was mostly this:



Guys being idiots. Great times.

Yeah... I know, I've been slacking on posts. Sorry. Life gets in the way.  I've been thinking about stuff. Just need to sit and write it down.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Summer Sleepovers

Hot summer nights. Sleep over at Jeff Henry’s. He’s in bed. I’m on the floor. Each just in our underwear. We talk in the dark. About sports. About girls. Our dicks. “I’m so hard thinking about…” Some long forgotten girl. He won’t stop chatting. Every now and again his dad will shout out from the living room to go to sleep.


Eventually, his dad will come in and flip on the lights. Mr. Henry’s a stocky man. Not fat. Muscular. Handsome in a rough way. Furry. With a big package. Usually stands there in nothing but his tighty-whities. Jeff still keeps talking.

I know why. I’ve slept over a dozen or so times. Since I was 11 or 12.

About 20 minutes after we’re out, Mr. Henry comes in. Thinks we’re asleep. Well, thinks I’m asleep. Crawls into Jeff’s bed.

There are quiet whispers. Gentle whispers. Whispered protest. Whimper. Then soft sucking sounds. His dad grunts when he cums. A little too loud. Like he wants me to wake up. I lay still.


The first time Jeff protested to his dad I was still awake. Mr. Henry calls my name. I know to lay still. Play dead. “See? Asleep. C’mon boy…” slurp. slurp. slurp…

His dad leaves. Jeff cries quietly into his pillow. I know the feeling. I have a brother with needs, too. I know the shame of desire. Of enjoying it. I quietly crawl in with him. Hold him. He's hard. I tell him it's okay. I tell him I understand. The first time he cries himself to sleep in my arms.

We never speak of it in the daylight.

Next time. He doesn’t cry. I still hold him. We’re on our sides. Me behind. I try not to press against him. I’m hard. He pushes back. Feels it. We just lay there. When he’s asleep, I jack off.

Third time. Holding him. Hard. He reaches back and plays with it. I play with his dick. I try to get him to blow me. Only if I do him. We argue over who goes first. We settle on 69ing. He cums first.


It progresses.

Fourth. He reaches back. I pull up his leg. I start fingering his hole. He protests. I tell him it’s okay. I tell him I won’t tell. He pushes me away.

Next morning. Just before dawn. I’m on the floor. I get up to get dressed. He makes a comment about next time. I tell him I don’t think I’m coming back. He asks why. I shrug. I tell him I won’t tell anyone about “…stuff.” He nods.

I turn to leave. He pulls me close. “I’m sorry.” He’s choked up. “My dad…” He stops. He knows he can’t talk about it. But he knows I know. “I promised…” he stops. I nod. I tell him it’s okay. “I just thought we were best friends…” It’s a manipulative move. It’s a dick move. It works.

I make him run naked to the kitchen for Crisco. He takes forever. He couldn’t find it. “It was way in the back of the pantry behind the oil.” Makes me laugh. Who fucking cares where it was? He gets on the bed. I turn him around. Knees just on the edge. He faces away. “Will it hurt?” I lie and say “no.”


He tries to stop me three or four times. I say what my brothers say to me: “shut the fuck up and take it like a man.” I grease up more. I push. Tell him to relax. Push. I’m in. He’s tight. It’s awesome. I tell him he feels amazing. I like it when my brothers tell me that. He likes it too. The groans of pain become more of a moan. Bitch is loving it.


The bed squeaks. We move to the floor. I put him on his back. There’s just enough light I can see his face. I love how he’s grabbing my arms. My sides. My neck... I’m looking into his eyes as I fuck him. He’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying me. I can literally feel the adoration flowing from this guy.


“How long have you been waiting for me to do this?” I huff into his ear. A long time. I ask if he’s loving it. He nods. I ask if he loves me. He nods harder. My dick swells. I can feel it building. I start fucking him as hard as I can. He let's out a deep moan. It's beautiful. I tell him I’m cumming in his ass. I feel my spunk pouring into him. My final thrust starts his orgasm. He spews out a big load of sperm onto his stomach.

I wipe up using his t-shirt. The room smells of sweat, shit and cum. And a bit of Crisco.

The next half a dozen times or so it plays out the same way: He blows his dad. After, I fuck his ass. The last night I spent the night was different.

MUCH different.

Jeff is lightly snoring. It’s only been about two minutes since he stopped talking. I get up to pee. Wander down the hall in the dark. Long pee in the dark. I miss the toilet on the first two blasts of pee. Aim slightly off. The rest is a loud roar of foam as I release into the middle of the bowl.

I walk out and hear “Gotta work on your aim” from the darkness of the living room. I see the soft glow of a cigarette. Mr. Henry is sitting in the big EZChair by the window. I tell him I’ll clean it up in the morning.

The light from the moon casts a long bright light along the floor. It just catches his knee. It makes it harder to see him in the dark. However, his underwear seems to glow slightly. As if it’s calling to me. He tells me I should be in bed. I tell him it’s hard to sleep in someone else’s house.
“You’ve never had a problem in the past…”

“I just pretend, hoping I will fall asleep.”


I step forward. The moonbeam hits me at waist level. My hard-on in my shorts is illuminated. No more pretending.

I’ve asked Jeff about his dad’s dick. He says it’s big. Thick, goopy load. I want it. I want it bad. I tell him Jeff’s asleep. Snoring. I’m scared he’s going to tell me to stop. I can’t stop. Won’t stop. I step forward. His hand touches my thigh. If he reaches for my dick, I know I’ll cum fast. I drop to my knees. Pull the elastic. His thick cock is in my mouth. I barely get it wet before Mr. Henry shoots.


Just like Jeff said: thick, goopy load. He lets out a slight gurgle as he releases. Swallow it all. I look up into the darkness for approval. Mr. Henry stands me up. Pulls me forward. Pulls down my shorts. They’re damp with precum. The way he’s pulling me throws me off balance. I’m standing on one leg, trying not to fall. I can barely concentrate on his swallowing my hairy dick. It takes me a few minutes to cum. I let loose quite a load. I drain into his throat.

I lean down. I’ve never thought of kissing Mr. Henry before. It seems right. His tongue is in my mouth. This is all too weird. I kiss back. Swirling my tongue around. I have no idea what I’m doing. I sit on his lap and we make out for a while.

Mr. Henry moves us quietly into the kitchen. A small nightlight by the breakfast table casts a yellow glow. We rub all over each other. We make out some more. He grabs my ass and squeezes. I’m hard again. Dripping a lot of precum. His finger probes my hole. I spread my legs…

He pushes me away and starts looking through a cabinet. Tells me he’s looking for Crisco. I tell him to look behind the oil in the pantry…


I lean over the cold counter as he enters me. It’s thick. Not enough grease so it hurts a little. I tell him to add more. I whimper when he tries to push in hard. A little more grease. I’m golden.

Mr. Henry goes slow for a few minutes. Rubbing my back. My leg. My neck. I ask him if it feels good. He grunts. He starts to pump faster. He’s going to cum again. I hold onto the corner for balance. His thrusting is causing my dick to bang into the counter. I can feel the precum oozing out. Mr. Henry grabs my arms as he nuts. He’s louder this time. The kitchen isn’t a quiet place. I’m sure someone will hear.

We stand there for a few minutes. His cock pulsing in my ass. Slowly he pulls out. He turns me to kiss him and feels my hardon. He drops down on his knees to finish me off. I close my eyes and let him slurp on my rod. Mr. Henry sucks cock better than his boy.


I’m getting ready to cum. I whisper that I’m close. He sucks harder. It feels so amazing. I start cumming in his mouth. It’s so intense I see stars and flashes of light. Then it feels funny. He’s not sucking me. I open my eyes.

The lights are on.

Jeff stands in the doorway. He just stares at us. I look down at his dad. Mr. Henry is looking at Jeff. Still holding my dick. I’m still pulsating spunk. It’s dribbling on his furry chest. We remain frozen for what feels like forever.


Jeff turns out the lights. Walks back to his room.

We remain frozen. I’m waiting for Mr. Henry to do something. Say something.

Nothing.

I grab a dish towel . Start cleaning up. Me. Then Mr. Henry. I clean up all the drippings. Put the Crisco away. Toss the towels into the washing machine. Mr. Henry just stands there.

When he finally speaks it’s in whispered freak-out. Worried Jeff will say something. I’ve had enough experience with sex with family to know that no one talks. “Go to bed and talk to him later.” Mr. Henry stumbles off.

Jeff lays there, his back to me. I try to talk to him but he tells me just to go to sleep.

Morning. Jeff tells me he doesn’t think I should sleep over anymore. He’s right. I’ve laid there all night thinking about it.

I don’t want to stay for breakfast but Mrs. Henry insists. It’s oddly quiet. The dishes are cleared. Mrs. Henry wonders what is all over her lower cabinet. In my haste-filled cleaning, I missed where my dick rammed the cabinet. A little Fanstastik and my precum ooze is gone…

…minutes later, so am I.

Mrs. Henry moved out with the kids over the next Christmas break. Mr. Henry sold his business and left town shortly before the next summer.


I ran into Jeff on the streets of Chicago about seven years ago. He recognized me right away. We went for drinks. Caught up about our lives. Jeff doesn’t speak of his dad. The sleepovers were never discussed.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Dance, Bitches!

The Assistant sent this to me this morning as a response to my request to schedule two meetings next Monday. This is the type of passive/aggressive attitude I deal with every day--but he's clever about it, so I forgive him (plus, he's got a hot ass).

On a sad/pathetic note, I went dancing with The Boyfriend this weekend... I'd like to think I've got dance moves. Actual quote from the BF: "How can such a strong athlete who's so in tune to his body be such a lousy dancer?" Me: "I got moves. Guys were all over me." BF: "Gays will forgive anything if you're good looking enough. I'm sure they'd forgive Hitler if he looked like you."*





*Not sure how I should feel about this. He did stroke my ego, but equated my dancing to the horrors Hitler brought upon the world.