"Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old Age a regret." Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)

 

"In times past there were rituals of passage that conducted a boy into manhood, where other men passed along the wisdom and responsibilities that needed to be shared. But today we have no rituals. We are not conducted into manhood; we simply find ourselves there." Kent Nerburn, U.S. theologian and author, in "Letters to My Son" (1994).

 

"Unlike femininity, relaxed masculinity is at bottom, empty, a limp nullity. While the female body is full of internal potentiality, the male is internally barren... Manhood at the most basic level can be validated and expressed only in action." George Gilder (b. 1939), U.S. editor, speechwriter, author; in ‘Sexual Suicide"

 

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The bar, ‘Rumors', looked, and smelled, exactly as it had the weekend before, but I entered more confidently this time... more aware of why I had returned... more determined to experience things I couldn't even imagine the first time.

 

The place had become an obsession during the intervening week; I hadn't been able to focus on my schoolwork or my job. The sights, sounds, and other sensations kept flooding back into my consciousness with an intensity I had only experienced in dreams. These were wakeful dreams that filled my body with electricity and my cock with a pounding pulse. But I had to wait six whole days before I could make the long drive back to Altoona to satisfy the craving.

 

The same bartender was behind the bar. He looked up, nodded, and gave a slight wink of recognition. I had shown my fear last week, but he knew I'd be back. He had told me that Friday night was the best, and here I was, just as he had predicted. The murmur subsided a bit as I entered. Conversations paused to permit the patrons to examine the newcomer. Eyes watched me wend my way through the clusters of guys chatting, with beer bottles in their hands. I walked slowly to a stool at the end of the bar, closest to the door, where I had sat before. "What'll ya have?" he said, knowing I was here for more than a beer and some conversation.  

 

"Iron City draft." I looked away, slowly, so as not to look too eager. Half of the guys in the bar had been here last weekend. And three-quarters were looking at me. They obviously didn't get many new customers here, not ones who came back, anyway. Coming back was like an admission that you belonged here... that you had seen what the place had to offer... and what it demanded... and that you had weighed the two and decided to return.

 

[I learned later that several guys had wagered on whether I'd come back within the next month.  The winners' round of drinks was bought that night... the night of my return.]

 

The TV monitor behind me suddenly lit-up with a porn-video called ‘Spring Break', ...ironic, because Penn State was only a few weeks from the annual migration of students to warmer climes for a week of booze and sex. I couldn't afford to go anywhere, and I was dreading the 8 days of a home visit back in Pittsburgh. But the boys in the video were celebrating Spring Break in a way I'd never imagined... a tennis match that turned into a suck-fest on the kitchen floor... and then a fuck-scene by an older guy with the largest cock I'd ever seen (I learned later he was Chad Douglas) thrusting into a willing boy with beautiful blonde hair and a lithe body.  Needless-to-say, I watched the screen through the whole scene, looking away only long enough to order a refill. The noise of the bar got louder as the intensity increased. Guys called out encouragement, as if the fucker could hear them. And when the boy started moaning loudly, the place broke into pandemonium... clapping, whistling, and more catcalls. Other guys came from the backroom to find out what the ruckus was about, and they joined the noisy bunch.

 

"This one always gets ‘em riled-up," the bartender said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the video soundtrack and the guys' shouts. "The backroom will be busy tonight." He smiled, knowingly.

 

I got up to head to the theater. If I stayed at the bar, I'd drink too much beer and I wouldn't be able to drive home. I paused as the bartender gripped my forearm. "Use this," he said, putting a small bottle wrapped in plastic into my fist.  

 

"What is it?" I said, examining the bottle.

 

"It's poppers", he said. "It's good stuff." He pulled me closer to speak into my ear as if he didn't want the others to hear. "Use it," he said. "If you have to."  

 

"How?" I asked as I twisted the bottle in my fingers and examined the label. "What do you do with it?"

 

"Just remove the lid, take a sniff, and hold it," he said. "It makes it easier."

 

I started to ask, "Makes WHAT easier?" but he was called to the other end of the bar to refill a glass, so I put the bottle in my pocket and headed for the theater.

 

Before I left the bar area, I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned. It was one of the guys who had been watching me from a table across the room. He was in his late twenties, with his blue plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned to the navel and jeans smudged with stains of grease.   "Yeah?" I said.

 

"Have you been downstairs?" he asked; his face broke into a slight smile as I paused before answering.

 

"No. I didn't know there WAS a downstairs," I said... not knowing exactly what I should suspect the downstairs would be used for.  

 

"Go through here," he said, motioning toward the backroom. "Then take a left and go all the way down the hall to the door at the end. It's usually open. Take a look around down there, and, if you see anything you like, I'll meet you down there in about five minutes. I've gotta collect my winnings."

 

A part of Rumors I hadn't seen last week? Granted, there was no guided tour... no signs to tell you where things were. You just wandered around until you had explored the whole place. I nodded my agreement and turned toward the backroom.  

 

The backroom at Rumors was reached by walking through the arcade and the video booths, both of which were packed with guys lining the aisles and leaning against the walls. The pool table always seemed to be in use. Hands stroked my hip as I walked by.  A few fingers tried to snag a belt-loop. But I just nodded and smiled and kept going.  

 

The backroom was finally reached by traversing a short maze which kept light from the arcade out of the dimmer, red-lit Orgy-room with it's smaller and darker side-rooms. Here the floor was littered with clothing, bare mattresses, and bodies in all possible positions and combinations. I would come back here later, I decided. Hands clutched me as I passed, more insistently than before... more urgently... more suggestively. And voices from the darkness urged me to join them. For a moment my curiosity was overcome by my need. I hadn't touched another guy all week. But the lure of the unknown finally tore me away. There was a unison sigh as I left the room.

 

The hallway was as dark as the previous room. Closed doors on each side and the sounds from within hinted that private sex occurred here, even more intense than in the Orgy-room. I reached the door at the far end; it stood ajar... steps descended into darkness. I felt my way along the walls. The thick, wooden stairs creaked beneath my feet. The walls changed from uneven plaster to rough brick. As my eyes became more adjusted to the dim light, I could see that the stairs ended with another door frame and a brick wall straight ahead. A narrow passageway extended to the left and right... black-painted plywood and two-by-fours for walls, a heavy, beamed ceiling above. I turned to the left, randomly, and felt my way along the walls... plywood on my left and brick on my right.

 

The odor was distinctive: mold and dampness, ancient dust, the hint of urine, a trace of testosterone, and the smell of sex.  

 

I could barely make out the shadow of someone leaning against the wall a few feet ahead of me.  

 

"Are you the welcoming committee?" I asked, trying to hide my agitation with humor.  

 

He didn't speak, but reached out, gripped me behind the neck and pulled me close to his body in a tight embrace. I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead, he forced my right arm behind my back in a modified hammerlock as he bent closer to lick the side of my neck. I squirmed a moment, unaccustomed to being handled so roughly.  

 

He laughed quietly as I struggled, then he released me. "You taste like vanilla," he growled.  "Are you sure you want to be down here?"

 

"Someone upstairs told me..."

 

"In here," he said, motioning with his thumb toward another door. "They're gonna like you."

 

There was another short hallway, this time filled with guys leaning against the walls, mingling in groups or pairs... no conversation, just touching. Beyond the clusters of bodies, the hallway opened to the side in a room that was better lit than the passageway... a golden glow imparted by a single, dim bulb over the door that cast dark shadows against the far wall. The room was small, no more than 16 by 16 feet... brick walls and an uneven cement floor with an accumulation of dried cum thicker than I had ever seen before. I ducked to step into the room through the low door, then moved quickly to the wall to press my back against the cold brick... a posture of passive watching.  

 

Two guys were on their knees, side-by-side, sucking all comers. A guy would step-up, unbutton his fly, and haul it out... then he was swallowed to the hilt by an eager mouth. Other guys walked slowly around the perimeter of the room inspecting the guys, like myself, who were watching. A few had their cocks out as an invitation. Occasionally one would be chosen and would be sucked-off there against the wall. The sounds of heavy breathing and male pleasure filled the room with a low hum. My cock got so hard I could barely keep my hands off it, and very quickly a guy with a dark, crew-cut knelt in front of me and started working the buttons of my fly.  I was so hard that he had a hard time getting it out... so I helped him. He paused to look up at me before he opened his lips and began to suck me in, as if he were trying to memorize the moment. I will never forget the look in his eyes... a combination of worship and sadness, like kneeling before the crucifix. The guys on either side of me turned and began pulling my jeans down my legs. Hobbled with my jeans around my ankles, I couldn't move, and so I stood there and let him suck me while the two slipped their hands under my tee-shirt and played with my nipples. "Give it up," one whispered. "He needs it."

 

"He's got some poppers in his pocket. I felt ‘em," said the other. I felt a jostling of the jeans around my ankles as someone retrieved the small bottle. It took a few moments to crack the seal and unwrap the bottle. My head was pressed back against the brick by a forearm across my throat.  Another hand covered my mouth. The mouth on my cock was more insistent.

 

"Take a nice long hit," said a voice in my ear. "Inhale slowly... and hold it. You'll love it." I had no idea what to expect. The cool rim grazed my upper lip as the bottle came to rest under one nostril; the other was pressed closed by a finger. I paused... but I couldn't hold my breath forever.  

 

I inhaled slowly and deeply, as instructed. There was a sweet, chemical aroma... and a mild burning sensation farther up in my nose.  "Hold it. Hold it. Good, now exhale slowly."

 

The sensation started with a ringing in my ears... then a roar. Sounds were distorted. The light had a halo. Motion slowed down. And then I felt it... the pressure in my groin... as if I were going to cum. But it increased exponentially, making me feel as if I were going to explode. I could feel every muscle weaken... the room began to spin... my knees began to buckle... and I came in one huge gusher... wave-after-wave of internal contractions as I was supported on both sides to keep me from falling. I remember the sounds of someone speaking loudly, even though the sound was muffled and incomprehensible.

 

"What the fuck?!! He's mine. I sent him down here. And you fuckers get the first load. Pisses me OFF!"

 

There was a scuffle, and I clutched the wall behind me for support. My cock was still spurting, I remember, and no one was even touching it. As I felt sensation returning to my face, an arm slipped under my pit and behind my back, pulling me close and supporting me. I tried to take a step, but my pants around my ankles made me stagger.  

 

"Get those off of him," the guy said. It was the same guy who had told me about the basement.  He supported me upright as other hands pulled off my shoes and socks and lifted each leg to slip the pant-legs off my ankles. "Nice one," he said, stroking my cock and balls with his free hand. He shoved the other guys aside as he helped me steady myself. The effects of that stuff I inhaled was wearing-off quickly. I still felt light-headed, but I could see his face clearly now.  Curly black hair falling onto his forehead; black brows and long lashes; strong cheekbones and a classic nose; square, thick-set jaw with at least a day's beard-growth. "You're faster than I thought, boy," he said with a smile. "I figured your hesitancy would fend off the cock-hounds, but I was wrong." He backed me against the wall again and slipped his hand under my shirt. I tensed my pecs and abs in reflex to being touched. I was proud of how my body looked... and felt. "I like my boys smooth, and hard," he murmured in my ear. "Do you know how to use that ass?" he continued. I wasn't sure how he meant it. I had used a few guys' asses before... Lee, John, and a few others... but his hand creeping down my hip, then plunging between my ass and the wall indicated he meant something else. I was still a little too disoriented to answer... and I just nodded "yes."

 

With his chest against mine to hold me against the cool brick, his hands returned to my abs, this time sliding up under my shirt and pushing it up my torso. He gripped my lats and pulled me away from the wall long enough to strip it up my back and raised arms, then I felt the rough bricks against my back. His mouth was on my Adam's apple; his head forced my head back sharply against the rough wall. I lowered my hands to his shoulders to steady myself. He gripped my wrists, pulled me away from the wall, and spun me around. Now my face, chest and groin were against the brick which cut into my skin. I tried to press backward, but he was all over my back. I felt his hands opening his fly against my ass... then the warmth and hardness of his cock pressing against my ass-cheek. He was preparing to fuck me. I tried to press back against the wall, but his weight held me there.

 

"Don't fight it, he growled in my ear. "Just take it like a man. Enjoy it. I'm the best there is."

 

"I'm not..." I began.

 

"Take this," he whispered. I could feel him reaching into the open front of his shirt, then lifting something over his head. He pressed a shiny cylinder into my left hand. "It's amyl," he whispered. "Not that butyl-crap I can smell on your breath. You'll learn to love it, and it'll make me slip into you like a knife into soft butter. Just stick it up your nose and breathe... when you need it... You'll know when." I put the lanyard around my neck as he had worn it.

 

I had been fucked a few times, but not often. Lee had done it in his clumsy way; he preferred to "bottom" for me. And John had fucked me once... a desperate attempt to fulfill the fantasy that went with him to the grave. I had experimented a little with myself, curious how it felt when I fucked other guys. But nothing had prepared me for what was to come.

 

Still pressing against me from behind, he slipped his hands in front of my hips and pulled me backwards away from the wall. I stepped back to keep my balance as he pulled me away from the wall with his right arm around my chest now.  "Spread your feet," he ordered, "and lean forward... arms straight against the wall." I did it, as his left hand slipped down to squeeze my already-hard cock and balls. His right hand moved to my ass, its contours, tracing the crevice.  His fingers moved deeper and deeper, cool against the hotness of my crack.  

 

I wanted it then... to be fucked by a man. Not by a clumsy boy... not by a hesitant lover... but by a man who was satisfying his craving for release. Sex with no string attached... no expectations... no hang-ups. Just the simple role as a ‘receptacle' ...to give him that one moment of incredible pleasure, and to experience that feeling, myself, that guys I had fucked claimed was an intense feeling of satisfaction. Suddenly I wanted to please him... something I had not been able to do for men before. For John. For Lee. For my father. 

 

Now the fingers were replaced by something larger... the head of his cock. I felt it lodge in the well of my anus, gripped by the tightness of my ass-cheeks. It felt impossible that something so big could fit inside me. He felt me inhale to speak. "It'll be over in a few seconds," he whispered.  

 

"He's ready," I heard another voice say.  

 

"Fuck him hard. Make him bleed."

 

"Fuck that tight jock-ass," said another. I turned my head to the side. A half-circle had formed around us with many of the men stroking their cocks as they watched my initiation.

 

"Now," he said, gripping my hips as if he were aiming. I gripped the bullet-shaped pendant in my fist and brought it to my nose. The aroma was different, and the effect was more immediate.  The shimmer of bright lights danced across my closed eyes. I felt my anus relaxing as he pressed into me... one thrust... two... three... overcoming the tightness. His arms slipped up under my armpits and his hands latched onto my shoulders from the front as he jack-knifed into me with hard pelvic thrusts. Still holding the cylinder in one hand, I supported myself against the wall with the other, but his force was too great. My arm buckled and I crashed forward into the wall. He followed, still buried in my ass, and the impact drove him into me full depth. I wanted to cry-out, but didn't, either from surprise or pleasure. His chest against my back forced me onto the rough brick again; my cock scraped the rough edge. The pain/pleasure in my ass made me moan audibly as I clawed the brick for support. His in-and-out thrusts flattened my ass against his pelvis; his pubic hair brushed the margins of my crack.

 

The amyl made it feel as if the top of my head were going to blow-off. My muscles relaxed as I sagged into his supporting arms. I was his to use.  

 

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"  Was I saying that?

 

"Gonna... make it... feel good," he grunted in my ear as he thrust into me.

 

The brick cut into my cheek as my mouth sagged open. I didn't want it to end. Now I knew how good it felt. No fumbling... no hesitancy... just a man taking what he wanted from another man.  At that moment, I swore I would fuck guys this way for the rest of my life... with the power of primitive lust... with the assuredness of a pro... with the physicality of an athlete... with the domination of a victor.

 

He paused on the out-stroke. I felt every muscle in his body tense against me... thigh-to-thigh... chest-to-back... forearm-to-chest. And he thrust forward one last time as he roared in my ear. I saw stars as my head bounced against the wall. His cock sank deeper than ever before. And I felt it... the hot cum-load pumping deep into my interior... bubbling back along his shaft, increasing the slipperiness... forcing its ooze beyond the sharp curve in my gut. He had fucked me without a condom! I struggled, but it was too late. I was skewered on his throbbing shaft and there was nothing I could do about it. I trembled uncontrollably in his arms as the room erupted in shouts. I felt cum splattering my calves, and even a few drops on my shoulder.  

 

"You did fine, boy," he said as he pulled out of me. I felt as if my anus were still gaping open as a small amount of cum dripped down my inner thigh. He stepped away from me as his arms guided me to my knees. I knelt, trying to regain my strength. More cum hit my back and shoulders now as the slow shooters finally made it to their climax. When I finally turned, he was gone.

 

What followed is still a blur in my memory. I was pulled to my feet and fucked a few more times until I sank to my knees again for lack of support. And even then, it didn't stop. Still on my knees, I was turned around and dragged to the center of the room to suck cocks. I don't know how many, but from the later accumulation of cum on my face and chest, I'd say it was quite a few. My knees were raw from the cement. My jaw was sore from being forced open. The room slowly cleared as guys shot their loads and went back upstairs for more drinks or elsewhere for more sex.

 

There on my knees on that cold, cum-stained floor, with cum still dripping out of my anus, I felt surprisingly empowered. After an experience like that, some guys might have felt used or abused or angry... but I had a sudden feeling of belonging... of having found what I had been looking for... of being part of something instead of being the odd one on the outside looking in.  These guys were here for the same reasons I was. They made no apologies for their sexual preference. They were bold, intense, focused on pleasure... shove-it-in-your-face kind of guys. I had found a place where I could act on the impulses I felt without worrying whether the other guy was gay or not. We were all there for the same reason. No apologies; no regrets.

 

I was sore. My ass hurt like Hell. But it was a good kind of hurt... the soreness of running a marathon or winning a battle... and when the pain was gone, the memories would remain forever. 

 

I got to my feet slowly and began looking for my clothes. My shoes were in the corner, but nothing else. I felt the floor in the dark shadows to see if I'd missed anything... but nothing.  

 

There were a few stragglers in the hall who patted me on the back... and the ass... as I passed them. I looked into the other large room in the basement to see if my clothes had been dropped there. It contained some wooden racks and frames (which I learned later were for bondage) and a large collection of whips and dildos... but no clothing.  

 

I was forced to climb the stairs naked... with my shoes in my hand. As I made my way back to the bar, I was congratulated and welcomed by total strangers. I got a few hugs... and lots of pats on the ass. It was like the team dressing room after a victory. I tried to brush the dirt off my knees, but without much luck.

 

As I entered the bar there was applause and catcalls. It was close to 2am; I had been downstairs for over 3 hours. It was an odd feeling being the only naked guy in a large crowd of guys who were fully clothed. I stepped behind the bar, not so much to hide my nakedness but to speak to the bartender over the noise.

 

"Have you seen my clothes?" I asked as I watched his eyes look down my body and up again.

 

"I'm afraid they're long-gone. You won't get ‘em back... sorta a trophy. But I have to say, I thought you were a good lookin' boy when you came in, but you're lookin' even BETTER now."  He broke into a big smile. "What a bush," he said. "You could use a Weed-whacker." He handed me a damp towel from the bar sink. "Here," he said. "You need this... and you've got some in your hair, too."

 

"But I can't go back to my dorm like this.  Even if I can drive home this way, I still need to get into my dorm, past the security guard. How can I explain THIS?"

 

"They left your keys and wallet here at the bar... with me. And I can get you something to wear," he said. "I live upstairs. This is my place. I own Rumors. And you're about the same height. My jeans'll fit you."

 

"I'll bring them back,...I promise," I said as he headed for a door at the other end of the bar.

 

He paused and turned. "How about tomorrow night?" he said with a grin. "Saturday's almost as good as Friday."

 

I smiled at the prospect and gave a nod. "Watch the bar," he said. "Make sure these jerks don't help themselves to refills while I'm gone. I leave the room and suddenly everyone has a full glass. He opened the door and took the stairs two-at-a-time.

 

"Piss with a touch of testosterone," said one patron slamming his thick-bottomed glass on the bar.

 

"Warm, or on-the-rocks?" I said.  Everyone laughed.

 

"You're the cutest naked bartender we've ever had," said another. "You're the ONLY naked bartender we've ever had, too." They laughed again.

 

He returned quickly with some Levis and a tee-shirt... a black, sleeveless muscle-shirt, actually.  The patrons booed as I slipped into the jeans and pulled on the shirt. "I really appreciate this.  My name is Brian," I said.

 

"I'm Troy," he replied as he reached out to shake my hand firmly and energetically. He was muscular, about 6-feet-one, with short-cropped blonde hair and a thin mustache. His light blue eyes were distinctive; his smile was perfect. He reminded me of a Marine. "You're not from around here, are you?"

 

"I'm at Penn State," I said. "A junior."

 

"You ARE a long way from home," he countered. "If you want to wait about bringing back those clothes..."

 

"No," I said. "I'll be back tomorrow."

 

"Can't get enough, can ya?" He laughed. "I can remember how horny I was when I was in college. I had blisters on my palm. Well, I'm sure they'll treat you a little differently tomorrow night. Tonight was just a test. Sorta like an initiation. If you come back tomorrow, they'll respect you for it."

 

"I'm willing to learn," I said. It sounded a little dorky in retrospect.  

 

He smiled and reached up to muss my hair. "See ya tomorrow."

 

======================

 

I drove back to Altoona the following night... earlier this time, because I wanted to be there as the regular guys arrived. I'd show them I wasn't afraid of them... and that I was there for the same reason they were.

 

Troy gave me another one of those killer-smiles as I walked in. "Well, aren't we eager?"  

 

I grinned and raised an eyebrow. He'd figured me out already.

 

"How about giving me a hand? Can you go out back and bring in another case of Budweiser?"

 

I handed him the paper bag with his jeans and shirt. "Good, he said.  "I hoped you wouldn't go to the trouble of washing them."

 

I carried in a case of beer and made a few more trips to help him out, then sat on my usual stool. "Let me show you something," he said, waving a video cassette in front of me. "Ever hear of Jeff Stryker?"

 

I said "No." 

 

"Wait ‘til you see this," he said, shoving it into the tape player. "It's my favorite scene in all of male porn. ‘Bigger Than Life', Stryker fucks the shit out of Jeff Quinn, a real cutie, in the alley.  Right up his ‘alley' as a matter of fact."  

 

I laughed... until the video started. Long dark hair, gorgeous eyes, a body that looked like a Greek statue, but dressed in jeans and a muscle shirt... Stryker was the toughest, most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen. "He has the dirtiest mouth in all of male-porn," said Troy.

Patrons were arriving now; the place started to fill up. When they heard that Troy was going to play the Stryker video, a crowd formed around the bar to get a better look.

 

It was amazing how fast these guys on the screen could get their clothes off... especially wearing the tight jeans over large boots. Jeff Stryker had Quinn on his knees sucking the second-biggest cock I'd ever seen. "They make latex dildos that are exact reproductions of that cock," Troy said wistfully. "I've got one... upstairs."

 

"I want to feel it down your throat. All the way down your throat."  Stryker was talking to Quinn all the time he was working his cock into him. Quinn couldn't say much except to gag occasionally.

 

"Drop those jeans... Against the wall... Spread those legs... You want this big, hard cock in your ass, don't you? Let me hear it... I'm gonna shove this hard cock into that tight boy-ass."  And he did it... holding his cock like a dildo... driving it in with no mercy. You could see the pain on Quinn's face, but he was loving it. "Yes, oh, yes," he murmured.

 

We watched the entire scene as the bar quieted down; this was everyone's favorite video, apparently. When the scene was over, I felt the tightness in my groin that indicated that I was already oozing some pre-cum. I couldn't watch stuff like that without getting very involved.  

 

Troy laughed. "You look like you've seen the Second Coming," he said. "Close your mouth. Pull your tongue back in. Haven't you seen stuff like this before?"

 

"I had a friend who had some porn", I said. "But not like THAT." John's collection had been mostly younger boys... French films... with classical music. Languid close-ups of bodies rubbing against each other... seductive poses... beautifully lit shots of curving body contours... lots of kissing. Stryker didn't kiss Quinn even once.  

 

Our conversation turned in new directions, but I couldn't get the images of Stryker's punishing physicality out of my mind.

 

Troy was, in fact, a former navy-man, 29 years old, who took all his military pay and bought this old warehouse and fixed it up with the help of a few buddies. His passion was motorcycles. He'd ridden across the entire US on a whim... alone. He was mostly a loner... no partner... never had a long-term partner... and he was saving his money to open a string of gay bars in central Pennsylvania.  

 

"State College could sure use a place like this," I suggested. "But maybe a little more high-tone to attract faculty as well as students." 

 

He laughed. "I went to one of those places in Boston once," he said. "Filled with businessmen in ties, drinking fancy drinks and talking about mergers and balance sheets. But all they really wanted to do was fuck... but they couldn't just come out and say it." He nodded as he looked around the bar area. "I'll take these guys any day," he said, sweeping his arm across the bar's seating area. "They call a fuck, a fuck."

 

The conversation returned to Rumors. "Tell me the difference between the back room and the downstairs," I queried. "They're sorta the same... but they're different."

 

"The backroom is for ‘quickies'... guys who come in for a few beers and want a blowjob... or a cum-chaser. Something anonymous. It's mostly in-and-out. Guys wander in from the theater or the arcade... they spend a little while, get their rocks off, and then leave. Or sometimes they're looking for someone to take into the cubicles for a quick, private fuck. There are a few guys who stay in the backroom all night, but they're mostly watchers and listeners."

 

I nodded, remembering how guys kept strolling in and out.

 

"Downstairs is a different story. We call it ‘The Pit,'" he said, lowering his voice. "It's more of a destination. Guys go down there to play all night. They want it hard... and often. For them, it's a way-of-life. They get-off on the group experience... the sights and sounds of other guys fucking and getting fucked. For them, sex is a team-sport. Did you see the bondage room?" he asked, tilting his head and licking his lips unconsciously.  

 

"I stuck my head in," I replied. "Nothing was happening."

 

"There's a bunch that comes in together. They're the ones who equipped that room and built the St. Andrew's Cross. They're into that shit, and I turn a blind-eye. We'd probably get shutdown if the Sheriff knew what was goin' on. It's all consensual... most of it, anyway... but occasionally they take a virgin like you down there with enough drugs in him who'll consent to anything.  Watch out for them. They won't hurt you, but they'll scare the shit out of you."

 

I didn't mention that I had not been a "virgin" before the prior night's experience. "I'm going back down to the other room tonight. I'll show them they didn't intimidate me last night... and I've got a few plans up my sleeve."

 

"That's a good plan," he said. "You sound like you can hold your own with the guys in the Pit.  Just be careful. I can remember what it was like when I was your age."

 

"Thanks," I said, giving the back of his hand a pat as I got up to leave.

 

He twisted his hand quickly and gripped my wrist "Big hands," he said. "I love guys with big hands."

 

"You know what they say," I said, looking down at the bulge in my jeans.

 

"You got no inadequacies in that department. I got a good look last night. Even soft, you're a handful. And, if you weren't on the other side of this bar, I'd have a handful of that right now."  We both laughed.

 

"Isn't it hard to stay behind the bar all the time and not get into the action that's going on in the next room?" I said. "It'd drive me crazy."

 

"We'll talk about that later," he said. "Go... go have a good time. Give ‘em Hell... and let me know what happens. I'll just stay here and imagine it. Oh,... and don't lose your pants this time."

 

"Can I leave my shirt?" I said. "I don't want to lose it... and I plan to keep my pants on."

 

"Sure," he said. "I've got a spot right here behind the bar." I stripped off the shirt, a black lycra crew-neck tee with a Japanese Yin-and-Yang symbol in stark white... a gift from John. Troy took it and brought it to his nose. "I love how you smell," he said. "Very male."

 

"Go figure," I snarled as I adjusted my black, leather belt and headed into the arcade.

 

"Go get ‘em, Jeff," he called after me, referring to the Stryker video.

 

I tensed my pecs and abs as I walked through the door. The arcade was filled with guys shoving quarters into video machines or waiting in line for private booths. Most of them were older and unattractive, but a few were interesting. I could feel my cock swelling in my pant-leg as the sounds of taped sex from a dozen machines blended into a low-roar of moans, heavy-breathing, and ejaculation shouts, all accompanied by a cacophony of bad background music. Eyes turned as I passed. A soft, low whistle made me smile. I usually go Commando (no underwear) when I wear jeans... to show off the contour of my cock in my pant leg. 

 

The backroom was crowded, and it was still relatively early. But I didn't stay long enough for my eyes to become adapted to the low light; I felt my way along the wall and encountered several bodies lined up to catch a trick.

 

The private rooms were all available. Doors stood open to show simple metal bed-frames with bare mattresses. One room had a sling. I slipped my fingers into my tight pockets to check the condom supply before traversing the stairs down into... The Pit.

 

In the dim light of the hallway I recognized the guy who had fucked me the night before. He was getting a blow-job from a guy kneeling in the passageway. He recognized me as I approached.

 

"You have something of mine," I said. "My jeans."

 

"And you have something of mine," he countered. "a cum-load dripping out of your asshole."

 

"Give me my pants and I'll gladly give you a cum-load to replace the one you lost," I said, staring at him eye-to-eye.

 

"A cocky bastard. I like that. Is that the way your Mommy taught you to say ‘hello'? I was about to say ‘Welcome back.' Here, ...give my buddy a suck," he said to the guy on his knees.  

 

The guy clutched at my jeans and had the fly open in seconds. His mouth was already on me before I could look down. He stroked the other guy's red, saliva-slick shaft with his hand while he sucked me expertly.  

 

"Whaddaya say we call a truce?... Forget the pants... and share a few hot boy-asses in the Pit.  I like your style." He raised his hand to stroke the curve of my pec. "I'd love to watch you fuck someone with those abs of yours. Fuckin' poetry-in-motion."

 

The cock-sucker moved back to his cock, causing him to gasp... and the guy's hand worked my balls out of my fly with nimble fingers. After a few sucks, his mouth returned to suck my balls held tightly in his fist so that the skin stretched tight and red over the hard knots.  

 

I stepped back, pulling them out of his lips with a pop. "Let's go," I said. "I'll match you fuck-for-fuck."

 

"Let's see what kind of a judge of boy-ass you are. I'll let you go first. Beginner's luck. He smiled in a friendly way. "Some of my favorites are already inside... and a few dogs, too." I passed him and walked into The Pit. The walls were lined with guys... a few of them already naked... a few getting sucked-off. One guy looked particularly nice... about my age, but only five-feet-six... a swimmer's build, naked except for faded jeans. I stopped in front of him and turned. With one finger I traced a line from his jugular notch to his sternum between rounded pec-mounds. He smiled as if he enjoyed being chosen so quickly. I gripped his nipple ring and twisted.  He smiled, at-first, then winced... then his eyes flashed with arousal. "What can I do for ya?" he said seductively.

 

"Damn. You're good," said the fucker from last night. "This one has an ass that can suck like a milking machine... and if you hit his prostate just right, he'll clamp down on you so tight, you'll think he's gonna bite your dick off. I'll fuck this one over here... and we can trade-off, if you want to." He motioned to a mocha-chocolate black guy, already naked and rubbing his ass. "Fine, very fine."

 

"Against the wall," I said to my trick in my most threatening voice. I snapped the tiny strap that disappeared into the ass-crack showing above the back of his jeans. "Drop those jeans." He obliged quickly. They fell to his ankles. Under the jeans he was wearing a leather thong with a zipper in the front. "Spread those legs," I said.

 

"I can't, Sir." It was the first time anyone had ever called me "Sir", and I paused. "I need to take them off," he continued.

 

"Do it," I ordered. He leaned against the wall with one hand while pulling the jeans off his shins with the other. As soon as he finished, he resumed the position and spread his legs wide.  Meanwhile, I opened the buttons of my fly, pulled the flaps open wide, and applied a condom.  Then I unsnapped the thin, black leather strap that disappeared into his ass-crack.  He quickly unfastened the buckle at the hip and the leather fell to the floor.

 

"And spread that ass," I said. He leaned against the wall and reached back with both hands gripping his ass-cheeks and spreading it as wide as it would go. I leaned forward to speak into his ear. "Do you want this big cock in your tight boy-ass? I said, remembering Jeff Stryker.

 

"Yessir," he begged. "Give it to me."

 

I fucked him then, harder than I had ever fucked anyone before. I gripped his wrists and spread his arms high above his head against the brick wall and rammed my cock into him with sharp piston-action. My cock made a sucking-sound as it pulled out of him... like pulling boots out of deep mud. 

 

The other guy was fucking his choice next to me, matching me stroke-for-stroke. I was determined to last longer than he and to make my boy scream with pleasure. We'd see who was ‘the best there is.'  

 

"Tighten that ass," I growled against his cheek. "You know you love it."

 

"I love your cock in me," he moaned. "Oh, fuck me!"

 

I felt hands reach between us to feel my abs as they drove my shaft deep into him. And someone slithered on his back between my spread legs; he positioned his body against the wall and began to suck the boy I was fucking. His hands gripped the backs of my knees and urged me to pound him harder.

 

He came suddenly without warning... a convulsion that impacted my chest and chin with such force, I almost lost my rhythm. His ass muscles tightened around my shaft in incredible spasms as his load shot down the sucker's throat. I was determined not to cum yet. His tightness made it feel so good; as if I were overcoming his unwillingness to continue... and the thought of fucking him against his will was a further turn-on. He was gasping now with every penetration... a rapid staccato of pleasure-grunts through clenched teeth... each gasp accompanied by a clenching on my shaft.  

 

I heard the guy next to me begin to cum... a sound that was still so vividly in my memory from last night. His primitive sounds only raised my level of intensity. I planted my feet and dug-in; I bent my knees to get more leverage into him; I lifted him onto his toes with each thrust; my mouth found the back of his neck and I tasted his fear.  

 

The guy next to me had his boy in a Full-Nelson wrestling hold now, with the boy's back arched against his chest as he thrust straight up into his stretched ass. The boy's hand worked his own cock, curving upward, long and hard... ready to spurt. I snapped my boy into the same position and turned toward the other pair; he did the same... and we pressed the two boys chest-to-chest to finish them off. He came first, then his boy... and I finished last in a huge thrust that lifted my boy off his toes as the other boy's cum bathed his lower abs. I froze in place as my spasms continued... almost unable to stand without the support of hands all over my body. As we released the two boys, they clung together in a sensual embrace as they kissed.

 

As we stepped away, the other guy put his sweaty arm over my shoulder. "You're a hot fuck," he said with a smile. "I underestimated you. While I was fucking that worthless piece-of-shit I was thinking about fucking you last night. It made me fuck him even harder when I watched you fucking Chris there. You really had him going."

 

I gave him a firm-jawed nod. "Same here," I added. "Seeing and hearing you fuck that kid made me fuck my guy even harder. You were right. He has a great ass."

 

"Whaddaya say we team-up tonight and fuck the whole stable? I haven't done that for 3 years."

 

I looked down at my semi-hard cock still hanging from my open fly, wondering if I could manage another hard-on so soon. He read my mind.

 

"Don't worry," he said as he reached into his pocket. "I have just what you need." He retrieved a thin, black piece of plastic about ten inches long and a quarter inch wide. "We use these to bundle electrical wires during house-construction... zip-ties... but they make fine cock-rings.  Here, I'll show you." He knelt and began wrapping my cock and balls with the thin strip, then fed one end through a zipper-like closure in the other end and ‘zipped' it tight. "That sucker will stay on all night," he said as he looked up, pleased that my shaft was already starting to harden.  "And let's get rid of these." He started pulling my pants down my thighs.

 

"Is this another way to steal my jeans?" I said. I grasped for the fabric to pull them up.

 

He laughed heartily. "Hell no, he said, stripping them down to my knees. I've got a special spot where I leave mine... and no fucker would dare take ‘em. And we can leave yours there too. I promise. You'll only lose your pants once around this place." I kicked off my shoes and let him strip them further down my calves. He stood, handed them to me while he shucked his own off, then grabbed mine and rolled them together into a bundle. "Over here," he said. "In the ceiling beams... that's my spot." He turned toward me again with a sudden serious look. "We'll make a fine fucker out of you," he said. "You've got the fire inside. I can tell. Let's go next-door... There's so much to show you. His big hand gripped the back of my neck and guided me into the hallway between the two larger rooms. "I'm Jake, by-the-way... although everyone around here calls me ‘Hammer.'  But you can call me Jake."

 

"I'm Brian, I said. "Brian Kinney."

 

"You'll be ‘Boy' until I'm through with you, he said ruffling the back of my hair. "Now, let's fuck our brains out." He shoved me in front of him as we passed down the hall. Guys stepped out of our way as we passed. 

 

==================================

 

It was 3 am when I retrieved my pants and dragged my sagging ass back upstairs to the bar.

 

"You won't believe"... I said to Troy who was washing glasses.

 

"Oh, yes I would. Hammer told me what happened as he left. Fucking with the big boys, huh?  You made quite an impression; I think." He lined the glasses up, pretending to focus on his work, but his raised eyes were on me.

 

"I feel like I've been through a war," I said, perching my ass on a bar stool.  

 

"Well, that kinda war can turn you into a mercenary soldier," he said with a grin. "It's addictive. I tell you... I know. Try living on a battleship for 4 months... and then getting a weekend in San Diego."

 

"I've gotta get outa here,'' I said, settling my chest and face against the bar as if I were planning to sleep there. "These late nights are killing me. A boy needs his sleep." I smiled when I realized I'd called myself a ‘boy'. 

 

"Why dontcha stay here?" he said matter-of-factly. "I've got a big bed... upstairs. And you're welcome to sleep-over... anytime." He paused because I didn't move. He touched my shoulder lightly. "We could fool-around... or not. Your call."

 

"I'm pretty wasted tonight," I said, raising my head with bleary eyes. "I'd probably fall asleep at-the-wheel. I'd probably even fall asleep in the middle of..."  

 

"Of a sentence," he said. I realized I almost had done just that. "You can take a shower, if you want," he continued. "Or not. I love how you smell after sex. I probably won't sleep all night, just breathing your aroma." I smiled sleepily. "Let me help you," he said, stepping around the bar with my shirt in his hand. I slipped off the barstool and he put an arm around my waist, guiding me to the stairs. "Helping the victorious warrior off the battlefield," he said. "Ready to fight another day." I draped the black shirt around my neck like a scarf... like a horseshoe of roses after the Kentucky Derby. John would have never believed this in his wildest dreams. At the stairs, I pulled myself up using the handrail. "In here," he said, directing me into the bedroom. I sat on the bed, still in a daze, then threw myself backwards onto the un-made bed, hands thrown back over my head.

 

"You got some nail clippers?" I asked. I can't get this damned plastic thing off my cock. It keeps giving me hard-ons every fifteen minutes."

 

"I need to go back downstairs for another hour," he said, ignoring my question. "Then I'll clear-out the stragglers and shut the place down. I'll be back as soon as I can." His hand brushed my chest gently as if he wanted to stay. His thumb brushed my pit-hair.

 

I rolled into fetal position and clutched the pillow as if it were a boy ready to be fucked.

 

"Hold that thought," he whispered as he left.

 

 

 

"Faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death." Hunter S. Thompson

 

If sex is a team-sport, I want to be the quarterback. Brian Kinney, 1996

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When I awoke the next morning, he was lying beside me, watching me.

 

"Hi. Good morning," I said in that first raspy voice of the morning-after-the-night-before.

 

"You were really out of it," he said with a smile. "When I came back upstairs, you were out-like-a-light, right in the middle of the bed... and you're a pretty big guy. I thought I might have to sleep on the couch, but I managed to bend over you from the far-side and to grip you by the wrist and ankle to pull you over onto your side to make room for me. I coulda raped that ass of yours and you'd be none the wiser... but that woulda taken all the fun out of it."  He smiled and rolled onto his back looking up at the ceiling. He was silent for a moment, then resumed.  "Are you gonna hook-up with Hammer? I mean, it's none of my business, and you don't have to answer that, but..."

 

"He's OK, I said, rolling toward him. "He certainly knows what he wants and goes after it. I can say that for him."

 

"Well, it surprised me, I guess, that you'd hook-up with him after what happened the night before. Some guys woulda come back with a knife to slit his throat."

 

"Do you know him?" I asked. "Know about him?"

"We were buddies once," Troy said with his eyes still on the ceiling. "We rode together in the same group. But we had a falling-out... over another guy... but he still comes to Rumors, even though we don't talk much. The only reason he spoke to me Friday night was to give me your keys and wallet... and on Saturday to gloat a little, I think." He started to get up. "Want some coffee?" he asked. "I made a pot earlier."

 

"Sure," I replied. "To blow the cobwebs away."

He pulled on some running shorts and left the bedroom, but he continued to talk from a distance. "You probably shouldn't tell him you stayed overnight... here. Sugar and milk?"

 

"Black," I said, regaining my full voice. "He doesn't seem like the jealous type."

 

"It's the old biker code. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The friend of my enemy is my enemy. It's very medieval. Almost like the Boy Scouts."

 

"I'm sure he'd love that comparison," I said with a laugh. I found my jeans under the bed and put them on, leaving the fly open, then followed the sound of his voice to the kitchen.

 

"It's like honor among thieves... trustworthy and loyal to your brothers... they value courtesy, kindness, and obedience, too... and screw everyone else." He handed me a cup as I rounded the corner. "And once you're an outsider, you're always outside."

"Well, despite his roughness, he's been nice to me," I said, then took a sip.

 

"Oh, he only goes for the best," Troy said, looking suddenly serious. "And you're the closest thing to male perfection we have around here. The face, the body, the personality, the openness, the willingness to experiment... you've got it all." Perhaps I looked surprised... or I blushed. "No, I mean it," he continued. "Just tell me this. Do guys watch you walk by?"

 

"Sure," I said. "But they look at everyone."

 

"No, they don't, he said emphatically. "Watch their eyes when someone else walks by. Have you ever done that?"

 

"No," I said. "But I'm just a little taller than most guys."

 

"It's not just that. Your face is... dare I say ‘beautiful?'... A combination of intelligence, innocence, devilishness, and a touch of sadness in the eyes. Sorta like reading a John Retchy novel. Very expressive, and alive... changeable, erotic, interesting. But not in a feminine way.  Some pretty guys look like muscular females. Your face has the classic look of ancient Greek perfection."

"I think my nose is big," I said apologetically. 

 

He ignored it. Perhaps he rolled his eyes, then went on. "And your physique. Surely you know how wonderful your body looks... and feels." He reached up to stroke across my pecs as if touching a statue in the museum... afraid to be caught by the guard. "You work-out to make it perfect. Admit it."

 

"Not that much," I said. (I lied.) "I go to the gym mostly to look at other guys. But I like how my body feels when I'm fit. When I look in the mirror, I don't see anyone special."  

 

"And do you have trouble talking to strangers?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

 

"I usually don't approach strangers to talk to them, but I don't have a problem replying to someone if they make the first move. That feels okay." That was always the way it was... if someone initiated contact, I could relax and ease into it. But I never knew how to begin a conversation with a guy when I was in college.  

 

"That's the innocence and openness," he said. "A perfect example." I didn't know what to say, so I just took a gulp of my coffee and let silence settle over the kitchen. Finally, the coffee was gone. "I need to get back to State College," I said. "I have studying to do for tomorrow." He nodded, a little sadly, perhaps. I guessed that, despite being surrounded by hot, horny guys almost every night, he lived a fairly lonely and subdued life. "I'll be back next Friday," I added... and that made him smile.

 

=============================

The following Friday, a warm evening turned into a thunderous downpour as I drove the 40 miles to Altoona. It took an extra half-hour to get there. The parking lot was full; bad weather always brought the outdoor fuckers indoors; so I was drenched when I reached the door and my white tee-shirt stuck to my skin like a white coat of paint. The roar of the rain on the fiberglass portico made everyone turn toward the door when it opened. I stood there, looking like I was half-drowned and dripping onto the linoleum floor.  

 

I headed to my usual spot... a real creature of habit, I guess... and Troy waved from the far end of the bar in anticipation of welcoming me. A sharp whistle from one of the tables caught my attention. It was Jake.

 

"Over here," he said as if I were a waiter. "I want ya to meet some guys." There were six of them crammed into one booth with Jake at an outside corner. An additional five sat at an adjacent booth participating in loud conversation with those at the first table.

 

"This is Brian," he said, slapping me on the back. "Meet the Lenape Nation," he said sweeping his arm over the two booths "I brought the whole, fuckin' family."

I nodded and smiled as they threw popcorn at me, and someone shook a beer and sprayed it straight into the air.

 

"I have something for you," Jake said, reaching into the corner of the booth.  He handed me a wide leather strap with a buckle.  

 

"It's a little big," I said with a grin as I pretended to unbutton my jeans.

 

They all laughed. "Not from what Hammer tells us!" one shouted.

 

"It's not a fuckin' cock-strap. It's a collar... for your neck, he said over the din.  "A badge of honor and a sign of belonging to our little group here. Wear it every time you're here at Rumors, OK?"  

 

I held it, still unsure of its significance or meaning. No one else wore a collar. It looked like something a Great Dane would wear... black leather with chrome studs at intervals and one metal loop... for a leash, I supposed. He took it from my hands, spun me around, and bound it tightly around my neck. There was another yell from his buddies.

"Ever ride a bike, boy?" I knew he didn't mean the old Sears bicycle I rode to high school.

 

"Probably not like yours," I said. "I always swore never to ride something I couldn't lift if it fell over." The bikers laughed because one of the Harleys had fallen over a few days before and it took four of them to lift it.

 

"How about a ride... right now?" Jake said, leaning closer.

"It's raining like crazy out there," I said. "Are you nuts? At least, it was when I came in."

 

"All the better," he said. "The speed,... the feel of the rain against your body... it'll get your heart pounding and your dick hard in just a few seconds. It's the closest thing to a twenty minute orgasm." The others added their encouragement. I was skeptical and a little cautious, but I didn't want to appear to be afraid, so I agreed.

 

As we stood to leave, he pointed to Troy at the bar. "Leave your shirt here," he said.

"It's already soaking-wet," I said. "It can't get much wetter."

 

"Take it off," he repeated. "I want you to feel it. You afraid you'll melt in a little rain-storm?" He opened his Harley wet-suit and removed the top.

I stripped the wet shirt off my torso and tossed it to Troy who looked at me skeptically. "What are you getting yourself into?" he seemed to say.

It was still pouring when we reached the parking lot. I could pick his bike out of the lineup before he showed me... a blue and black 88 Electra Glide Classic... the original King of the Highway... with the rear-mounted saddlebag and backrest. The seat was very wet as I straddled the passenger seat. He climbed aboard in front of me. "I'd love to put you up-front, with my cock in your ass as we rode down the highway," he said over his shoulder. "I'd hit every pot-hole I could find." He put on goggles... no helmet.

I put my hands on each side of his waist as he revved the engine and glided onto the street. He released one handlebar long enough to reach back and pull one of my hands around his waist.  "Hang on," he yelled over the sound of the engine. The bike accelerated rapidly, and I wrapped my other arm around his waist, too. As we sped-up, the rain bit into my face, pecs, and shoulders as I tried to look over his shoulder, but the drops were so big, they stung like small rocks. I ducked my face down behind his substantial shoulder and closed my eyes.

I could taste the salt from his sweat as the rain washed over his shoulder and down his back to my face pressed against his scapula. The contrast between his warm skin and the cold rain was intense. I felt him laughing as my arms tightened around his waist.  

We were on the highway then... going so fast my skin burned from the spray. The windshield protected him a little, but he must have felt it more than I. Luckily, the traffic was light; we were going almost 80 miles-per-hour one time I tried to look at the speedometer.  

 

He was right. My heart was pounding from the sheer fear of the experience. I clung to him because he was the only thing keeping me from falling off the bike to certain death. He was a madman, riding like this in the rain! And he was doing it on-purpose. Making me feel the fear.

 

He reversed direction at a cross-over. The rain was now coming from behind us, but he sped so quickly, it hardly mattered. When we got back to Rumors, I was cold, soaked, and shaking from the experience. For some reason, I couldn't let-go of him even when the bike stopped in its original parking place. The roar of the motor ceased. The rain had almost stopped.

 

"Danger is the spice of life," he said, turning to speak to me again. "The danger of getting caught, the danger of getting hurt, even the danger of making a fool of yourself." He paused, and when I didn't say anything, he continued. "Even a brush with Death now-and-then makes you appreciate an unresolved life."

 

"That was intense," I finally managed to say something.

 

"If you're gonna live, live hard," he said. "If you're gonna ride, ride fast. If you're gonna fuck, fuck hard."

 

"I thought we were gonna die," I admitted.

 

"A short, intense life is better than a long, boring one... especially one lived with regrets for never having done things that you're now incapable of doing anyway. You die when you quit living," he continued. "It just takes some people forty years to fall down." He gripped my hands for a moment, then unwrapped my arms from around his waist. "Hop off," he said. As I put my toe on the pavement, I realized my shoe was full of water.  

 

I must have looked pale when we re-entered the bar. His buddies knew what he had done, and they were waiting for my reaction. I grabbed a glass of melted ice, filled my mouth with water, and as I approached the table, I did an impression of a garden-fountain... dripping, standing in a pool of water, and shooting a thin stream through pursed lips onto the table. They went wild.

 

Hammer brought an additional chair to the booth and indicated for me to sit. I was still dripping; my wet hair was in my eyes.

 

"Take this," he said, opening a snuff-tin that contained numerous small, white pills.  

 

I looked skeptical, probably. "What's this?" I said, turning over an unmarked pill that he had dropped into my palm. He extended the tin to everyone at the table and it was passed to the next table as well.  

 

"An ‘upper,'" he replied. "You'll be a god tonight." I was remembering Troy's warning. I hadn't done drugs that often... just some pot and some occasional hash when I could get it. Speed was something else. "Don't you trust me?" he said. "It won't kill you... or even knock you out.  It's just something to ‘improve' the evening. Hell, everyone else is using it. I'll take two." He retrieved the tin again and dumped out two tablets into his palm, then popped them into his mouth. "No sweat," he added. "Take it or leave it. I don't care." I put the pill in my mouth and tried to get enough saliva to swallow it, but finally took a sip from someone's unfinished beer on the table. "You probably don't need any stimulant," he continued. "You're young and new at this.  The adrenaline rush may be enough to keep you going all night. I love how your inner thighs tremble when you get excited. But, once you've fucked on Speed, it'll never be the same. It's like every sensation is ten-times as powerful. You'll see." His hand slipped down from the front of my thigh to the inner surface as if he were checking to see if my Gracilis would give a flutter.

 

After two more rounds of drinks, the temperature started to rise... at least that's how it seemed.  I could almost feel the steam rising from my damp shoulders. Hammer's hand on my back began to feel so good, I wanted more. My own hand on my chest felt like someone else's, and I could feel my cock creeping down my left pant-leg under the damp denim. I reached for Hammer's shoulder... hard deltoid under tight skin... I could almost feel the muscle striations. I was touching his back, then, like he was stroking mine... sensuous touching as a prelude.  I wanted more.

 

"Ready for fun and games, men and boys? It's time to do what we came here to do. Fuck our brains out." Hammer stood and gripped me behind the neck, pulling me up.

 

The group headed en masse toward the basement. I could still feel water running down my back in rivulets... or was it sweat?  My hair hung onto my damp forehead in ringlets. The wet leather of the collar seemed to tighten as it began to dry. It was as if I could sense every part of my body at the same time... sensations I usually took for granted were now sources of pleasure.

 

At the bottom of the stairs, Hammer turned right and everyone followed. The second large room in the basement contained a padded leather table, the X-shaped cross I had noticed the week before, and the collection of sex-toys. The room seemed smaller with 12 guys in it.

 

"Let's get naked!" one voice said, but some had already begun. Boots, jeans, and other items were tossed into the corner onto a pile outside the door. Getting out of tight, wet jeans with guys watching is no easy task. I could barely untie my running shoes; the laces were soaked, and my fingers weren't functioning quite right. I peeled the denim off my thighs almost like removing a condom. But it felt good, somehow, to stand triumphantly naked in the crowd. I remembered what Troy had said, they were all looking at me. Most of them were in their early 30s, I figured, and I could tell that Hammer had chosen them because they all fit his "type," tall, muscular, smooth, physically fit in that "outdoors" sort of way, as if their bodies were toned by work, not by a Nautilus machine. Some of them looked military, but the closest base was the Carlisle Barracks. I wondered how he'd gathered this band of cycle-fuckers.

 

They quieted-down when Hammer gripped the back of my neck again. "We're here tonight because of this guy," he said, tilting his head toward me. "I like him. I like his looks. I like his spunk."  

 

Someone added "We're sure to see plenty of THAT tonight," and everyone laughed.  

 

"He's young," Hammer continued, "but he can hold his own with this band of roughnecks." 

 

"I'll hold it for him," said another. They laughed again as Hammer took a swipe at the guy.

 

"When there's a new guy, we always start the same way... sorta a welcome," he said, eye-to-eye with me. His face glistened with a sheen of sweat, with dark shadows cast by the overhead light directly over the table, the only light in the room. "Just lie down here," he said, patting the black leather of the table.  "...on your back. We wanna enjoy that great body of yours."

 

I stepped to the table and pressed my ass against the leather edge. I lifted onto my toes to plant my ass on the edge of the table, but I didn't lie down. I kept remembering what Troy had said about unwary guys getting tied up and fucked senseless in this room. And it was about to happen to me. The drugs hadn't made me that stupid... yet. I leaned back on stiff arms, unwilling to lie down.

 

"Come on," he said. "Pete here is already dripping on the floor. Just lie back. We're not gonna hurt you. No ropes, no cuffs... maybe just a little physical restraint, but you can stop it at any time. Just lie back and we'll do the rest. Come on, boy. Don't embarrass me in front of my friends."

 

Despite Troy's warning... and despite Hammer's "danger-is-the-spice-of-life" attitude, I trusted the guy to keep his word. I was a member of the group now... and there was honor among thieves. I lay back on the table. The leather was cool against my now-warm skin, suddenly dry from the flush of the Speed. He gripped my ankles and pulled me toward the end of the table so that my ass rested on the edge. The others gathered around the table, closer than before. My whole field-of-vision was filled with hot guys holding their cocks at table-level. Hands pressed on my shoulders from behind, gently holding me in place against the table. I reached back behind my head, arching my back to feel who was there, and strong hands gripped my wrists and held them to the table. Warm hands stroked my pits and triceps... across my pecs and the valleys of my abs.

 

Hammer lifted my knees and spread them wide. "Just remember how good it felt," he said as a warm liquid bathed my balls and crack. Fingers massaged it into my hole... an oily lube that let the fingers slide deep into my rectum. And then a fullness as he penetrated me. I tried to lift my head to see if he was wearing a condom, but he was inside me before I could see. His oily hand closed around my shaft and gave it a few strokes. The entire group was stroking now... a cockhead brushed my lat... another on my hip. I looked straight up at the light; even its brightness was a pleasure-giving stimulus. Everything felt good... the fullness in my ass, the leather against my back... the hands stroking my body... desiring me... getting pleasure from touching me... the radiated warmth of eleven bodies so close to mine... the pressure of Hammer's shoulders against my knees... the tension in my muscles as he used my legs as shock-absorbers to dampen the impact... the feel of my leg-hairs against his sweaty lats... fingers stroking the arch of my foot... the murmur of wordless pleasure... a finger boring into my navel... sudden tightness on my nipples... something brushing my forearms... each sensation magnified and multiplied. Hammer's face in full-shadow looming over me... the whiteness of his teeth showing between curled lips... chin thrust forward, eyes closed. He was sucking breath open-mouthed. I could feel his chest expanding against my inner shins. His hand, a sheath on my shaft, moving in-rhythm with the pressure in my interior. The feeling in my ass... of having folds ironed-flat... of soft membranes stretch to their capacity... of pressure deep inside me that I had never felt before... the pounding of my pulse against the rhythm of his thrusts. I used my knees to press him out of me, so that his next thrust would sink-in the entire distance... bodies moving in synchrony, part of the same precision machine.

 

His hand that had been stroking my cock suddenly released me and spread its oil over my abs and chest. Simultaneously, my right hand was released, and I quickly brought it to my own shaft to continue the stimulation, slowly, at first, and then more rapidly, knowing exactly how to make it feel good. In my peripheral vision I could see my hand on my own cock... a blur in slow-motion... moving so fast that my eye could not discern it... feeling my cock flush with heat from the friction.

 

I tightened my ass on his cock, wanting this to last forever. He responded by thrusting harder.  He wanted to work for it. He wanted me to resist. I thrust upward with my knees, trying to push him off me, but he gripped my legs and attacked more brutally, showing me who was boss. I lay back, then... ass still tight, but letting him have me.

 

 

I felt the first splash of warm cum... then the second. They were all getting off, watching my body respond to his punishment... an object of adoration, sensuous enough to tip them over the edge... each finding some part of me to be the trigger. It must be the nature of guys... when one cums, it triggers them all to cum. The moans were louder now, interrupted by sharp cries or cursing. Cum hit my face from two directions leaving swags of thick fluid across both cheeks and over my right eye. More hit my belly, filling the well of my navel and dripping down my side.  More shots hit my face, lips, and chin. And as I gasped open-mouthed, another gob landed on-target.

 

As I opened my eyes, I could see glistening droplets flying into the funnel of bright light from many directions. Hands pressed against me as guys leaned forward to shoot their loads onto me; other hands spread the slippery fluid over my chest before it lost its gel-like properties. I could feel it now, that feeling of inevitability when you can barely hear a train in the distance, but you know you should step off the tracks. Deep inside me... the itch you can't scratch... the pressure that no relaxation can alleviate... the "glowing-spot" that spreads and intensifies until it consumes your entire body in one neutron explosion. I gripped Hammer now with my other hand, pulling him into me with clenched fingers, wanting him to be buried deep inside me when the moment came. 

 

He knew.

 

I gulped a breath, to shout, and felt the cum drip down my throat.  

 

One cataclysmic moment, when everything went white and Time stopped... a microsecond in which I felt my body explode into atoms, and the atoms into sub-atomic particles... matter turning to pure energy... annihilation.

 

I awoke to find his cock literally forcing the cum out of my shaft like a pump bailing-out a boat... thrust... squirt... thrust... squirt. The pressure of his penetrations pressed somewhere on my interior that was directly connected to the muscular reflex. Ropes of jizz swirled onto my chest, mixing with that of the others. Hands quickly spread it over my torso. Awash in cum. A mixing and a joining.

 

"Nicky!" He came inside me, waves of pressure... a throbbing deep in my interior like small, muffled explosions... thud... thud... thud. Just pressure, no heat or liquid. He had worn a condom this time. Safer, but less satisfying. I cried out as I felt him withdraw... as if his cock had become a permanent part of my body and its removal comprised an amputation.

 

He moved on to someone else, then, and he indicated that I should, too. I climbed off the table, still dripping from my jizz-bath, and pushed the first guy I could reach chest down on the table.  No recovery needed... my cock was still hard... engorged... crimson. I took him in one thrust with my still-lubed cock.

 

We fucked the night away.  I was still going strong when Troy came downstairs to send the stragglers home. He and Hammer had a short argument in the hall, but I was too busy finishing the guy I was doing to pay much attention to the raised voices. Finally, I felt hands on my biceps from behind; I turned, thinking it was Hammer, but it was Troy.

 

"Slow down, Babe. You've earned some rest."

 

My skin was still tingling and my tongue continued to traverse my lips. I stared at him, not quite understanding what he was saying.

 

"We're calling it a night," he said. "Everyone's going home, except you. It looks like I've got another bed-mate for tonight... this morning, actually. Come on upstairs. I'll help you find your clothes."

 

I understood the part about ‘bed'. He wanted me to spend the night again. We hadn't fucked last week, but I was sure gonna have him tonight. I was a fucking-machine.

 

I don't remember climbing the stairs to the bar, or the bedroom. Hammer was nowhere to be found. I tried to remember the last time I'd seen him. I think it was when we were sharing the same guy, fucking him at both ends. He had reached out to touch my face, and I had sucked his fingers.

 

"God, you smell like the backroom," he said. "Sleeping with you would be like sleeping with the Pittsburgh Steelers." He maneuvered me toward the bathroom. "How about a nice, tepid shower?" he said as he left me standing in front of the shower door while he slipped off his shirt and jeans. He guided me into the stall, turned on the water, and stepped in behind me.  His hands were suddenly all over me, lathering my skin, smearing away the crud, and spreading the rinse water.  His hands were nice. I smiled with my eyes closed as he spun me around and washed my front. After soaping my face, he pulled me into the water stream to rinse it, and then our lips met for the first time. "You won't remember this," he said (but I did), "but I'm not gonna pass up this chance again." I smiled in the middle of the kiss... experiencing the tenderness that stood in sharp contrast to the sensations earlier in the evening.  

 

"I don't kiss guys... much," I said as our mouths parted.  

 

"For a beginner, you do a fine job," he said.  "It's a quaint, but charming, custom, and you really should develop a "taste" for it."

 

Guys don't kiss," I started to say, but his lips were on mine again.

 

"We'll argue this over breakfast," he whispered.  

 

The water stopped and I opened my eyes. He was waiting for me with a large white towel. "Can you do it?" he said. "Or shall I help you?"

 

"Who's Nicky?" I said, not quite comprehending his question.

 

It's too long a story for 5am," he said, guiding me to the bed as the towel buffed my back. "We'll talk about it in the morning... if you remember to ask." I made a conscious effort... carved it in stone in my memory... to ask him in the morning. This time there was no problem sharing the bed. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close. I sank into him like falling into a warm pool.

 

"Speed... Feed... Need... Bleed... Seed," I thought as I drifted off into the void.

 

 

I awoke to the feel of clean sheets against my skin. For a moment, I forgot where I was.  Sleepovers with Troy after a night of backroom fucking were becoming a weekly event. As I stretched, I felt the soreness in my muscles. Last night must have been a real marathon. My hand crept to my ass... soreness there... still a burning sensation like skin raw from abrasion. It had been a wild night. I could remember parts of it. But some parts were only flashes of images. The leather collar was coiled on the nightstand.

 

Troy's head popped around the corner of the doorframe. "Oh, you're awake," he said. "I was wondering when Sleeping Beauty would arise. How about breakfast-in-bed, your Majesty?"

 

"Since I'm not sure I can get out of bed," I moaned, "that sounds like a damned fine idea."

 

"God, I can remember that feeling," he said with a grin. "I'll be right back."

 

I checked all my remaining body parts to make sure everything was there. Those guys were fucking maniacs. Everything was in working order... in fact, a little engorgement was working its way into my cock, giving a little rise to the sheet. Just thinking about last night made me hard.

 

Troy returned with a tray... toast, scrambled eggs, lots of them, a bottle of Tabasco sauce, an orange, and 2 big mugs of coffee. "Picnic-time," he said, sliding the tray onto the sheets. "Is this what a growing boy eats for breakfast? Mmmmm, you ARE growing," he added, checking the mound in the sheet pulled tight by the tray. "I know what I want for breakfast."

 

I laughed and rolled onto my side so the arousal wasn't so evident. "Let me eat first," I said. "I can't chew and moan at the same time." The food was great. We shared the eggs, and I ate all the toast and the orange. I had skipped dinner to get to Rumors as early as possible last night, but then got caught in the fucking rainstorm. It was all starting to come back to me now.

 

"I'm sorry I was so wasted last night," I said. "It was the second time I've spent the night in your bed... and we haven't done a damned thing." I wanted him to know that I was still open to the possibility.

 

"You were fucking like a madman last night," he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief or chastisement. "I came down to check on you twice." Tony watched the bar for me. I was afraid you might get involved in something over-your-head... but you were topping both times I looked... and you were still at it when I closed the place up. I practically had to use a crowbar to get you off that guy you were fucking." 

 

"I can remember some of it," I said, scratching my shoulder where there was some kind of abrasion. "Nothing about a crowbar, but I have this vivid image of Hammer's face... mouth open in a wide grimace, eyes open and bloodshot, veins popping on his forehead. For an instant I thought I was seeing the face of the Devil."

 

"Not far from the truth," he said quietly. There was silence while we both took a swig of coffee.

 

"Oh, and I remember you giving me a shower," I continued. "I've never kissed a guy with a mustache before." 

 

He laughed. "There's a first time for everything... followed by the second time." He leaned forward to see if I would kiss him. Our lips met softly as we both tried to juggle coffee cups and to avoid the tray between us. Lips opened... tongues explored... the kiss turned into two or three with no space in-between... just two men enjoying the moment and wanting more.

 

"Thank you for that," he said when we parted. "I didn't want to take advantage of you when your defenses were down... but I'd been waiting for some indication from you that you wanted it as much as I do."

 

"I'm here, aren't I?"

 

"Well, so is the stray cat I took-in over 3 years ago," he said.  "But he doesn't even like me.  He just puts-up with me because I feed him."

 

"Speaking of ‘feeding'," I said, pulling back the sheet, "...are you ready for the Breakfast of Champions?"

 

He quickly removed the tray from the bed, then slipped out of his cut-offs. Kneeling on the bed, he dropped to all-fours as his face aimed for my pelvis. My cock, which had stirred slowly before, was now bouncing.  I ran my fingers through his hair, guiding him and welcoming him.  Instead of swallowing me immediately, he touched the tip with his tongue, then swirled it around the mushroom, descending slowly until his tongue found the shallow groove under the flare. His mustache brushed the tip and made me shudder.

 

"You're driving me crazy," I said softly as I pressed his head closer. His lips trailed down the side of my shaft and nipped at my pubic hair.

 

"I could get lost in there," he whispered. His tongue licked back up my urethra, expressing a drop of pre-cum from the tip. He brushed his lips across it, then spread it over the velvety head.  "I'm trying not to think about where this has been," he said, looking up momentarily with a smile. His mouth opened wide as he returned to my shaft; he settled onto it without touching it until the tip hit the back of his throat... then he closed his warm mouth on it and sucked slowly back to the tip. The sensation made me jerk. It was so warm... and slow... and sensuous... unlike the urgency of last night.

"Wuft wye bakk am Iyuh boo aw vuh refd," he said, trying to speak with my cock buried in his mouth. 

 

I laughed out-loud as my abs contracted in ripples.

 

He smiled and lifted his head. "Just lie back and I'll do all the rest," he repeated.  "I'm not planning to let you escape." His lips descended again, engulfing me.

 

"Sex-slave Brian Kinney, at your service... well, uh, ...you're servicing me at the moment, I guess."

 

He lifted his head, with another of those grins. "You don't have to go back to State College today, do you? Can you just stay here... in my bed... until we need to stock the bar for tonight?  Then you can fuck all those guys to your heart's content... all night. But I want this time with you."

 

"I'll stay," I said, shifting my weight a little. "And I want to help you. You've been so nice to me."

 

"You're the first guy I've had in my bed for three years," he said, suddenly looking sad. "No wonder I'm nice to you."

 

"You sure haven't forgotten how to do it," I hissed, wincing in pleasure.

 

"It's like riding a bicycle." He paused to take a long lick as he gripped the base of my shaft tightly. "Once you know how, you never forget... and it's much safer than riding a bicycle.

He sucked me then, long and slowly... keeping me at-the-peak for what seemed like hours. He showed me things I had never learned from John... how to mix hand-action with mouth-action... how to keep moving at all times, spreading the sensations wider and wider, then bringing the focus back to the most sensitive spot... how to change the suction from gentle to intense... where to press with your fingers to make a cock swell all the way down into the ball-sac... how to press a finger into my ass so gently that I didn't even know it was there until he wanted me to notice it. I wish I could remember all of it. He was the Master of erotic stimulation. At times, he had me begging for release. At other times, he had me begging for more. Sometimes he made me relax so much, I felt as if I were melting. And at other times, my toes curled so tightly that I got a cramp in my leg. Sometimes my abs would tighten so much that I'd sit up, reaching out for him, but he would push me back into the pillows and pick-up the pace again.  It was delicious torture, and I was taking mental notes.

 

Eventually I begged him to let me cum, and he took me over-the-top, swallowing and gurgling on my ample load. I collapsed into a puddle, even more debilitated than I was after the marathon fuck-session... and I hadn't done anything but lie there. 

 

He crawled up to kiss me again, then lay in the curve of my arm.

 

"That was incredible," he said, licking his lips. "You young guys cum in buckets-full."

 

"I thought I drained the tank last night. But you tapped the reserve supply."

 

We were quiet for a few minutes, just remembering the glory of it... reveling in the sensory overload.

 

He turned to look at me, feigning seriousness. "You've heard the phrase "fucking your brains out," haven't you? I nodded in the affirmative. "Whenever I see a guy cum or whenever I cum myself, I have this weird feeling that cum is simply liquefied brain cells that somehow come spurting out of your cock. I know how stupid that sounds... but, have you ever seen brain tissue?  It sorta looks like that."

 

I was tempted to ask where he'd seen a part of a brain before, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

 

"Every time you cum, you lose a few more brain cells... until you're fuckin' stupid." He laughed again.

 

"Maybe I should hold-off until after I graduate," I said, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

 

Silence again. I could tell something was bothering him.

 

"Do you remember what you asked me last night?" he asked.  "...before you went to sleep."

 

I thought for a moment. "Yes.  Something about Hammer calling me by the wrong name. ‘Nicky,' I think he said. He was a little crazy, but the names aren't similar at all."

 

"Yes, he probably called you Nicky," he repeated.

 

"So, who is Nicky?  I rolled onto one elbow to look down at him.

 

"It's a long story... and I don't know how much you need to know. But I think you'll find out eventually anyway.  Don't tell him where you heard it."

 

"An old lover?" I asked.

 

"Nicky was a 15-year-old kid that Hammer brought back from one of his cross-country cycle trips... picked him up at an I-80 rest-stop somewhere in Ohio... I've forgotten the town. Nicky was a runaway... a screwed-up kid... the result of an abusive father. He begged Hammer to take him away before the police found him... and Hammer did."

 

"Some bastards can really screw-up their kids," I added.

 

"Nicky was quiet... kinda sullen... he'd flinch if you made a sudden move. I always thought he had some kind of brain damage, but Hammer wouldn't take him to a doctor. He'd bring him here... first to watch, and later to participate.  He lived with Hammer for two years. If the cops had found Nicky here in the Orgy Room, I would have gone to prison."

 

"This was back when you and Hammer were buddies?" I asked, remembering how Troy had said that another guy was the reason for their split-up.

 

"Yeah, we rode together sometimes, and I was just getting this place fixed up, and he and some of his other construction buddies did some of the work.  He paused and looked around, making mental notes of work that Hammer had done, I suppose. "I tried to get Nicky into school," he resumed. "Even paid for a forged birth certificate so he could go to school in Altoona... but he never did."

 

"Did Hammer fuck him?" I asked.

 

"What do you think? Of course he did. Twice a day and six times on weekends, I'd guess. And he shared him with his buddies. Even me sometimes." Troy looked apologetic and had a hard time continuing. "He was beautiful... long blond hair, big, sad eyes... a little on the skinny-side, but the perfect ass on him... I hardly ever saw him with clothes on. He'd bring him here naked or just in his briefs. In cold weather, he'd be wrapped in a blanket. Hammer didn't want to let anyone know about the boy, so he didn't buy clothes or shoes."

 

"Where is he now?" I asked, feeling the slightest sting of jealousy.

 

"He's dead," Troy said, matter-of-factly. "Ran away again one night, and they found him dead along I-99 somewhere up near Tyrone where the Interstate narrows to 2 lanes... a hit-and-run driver, people say... or joy-riders. He'd been dead for several hours lyin' by the side of the road. Smashed up pretty bad. I had to identify the body and make-up some story about how he happened to be around here. Hammer was a nutcase. He blamed me for tryin' to make the kid go to school... or to the doctor... and I blamed Hammer for bringing him here in the first place. They sent his body back to his parents... and those folks didn't seem abusive at all. They were heart-broken to learn that he'd died... but they were relieved to finally have closure. I don't know what happened after that.  The police never found out that Hammer was involved.

 

"And Hammer loved him?"

 

"I don't know what you call it," Troy said with a sigh. "I try not to put words to other peoples' feelings. It was like he owned him, body-and-soul. Like the kid was part of him. He still rides his cycle up to that spot where he died, sometimes... the guy's obsessed. I knew the spot, even though Hammer hadn't said a word about it."

 

"There's an anger in him," I began. "Maybe that explains it."

 

"I saw the same look in his eyes when he talked about you that first night... but you're old enough to take care of yourself. Nicky was damaged goods." He paused. "But to Hammer, he was perfect."

 

We talked of other things... his plans, his future... my plans, my future. It's amazing how easy it is to open-up when you're lying, naked, next to a guy who just gave you the World's greatest blowjob.

 

==============================

 

I "earned" my blow-job. I helped Troy stock the bar, wipe off the tables, and sweep the floor. He said that if I worked any harder, he'd have to give me another one just to stay even. I started washing the windows and he made me stop.

 

"Tonight you're gonna eat something," he said. "No more fucking on an empty stomach." He pan-fried some hamburgers and french-fries. "See?" he said. "I stocked the refrigerator with things boys like to eat... just in case I could get you to stay. I had this all planned." He sent me downstairs for some cold beers, and we sat opposite each other at the round kitchen table as if it were a feast.

 

"You're coming back next weekend," he said definitively. "I'll even buy some steaks."

 

"Next weekend starts Spring Break," I said. "So, they close down the dorms, and everyone goes to Florida or Cancun, at least the ones who can afford it.  I tried to find a place to stay in State College... and a short-term job, just to avoid going home to Pittsburgh... but no luck." I dreaded going home. Even when I lived in Pittsburgh, I spent most of my time somewhere else. No one wants to be in a place where he's not wanted. All Mom wanted to do was to save my eternal soul... and all Pop wanted was to get rid of me. I could live at Deb's, but she asked too many questions. 

 

"How about here?" he said. "There's plenty of room." He smiled, probably picturing us snuggled up in that Queen-sized bed.

 

"Overnight is plenty generous. To stay ten days is an imposition."

 

"Can you drive nails?" he asked, "Or paint, or saw boards? I've got a project I've wanted to do, but paying a regular contractor and having them snoop around in here doesn't appeal to me much. Hammer and his buddies aren't about to do it, even for good pay. There's another whole floor of this place... it's a big fucking warehouse... and I've been wanting to turn Rumors into a ‘destination spot'...sorta like Parliament House in Orlando, one of the biggest fuckin' gay-complexes I've ever seen. Except... Altoona doesn't have Disney World to attract the tourists. But at least it could be a destination for all of Central Penn.  It's gonna be the biggest and best ‘Rumors' when I have a string of them across the state. Just give me ten years."

 

"I haven't done that kinda stuff much, but I'm a quick learner," I said, thinking this might be a good place to spend a week... fuck all morning, work all afternoon, fuck all night. It sounded almost as good as Cancun... but without beaches.

 

"And I'll pay you," he continued. "Not as much as you could make peddling that ass in Pittsburgh, but enough to pay for your drinks. Hell, I'll throw in an unlimited bar bill, too. What-the-Hell! You don't drink much."

 

"Who could resist such an offer?" We laughed at my eagerness.

 

"Just one thing," he said. "Hammer better not find out about this.  It's just best that he does not know you're living here. I don't know what he'd do."

 

"I can hide upstairs," I replied, "and when he shows-up you can knock three times on the water-pipe, and then thump the floor three times with the broom handle when he heads downstairs... my signal to appear." I was about to burst out laughing.

 

"Asshole," he growled. "I'm being serious here. He likes you... and he doesn't like me... and that adds tension. He threatened to burn this place down once, and I don't doubt he'd do it if he got angry enough... and high enough... and drunk enough. Ya never know." 

 

"I can keep my distance... and I can keep out of his way."

 

====================================

 

"I have a hard time letting you go," he said as I dressed to go downstairs that evening. "I've made all the mistakes you're about to make... probably even a few more... and it's hard to watch someone you care about go through all this shit."

 

"I'll probably make my own mistakes," I said, "...and a few good decisions, too... just to spite you." 

 

He reached for me and pulled me closer. "I can't say the things you need to hear," he said slowly and deliberately. "I've been through it all... and I still don't understand it totally... and you learn better from your own mistakes, not mine." He kissed me softly. For a moment, I wanted to stay... I wanted to keep him from spending another evening watching other guys enjoy their sexual pleasures while he suppressed his own. I wanted to find pleasure in the known, the real, and the genuine... instead of hoisting the facade and venturing into the fantasy of male-male interactions and dominations. But he knew that desires, once suppressed, become compulsions... and compulsions become madness. I had to deal with my demons myself. Period.

 

I went downstairs with Troy to open the front door. There were a few cars in the lot waiting for the lights to come on. Now THERE was compulsion! The crowd filtered in slowly. Gay bars don't fill-up until 10:00 or 11:00 pm; better to be late and compelled to catch-up than to be early and to appear desperate. The first guys to show-up were usually the ones who felt least comfortable in a gay bar.  They could use the excuse that they were just there for a drink or two in a relaxed environment. The conversation was light; most guys sat at the bar. The ones who were there for sex usually stood in solitary isolation along the two walls that had no booths, hoping to be noticed and approached. Standing too close to another guy might be misinterpreted as "being together" ...a sure thing to ruin your chances. You could tell by the way they posed that they were waiting for something... and the furtive glances were a give-away, attempting to make eye contact while trying to appear indifferent. Like statues... muscles tensed into pseudo-relaxed postures... trying to look their best. It was almost sad to see them trying so hard. One-by-one they would be chosen and led elsewhere... or they might suffer the humiliation of standing there all night, rejected. Like schoolgirls at the freshman mixer, condemned by etiquette to await being chosen. Later in the evening, some of them would still be hoping that another guy had a particularly shitty week and one shot of tequila too many... enough to make the loser look desirable. After a few weeks of watching the action, I learned one thing; guys who smile and act friendly are more likely to get chosen than the guy who scowls and looks threatening. Daring someone to say "hello" was not a successful ploy.

 

And the choosers took their time, not wanting to be the first... although early choosers usually got the best. After careful study from-a-distance... the slow approach... not too obvious... not telegraphing the destination until the last moment; that was the way it was done. The slight look of disinterest. The risk of rejection. Sometimes the encounter looked like a drug-deal in-progress. It was a seller's-market.

 

And everyone watched, of course, but indirectly. Staring might be mistaken for a counteroffer. Turning to chat with someone usually gave you the opportunity to look over his shoulder to watch the hunt.

 

I watched from behind the bar where I was helping Troy... a better opportunity to study what was going on than when I sat at the bar. I liked the view. But I decided at that moment... and the decision changed my life... I did not want to wait to be chosen, even though I'd have no trouble being picked. I wanted to do the choosing. Being the chooser gets you what you want. Having the balls to take the initiative was the key.

 

Hammer came in alone. He was wearing a leather jacket with no shirt... a cigarette was propped behind the earpiece of his mirrored sunglasses. He'd been drinking already. He surveyed the room and came straight to me.

 

"Where's the collar?" he said. "I told you to wear it."

 

"I thought you'd want to put it on me," I answered. "It's with my coat." I lied, because I had left it upstairs in the Quarters, next to the bed.

 

"You put it on yourself," he replied. "It's something you do because you want to. I only put it on you the first time."

 

"I'll get it," I said, "...and I'll meet you downstairs in a little while. I'm helping-out behind the bar until it slows down a little." He nodded and turned away, then turned back to order a triple Jim Beam. Troy had overheard and he gave me a supportive glance. He poured a tumbler-full without measuring.  Hammer took it, swallowed a large gulp so he could carry it without spilling, then turned away again.

 

"You can go play with the big-boys," Troy said after he was out of earshot.  "I'm OK here. Just be careful. I don't know which is better... to try to limit his consumption, or to give him enough to anesthetize him. I usually use the latter approach."

 

I watched Hammer disappear into the backroom before I dashed upstairs to get the collar.

 

When I returned, the bar was even more crowded than when I left. I caught Troy's eye as he checked that I was wearing the collar. I'd left my shirt upstairs, too.

 

The video playing on the monitor showed two young boys, probably no older than 13, tied to each other and sitting in a small cage. They were still able to give each other pleasure despite their confinement. I decided to head to the theater to watch it on the larger screen, but before I left the bar, I noticed a young guy, about my age, standing alone against the wall. He was looking down, studying the floor tiles and shuffling slowly from one foot to the other.  He had that immediate appeal that I later learned to be the signal that he was "my type"...almost as tall as I, dark hair, lean and slightly muscular, smooth chest, masculine, not fem. As he glanced up, the dark eyes flashed in anticipation. I stopped and took a step back.

 

"Hi," I said. "I'm Brian." A totally uninspired pick-up line, but it had the desired effect.

 

"Hi," he replied. "I am, too... I mean... My name is Brian, too."  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but couldn't.

 

"Come with me," I said, drawing a line with my finger from his throat to the cleft of his pecs peeking out from the top of his tank-top. He smiled and took a deep breath as if he'd been holding it. Perfect teeth, nice lips that I could already imagine around my cock, a strong chin. 

 

Instead of going into the theater, I led him to the backroom that was already busy. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could tell that he was new at this. He stayed close to my side, moving even closer when someone reached for him.  "Let's try someplace else," I said softly into his ear. I took his hand and guided him through the maze of bodies to the opposite hallway. A door to one of the private rooms stood open and we ducked inside just in time to avoid two guys that had followed us. 

 

We faced each other in the darkness with hands on each other's waist.

 

"Thank you," he murmured. "That was excruciating. As soon as I saw you, I hoped you'd come to me. I was actually praying."

 

"I'm here... and you're here. That's all that matters," I said in the same soft voice.

 

He lifted his face to mine and kissed my lips softly. My lips twitched but did not return the kiss. "I want you to suck me," I said. "Show me what you can do."

 

He started to kneel, but I caught him in the pits and held him up. Then guided him to the bed... a cot, really... just a metal frame and a bare mattress covered with ticking. I sat on the edge, then pressed him to his knees between my spread legs. He opened my jeans quickly and pulled it out with eager fingers.

 

"Mmmmmm," he murmured as my cock stiffened in his hand. "I knew you'd be big." His lips found the tip and moistened it with saliva. "I'm not very good at this... yet."

 

"Suck it," I said more urgently. I could feel the pressure rising already. The excitement of being the initiator... the aggressor... increased the pleasure of his first touch. I reached over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up his back. "But first, get outta those clothes," I added. He straightened up and pulled the shirt over his head, then got to his feet and slipped out of his shoes, jeans, and briefs.  He had shaved his treasure-trail and pubes... or someone had shaved them for him. And his balls, I learned later. In a second, he was back at-work on my cock.  He was inexperienced, but I didn't care. He did his best to please me. And as I rocked my cock deeper into his throat, he overcame his gag-reflex and took more than I expected. His left hand explored my torso... and the other one jacked his cock. He was getting-off on my body and the feel of my cock in his throat. Someday he'd learn the fine points, but tonight it was enough to provide the mouth; I'd do the rest.

 

"OK, on your back," I ordered, reaching down to grip my shaft and pulling it out. We traded places, ...he on his back on the bed, calves hanging off the end... and I astride his chest with my knees pressing his biceps against the mattress.  He could get-off later; I was taking over. I felt his breathing quicken under my ass as I slapped my cock gently against his jugular notch. He lifted his head and touched the tip with his chin. I leaned forward a little and slipped my hand behind his neck to lift his head; the damned bed had no pillows. He dropped his chin and let my hard shaft slide into his mouth, sucking the tip vigorously. I repositioned my ass, then rolled my pelvis forward to slip it in deeper as he moaned his assent. I put my other hand over his face to feel the sucked-in indentations of his cheeks and his lips trembling around my shaft. "Take it," I said. "Take it all, boy."

 

His head nodded in my hand... and I drove it deeper. His saliva welled-up around my shaft... then he swallowed and let me slip even deeper. After a few minutes, I wanted more motion, more stimulation, so I lifted my ass, pulling my cock out momentarily, then slipped my knees back along his sides until they gripped his waist. Leaning forward, I grasped the metal bar at the head of the bed (meant to prevent the non-existent pillows from falling off the upper end) and sank into a push-up position with my dick over his face. I felt the pre-cum drip onto his face as he found the tip again and opened wide. I plunged downward, driving it home as if his mouth were a gaping asshole. He gagged... then gasped... then swallowed hard and let it pass into his throat. I fucked his throat then... long and hard as he writhed underneath me, gripped my ass, and pulled me into him.

 

At the last moment, I plugged his throat with my bulbous tip and pumped my load down his throat, which was pulsating in an effort to swallow it. I pulled out quickly to let him breathe again. He gasped and moaned loudly. The boys in the backroom heard that one for sure!

 

I lay beside him with my arm over his chest, feeling his heart pound against my forearm.

 

"That was... unbelievable!" he gasped. "I've never had anyone take-over and do that before."

 

"You've just sucked a buddy in the locker-room, I'll bet," I said.

 

"How did you know?" he said, snuggling closer.  "The soccer bruises on my shins? You couldn't see them in the dark." He rolled his knee up over my thigh and pressed his cock against my hip. "You just fulfilled one of my fantasies... to be taken like that. It blew my mind."

 

"What's your wildest fantasy?" I asked. "That one was pretty mild."

 

"My wildest?  Well, I suppose it's the same for every gay guy... but maybe not.  I have dreams about being captured by a gang of guys, stripped, and raped repeatedly. Do you have that dream?"

 

"Grab your clothes," I said. "Have you ever been downstairs in this place?"

 

"This is only my second time. I spent the first night in the bar... just watching those hot videos. I was afraid to talk to anyone. They were mostly older guys."  He fumbled for his clothes and started to put them on.

 

"No," I said. "Just carry them and come with me. Downstairs there's a place you'll like... and some guys I can introduce you to." It would be like tossing a T-bone steak into a pack of wolves. We headed for the stairs, naked and expectant."Of course, if you want to be stripped naked by a gang, maybe you should dress quickly."

 

I liked the role of ‘chooser'. I liked having things done my way. I liked taking the initiative; it saved lots of time. And I liked giving guys what they wanted... taking them places they'd never been before... testing their limits... stretching their boundaries. It started with young Brian #2... and it has continued to this day.

 

==========================================

 

When I returned to the basement later, I saw that they had him tied on his belly, crosswise over the table... wrists tied to the table-legs on one side, and ankles spread wide and tied to the other side's legs. He was gagged with his own underwear, and his ass gaped-open with the hot, red interior visible. When he saw me, his eyes smiled a weary greeting and he nodded his head "Yes." They had satisfied his dream... and I had made everyone happy. I removed the gag before leaving. "That was incredible," he murmured softly.

 

I suddenly felt Hammer slip his fingers into the back of the collar and pull me closer while he was fucking another kid on a bench. "Thanks for the gift," he said with a smile. "It couldn't have been better if it was my birthday."

 

"I knew you'd like him... fresh meat."

 

"He said you didn't fuck him," Hammer said, pulling out of the tight hole without finishing. "Are you all fucked-out now? ...or do you want this one, ...or the guy you brought us? Take your pick. I like to watch. And then I'm gonna fuck your ass."

 

"I may go back upstairs and fuck that kid I fucked the first night... side-by-side with you," I said. "He's upstairs... acting cocky."

 

"Don't waste your time fucking that tired piece-of-shit," he said. "Life's too short to fuck the same guy twice... unless it's YOU, of course," he added, sliding his hand down over my ass. "If you're stuck in a small town like this, you end up fucking the same assholes over and over... it's unavoidable. And then, occasionally, a new piece of meat comes along,"...he glanced at Brian's ass... "and you realize how tired you are of the same old guys. But you have your whole life ahead of you... up there at that college there must be hundreds of guys with willing holes for you to bang. And you're gorgeous enough to get anyone you want. Probably even the straight ones. Never do ‘em twice... until you're too old, like me. The World's a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death or they're eating the same shit day-after-day. Take advantage of it while you're young."

 

I decided to fuck Brian. Technically it didn't count as a "second-time"...so I slipped on a condom and planted my cock into his already well-fucked hole.  "It's your fairy godfather," I whispered in his ear, "...making all your wishes cum true." But I thought, as I approached my climax, how sad it was to have your wildest dream satisfied when you were so young. Would he remember this as the best moment of his life... and try to recreate it over and over again? Or would he find a new fantasy? And what was my fantasy? If my fantasy was to fuck every attractive gay man in the World, it was a quest without a conclusion.  I made a mental note and tried to remember the guys I'd fucked last night; this guy was Number Sixteen... only 249,999,984 to go. The magnitude of it took me over the edge as I gripped his hair and whispered "You're Number Sixteen."

 

===================================

 

"You don't want to drive all the way back to State College tonight," Troy said when I'd recovered my jeans and shoes and had come back upstairs.

 

"I have a class in the morning," I said sleepily. "And an exam in that class on Wednesday, so I've gotta be there tomorrow."

 

"You can sleep here," he continued.  "...just sleep ...and I'll wake you up early enough in the morning to make it back in-time. You're dead-tired. You shouldn't be driving."

 

"You're making sense... as usual," I said. "Is Hammer gone?  I don't want him to see my car in the parking lot and to come looking for me. That would be hard to explain."

 

"He's so out-of-it, I'll walk him out to his cycle myself... and I'll keep him distracted. He'll never notice. And then I'll close-up and come upstairs to lick your wounds." He smiled coyly. 

 

===================================

 

I sank into Troy's bed and tried to stay awake for his arrival. I had started the day with him... and I would finish it with him, too. 

 

Brian's Rules for Bar and Backroom:

 

1. Don't dress like a slut. There's nothing wrong with showing your body. Just make sure it doesn't look like Halloween. You want to be noticed for something other than your clothes, because you'll be removing them shortly.

2. Your lips need to talk before they can kiss, suck, or lick, unless you're in the backroom, and then talking is forbidden.

3. If someone touches your ass, follow the Biblical imperative and turn the other cheek.

4. Be prepared to score; be clean, trim your nails, brush your teeth, douche, and have a supply of lube and condoms.

5. Lying about one's experience level is gauche and will usually be found out.

6. Repeatedly asking for anything even after you've been turned down is rude.

7. Just say "No, thanks," or be prepared to negotiate or offer an alternative.

8. Define limits. Understand expectations. Especially if you're looking for an all-nighter.

9. In the backroom, don't gawk at other pairs up-close; leave room for action and movement.

10. Don't try to join without an invitation or permission. A guy's trick is not public property.

11. Masturbating while watching is rude; it's not a peep show. Masturbating to keep your dick hard is permitted.

12. Photo equipment and cell phones are forbidden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a totalitarian regime inside every one of us. We are ruled by a ruthless politburo which sets our norms and drives us from one five-year plan to another. The autonomous individual who has to justify his existence by his own efforts is in eternal bondage to himself. Eric Hoffer (1902-1983), U.S. philosopher. The Passionate State of Mind, aph. 28 (1955).

 

 

The last week before Spring Break was Hell. Every professor thought he should get one last crack at his students before they went off to party in the sunshine... motivated by intense jealousy, probably. I spent more than the usual time studying my ass off... and the rest of my time in the gym, working off my sexual energy in a way that would improve my body. I was easily bench-pressing 190 pounds with single lifts of 210... arms, shoulders, and back on even-days, pecs, abs, and legs on odd-days. I kept my focus on my own body, not on the other guys in the weight room. Grabbing a trick might get me a blowjob for the night, but building my pecs would let me fuck for weeks... a long-term investment.

 

On Friday, I packed some clothes in a duffel bag and headed for Altoona. The folks back home hardly knew it was Spring Break, so I didn't even bother to tell them where I was going. I could always say that someone invited me to go home with them at the last minute, ...but, chances were, no one would even ask.

 

I parked my car at the loading platform behind Rumors, even though the parking lot out front was still empty. I banged on the front door until Troy answered. He was getting the place ready to open, but stopped to give me a bear-hug and to muss my hair. "God, it seems like a long time between weekends," he said with his familiar big grin. "I hope you're ready to work... because I've got the plans all set and the materials ordered. You've probably never worked this hard in your whole life." We climbed the stairs to the Quarters. "Just dump your shit here," he said, indicating the corner of the bedroom. "Grab some food from the fridge... then come back downstairs and give me a hand. The thundering herd will be here in two hours."

 

I carried the cases of beer and liquor, mopped the john, and swept the theater. My favorite job was filling the condom dispensers... three of them... because I kept fingering them and imagining where they'd be in just a few hours. Some guys brought their own, if they had a favorite brand or needed a special size... but most of them just used the "house" variety. I slipped a few into my pocket. I knew Troy wouldn't mind. I had almost a week's worth of jizz stored-up (except for an early-morning jackoff after a particularly erotic dream), so I planned to fill about half-a-dozen that night.

 

When I opened the door at 9:00, the eager ones were there, as usual. The place started to fill at 10:00... and the backroom was humming by 11:00. When I put on the collar I caught Troy's eye watching me. I alternated between working and playing... some heavy-duty hand-action in the theater that gave my "partner" more pleasure than it gave me... and a quick feel-up in the hallway was starting to get interesting when we were joined by three unattractive guys. The rest of the time, I stayed behind the bar re-filling beer glasses while Troy did the more complicated drink mixing.

 

"I'll give you ten dollars to take off that tee-shirt," one guy offered.  

 

"The customer is always right," I said, slipping it over my head. He slapped a ten on the bar.  

 

"How much for the pants?"

 

"Can't do that," I replied. "It'd distract Troy too much. He'd want to stir drinks with it." Everyone laughed and Troy nodded from the other end of the bar. 

 

"Save it for the backroom," he said. Troy slipped a videotape into the player and the screen lit with the title "Night Stalker."  "Watch this," he murmured in my ear. "Here's what we're gonna build on the third floor.  You'll love it."

 

The video was about a 28-year-old leather guy who frequented bars to pick up tricks... until one night, after he had fucked a particularly nice-looking guy in the backseat of a parked car, another guy, who had been watching, handed him a card with an invitation to visit a particular private club. He does, of course, ...and the place is a dark maze of rooms and passageways where all types of sexual "acrobatics" are practiced... glory-holes, slings, dildo-work, every combination of 3 or 4 guys... very intense and lit by just enough light that the viewer could see them, even though they kept saying it was totally dark. I guess I forgot what I was doing, because I was mesmerized by what was on the screen.

 

A hand clamped onto my shoulder at a particularly intense moment and made me jump. "See anything you like?" Hammer was leaning over the bar.  

 

"That guy prowls like a panther," I said. "Can you imagine meeting him in a dark alley?"

 

"Can you?" he countered.

 

I laughed and made light of it... but the images of danger and the unknown made my cock hard.  

 

"Come downstairs later. I brought a couple of guys I want you to meet," he said, dropping a tablet of Speed on the bar. I put it in my pocket. I needed to help at the bar for a little while before I went downstairs, because I knew I wouldn't be coming back up for a while. He turned and motioned to two guys who stood by the door... both in leather... They looked like brothers.  They followed him into the arcade.

 

================================

 

Much later in the evening I found them downstairs working-over a guy I'd seen in the bar earlier, leaning defiantly and seductively against the wall. His boots were too new and the jeans were too tight; the red muscle shirt said "Lifeguard." The two ‘brothers' were holding his back against the wall. His hands were behind his back, probably cuffed. The pants and boots were gone already... and any underwear he might have been wearing was gone too. Only the torn remnants of the shirt hung around his neck and right shoulder. Hammer had the guy's cock and balls in his fist. All four of them were tweaked beyond coherence. "Here, take this," Hammer ordered as he handed me another unidentified pill.

 

"Don't need any," I replied, taking his other hand and putting it on the stretched denim of my groin. He squeezed the bulge approvingly. 

 

"I can remember when I didn't need any help to keep it up for hours," he said, almost incoherently. "I've got the perfect treat for this baby," he said, giving me another squeeze and slipping his fingers down under the lower bulge of my confined balls. "Strip," he said, "and get on the table." I ripped open my fly and it popped out in all its glory. Hammer smiled and gave it a stroke while duplicating the movement on the other guy's shaft. The guy's eyes were focused on my cock as he licked his lips. "We're gonna share this one," Hammer continued.

 

As I lay on the table, he hurriedly applied a condom to my stretched phallus. The ‘brothers' gripped hands behind the guy's back and bent down to clasp behind his knees with the others.  They lifted him gingerly and carried him to the table.  Hammer, in turn, grabbed my ankles and positioned me with my ass at the end of the platform with my legs dangling in the air.  They lowered the guy onto my upward-thrusting shaft while I gripped the edges of the table for support.  He struggled momentarily as my tip spread his cheeks, but he wanted it... and his weight settled around me quickly. They had lubed him with something, because I slipped right into him until his weight rested on my pelvis. His cock leapt as my shaft hit bottom. I reached to grip it as it swayed over my belly, then jacked him slowly. His abs relaxed as he became accustomed to my size. The two guys who were supporting him in their arms began to lift him slowly and let him sink back down onto me... like using my cock as an up-thrusting dildo. The sensation was incredible. He tightened on me as his body was lifted... then tightened even more as I began to penetrate him again, until he couldn't resist the gravitational pull, and he sank rapidly onto me again.  

 

Hammer gripped one of my knees with his hand as he stepped between my spread legs. I rested the other on his hip, bending my knee behind him and pulling him closer. He pressed his cock downward into my ass-crack as he stepped forward; I lifted my knees to improve the angle.  I felt the latex against my inner thigh before it spread me wide, inching closer to my sphincter.  "Hold on, Babe," he muttered as he released the base of his shaft and slid both forearms under my knees. "We're goin' for a ride."

 

I watched my cock sliding into the guy's ass as Hammer forced his cock into me. There was that inevitable moment when I thought I couldn't possibly take it... that he would rip me... but at the instant I inhaled to beg him to stop, the sphincter molded itself around his mushroom head and let the shaft slip into me. I'm sure my ass lifted off the table because the guy who was riding it stiffened uncomfortably for a moment. I could feel my shaft expanding inside him from the pressure exerted by Hammer. The rhythm began... almost like the parts of a large slow-motion machine... a reciprocating pump... a two cylinder engine. I remember hearing the shouts of arousal... the moans of encouragement; some of which were mine. Hammers chest sliding against the guy's back and bound wrists... his thighs spreading mine and pressing my knees upward along the guy's sides... my hands on the guy's shoulders pressing him downward... the two supporters with hard biceps setting the rhythm. We were like interlocking parts of a complex organism.

 

But, before I shot my load, Hammer had other plans. "Push him forward," he muttered to the two guys as he used his own hands on the guy's shoulders to force him downward onto my chest.  His legs spread even wider as they grazed the outside of my raised thighs.  My cock bent at the base following the new angle of his ass. Hammer gripped his shaft again as he pulled out of me slowly. I could feel my ass gaping open as the air hit my interior. And then I realized what he planned to do.  

 

The guy whom I was fucking lay on my chest now, his face drenched in sweat and his eyes staring somewhere behind me. But he snapped back to reality when Hammer began to force his cock into the already-stretched asshole. He looked at me as if to say, "You must be joking... this is impossible," but the look was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and clenched teeth as Hammer pressed deeper into him.  

 

"I can't... take two cocks," he began, but then inhaled sharply and moaned against my cheek.  "Oooooh... it hurts," he moaned. "Can't..."

 

I could feel the extreme tightness around my shaft which was suddenly unable to move in the guy's rectum. And I could feel Hammer's shaft, as thick as mine, pressing against my bulging urethra and expressing some of my pre-cum into the tip of the condom.  

 

"Good thing you lubed him well," Hammer growled to the brothers. "He's as tight as a knot-hole."

 

"Give it to him," one of them moaned as they released their grip on the guy and stepped back to jack their own cocks.  

 

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and whispered, "You can do it, ...relax and don't think about it... it'll be over soon." He nodded, then winced again as I felt Hammer make a particularly brutal thrust. I clamped him between my biceps to keep the force from dragging him off my shaft.  

 

And then Hammer began his fucking ...in and out, slowly but forcibly... sliding along my shaft with his... grunting as his pelvis hit the guy's ass. His hands gripped my wrists as I clasped my hands between the guy's shoulder blades. There was no escape now; he was trapped between two bodies, surrounded by strong arms, and penetrated by two fucking cocks.. 

 

Hammer's speed increased. "Cum with me," he ordered over the guy's shoulder. I was close, but still needed a little more. So, I rocked my pelvis, joining Hammer's thrusts as we pounded the guy's ass. He started to yell then, not telling us to stop but to fuck him harder... and we did.

 

The climax was a flash of light as the guy's forehead hit my chin. My body convulsed, in reflex, then again as the load propelled itself in ripples down my urethra. Hammer came then... I could feel it pulsing against my shaft in a different rhythm to my own expulsions. The guy arched his back as his load shot all over my chest... and the two brothers joined-in with a shower of cum over all three of us.

 

I think I passed-out... or at least I lost the memory. The first thing I remembered was his body being lifted off my now-soft cock which flopped onto my belly like a dead animal. He was still trembling... and I caught a glimpse of his hole spasming red and raw as his legs dragged by mine. Hammer was stripping off the rubber... then he reached for mine.  

 

"God damn, boy,"  he exclaimed. "They don't make these things big enough for one of your loads." I smiled with satisfaction, unable to say anything yet. I rolled off the table and stood with difficulty, massaging my raw hole with two fingers, and trying to imagine how two cocks must feel.

 

Hammer stood there, naked and pumped... his chest rising and falling like the victorious gladiator. I knew then what I admired about him... his detachment from the guys he fucked, his total control of the situation, his ability to use guys for his own pleasure, and that ever-present element of danger that I found so attractive. The crowd parted when he walked through the bar.  The boys were drawn to him like moths to a torch. He apologized to no one for being the way he was. He oozed confidence from every pore.

 

"I think we showed him a thing... or two," he said with a grin as he turned and disappeared.

 

======================================

 

"Having fun, are we?" Troy said as I stood at the end of the bar.

 

"What a way to start a vacation," I said. I feel as if I've just run a marathon."

 

"Get some sleep," he continued. "You're gonna need it for what I have planned for you tomorrow. Tomorrow the building materials get delivered... and we start to work."

 

I climbed the stairs to the Quarters after checking to see that no one noticed. The lamp on the nightstand was lit. There was a towel laid-out for me at the foot of the bed... and the lube was on my pillow. The guy thought of everything.

 

=====================================

 

I awoke to the feeling of something stroking the cleft of my ass softly... warm fingers tracing the microscopic hairs of the globes of my up-turned ass... then the brush of soft hair as his tongue licked my crack. "Wake up, Bud. This ass gets a workout today."  

 

My swelling cock was getting uncomfortable, so I rolled onto my side; his lips traced over my hip. He was already dressed for work... cut-off jeans with frayed edges... a white athletic undershirt... steel-toed boots... and a pencil behind his ear. "No rest for the wicked... and I hear you were really wicked last night," he said, looking up with that special grin. "I plan to get a little of that myself... later... after we get some work done... and before it gets too fucking hot up on the third floor. Roll that ass out of bed. Your breakfast is ready." 

 

I did as he told me... a little more reluctantly when I realized it was only 7:30 and I'd only had five hours of sleep.

 

"We'll take a nap...  later," he continued, giving my ass a pat. "Lord knows I need my beauty-sleep." He chuckled.

 

==================================

 

As I was finishing my toast, I could hear the delivery truck roaring as it backed slowly to the loading platform. I grabbed my shorts and shoes and headed downstairs.

 

The truck was loaded with two-by-fours and sheets of half-inch plywood... more than I had ever seen in one place outside a lumberyard. I knew we had our work cut out for us. But the cool morning air felt good against my bare skin... and my muscles were ready for a workout. I could never show Troy I was fatigued; the young guy always must have more stamina.

 

As the motor idled, then shuddered to silence, the truck's driver's-door opened... and the driver came swinging down to plant his feet on the gravel. When he turned around, I realized it was one of the ‘brothers' from last night. He looked as groggy as I was. Perhaps he wouldn't remember me or recognize me with clothes on. But he looked at me with that slow expression of recognition... and there was an icy silence before Troy stepped up to thank him and to send him into the bar for some free beer (so early in the morning?) while we unloaded the truck.

 

"You don't have a forklift?" I said, although the answer was obvious. He hooked two up-turned fingers under my pec and lifted.

 

"Just two hands and a strong back... plus yours," he said, stepping onto the truck's lowered tailgate.

 

We worked steadily for two hours. The sweat was pouring off me; my shorts were soaked... my hair was plastered to my forehead... my balls were hanging low, almost peeking out below the shorts' pant-legs. 

 

I had learned quickly how to hoist a four-by-eight sheet of plywood over my head and to swing it into place on the growing pile. I had learned that gloves were necessary to prevent the inevitable splinters. I had even learned to judge the quality of a two-by-four stud and to reject those with too much curvature.

 

Troy worked just as hard as I did. I watched his smooth muscles knotting and relaxing under taut skin like two boys wrestling under a blanket. His blond hair turned dark as it became soaked with sweat... his skin reddened as the sun rose over the roofline and each load of wood took us from the blazing heat of the glaring sun to the cool recesses of the warehouse freight elevator. We made eye contact as we passed... one laden and one standing tall... for a man in his 30s, his body was still muscular and attractive. I kept imagining us in-bed together... then trying to get the image out of my head as my cock began to swell in the confinement of my shorts.

 

"Hard work makes a man appreciate his leisure," Troy said... and I found it exhilarating... a test of my body and my stamina... and a feeling of accomplishment when the entire load had been moved by just the two of us.

 

Troy opened the door to the bar and stuck his head in. "We're done," he called.  "...at least with this load. This should keep us busy for a few days... and we'll see you again on Wednesday, probably."

 

The guy had apparently had a few beers because he just nodded sullenly as he lifted his ass into the truck. The motor roared and engulfed us in a cloud of blue exhaust. We both started coughing and laughing simultaneously.

 

"No time for a break," he said. "It's already getting hot and I want to get started upstairs. We'll just work with the stuff on the elevator," he explained. "No need to go through that whole process again." The elevator groaned into activity, almost as slowly as the driver had gone back to work.  We climbed to the third floor.

 

It was an empty space as large as the entire footprint of the building. Iron girders spanned the width supported by brick columns. The brick walls were surprisingly clean; the floor of thick, wide boards was swept clean and marked with a complicated set of spray-painted marks upon which, I assumed, we would build the walls of the maze.

 

He showed me how to hold a hammer... how to position the nail for a "toe-nail"... how to use the heavy circular-saw... how to tap a stud into place without splitting it. He knew all kinds of construction stuff... and he taught it to me.

 

When it got too hot to work, even with the large windows open, he suggested that we stop. It was 1:30 and the heat was radiating from the corrugated metal roof like a broiler. He put his sweaty arm over my equally sweaty shoulder and said "We've done enough... time to eat and rest. Let's grill some polish sausages, take a shower, and then I'll bet your sore shoulder muscles could use a good back-rub." He was right. I wasn't accustomed to working with my arms over my head for long stretches of time, so my trapezius was screaming for relief. The sweat trickled down my sides in dusty streaks and my forearms were covered with caked sawdust. He bent to pick up some tools while I turned to look once more at what we'd accomplished. "Last one into the shower has to cook lunch!" He bolted for the stairs... as I realized that he had tied a loop of the saw's cord around my ankle while I was admiring our handiwork. He heard me trip as he thundered down the stairs.

 

===================================

 

There's something about two gay guys eating roasted, curving, skin-splitting polish sausages that looks instantly obscene. Even squirting the mustard onto its phallus-like tip seems like a sex-act. And then the jokes about "spreading your buns" and "pricking the skin" simply added to our silliness.

 

The shower was surprisingly quick and efficient. We soaped ourselves and each other in a detached, methodical manner, then rinsed quickly and toweled-dry. The shower was just the prelude; his hands on my body were just the promise of what he intended.

 

I climbed onto the bed from the foot and stretched out in a prone position with arms and legs spread wide to take-up the entire bed. He could not lie beside me without giving me that back-rub! I'd make sure of that!

 

I felt his hand first on the back of my ankle... then the bulge of my calf... and then the expanse of my thigh. The mattress sagged as he knelt between my spread legs. He paused for a moment to oil his hands, I learned later, and then he rested the curves of his palms on the globes of my ass.  As he leaned forward, his hands and his weight moved from the small of my back to my shoulders. I felt his semi-rigid cock brush my ass. He was naked, too... not wearing the towel he usually twisted around his waist after a shower. His face descended to my shoulder where he planted a soft kiss.

 

"As beautiful as you are," he whispered, "I think I love you this way best... face-down with that gorgeous, broad back facing me. I know all the muscles by-name. I could get lost in its soft undulations and muscular contours."

 

"You sound like a poet," I said softly, relishing his soothing touch.

 

"Well, I know it's not the 'butch' thing to do," he said, "...but I do write poetry sometimes.. .only when the urge forces me to. I couldn't write a poem on-demand for anything... but sometimes, when I'm alone, which is most of the time, I can't stop myself from picking up a piece of paper and writing a few lines." He paused. "But you're the only one who knows that," he added quickly.

 

"Poet, carpenter, bar-tender, masseur... what talent DOESN'T this man have?" I asked the pillow.

 

His hands began to massage my shoulders... softly, at-first, and then more firmly... kneading each muscle like bread-dough... pressing and lifting... stretching and re-shaping... it was the most pleasant feeling I'd ever experienced... and I include "sex" as second on the list.  

 

"Where did you ever learn to DO this?" I moaned in pleasure.

 

"In the Navy... hospital corpsman, mostly as a PT's assistant. I got my hands on more of those cute Navy boys... and they never knew how much I enjoyed it, too." He laughed, reminiscing. In the end, it was 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell... just give me one more of those backrubs, corpsman.'"

 

"You weren't gay then?" I said, somewhat naively.

 

"Oh, I've known I was gay since I was ten," he said. "The Navy was just my facade."

 

His hands continued to wander over my body as we talked...stroking here... prodding there... using his thumbs to dig into crevices and his fingers to separate sore muscles. I felt as if he were disassembling me, piece-by-piece. As if when he was finished, the bed would be empty and pieces of Brian would be strewn about the room like child's-toys.

 

He fucked me then... so gently that it appeared to be a continuation of the back-rub... using his whole body instead of his hands... his pecs against my shoulders, his chin on the side of my neck, his knees spreading me wide, his abs massaging my lower back. His cock was more like a massage tool than an invader. It seemed so apparently natural to massage my insides as well as my outsides... a simple continuation of what had happened earlier. 

 

"I'm negative," he whispered. "And I haven't been with anyone for over 3 years. If you want, I'll put on a..."

 

"That's OK, I murmured. "I want to feel you... all of you. I trust you."

 

He kissed the corner of my eye. "I would never do anything to hurt you," he said.

 

His body undulated slowly against my back. My cock pressed rhythmically into the sheet below, digging its own furrow. I tried to clutch the upper rim of the mattress but couldn't quite make a fist. The rocking motion of the bed reminded me of lying in the sun, naked, on the swim-raft in the small pond on John's farm... the raft rocked gently by the small waves and rotated slowly in the warm breeze. Troy's hands on my body felt like the caresses of the sunlight pressing me against the weathered wood. The cry of the loon. The fish, visible through the cracks between the boards, gliding effortlessly through the shadow. The drops of water falling from my hair onto the dry, cracking wood. John sketching my nakedness from the shore....

 

I was so relaxed, it must have felt as if he were fucking a dead body, except for my occasional moans and sighs. Even when he came inside me, I lay there, floating in-the-moment. He wasn't even breathing hard when he settled back down onto me. His weight was comforting, not oppressive. I felt his cock slowly go soft in my body. There had been no pain, no domination, no athletics... just the use of his body as an instrument of healing. The memory of it lasted for days.

 

"Now it's your turn," he said, finally rolling off me. He started to roll me over... and I helped in that loose, rag-doll sort of way as he positioned me... legs spread, arms flung back above my head, my cheek resting against my shoulder. "Just lie back and close your eyes. Imagine that my hands are the hands of any man you've ever desired... I'll do the rest." Suddenly, I couldn't remember the faces of all the guys I'd watched in the gym or that I'd examined from a distance on campus. All I could remember was Troy's smile.

 

He began at that smooth spot where my thigh met my hip, kissing and licking softly... and carefully avoiding my cock which was already perking up. He moved up and down my torso from shoulders to thighs, tongue-touching and tasting, nibbling here and there as if he were a stallion randomly grazing in a grassy meadow. His touch was light; his lips were soft. Every nerve ending begged to be discovered.

 

Then I felt his hand surround me gently... not a desperate grab or a clutching squeeze... but more of a loving fondle. He stroked me slowly as he continued to traverse my body with his lips, never letting any location feel the pleasure for too long.

 

"You are so beautiful..." he began. I inhaled to respond. "No,...don't," he continued. "Just lie there in the dream. I'll keep you there as long as I can... until I get greedy. Just relax and enjoy.  I love this." His mouth returned to my nipple, catching the few soft hairs in tender lips... then tonguing the aureole with soft, circular licks. My nipple hardened to a firm nub.

 

His hand never gripped tightly... the oily palm slipped over the loose skin of my shaft like old satin. The tip began to tingle. Something began to melt deep in my interior. Up and down effortlessly... all of my attention focused on those few square inches of skin... then jerked-off by some teasing lick elsewhere... then yanked back to the inexorable, unrelenting sensation on my shaft. A madness of pleasure... inflicted upon the willing.

 

"Now," he said, whispering into my ear. "Now  Give it up... let it go. I want to watch it come out of that gorgeous cock of yours."

 

No convulsions. No gut-wrenching expulsion. It was almost like urinating... I could feel the flow start somewhere in the recesses of my abdomen... its warmth spread upward and outward until I felt it surging onto my belly... thick and lush and warm, like severing a vein... I moaned as his hand continued to stroke me even to the point of softness.

 

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Absolutely beautiful." I heard him taste his fingers, then he settled down beside me. I still couldn't move. I felt paralyzed ...but relaxed, not stiff ...unable to lift a finger or to turn my head. His lips found the softness of my pit and kissed along my triceps, then jumped the gap to my lips for a concluding kiss. He settled beside me into silence. I opened my eyes and realized that the bed was aglow with the redness of a setting sun... or was it the glow of something else? I lifted my head slightly with great effort. My stretched torso looked as if it were carved from pink marble and adorned with pearls. My head sank back onto the pillow and my eyes rolled back slowly as the lids closed for sleep.

 

=====================================

 

"What-in-Hell is the matter with you?"

 

I sat bolt upright. The memory flashed through my consciousness of being four years old and wetting the bed. My father had lifted me out of bed by the shirtfront of my pajamas... the warm urine dripped across the mattress. 

 

"What? What did I do?" I asked hurriedly.

 

"Nothing. Sorry, just relax. It was a rhetorical question. I didn't know you were sleeping." Troy rolled onto his side to face me. "In fact, you haven't done anything. That's just it." He brushed the hair out of my eyes and stroked my furrowed brow. "I look for the flaws in guys... reasons not to become attached to them. Sometimes it's immediate... sometimes it takes longer." He lay back and looked at the ceiling. "If you look for the flaws, you can always find them. Some guys are obsessed with their looks... always needing assurance that they're still attractive... high-maintenance. Some guys are filled with self-hatred and need to have their opinions bolstered. Some guys are so dumb they can't muster a creative thought or construct a complex sentence." He sighed. "But you... you're different. You don't have any faults I can identify.  You're smart, quick-witted, self-assured, relaxed, friendly... I'm beginning to sound like I'm reciting the Boy Scout Laws here...Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, etcetera... but I can't find any reason to push you away. You fill my Quarters like an old friend, returned. You fill my life like mist fills the forest after dusk. You round-out my existence just like you finish my sentences." He stretched his arms above his head. "I keep waiting for the warning buzzers to go off... but they don't."

 

"Why do you do that?" I asked, rolling toward him. "Why do you try to find reasons to dislike someone? That doesn't sound like the friendly guy I know."

 

"I should tell you about Owen," he said, shaking his head. "You haven't asked... explicitly... but it explains a lot about me."

 

"We don't open the front door for another hour," I said, looking at my watch. "Tell me." I settled back with my hands behind my neck.

 

"I told you I was in the Navy," he began.  "...a medical corpsman, sometimes on a ship and sometimes in a Navy hospital in San Diego. I was a troubled teen, and the Navy seemed to be the right place for me... even though I was gay. I suppressed it and acted straight... and no one knew. One night I met Owen. He'd been beaten-up pretty badly and he ended up in a bed in my ward. We struck-up a conversation... and it continued for several days as he recuperated. And then, when he was released, we saw each other occasionally shipboard and spent some time together on shore-leave... no sex or anything, just buddies. So, eight months after I got out of the Navy, who shows up here in Altoona but Owen... he knocked on the front door and gave me a big smile. "'It took me this long to find you," he said. He was gay... that's why he'd been beaten-up in the first place... caught giving a guy a blow-job in the head... and he sensed that I was, too, even though we never discussed it... and he had had no place to go after he got out of the service, so he came looking for me. We fucked the first night, and he settled-in... sat at the same place at the bar that you chose... helped me run the place. It was perfect."

 

"I guess it wasn't as perfect as you thought?" I conjectured.

 

"I told you about Hammer... and how Nicky ran away. But I didn't finish the story."  Troy paused and reached into the side-table drawer to retrieve a joint and some matches. He lit it, took a drag, and passed it to me. "Hammer blamed me for Nicky's departure... I told you that... but I didn't tell you what he did to retaliate. He went after Owen... first plying him with attention and drugs... and later with hard stuff... and over a period of a few months, he'd totally changed his personality. There wasn't much of the original Owen left. First, he turned Owen against me... then he used him... and then he threw him away. He left... disillusioned and nursing a drug habit... and I couldn't find him. I looked for a few months and then gave up."

 

"Why do you let Hammer into Rumors?" I asked. "You own the place. Can't you 'reserve the right to withhold service from our patrons'... or whatever-the-Hell that sign says behind the bar?"

 

"I could, I suppose... but Hammer and his buddies would retaliate somehow. It's just easier to leave things alone. I serve the drinks. They pay their tab. Everyone gets along."

 

"Couldn't you show Owen what was happening to him? Talk to him? Was he willing to give up everything?" I knew the answer before I asked the question.

 

"I told him that I had no strings attached to him... nothing more than my feelings for him... feelings I'd shared with him over and over. If that wasn't enough, there was nothing I could do.  He had to want to stay..." Silence descended. 

 

I could have asked more... Troy could have volunteered more.

 

"You've shown me one thing," he said, finally. "...that I'm not beyond loving someone again. I thought I'd lost the ability... or, more likely, I'd buried it so deep it could never resurface again."

 

"So, you haven't connected with anyone since Owen?" I said. "Surrounded by gay men looking for sex... or more... and you've refrained?"

 

"Behind the bar is another world," he said. "It's an old psychological technique. If someone loves chocolate, you stuff 'em so full of it, they get sick of it... and then the addiction is broken. It's like the old joke... why do I hit myself on the head with a hammer? ...because it feels so good when I stop. When my Daddy caught me smoking my first cigarette, he made me smoke a whole pack. I've never smoked since. I surround myself with gay-sex until I'm immune to it. It's how I cope. Self-denial and a huge amount of self-control."

 

"You loved him?" A dumb question... I regretted asking it when the words left my lips.

 

"Well, I never use that word to describe other peoples' feelings... but I think it's a pretty good description of how I felt. And he loved me, too, I think... at least at the beginning."

 

"Love is a bitch," I volunteered.

 

"People love you easily. I can tell. It just happens so easily and so often that you're not even aware of it... sorta like a fish is unaware of the water he swims in... or like we're unaware of the ocean of air we breathe. For some guys, it may not be love... just attraction. Love needs some pay-back in return... and you probably don't give them much."

 

The marijuana was having its effect. I thought about telling him my whole history... about Lee... and John... but it was getting close to 9:00. Time to open the front door... and to resume "the hunt"... although I began to ask myself what I was hunting for. In just a few weeks, I had gone from being a loner... a gay boy in a straight world... to being one of the predators in a jungle of my own kind. The reassurance that there were others like me gave me strength... and courage... and curiosity. The freedom to be myself... to be my gay-self... It was uplifting and emancipating. If I could be myself... here... then I could be myself anywhere. And the straight world could fucking deal-with-it.  

 

I rolled closer to him just as he sat up to get dressed. He swatted my ass. "Get dressed," he said. "Your public awaits you." He stepped into his jeans and closed the fly. "Business has picked-up since you arrived. I'm not saying there's any connection... but I've noticed it."

 

====================================

 

In the bar, the action had begun. The ‘leaners' were in their usual spots, with looks of disinterest or disdain. The ‘lookers' were prowling their usual paths.

 

"Go ahead," Troy said as I slipped behind the bar to fill my pilsner glass. "You can put the collar on. I don't mind. As long as it doesn't mean any more to you than an adornment. Don't let it be a sign of ownership. And it looks fucking hot, actually." I reached under the bar and found it in its usual place. After stripping off the shirt, I put it on.

 

"Get that boy to strip down to nuthin'," said one of the patrons, "and you'd have more business than you could handle." They all laughed as I pretended to mount the bar for a strip-tease.  

 

"There's no place to stick the money," said one guy who knew I didn't wear underwear under the jeans.

 

"I think you could find a place to stick it," I said suggestively.

 

Hammer came in around 11:30... alone. He looked around, checking out the patrons, then moved to the bar. He touched the guy sitting next to me on the shoulder and he immediately relinquished his seat. Hammer settled into it and leaned toward me. His arm crossed over my shoulders.

 

"Tonight you come to my place," he said in a voice loud enough for Troy to hear. His arm slipped off my shoulders as his hand grabbed the back of the collar and squeezed it tight.

 

I started to reply... not knowing exactly what to say. Had he figured out that I was staying with Troy? I wasn't afraid of him... and I found him attractive in an intriguing sort of way. But before I could say anything, he continued, shutting off the discussion:

 

"...When I'm finished here," he added, swiveling on the seat, and heading for the back room.  

 

Troy looked away, knowing that I would be going with Hammer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rumors, Chapter 5

The action was just getting started in the back room when Hammer found me and gave me the ‘forefinger-across-the-throat' signal to ‘cut-it-off'. I'd been talking to a guy I recognized from school; he lived in Altoona and he was surprised to see me at Rumors ...no more surprised than I was. He wasn't exactly my type, but we had struck-up a conversation which was leading toward him giving me a blowjob. But Hammer's signal squelched that.

 

"Give me a couple minutes," I said to him.  "I need to get my jacket." I assumed we'd be riding his bike ...and shirtless cycling on a buggy night didn't seem that appealing.

 

"I'll be in the parking lot.  Don't be long."  He headed for the door.

 

I slipped behind the bar to take off the collar. Troy gave me ‘the look' that meant he had something to say.

 

"Be careful," he said close to my ear so patrons wouldn't overhear. "He's unpredictable ... especially if he's high. Are you sure you want to do this?"

 

"I'm smart... and quick... and strong..." I replied, as I slipped into my shirt. "I can think fast on my feet, and even on my back." I smiled, but he didn't. "I'm not afraid of him," I continued. "He abuses guys he uses, but he shares those guys with me. He thinks I'm a younger version of himself... and he gets off on my prowess. So, I don't think he's gonna try to pull anything."

 

"His buddies could easily overpower you, no matter how strong you are. I've seen it happen... right here," he said, pointing at the center of the barroom. "Promise me you won't take anything, no drugs, or even booze. It's bad enough if his judgment is cloudy, but if yours is, too, something bad can happen. Just... be... careful."  He touched my hip tentatively, unwilling to share any intimacy with the guys sitting at the bar, even though most of them were watching the video.

 

"I'll be OK," I assured him. "And if I'm not back tomorrow morning, you know where he lives, I assume.

 

"Yes," he said with that distant, remembering look on his face. He had worried like this before. I could tell. This was what happened when you fucked someone more than once.  They started to worry... to care... and to control.

 

In the parking lot, Hammer waited under the buzzing neon sign, his face awash with eerie blue and red shadows. He turned toward the bike to grab the helmet attached to the saddlebag as he saw me approach. He turned then and tossed the keys in my direction.  "You can handle this baby," he said, handing me the helmet.

 

I had never ridden a motorcycle before, except as a passenger, so I hesitated. "I don't know," I started to say...

 

"You need to learn how to handle it, if you don't already know, and I'll teach you," he interrupted. 

 

He showed me the hand-throttle, the hand-clutch and pedal, the shifter, the front and rear brake hand-grips, and where to put the key. It rumbled to an idle as I straddled it self-consciously. He threw his leg over the passenger seat and settled behind me as I put on the black helmet. 

 

"Just keep it balanced with one foot," he instructed. "Get it into first gear and release the clutch slowly. As we accelerate, it's easier to balance." It was hard to hear his instructions through the helmet visor. My hand shook imperceptibly, but I could feel it.

 

We coasted-away slowly, perhaps too cautiously, as I got the feel of the wide-spread handle-bars. His hands on my hips were a minor distraction.

 

"Turn right," he said as I approached the parking lot exit. "I live on the other side of the interstate." We left the lights of the center-city and cruised under the I-99 underpass. When he wanted me to turn, he stuck his arm beneath my pit and used his thumb to indicate the direction. I nearly killed the engine at one intersection, but otherwise things went okay. On a vacant stretch of darkened street, I felt his hands sliding up under my jacket and shirt. He pulled himself tightly against my back as he felt my pecs harden in his hands. I accelerated a little, unconsciously.

 

"Turn right," he shouted over the roar of the engine and wind.

 

It was a dark street of small, dimly lit houses. "This one," he said as he leaned, making the bike swerve to the left. The house was dark. I could barely make-out the gravel driveway in the starlight. We coasted to a stop, and he reached up to turn off the key.

 

"Good job...for a beginner," he said as I removed the helmet. "We'll have you ready for cross-country cruising in no time." 

 

I started to dismount, but he held me on the seat with his strong arms.  One hand slid into my crotch.

 

"I can see you like it," he said, giving my semi-hard cock a squeeze. "Doesn't it give you a feeling of power to feel that motor throbbing between your legs. I've never gotten over the thrill of it... even after all these years." His hand gripped tighter. 

 

"That's from you having your hands up my shirt," I teased. "But I like riding the bike fine."

 

"Just wait until we're fuckin' on a bike goin' ninety-miles-an-hour." He continued. "The fear of Death will make your ass so tight; you'll never fall off." He chuckled softly, then released me. I took a deep breath at the exhilaration of the visual image he'd planted in my imagination. "Get your ass inside," he concluded.

 

The blackness of a pickup truck blocked the stone walk to the front door. Hammer cut across the grass. He fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door and reached inside to turn on a light.

 

I'm not sure what I'd expected... a leather sling in the front room?... Devil-worship?... bars on the windows? It was just a simple bungalow, sparsely furnished, but clean... something built during World War 2, probably... just two rooms in front, a small kitchen, and two rooms in back. No rack. No cell. None of the things I'd read about.

 

"It's nice," I said, looking around.

 

"Not what you expected, I'll bet. Most people probably think I live in a rat-infested Hellhole with a front yard full of empty beer cans. But this house belonged to my folks. I was raised here. My basketball hoop is still hanging on the garage." He stepped to the center of the small living room and waited for me to join him. "I seldom bring guys here," he said.  "Almost never. That's why I go to Rumors to get my rocks off." He stuffed his hand into his pocket and retrieved the familiar snuff canister. "Want some?" he asked.

 

"I don't need that shit to get playful," I said, stripping off my shirt.

 

"Well, maybe later," he replied, returning the tin to his pocket and unbuckling his belt.

 

"It's suddenly hot in here," I said.

 

"Why don't you get comfortable?" he said, sitting down on a hassock to remove his boots.

 

We stripped then, in the light of the single, small lamp.  We never took our eyes off each other... and we matched each other's pace until we both stood naked facing each other.

 

"God damn," he cursed. "You're the best lookin' thing I've ever seen."

 

"You're pretty hot yourself," I countered. "For an old man." I smiled and stepped back as he lunged. He caught me by the biceps and spun me around until he had the pit of his elbow under my chin.

 

"I can out-wrestle you any day, you young punk," he growled in my ear. I relaxed into his arms, not struggling. His grip became lighter; his voice softened. "I didn't bring you here to overpower you," he continued. "I can get plenty of that in the Pit. They struggle because they think I want them to ...and they're usually right. But you're different. You like it that way, too, but there is so much else we can do. I like to fuck in a bed even more than on-my-feet. And we have all night," he added.

 

"The tough guy has a tender side?" I said, turning my face toward him.

 

"Naaahhh!" he said, shaking his head. "I just like someone who can give it back to me like I deal it out. Slow, fast, soft, hard, up, down... any way. It all feels good. And despite what you may think, I like giving someone pleasure, too, instead of just using them as a cock-sheath. But, I don't find that at Rumors. No, sir. You get type-cast as a heavy-weight, and everyone has their expectations. Sometimes living up to your reputation gets to be a drag." I smiled, because it was his reputation that I found attractive, too. He released me and turned me to face him.

 

"You're the best thing to happen to Rumors in a long time," he said, changing the subject.  "That youthful arrogance of yours reminds me of myself when I was your age." He pulled me close and wrapped me in his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, in-turn. Our cocks dueled for position against our bellies.

 

He kissed me, quickly and hard. My hands moved to his chest, feeling his heart beneath my palm... the smooth expanse of muscle-slab with the defined, hard edge. His tongue explored my mouth and I responded with probing darts. As unaccustomed as I was to kissing guys, this felt natural and spontaneous.

 

He broke the kiss. "You kiss like you're kissing a girl," he said. "You've done that, haven't you?"

 

"Yes," I answered. "A few times... mostly because it was expected."

 

"It could be worse," he said with a slight smile. "You could kiss me like you were kissing your mother."

 

He didn't know that I hadn't kissed her for years.

 

He brought his forehead against mine. "Well, kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like you need it. Kiss me like you fuck someone... hard, demanding, full of power. I won't break."

 

I initiated the kiss this time... mouth wide... covering his... working his lips in mine before I penetrated deeply with my tongue... filling his mouth with it... wanting to gag him. He stepped back from the power of it, then met my force with his own as our mouths rotated ninety-degrees and noses deviated past each other. I broke the kiss this time.

 

"That's more like it," he said after sucking a breath. "An A-plus." He grinned out of one side of his mouth, as if he'd gotten what he wanted. "Let me show you the bedroom," he said, guiding me with his hand in the small of my back.

 

It's hard to describe what happened then, but I will do my best. The positions are hard to describe in-words; it's hard to describe the differences in intensity between one fuck and the next. The passage of time is also a problem, because sleep intervened occasionally, and some memories may be dreams, and some dreams may be memories. Time stopped sometimes, as particularly intense moments burned their memory into my brain like the image of a bright flash of light in a darkened room leaves an image on your retina. Some memories are totally the recollection of a touch, with no way to know what was touching where. Some of it happened in total darkness, and my mouth caressed parts of his body that are far from the usual erogenous zones. Without drugs, I was still crazed, overcome by the sensory overload and addicted to it totally. We swirled like eels, at times, entangled in the bedclothes as if they were sea grass. Our sweat provided the lubrication. Sometimes he lifted me effortlessly and I felt as if I were floating... his hands on my body the only connection to the Universe. I gasped for more. I begged for more. And so did he.

 

At one point, I remember, he pressed my cock into his ass... not giving permission, but brazenly taking what he wanted. And I wanted him, too. I mounted him in three different positions, taking him hard, slowing down to fuck him gently, then resuming the brutality.  He urged me on with words of pleasure and encouragement. I plunged into him with a cock magnified in proportion beyond reality. He gasped... and wanted more.

 

Sometimes the motion would subside, and I would lie trembling in his arms, overcome by the intensity. It was then that he talked to me... softly... like a mentor... explaining what he was going to do next as I tried to recover from what had just happened. I was ravenous for the taste of his skin... the silkiness of his hair... the hardness of his body.

 

He fucked me once with my face pressed down into the pillow, my knees planted wide, and my ass in the air. I remember him kissing my jawline as he thrust into me... raking the ridge of my jaw with his front teeth, and then clamping my mastoideus in his teeth as he held me down for the final thrusts. He pulled my head back with a fistful of hair, opening my mouth so I could moan loudly.

 

Darkness again, and quiet. And then the hand in my ass-crack and two fingers hooking up into me, gripping and twisting me like a bowling ball until my cock was throbbing in his throat from his fingers rubbing my prostate. I cried then, wanting it never to end, so overcome with sensations that the tears streamed down my cheeks and my sinuses clogged.  I was gasping for breath when he detected my tears with his tongue and slowed down. He held me tightly ...comforting ...encouraging ...promising. It would never end, he said. He would be there for me whenever I wanted him; whenever I needed him.

 

I kissed him hard, the way he had taught me, then tasted his pec once more, suckling from his nipple like a starved puppy as he jacked me slowly with his hand. He reversed directions and sank his cock deep into my throat as I felt my cock being engulfed by his mouth. His knees held my wrists against the mattress, stretched in a wide spread-eagle under his body.  I lay back and let him have his way. His pubes brushed my chin; my nose probed his ball-sac. His hands massaged my inner calves. Unable to breathe under his weight, I felt the euphoria of asphyxia and came for the sixth time, perhaps, as his cum filled my throat.

 

I awoke to find his mouth on mine, filling my lungs from his. He stroked my face, brushing away the sweat and cum.

 

Later, we lay in each other's arms, legs entwined like tangled branches. It was getting light.  His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow. I snuggled closer.

 

"You're the first man I've slept with,'' he murmured in a hoarse voice.

 

"No way," I said. "That's a laughable lie."

 

"No," he repeated. "I mean... I usually send guys into the next room to sleep, after we've fucked... the few times that's happened here, anyway. I usually can't sleep with someone in my bed. An old habit."

 

"Well, I'm not sure we slept much," I volunteered. "So, you can send me away now, and your record will be intact."

 

"No," he said.  "I want you to stay right here. I'm not exactly feeling sleepy ...at the moment." His body rolled toward me again, and the big arms surrounded me. He slipped downward until his face was against my chest; his hair brushed my Adam's apple. He was quiet... listening to the rhythm of my heart.

 

"Troy only wants you because I like you... because I want you," ...he said, finally and quietly.

 

I didn't reply, but brushed my fingers through his hair. He seemed vulnerable for the first time, and I wasn't sure what to do.

 

"I know you're staying with him, but I'm not sure why," he continued.

 

"Spring break," I said. "I didn't have anywhere to go."

 

"Always taking in strays," he said, looking up and smiling as if he liked the image of me as a bedraggled puppy or a lost calf.

 

"He told me about Owen," I began. "How you took him away."

 

He gazed deeply into my eyes with a look of total honesty. "Owen was a weakling... it was so easy... no effort. He didn't love Troy... he was just another stray that Troy took-in. Does he still have that damned cat?"

 

"But you lured him with drugs... got him hooked."

 

"Is that what Troy says? Is it? Well, Owen had the habit long before he showed-up here. He just needed a source, and he lured me as much as I lured him. He only wanted one thing... and he was willing to give up anything to get it. He had a nice, tight ass, I'll admit it." He paused, remembering. "Troy has to blame someone... but he can't blame Owen, because he loved him... so he blames me. Hell, I didn't want him beyond a few hot fucks. He was a spineless piece of shit. If I'd wanted him, he'd still be here.."

 

"Troy told me about Nicky, too."

 

He was quiet for a moment. "Yep. I'm sure he would... yes, I do blame him for that... but, to be honest, that kid woulda moved on without any influence from Troy. His kind never stays either."

 

"His kind?"

 

"He was like me... a lot. The Lone Wolf only hunts alone because he CAN. He doesn't need a pack to drag down a young elk. He goes his own way, wherever and whenever he wants.  We drift in and out of peoples' lives, taking and giving. That's enough for us. That's how our "breed" was meant to be."

 

"Should we call you ‘Wolf' instead of 'Hammer'?" I asked, brushing my fingers over his ear to see if it was pointed.

 

"I can close up this place anytime I want. The utilities are paid by direct withdrawal... I can hop onto my chopper and be anywhere in a matter of days. I can always get a job to tide me over... construction jobs are everywhere, and they don't ask many questions. My needs are minimal. I'm free as a fucking bird... no ties, no responsibilities."

 

"Never had any?" I asked.

 

He gave me that raised-eyebrow-look that let me know I was pushing a bit too close to the edge. "When I was younger than you," he said, "it was my older brother who ‘showed me the ropes,' figuratively and literally, I guess. We were as close as twin lambs, despite the difference in age... almost 8 years. We loved each other beyond the usual ‘brotherly love'.  He paused, not knowing whether to continue, then lifted his head and settled back onto the pillow with his hands behind his neck. "He got killed in Viet Nam when I was only 14.  He'd only been there a week and some bastard shot him right through the head." He paused again, closing his eyes as if he could still see it. "I touched his name on The Wall late one night," he continued after a sigh. "And I poured a whole bottle of Jim Beam onto his grave in Indiantown Gap Cemetery. He woulda liked that." A faint smile faded from his lips.  "Since then, I'm the Lone Wolf. Ready to eat you up!" He rolled onto me quickly with his teeth on my throat. He grasped my wrists and held them down to the mattress. "Another helpless victim," he said as his menacing bites became sensuous licks along my pulse-points.

 

We fucked again as the sunbeams lit the ceiling... pure, white light permitting us to see clearly what we had only been feeling the night before... the veins in his forearms... the scar on his right shoulder... the stubble of two days' beard-growth... the encrusted, dried cum on his belly and cheek... the gorgeous details of the cock that had thoroughly skewered me last night. I watched it go into me this time as I clutched my knee to my chest. He had laid me on my side and had one forearm against my chest, with his chest against my back, fitting together like my hand now cupped his against me. He rocked slowly into me, letting me adjust to each surge. And he whispered into my ear what he loved about my body.

 

===============================

 

I worked with Troy that afternoon, Sunday, in almost total silence except for the sounds of the power tools. He didn't ask about the night-before... and I didn't volunteer much. We silently agreed not to discuss it. I found blood on my tee-shirt when I removed it, from a long scratch on my back. He must have noticed it but didn't ask.

 

Rumors was closed on Sunday night, even though it was legal to serve liquor after noon. So Troy and I worked two shifts, a second one after dinner. The space was beginning to take shape. I could begin to see it. He knew exactly what he wanted, and it was planned perfectly. Narrow passageways with walls ten feet tall that twisted and branched into a complex maze. I tried to imagine traversing it in pitch-blackness with only my sense of feel. There were several paths through it, but one could be lost in it for days, I guessed.  Sometimes the passageways were wider, and sometimes they opened into larger rooms.  Occasionally there were niches where someone could stand, and also low, inset ledges where someone (or two) could lie. My favorite spot was a location where someone, feeling his way along the walls in the darkness, would suddenly find one wall disappear, and after ten more steps, the other wall would end, and he'd be in the middle of a large open space. I could imagine guys flailing in the darkness trying to find something... only to find another guy flailing in the darkness. What a way to meet! There were different levels, platforms and ramps that would be covered with black carpeting... occasional glory-holes where guys in one passageway could stick their cocks into an adjoining passageway... even a latrine bathroom with a wide, metal, thigh-high trough. Troy had thought of everything. I asked him where he got the idea.

 

"A bar on the dockside end of Christopher Street," he said, "on my one-and-only visit to New York. I got trapped in there, stripped, and used in every way imaginable. I wonder if it's still there?"

 

"If you went there now, you'd never come out," I said, laughing at the bulge in his jeans as he described the occasion.

 

Later, as we got ready for bed, I asked more questions about Rumors. "How do you advertise this place?" I asked. "I had a Hell of a time finding a gay bar within driving distance of State College. I found this place almost by accident."

 

"Just lists in gay magazines and newspapers," he replied. "Nothing fancy. In the beginning, I tried not to attract too much attention. But the town knows we're here now, and they leave us alone. Hell, a couple of the cops show up occasionally in street clothes and dark glasses to get their rocks off."

 

"When you open up the new space, you'll have room for lots more patrons," I continued.  "And you could sell tickets to the upstairs... make it an additional attraction to bring in some income. Guys who get lost up there won't be coming downstairs for drinks, that's for sure, so you'll lose a little bar-business. The whole place would be a destination, like you said." He shook his head, taking it all in.

 

"That costs money," he said.

 

"Listen," I interjected. "I'm a communications major. I'm specializing in advertising. And up until a month ago I worked for this guy whose research showed that a touch of eroticism in an advertising image could attract lots of attention. A guy's eyes can be manipulated to focus on a sexy image in an ad. Can I try to come-up with something... a few ideas... a few sketches or pictures... to show you how you could promote this place? Free-of-charge," I added. "You're being so nice letting me stay here."

 

"Sure," he replied.  "Why not?"

 

"I can apply what I've learned and help you out at the same time. I'm not sure it's anything I can use in my portfolio, but..." I let the idea trail-out to nothing. We both nodded in a verbal agreement and my mind began to race with ideas. What was it about rumors that made them so attractive? I wanted to capture that in a few words and images, and to give guys a hard-on as soon as they read it.

 

We lay side-by-side, not touching for several minutes which seemed like a few hours.

 

"You can still touch me," I said. "I'm not dirty or diseased after last night."

 

"I missed you so damned much I nearly went crazy, thinking about you being with him.  I can't compete with that. He's too good." He paused. "Well, 'good' may not be the right word for it. He's attractive... seductive."

 

"He fucks just like everyone else," I said. "In and out." I was sorry I said it that way when I saw the pain in his face. "And here I am, back in your bed, if not in your arms." His eyes were dark when he looked up at me... either anger or sadness, I couldn't tell. He reached for me as he slid closer.

 

"How can I ignore a screwed-up invitation like that?" He said.

 

"And there are still seven days until I go back to school," I added. "You can't ignore that, either."

 

"I love you, ...you know," he said, gathering me in his arms.

 

"Don't say that," I countered. "Not now. It may seem like it's almost too late for you to love again, but..." I couldn't tell him that I doubted whether I would ever love again... that it was too early to say. "I just can't say it. Not even to you." I didn't pull away or struggle, but I felt him release his grasp a little. "Don't...," I added. "Don't make me feel guilty for telling you the truth." To Troy, I wasn't a new-found love... I was a replacement for Owen, the stray returning to live-out the unfulfilled life. He might love me someday, but he still loved Owen... that was clear.

 

It came spilling-out then... the story of my liaison with John... our work together... our growing love for each other... his willingness to sacrifice everything--- his work, his family, for me... and the tumultuous break-up only a month before. I tried to explain how I couldn't watch him destroy his family for me; his boys loved him and needed him... even though they could never have all of him.

 

I told him of my plans... my future... how I needed to finish school with top grades and get a good job in advertising... how it would consume all my time and energy for several years until I had built a strong resume and a solid reputation. There would be no time for anyone else... no residual energy to invest in a relationship... no ounce of me not dedicated to success. 

 

He lay silently, taking it all in. It brought back the feeling of loss and rejection in his own life, he said, ...feelings that he had held at-bay for so long.

 

"I'll be with you any way I can," he said, finally. "Short-term, off-and-on, just buddies, or anyway you'll have me. I can make it work for me... any way that it'll work for you. I'm sorry I lost it there. My self-control usually works better than that."

 

I fucked him then... because he needed it.... on our sides, like Hammer had fucked me. I cupped him in the curve of my body and lifted his right knee to his chest with my right hand; he guided my cock into him like the sealing of an agreement. I paused to let my column fatten in the warmth of his interior, then began the slow rocking that would take us both away from the reality of the moment... saying with the rest of my body what I could not say with my heart.

 

===================================

 

They were similar in some ways, but different in others. They were both alone, Troy and Hammer... one by raw sheer force of will, the other by choice. Troy couldn't break the bonds of a former relationship... and Hammer couldn't form a link with anyone. One was needy... the other was needless. I couldn't find the middle-ground. There was nothing that one could learn from the other. Was I more like Troy... or Hammer? Would I never love again, by-choice or by-necessity?

====================================

 

The following week went by quickly. We nearly finished the third floor using the "production line" method we developed for wall-section construction. And I had more sex than any frat-boy who went to Cancun... actually, more sex than a peg-boy in a male-brothel in New Orleans. Hammer stayed away from Rumors from Monday through Friday. Some guys said he had gone away; others said he was just busy. But I ruled the back room and the Pit in his absence.

 

"He'll be back tonight," Troy said as we got the place ready for another Saturday night.  "He hasn't missed a Saturday for a year."

 

I had been wearing the collar each night, just on-the-chance that he might stop-in. So, I put it on once more, then wiped-down the bar one more time. 

 

Because it was a warm evening, the crowd spilled-out into the parking lot. I heard his chopper rumble as he glided into a parking place near the door. Then he revved the engine just to say "I'm here" before it settled into silence. He took his time coming through the door, probably greeting guys on the steps, I guessed. I turned to look at the video monitor before he caught me waiting for his entrance. I sensed his presence behind me before I felt his touch. His index finger slipped beneath the back of the collar, and he pulled my ass roughly against the steel counter as my shoulder struck the inside edge of the fake-mahogany bar. He smelled of whiskey as he growled in my ear. "Remember me?"

 

"Hi, Jake!... I mean ‘Hammer'" I said, regaining my balance. He had two fingers in the collar now and he was tightening his grip.

 

He licked the back of my bare shoulder along the scratch he had put there the weekend before. "You taste good," he said. "Just like I remember."

 

Troy had stepped away from the bar to deliver some beers to a table, but he returned at that moment.

 

"Cut out the rough stuff. Don't choke him," he said. 

 

"And who's gonna stop me?" Hammer asked in a menacing voice. 

 

I tried to grip the collar with my fingertips to get a little room to breathe or swallow, but I couldn't. When I reached back to grasp Hammer's hand, he loosened his grip. Troy had stayed at the far end of the bar.

 

"My place, again... tonight," he rasped. "He's had you all week. It's my turn."

 

He was right. I had been with Troy for six nights straight. Sometimes we took turns... sometimes he just wanted to blow me... and sometimes we just fell asleep in each other's arms. Once, when I couldn't sleep, I crept back downstairs to watch part of a video that had attracted my attention... a scene that looked like something Hammer would do, not Troy.  And I jacked-off sitting there on the barstool, dreaming of the danger and the power. He was like a drug: addictive, seductive, requiring higher and higher ‘doses' to test the limits, and probably just as dangerous.

 

I was ready to go with him when he gestured that it was time to leave. I left the collar on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A real man wants two things: 

Danger and play. Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher, "Thus Spoke Zarathustra"

 

One never gets to know a person's character better than by watching his behavior during decisive moments.... It is always only danger which forces the most deeply hidden strengths and abilities of a human being to come forth. Stefan Zweig (1881-1942)

 

It lay beyond the descriptive words of men, where immortality is touched through danger, where life meets death on equal plane; where man is more than man, and existence both supreme and valueless at the same time. Charles A Lindbergh, contemplating his first parachute jump, "The Spirit of St Louis"

 

 

I held onto the waistband of his leather jacket as we sped through the darkness, trying not to clutch him too tightly as if I were afraid of falling off... although the desire to hold him close was powerful, too. I had missed his blatant manliness for the last six days, but suddenly there we were, hurtling through the dark tunnel of overhanging trees so quickly that they were a blur. The oncoming rush of pavement and trees, like sinking into a whirlpool, ...headed to another night together. My cock hardened and I eased closer to him on the seat to press it against his back. My arms crossed his belly. My chin touched his shoulder. He was practically carrying me on his back like a wounded comrade. I wanted him to feel it, too. He pressed the accelerator and slipped back two inches on the seat. He met my pressure with his own.

 

"Where have you been?" I asked when we were indoors. "No one knew where you went."

 

"That's because I never tell anyone," he replied, baring his chest as he removed the leather jacket.  "None of their damned business."

 

"Well, I missed you," I said, attempting to make it MY business, just a little.

 

He stopped in the middle of removing his boots, then looked up at me. "Sometimes I just leave to take my mind off things," he said. "I use sex as a distraction... or maybe I use different situations as excuses for a sex-marathon. I'm not sure which comes first." He pulled off the second boot. "I went to Pittsburgh."

 

"I'm from Pittsburgh," I said. "But I really wasn't ‘in-the-scene' when I was in high school. I wouldn't have a clue about where to go."

 

"You'll learn all of these places," he said, counting them off on his fingers. "The Garden Theater, Club Pittsburgh, the Baths, Boulevard Video (hot and cruisy), The Eagle, where I spent most of my time... and there's always the motorcycle clubs... and Liberty Avenue. If one place isn't hot enough, you just go somewhere else... make the rounds. I usually rent a room for the first night, just in-case, then I cruise around until I find someone to go home with... a single guy or a couple. Sometimes a new guy every night... sometimes I do ‘repeats' if he's got a nice place. Sometimes I go for just a few days. My record is 17."

 

"Wow! Altoona can never compete with that," I said. "Nothing like that here. Some of those places sound familiar, though. But high school kids couldn't get into any of them."

 

The reason I left in the first place... and the reason I came back, is about to climb into my bed," he said as I folded my jeans and dropped them in the corner. His hand against my naked ass moved me in the direction of the bedroom. The bed was unmade. It looked just as we had left it last weekend. He saw me noticing the dishevelment.

 

"I didn't stop back here to straighten-up," he said, stretching out on the bed. "I came directly to Rumors to get you. A hundred miles on back-roads in a little over 2 hours. That's how much I wanted you. I'm a little hot and dusty, but you'll get used to it." He picked-up his cock in his palm and stroked it a few times as I stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the man who was waiting for me.

 

Six-feet-two... the same height as I... but different from my post-adolescent body. Lee had been a boy, only 3 years older than myself... an athlete in the perfection of his sport, but still with the gangly-ness of his age. John had been a mature adult, but he hadn't had the time to devote to fitness and musculature. He was fit-for-his-age... but not a glorious specimen of manhood. Which brought me to Hammer. Hammer worked all day in hard, physical labor... and then worked-out all night. The "guest-room" next to the bedroom, which still contained some of Nicky's things, I learned, was the exercise room... and he had honed his body to the peak-of-perfection for someone... even five years younger. A strong, vertically ridged neck supported a head on broad, exaggerated shoulders... the sharp clavicular-ridges marked the beginning of pecs like slabs of rump-roast. His abs cascaded over four muscular ridges defined on the sides by sharp obliques. His thighs welled with power and he had the inward slant necessary for powerful penetration. Sharp shins spread to bulging calves; muscular ankles led to long, broad feet. He was masculinity drawn like an anatomical drawing.

 

"Hand me the black bag," he said. "I brought something for you... for us." He had dropped the canvas duffel bag at the foot of the bed, so I retrieved it and tossed it next to him on the bed.

 

"My ‘bag of tricks'," he grinned. "All I need when I travel." He pulled out a foil-wrapped roll and, after a moment, extracted an unusually fat joint. "Good blow," he said, shaking his head. "Peace weed, chips, supergrass, wack... the good stuff laced with PCP. Let's fire up and get on." I crawled onto the bed beside him. I had used grass before; with John, it had been only the best quality. Regular pot made me horny.  What would this do?  He took a long toke and held it. then passed it to me as he exhaled slowly. "God, that's good. You feel it after three seconds."

 

Less than that, actually. It went straight to my head, and I saw a shower of sparks that lit-up the interiors of my eyeballs. We passed it back and forth... the moisture where his lips had touched it... the scorching heat as I inhaled... the sinking feeling as I waited for the cumulative effect... the exhilaration of trying something new... the gradual lessening of my caution.

 

"Too light in here," he said, shading his eyes from the overhead bulb. He rolled off the bed, hit the light switch, stepped into the hallways, turned on the bathroom light, then pulled the bedroom door almost closed so that the sliver of light hit the far wall. He settled back onto the bed and reached for my thigh, pulling me against him. I rolled onto his chest ready to exhale my most recent toke, but he covered my mouth with his and slowly inhaled the smoke from my lungs. The delay made the hit all that more potent and I returned his kiss with all the pent-up urgency I was feeling. 

 

"My boy has missed me," he said when we finally broke the kiss.

 

I started to ask him why he left; he said I was the reason. But I didn't want to talk. I wanted to fuck... hard.

 

He rolled me higher onto his chest and held me between his two large biceps as his hands massaged the orbs of my ass. I ground my groin against his as we gyrated together. His fingers spread my crack and began working their way into my hole from both sides. I arched my back and shoved my hand between us in an attempt to grip his cock. We wrestled momentarily as each tried to further arouse the other.  Releasing me suddenly, he reached between us and gripped my wrist, pulling my hand up and out, then pinning my arm behind my back. "I know what you need," he growled. He rolled quickly, putting me on the bottom with my arm trapped behind my back.  With his other hand he reached for the black bag.  His face descended to mine, nose-to-nose. "I knew you were a Top the moment I laid eyes on you," he said. "...self-assured, taking the initiative. Smart-assed kid. But to be a great Top... the kind that guys stand in-line for... you need to be an experienced bottom first. You earn it. You learn it... from the bottom-up, so to speak." He rolled off me then and held up a pair of leather cuffs. "These are for you," he continued.  "One thing you need to learn is to lie back and enjoy it sometimes, instead of feeling you have to be in constant control. Hell, even as a bottom, you're trying to run the show. Put ‘em on."

 

I hesitated. The allure of danger was strong. The temptation to please him was powerful. Losing control, mentally, was one thing; losing physical control was another. He was strong enough to take me in a fair fight. With my wrists in cuffs, I'd be at a serious disadvantage.

 

"You trust me?" he asked, dangling the cuffs. 

 

"Yes," I said slowly. "Almost totally... but I've heard stories of guys who went home with other guys and were never heard from again... and I have this image of you eating my liver..." I smiled, weakly, remembering that picture of muscular Prometheus chained to the rock with the eagle tearing out his liver... the eroticism of Greek mythology. Before my eyes, the eagle transformed into the hunched, naked body of Hammer kneeling over me.

 

"If I wanted to do that, you'd be in-pieces by now," he said matter-of-factly. I could have slipped you something in a drink... or in that joint... or shoved a needle in your ass when you weren't looking... If someone wants to do it, there's almost no way to stop him. But it's not your liver I want... it's your total attention, focused on the pleasure I can give you... not you being distracted by thinking of the next thing to do to me. Hell, ...you get two guys like us together and we end-up battling for control. Sometimes it's just good to give up control and enjoy it."

 

"You're not the first person to tell me that," I admitted.

 

"And I'm not sayin' I want a guy to always lie there like a dead body, doing nothing. That's no fun, either.  But I love it when a guy wants to respond, but can't. That pent-up energy is like pouring gasoline on a campfire."

 

The cuffs were made of black leather lined with softer leather ...about three inches wide. Each had a strap and buckle, and a metal ring ...and one of those rings had a clip attached with a lockable dog-clip on each end. They could be linked together... or connected easily to other restraints. They were sturdy... no-nonsense... fully capable of constraint. They smelled of leather and saddle soap.

 

"If it'll make you feel a little safer, you can do it to me first," he said, wrapping one of the leather cuffs around his wrist. "Here... buckle it on." I did... and put the second one on his other wrist. "Nothing fancy... just wrists... no ankles... no fancy rope-work. That shit just gets in the way. Just remember... whatever you do to me, I reserve the right to do it to you... double." He grinned in the darkness. My mind was racing with ideas. I remembered the times he had driven me to the edge of madness with the pleasure he inflicted... and this was my chance to repay the pleasure, ...but with the promise of something even more intense in the future. Truthfully, I couldn't imagine it.

 

I wasn't sure what to do. To have complete control over Hammer... to do anything to him I wanted... and to try-out some of the things he'd taught me... it was a dream come true. But the responsibility was daunting. I could easily make a fool of myself.

 

"I've changed my mind," I said. "You can cuff me first. I trust you." The allure of danger... of the unknown... of his implied threat of unendurable pleasure... I couldn't focus until I'd experienced it.

 

Silently and quickly, he unbuckled the cuffs and transferred them to my wrists. He pressed me onto my back with his palm on my chest, then he straddled my waist. Working quickly, he stretched each arm to the sides and clipped the cuffs to short chains which were attached to the side rails of the bed near the headboard. My arms were stretched tightly to the sides, making my pecs harden as I looked up at him. He smiled at his handy work, then bent down to grasp my right nipple in his front teeth. The sensation took my breath away as my cock hardened into a stiff pole.

 

"And now I've got you where I want you," he said softly. "And here's the organ I'm interested in," ... he said, reaching beneath him for my cock, "not your liver." He stroked it softly between his fingers, twisting the still-spongy head gently. "Before I'm through with you, you'll beg me to stop... and I won't. I want you to remember this moment... whenever you're ready to fuck some nameless guy in the future.  Remember how it feels to want it so badly you'd do anything to get it. I want you to see MY face looking down at you."

 

He reached out of my field-of-vision and returned with a short chain... a leash, which he clipped to the collar that was still around my neck. "I want you to be able to see this," he added. He pulled the chain and it lifted my head off the mattress. His cock swayed threateningly... a dark shadow casting another shadow on my belly. He wrapped the chain around his fist. There was no mistaking who was in-charge. "Ready for the roller coaster ride?" he said, giving the chain a snap.

 

I started to speak... started to tell him I wanted him. But his other hand covered my mouth.  "No talking," he said. "Just begging, ...later on. If you start trying to direct the show, I'll have to gag you... but then I'd miss all those cute noises you're gonna make." His hand slipped to my throat, then down over my chest... fingers burning trails over my hot skin, tracing the valley between my pecs. "Let's see... where to begin?"

 

I felt his body shift over me. He was kneeling between my spread legs, forcing them wider with his knees.

 

I felt his breath on my cock before his lips reached the flared head. His hands grasped the muscles of my thighs as he took it deep into his throat. The saliva dribbled onto the root of my shaft and spread over my balls like warm oil. He began to swallow, massaging the head with his throat muscles, pulling it deeper and deeper by millimeters. His tongue pressed along my urethra, flattening it against the hard core of my shaft, pulsing with blood. He tightened his grip on my thighs, holding me down on the bed as my body gave the first involuntary convulsion of arousal. My hands closed into fists that pulled against the unyielding cuffs. I wanted to grab his head and jackknife deeper into him... but the bondage held me back. My muscles strained against their confinement. My forehead was immediately damp with sweat.  So quickly, and this was only the beginning!

 

"MMMMMmmmmmmm" His soft moan vibrated against the most sensitive spot on my cock-tip like a mild electrical current.

 

His hands moved up my body, exploring the hills and valleys of my abs... the well of my navel... the highlands of my pecs heaving with each breath. Fingers tightened over my erect nipples, then squeezed and twisted. My body bucked from the nipple stimulation of mild pain that only magnified the pleasure of my cock. He lifted them using his fingernails, and let the soft nips slip ever-so-slowly through the tight pinch until only the tiniest bit was ground between sharp nails. I went through the roof then, I think.

 

The gentle swallowing on my cock changed to sharp up-and-down suction. Releasing my nipples, he grasped the chain again and pulled my head up from the mattress. My shaft slid slowly in and out of his tight lips as his eyes looked up to judge the degree of my pleasure. I could detect the slightest smile of satisfaction around my engorged dick as his eyes sparkled in triumph.

 

I remember his hand clamping around the base of my cock with most of my ball-sac included. He pumped in rhythm with his mouth action.

 

That feeling began deep inside... the urgency... the inevitability... the creeping heat, like melting wax.   Reaching the point-of-no-return.

 

His mouth pulled off me, then, with an audible smack. And his hand replaced it, jacking me rapidly for five strokes, then subsiding into a slow rocking motion. "Not so fast, boy," he said. "You don't get off so easy."

 

I started to reply, then remembered I wasn't supposed to speak. At least I had some degree of control left.

 

The urgency subsided. I relaxed into the slow rhythm of his hand action. His other hand stroked my hip and side, rocking me gently.

 

Just as I was coming down from the peak, he started again... hard sucking that made my eyes open wide... a resumption of the urgency... a return of the inevitability. I wanted to touch him, to run my fingers through his hair, to feel the hardness of his muscle beneath hot skin, to spread the sweat of his forehead onto his chest. But I couldn't. My hands jerked in the cuffs; my fingers mimicked the motion they could not accomplish. 

 

His mouth jerked my attention back to my cock. The tight lips... the hard suction... the dripping saliva.  Then he lifted my head again to watch his mouth minister to my super-sensitive shaft. He was loving this as much as I was.

 

As my senses mounted the summit again, he pulled away. "Now that I've got it all nice and juicy, let me show you where it goes," he growled. I felt his weight shift around me as he repositioned himself. His ankles brushed my waist as he squatted over me. The heat of his hole was the first sensation... then the tightness... then the depth. He settled onto me... farther and farther, balancing himself with one hand on my chest and the other on my thigh... not stopping until his full weight rested on my groin and my shaft was embedded in full depth. He leaned back, now with both hands on my knees, taking the proper angle for even deeper penetration. Waves of muscular action began to swirl around my cock. "I'd love to take you all the way this way," he muttered, "but I still have more plans. But, God! ...you feel so good!"

 

He began to bounce on me... each impact sending a jolt through my interior... shock waves against my prostate... soft abrasion against my cock-tip. My toes curled in response. I couldn't move... pinned-down and cuffed-down... my whole awareness focused on the nine inches of phallus stuffed into eight inches of hot ass.

 

He changed position then, leaning forward to kiss me between his spread legs... eating my mouth like an overripe mango... his hands stroking the concavity of my pits and the undersides of my arms as he rocked slowly forward and back, pumping on my cock. My skin felt suddenly cool against his warm touch. The heat of my body was concentrated in only one area. I had stopped struggling despite the continuing tenseness of my muscles. Subconsciously, I was still trying to please him... not with a touch or a caress... but with the visual image of my body offered to him. It was all I could give him.

 

I felt him tighten then... as if he had read my mind and realized that I was still not focusing entirely on the pleasure. And quickly he drove me to the edge. I remember moaning then... begging him to let me cum... then begging him to continue forever. My mind was being pulled apart just as my arms were... and it was just as useless.

 

I remember him pulling off me abruptly and scrambling to release the cuffs from the chains. "Roll onto your belly," he whispered in my ear. "It's your turn." I thought he meant that it was my turn to cuff him... but that wasn't what he meant. Instead, he roughly pulled my arms behind my back and re-connected the cuffs to each other. He pressed my knees apart with his and lifted my groin off the bed. I turned my face to the side to avoid suffocating in the jumble of bedclothes.

 

His fingers opened me up... first one, then two, then three... lubed with something that seemed to make my ass the center of the Universe. Plunging, twisting fingers... preparing me. And then the blunt, stretching warmth of his cock-head... I opened to it... I wanted it... I rocked back to meet him. "Fuck me," I murmured into the sheet. The collar tightened around my throat as he pulled on the leash once more, arching my body into an S-curve... head back with mouth open, gasping for breath... chest hard against the mattress... elbows out and hands pressed against the lower curvature of my back.... ass in the air... knees dug-in for support. I roared then as he impaled me... feeling it stretch the folds of my rectum and rearrange my internal organs from the impact. 

 

He lay across my back as I supported his weight... finally taking his pleasure. My hands could finally touch his belly. A tightness around my cock... his fist driven-in from the side... jacking me as if he were pumping his own cock... double-rhythm to his penetrations of my ass.

 

"One more," he said. I was trying to imagine... one more what? He was on his knees, unclipping the cuffs behind my back. "Off the bed", he ordered. "Stand here." He pointed at the foot of the bed. I scrambled to untangle myself from the bedclothes and to slide off the bed. "Here," he motioned... "Feet apart, knees against the low footboard." He dropped to his knees and pulled a larger cuff from under the bed. It was attached to a chain attached somewhere on the corner of the bed frame. He tightened it around my ankle, then moved to my other side, retrieving a similar cuff and attaching it to my other ankle. He adjusted the clips and chains so that my feet were spread far apart. "Now, your wrists," he commanded, grabbing my right one. "Stretch your arms above your head, spread apart." He retrieved two more lengths of chain, attached the wrist cuffs to one end of each, and then stepped onto the mattress to attach those chains to hooks in the ceiling... something I hadn't noticed before. He pulled my arms up and apart. I was stretched into a standing spread-eagle. "I'm gonna fuck you standing up", he said. My up-curving cock should fit nicely into that hole of yours. Oh, and one more ‘decoration'," he said as he reached into the black bag. He retrieved a pair of nipple clamps on a chain. Using one hand to compress each nipple, he placed the clamps on tightly. Then he dropped the chain which arched down almost to my pubes. The weight of it pulled and twisted the clamps sending a pain shock wave through my torso. I felt his hands grip my waist and the tip of his cock slapping against my ass cheek. He adjusted his position to force it into my ass crack, where it lodged just inside my outer sphincter. With one slow plunge, he shoved it into me, using one hand to guide it. Quickly he started thrusting into me with one hand on my shoulder and the other gripping my cock. The swinging chain... the plunging cock that lifted me onto my toes... total submissiveness... his massive hands stroking me. How long did it last? Time had no meaning.    

 

I blacked-out then, as I shot my load all over the bedclothes. The convulsions tightened every muscle as I clamped down on the only part of his body that mattered to me at that moment. My last memory was his voice shouting my name in my ear.

 

============================

 

My eyelids fluttered open; his face filled my field of vision. I was on my back, wrists still cuffed and now trapped under the small of my back. His fingers brushed the hair out of my eyes. Every muscle was relaxed; my cock lay soft against my inner thigh. He smiled.

 

"Do you understand now?" he said softly. His fingertips traced the ridges of my arched belly softly and tenderly, then moved lower into the bush of my pubic hair.

 

I tried to formulate a response, but the words just weren't coming. All I could do was to gaze up at his face, awaiting his next words, and nod my consent.

 

He was like a dark angel walking amidst mankind. His glance could arouse, or punish. His words could elevate, or destroy. His touch could electrify. He gave men something that changed them forever... a thankfulness for being chosen... an urge to test their limits and to explore the dark, outer boundaries... a compulsion to re-enact or re-create the moment they could never forget... an experience etched into their consciousness like a brand on their foreheads... an addiction stronger than any drug's. He was the personification of eroticism. And he could not be owned ...an unattainable treasure ...the impossible erotic dream.

 

"Such beauty," he said, stroking his fingers across my chest and down the valley between my pecs.

 

I stirred, finally, attempting to remind him that my wrists were still cuffed. He smiled as my pecs and deltoids tightened, but he did not release me immediately. He wanted me to relive those few moments of indescribable rapture. At that moment I knew I was different. Different from the curious, almost-timid boy who had crossed the threshold of Rumors. There was no going back. I felt empowered... energized... selected... almost like a priest after ordination.

 

=========================

 

"Roll over," he said, giving my shoulder a shove.  He unbuckled the cuffs and tossed them under the bed.  "For next time," he said. I massaged my wrists and clenched my fingers. "And now, sleep," he said, throwing his arm over me and pulling me close. "Right here... with me." 

 

My hand, finally free, reached back to stroke the outer margin of his hip, to leave the sensation of his skin on my fingertips as I slipped back into unconsciousness. The sadness in his eyes had told me there might not be a ‘next-time.'

 

 

 

Can't sleep.

  Wanting you.

  Wanting to press you

  Against my torso

  Like wet clay

  Molding you to my shape,

  Warming you

  With my hot skin,

  Positioning you

  To fit around me

  Like a tight fist

  On a lover's shaft.

  Devouring you

  Like eating a sweet pear.

  Scalding you

  With my saliva.

  Painting you

  With new-erupted cum.

  Marking you

  With suck-marks

  And sharp teeth.

  Ravaging you

  With force

  That takes your breath away.

  Crushing you with my love,

  Its weight

  Pressing out your juices,

  Like whey from curd.

  Lifting you up

  And pressing you down

  Simultaneously.

  Engulfing you

  In my embrace.

  Then hold you

  As you tremble in my arms.

  Enraptured by the moment.

  Loose nerve-ends sparking.

  Eyes rolled-back,

  Mouth slack...

  Fully taken

  Beyond the limit

  Of human experience.

  I will hold you

  Until you return to me,

  Renewed,

  Remade,

  Mine again.

 

A poem? I laid it on the bed beside me while I changed into my work boots. Then I re-read it.  Troy was standing in the doorway when I looked up.

 

"What's this?" I said, not knowing quite how to respond to its directness.

 

"Just the result of one of those times when the feelings get so powerful, I need an outlet. A little Jim Beam helps, too." He seemed embarrassed now. "When the steam pressure valve hits the red zone, that's when I pick up the pen and paper. It's not that good... but I haven't written for quite a while. But it felt good... to finally say it."

 

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before," I said, glancing down at it again. "It's very powerful."

 

"Just your run-of-the-mill queer love-poem," he replied, sitting next to me on the bed. "I sorta felt like Shakespeare writing sonnets to his young, male lover... wondering if the young man ever read them... and then wondering whether anyone will ever read any of my poems in a few hundred years." He paused, then gestured toward the desk. "When I die, you can publish them.  They're stuffed in a big envelope in the bottom drawer over there... just so you know."

 

"So you wrote poetry for him?" I asked as he covered my hand with his.

 

"Yes. On those nights when he didn't come home. When I missed him... like I was starting to miss you. It's sappy, ...I know. But it's cheaper than a shrink."

 

"Don't do this," I said, pulling my hand from under his and covering his with mine. "I told you.  I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready... and I don't want to hurt you. You're a nice guy and all that... and I'm grateful for what you've done for me. But I can't be phony. I can't feel something that I don't feel. And I won't lie to you. I've explained all this before."

 

"I know," he said. "But I can't avoid saying it... just like you can't avoid saying what you just did.  It's better to just say it and get it over with. Then we can get to work."

I felt my lips tighten... and my tongue escaped for one of those nervous lip-licks that took the place of a reply. This time it was better to say nothing. I arose and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go," I said.

 

.============================

 

The third floor project, "The Labyrinth," as we had begun to call it, was coming along fine. It would be ready to open in a few more weeks at the rate we were going. We still needed to paint all the walls black and to lay some black carpeting in some areas, but the major construction work was finished. Its complexity was impressive. I kept walking through the maze trying to memorize its features in daylight so I could traverse it in darkness. But even in daylight, it was tricky.

 

"You'll need a rescue team... to search for lost guys and return them to civilization," I said jokingly. 

 

"I get lost in there myself... and I designed the damned thing. There's one place where you can go in circles for hours if you're not careful. I hope we haven't created a monster. Maybe we need a map on the wall in a few locations... and some emergency flashlights."

 

"With crossed penises to indicate 'You Are Here'? Maybe you need just a little bit of light in a few places... just so guys can get their bearings. Also, so you can check-out whether you're fucking a troll or a treasure.

 

"That defeats the whole purpose... for trolls like me," he said. "The anonymity is the allure here.  There should be a sign over the entrance that says 'All Ye Who Enter Here... Fuck Your Brains Out.'" We laughed, knowing the sign would be superfluous; these guys wouldn't need an invitation or instructions. "And you, of all people, don't need to worry about getting lost. You're gonna find a favorite spot somewhere in the middle, like the Minotaur, and let everyone come to you, the Lord of the Labyrinth. I know you..." He put his hand on my sweaty shoulder and leaned forward to kiss me softly with salty lips. "How about a quick one?" he said. "Before supper? All this talk has got my testosterone in an uproar."

 

===========================

 

I spent the week totally immersed in developing an ad campaign for "Rumors." I had checked out some of the porn magazines that Troy showed me... Jock, Obsessions, Iniquity, Torso, All-Man, Hot-Male-Review, Drummer, Mach... to get an idea about format, content, and titillation... the ‘Sproing-factor' John (the professor I wrote about in "Requiem") had called it, describing the imaginary sound a cock makes when it springs to attention. He had taught me how to use sensuality, usually subliminally, to attract attention to an ad. This time, it wouldn't be subliminal.  I chose the artwork carefully so that each example had an eye-catching "feature" that would provide the visual equivalence of a sharp nipple-pinch. I had a good, trained eye for that sort of thing. My ‘portfolio' was ready to show to Troy on my next visit to Altoona.

 

I got a late start on Friday, so Rumors was already open and busy when I arrived. Most of the regulars acknowledged my entrance and a few newcomers showed interest, too. I stepped behind the bar where Troy was already working feverishly to keep up with the demand for drinks. He gave me a wink from the other end of the bar, then delivered four beer mugs to guys crowded around the cash register. As I put on the collar, he came closer and murmured, "He hasn't been here... all week. Someone says he's been working on a job down in Wolfsburg... maybe not coming home at night. We'll see if he shows up. You're stayin' tonight, aren't ya?"

 

"Sure, ... And wait ‘til you see what I've got.  I brought some ad layouts to show you.  I'm kinda proud of them."

 

"I can't look now," he said.  "...these guys are sucking beers like drowning men suck seawater. But later..."

 

"I'll just circulate," I said with a grin.

 

"A new way of saying 'fuck-my-balls-dry'?" His laughter was interrupted by cries for more drinks. "Keep your panties on, Myrtle," he shouted to one of the offenders.

 

I walked through the theater where two guys were competing to suck a guy standing in the row behind them. Their moans blended with the fuck-sounds from the video showing on the big screen. But there was no one for me there.

 

Downstairs the action was already hot-and-heavy. The Pit was crowded, and the Orgy Room was overflowing. Without Hammer's presence, I was the acknowledged alpha-dog in the Pit, so men made way for me and encouraged me to join them. I had developed my own little ‘posse' over the last few weeks... guys who were hangers-on... guys who liked to watch... guys who hoped to be chosen... and guys who wanted a second chance. I could pretty much have anyone I wanted... and it was a feeling of desirability and power. 

 

I was getting sucked by one guy, in preparation for fucking another, when I noticed that the gaze of several guys had turned toward the door. I looked over my shoulder to find an absolutely gorgeous, young guy... black wavy hair... a swimmer's body... a face almost too pretty for a man. He looked underage, but I was sure Troy checked his ID. That was one sure way of getting closed-down, and I knew Troy wouldn't risk it.

 

"Are you Brian?" he said directly to me.

 

I nodded as I pulled my cock out of the disappointed mouth and turned to face him.

 

His eyes scanned down my torso involuntarily. "The bartender said I'd find you in the basement.  I'm new here... and I asked the bartender where the action was... and he sent me down here to find you. But you look like you're busy..."  He turned to leave.

 

"No, wait," I said. "There's always room for one more." A few guys moved toward him as if they were anticipating my directions. "Hold on. I'll give you the five-dollar tour." There was an audible moan from the room when they realized I didn't plan to share him. "There's plenty of time for THAT," I said to the group. "I'll be back." I put my hand behind his neck and turned him toward the door. "And so will he," I added as we departed.

 

"I'm Tim," he said. "Tim Rector."

 

"We don't usually use names here," I said. "But since you already know mine, I'll call you 'Tim'."  He grinned in the dim light... perfect teeth, the smile of a movie star, and a sparkle in his eyes that made the rest of the patrons look like tired whores in contrast.

 

We made our way to the stairs through the crowded hall. "Do you usually walk around that way... naked?" He asked.

 

I had become so accustomed to being naked among guys... sorta like the gym locker room... that his question surprised me. "Well, I can fuck with my pants on... but they sure limit my mobility," I said matter-of-factly.

 

"I like how you think," he said over his shoulder as we climbed the stairs. His ass swayed tantalizingly inches from my face.

 

I gave him the tour... and everywhere we went, the action was intense and sustained. Even in the bar... where a naked young man was on his knees sucking off a guy on a bar stool. As Tim watched, I turned to Troy.

 

"You like my little gift?" he said with a smile. "A token of my affection. As soon as he walked in, I knew you'd want him. He's your type... the smooth athlete."

 

"Thanks," I said. "Maybe we can share him later?"

 

"Don't wait for me," he replied. "There's still two hours to closing-time. If there's still any left by then..." He grinned again, thinking about the possibility.

 

We walked through the theater. "He's really nice," Tim whispered over the moans on the screen. "Does he own this place?"

 

"That's Troy," I answered. "Yeah, he owns it. He's the one who remodeled this old warehouse and started the business. And now I'm helping him fix-up the third floor into something really cool.  Wanta see it?"

 

"Sure," he said.  "What is it?"

 

"A labyrinth," I replied. He looked puzzled. "A maze... a huge bunch of passageways. You find your way in the dark... and who knows what might happen to you?"  I raised an eyebrow suggestively.

 

"With you there to protect me..." he began.

 

"That's not what I had in-mind," I interrupted. I found the key to the freight elevator where I knew Troy hid it. The motor growled into obedience.

 

The scissor-doors opened at the entrance to the Labyrinth close to the stairs that regular patrons would use. It's dim light barely penetrated the darkness as we stepped into the void. I had seen it this way only once before... when Troy and I had explored it to see how it felt in the dark. But both of us got lost anyway.  Since then, I'd learned the way.

 

When the heavy doors of the freight elevator had closed like a giant mouth, we stood in total darkness. Our voices echoed in the vast space above the labyrinth; you could tell that it was large...and empty. Tim reached for me, knowing I was there but reassuring himself. His hand on my arm turned into a caress over my shoulder, then down my back. He stepped closer and our hips touched. He leaned forward and kissed the ridge of my shoulder. I slipped my thumb in the back of his jeans and pulled him away.

 

"Yes, we'll do that," I said. "But first, you'll have to work for it. You'll have to find me in the maze." I touched his chest and brushed the tank-top off his shoulder onto the floor. "When you do, the Minotaur has a reward for you," I said. 

 

"Will you help me if I get lost?" he asked softly.

 

"I'll whistle if I think you're getting totally off-track... but, once you find me, I'll know the way out...so don't worry." My fingers moved up to brush over his lips. He kissed them quickly before they moved to his neck.

 

I stepped away toward the first passageway. "Let me hear those jeans and shoes hit the floor," I said.  "I want you stripped and ready."

 

"I'm ready," he said with a laugh. "My inner thighs are shaking like Jello and my teeth are chattering. This is really cool."

 

I stepped into the passageway, feeling along the wall with my left hand and holding my right in front of me to avoid running into the sharp left turn in just a few more steps. I heard his jeans hit the floor somewhere behind me. At the turn, I switched hands... right against the wall, left in front... past one left turn and two rights to a sharp turn... on and on... remembering the tricks and pitfalls... finding familiar landmarks like the sloping ramp, the small orgy room... and then finding my favorite spot, a small room with a raised platform in the middle, just the right height for doggie-style fucking. I let out a soft whistle through my teeth.

 

"I'm coming," he said in the distance.

 

"No talking," I said. "Just knock if you get frustrated and need another whistle. No talking at all... even when you find me."

 

I heard him resume his exploration of the maze... the sliding of his hands... the occasional bump against a corner or a wall... the gentle creak of the wooden floor below. (Note to Troy: we need some way to obscure the sound of movement in the maze... either music, wind, white sound, or the sounds of guys fucking... or all of those.)

 

Eventually, I heard a thump and a frustrated knocking. I whistled once... and he resumed in a new direction. My cock stiffened as he approached. I could feel my own heart beating in my pulse-points. I was like the predator waiting for the prey... the rapist hiding in the dark... the evil presence about to be released.

 

His steps came closer... the soft shuffle of bare feet on the painted wood... fingernails on taut plywood... the labored breathing of the frightened prey. He knocked again... but he was too close. I remained silent as I stretched my arm forward at chest level. I felt his presence, his warmth, before I actually touched him. My fingers brushed his outstretched forearm and he recoiled. I moved forward quickly and engulfed him in my arms. He was almost feverish... hot skin with cool, moist sweat...  he fought against me briefly, almost a reflex, then sank into my arms in capitulation. 

 

"You give-up too easily," I whispered hoarsely as my hand slid down his torso and gripped his hard cock and balls in my fist. He tried to pull back, but I squeezed until he gasped in sharp pain.  He fought against me then... hands on my chest, arching himself away from my grip around his waist with my other arm. I turned him around in my arms... my forearm over his throat, his back against my chest, then I licked the fear-sweat from the back of his neck. He struggled again as he felt my hard cock against the small of his back. I wrapped one calf around his legs and twisted him off-balance onto the carpet-covered platform. He caught himself with outstretched arms. I pressed one of his knees onto the platform. 

 

"This is what you want, isn't it?" I whispered behind his ear. "This is what you all want." 

 

I felt his head nod "Yes" against my cheek.

 

"I'm new at this," he began.

 

"All the better," I murmured. "Raping boy-ass is my specialty." I felt him tense in my grasp. The realization had hit that he was getting what he wanted... what he needed... but he had no control over it.

 

With my forearm over his shoulder blades, holding him down, I prepared his ass with two fingers... probing and twisting to open him up and to lube him with my saliva. He twisted as my fingers hit the second knuckle. 

 

"Just stay still and I won't hurt you," I said, using the line Hammer had used on me.

 

I kissed and licked down the centerline of his spine to the soft, hairless concavity just above the beginning of his ass-crack. He rocked slowly back and forth, probably rubbing his cock-head against the soft carpeting. My tongue explored further... eating the ass I would fuck. He was perfectly cleaned... probably douched before he left home... just the soft skin and residual muskiness of sweaty boy-ass. I drove my tongue into him to show him how it felt. He tensed, then rocked back against my face asking for more.

 

I pressed his knees farther apart then and reached through to grip his cock. Folding it backwards slowly, I alternated between hole and cock-tip with my tongue, making him moan softly.

 

I rose again and draped my chest over his back again. "Tell me what you want, boy.  Beg for it."  My cock swayed between his inner thighs touching one, then the other.

 

"I want you to fuck me," he said. "Fuck me."

 

"Louder, boy. Tell me how much you want it."

 

"I want you inside me... all the way," he began... "I want you to slam it into me ...show me what guys like you can do... hurt me..."

 

"I'll take you fast... and it won't hurt too much," I said. "I want to feel you cum," I added. "Get it hard.

 

He supported himself with one arm while reaching down to jack himself with the other. As I moved in the darkness to press my cock into him, I felt the towel that Troy and I had used to wipe the sweat of hard labor from our bodies as we worked. I lifted it to his face.

 

"My knee," he said. "It hurts... the edge..."

 

I pressed the towel under his knee as an impact pad. He'd need it shortly.

 

I worked my cock into his crack, letting his anatomy guide it to the opening... a hot, quivering "well" with a target in its center... the "glory spot"... the "pucker-hole." As soon as it was lodged in his opening, I reached for his hair and grabbed a handful, arching his back as I shoved it in.  He gasped to inhale, then yelled as I impaled him with all nine inches. He was as tight as a fist gripping a tree branch on the edge of a cliff. So tight, he could probably have hung upside-down suspended on my shaft. 

 

I straightened-up then and gripped his slim hips in my hands... mostly to gauge the position of his ass in the blackness. Then I pumped in and out with increasing force and depth. His moans filled the small chamber.

 

"Now...now...now..." he repeated as each thrust slipped a few centimeters deeper. "Oooh! oooh! oooooh!!" My thighs were slapping his ass on the in-stroke. His hole gaped open on the out-stroke, from the feel of it. Changing pace... changing depth... switching from full strokes to short jabs... changing the angle... I fucked his ass every way I knew. He was moaning now with each thrust... just like the sounds in the movie theater below, I imagined.

 

I felt him reach for his own cock again... jacking it in-rhythm with my thrusts.

 

"Gonna... gonna shoot," he grunted between moans.

 

"Before you do," I said, "Roll over."

 

He sank to the carpet as I lifted his left leg and used it to twist his entire body, still impaled on my shaft, until he was on his back... legs waving against my chest... hand pressed against my chest. I rocked into him with full hip-thrusts, feeling my thighs slap against his ass-cheeks. He was clutching me, clawing at my shoulders to pull me into him. I crawled onto the low platform as I fit my shoulders between his knees. He gasped at the change-of-angle because it brought my cock-tip in direct contact with his prostate.

 

"God, I love it!" he cried. His fist beat against my abs as he jacked himself full-stroke. "Fuck me! Fuck me!." His voice trailed-off to a loud moan as his body tense before shooting. As the cum-spurts struck my chest, his body recoiled, driving me backwards. My cock slipped entirely out of him before I could thrust forward again full-depth. My cum exploded into the condom as the head surged to new depths. He screamed and shot again; I could feel the spasming tightness on my swollen shaft. I collapsed onto him and found his Adam's apple with my wide-open mouth, sucking and licking his neck from his jugular notch to his chin as we convulsed together, coming down from the sexual high. He almost purred as I made my cock throb gently inside him a few more times. 

 

"That was incredible," he finally managed to say. "The anticipation... the surprise... the overpowering... the whatever-you-call-it... 'fucking' isn't powerful enough to describe what just happened." He was still breathing heavily and combing his fingers through the wet hair of my temples. I brushed the hair off his damp forehead. 

 

"It was good for me, too," I said. "Great, even." I paused to get my breath. "The first fuck of many in this place, I'll bet." (Not counting the times that Troy and I had paused during our work for a "quickie.") His cum-drenched fingers trailed over my back as if to say "Count me in."

 

==================================

 

"Where ya been all night?" Troy said as I joined the last stragglers coming back to the bar at closing time. "I came downstairs to watch you work that boy over, but they said you left and never came back. And you never left the bar... so I wondered where you holed-up." He smiled at his own unintentional pun.

 

"I took that guy upstairs," I said. Then seeing his surprise, I added "Not to the Quarters. I wouldn't do that. I took him to the Labyrinth. Sorta 'initiated' it... with a little boy-ass action ...and a shower of cum-spray."

 

"Well, I'd planned to christen it with champagne," he said without smiling. "And I'd planned that the first official fuck would be ours... up there next weekend when it's all finished. I guess you jumped the gun on me." He looked disappointed. "But... It was my own damn fault. When I saw that boy, I knew he was for you... and you did what you wanted to do with him. I shouldn't expect anything else."

 

"Let's go to bed," I said. "I think I can make it up to you... and we can look at the fucking ad-previews in the morning."

 

He nodded and turned toward the stairs.

 

================================

 

"Whaddaya think?" I said, waving the pages in front of his nose as he tried to stir his coffee. He was a more discriminating critic than I had imagined. He looked at each of the five proposals and told me what he liked... and what he didn't like about each one. And we discussed alternatives.

"I want your ass in one of these pictures," he said. "I don't care who else... but I want you."

 

"Not my face," I said. "It'd be just my luck to apply for a job with someone who had a porn magazine in his left, lower desk drawer with a picture of ME on the back cover. I might get hired for the wrong reason," I said with a smirk.

 

"If they ever saw your ass, they'd hire you for the right reason... in a split-second," he said, reaching around to pat me softly. "Seeing is believing."

 

"Let me re-work the ones you like," I said as I picked up the pages. "And I'll have them ready for you to send off to magazines next weekend. Or... we can do some photography next weekend when I come back."

 

"You're making me look forward to weekends, ...that's for sure," he said, mussing my hair. "Now let's see what kind of damage you and Pretty-boy did upstairs. Do I need to bring a mop?"

 

======================================

 

We worked for several hours that afternoon... cutting a few glory-holes... building a few more platforms for the larger ‘rooms'...sanding some rough places in the floor that might give guys splinters. We shouted back and forth to each other from various locations in the labyrinth as we worked on separate projects. The afternoon went by quickly... and soon it was time to re-stock the bar and get ready for a busy Saturday night.

 

"You look tired. Go upstairs and take a short nap before the doors open," Troy said. "We want you in prime form tonight. Who knows? Maybe Pretty-boy will be back for more."

 

"No," I replied as I turned. "Done him."

 

======================================

 

I awoke with a start. The thump of the loud music rose from the floor. Things were under-way.  Rumors had opened. I looked at the clock. 10:30!! Troy didn't come up to wake me. I got dressed, partially, and went downstairs two-at-a-time. 

 

"There you are," he said. "Sorry, I've been so busy here, I didn't have a chance to come upstairs to give you the Prince-Charming kiss to awaken you." 

 

As I reached under the bar to retrieve the collar, Hammer strode into the bar from the backroom.  Apparently, he had arrived early and had already been downstairs. Tim was in-tow behind him, gripped by the front of his white undershirt with a tight fist. Hammer was pulling him toward the door. I stepped from behind the bar to meet them in the middle of the crowded floor.

 

"Hey," I said.

 

"Hey, yourself."

 

"Want to share him?" I asked, walking beside him as he approached the door.

 

"No way,"  he growled.

 

"What about ME," I said, raising my voice.

 

"I've had you," he said. "Enough for me."  He exited, filling the doorway and leaving no room for me to follow him.

 

I was astonished. How could he do this?  I followed Tim out the door. Hammer shoved him against the brick wall and said "Stay right here. Don't go anywhere," and we walked together farther into the parking lot away from the crowd gathered around the door. 

 

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "What did I do? What did I say?"

 

"It's nothing you did," he began. "It's not you. It's me. When I start caring about someone the smallest bit, it's time to move on. Love'em and los 'em... that's the story of my life."

 

"This one-time-thing is bullshit," I shouted, enraged. "And you had me twice. You can't even fucking COUNT."

 

He shoved me backward against the hood of a car, then motioned for Tim to join him. I stood helplessly as they mounted Hammer's bike and sped away.

 

"He's drunk," Troy said as I returned to the bar. "Don't pay much attention to what he says." But Troy couldn't look at me when he said it, because he wasn't sure it was true.

 

I went upstairs for a while... to lie on the bed and to think. But eventually the lure of the backroom on a Saturday night helped me forget what had happened. I knew Hammer wouldn't be back that night, so I took my place as his rightful heir and fucked-away the anger until closing time.

 

========================================

 

If you care about people, you don't humiliate them in public. You don't ignore them or send them away. You don't suddenly turn to ice and forget the past.

 

But maybe you do. Perhaps rejection leaves a deep scar that never heals completely.

 

 

 

 

As to your first love, earnestly though you may deny it to later partners and even to yourself, nothing will ever match its ecstasy, laced as it is likely to have been with reckless innocence. Jan Morris (b. 1926), Anglo-Welsh travel writer. Pleasures of a Tangled Life, 1989.

 

Sensuality without love is a sin; 

love without sensuality is worse than a sin.

Jose Bergaman (1895-1983), Spanish writer. El cohete y la estrella (The Rocket and the Star), 1923.

 

I took out my frustrations on my own body, spending extra hours at the college gym and the Natatorium. A heavy sweat felt good. Sex and exercise have that in common. And working on my body satisfied that inner need to be desired. Nothing is more attractive, nor gathers more attention, than a shirtless guy in black cotton exercise shorts, gleaming with a sheen of sweat, who is totally focused on intense, punishing exercise and is totally unaware of those around him. I got plenty of looks, but no one approached me. Perhaps it was the threatening scowl on my face. And I made sure they got a good look in the locker room, too... standing naked longer than usual... and even shaving that way in front of the mirror. "If you got it, flaunt it," I always say.

 

I began to see the gym, and the entire campus, in a different light... a straight-world version of Rumors' back-room. Gay guys were there, too, mixed-in with all the straight ones. And all I had to do was to goad them into making a first move, and, once I knew they were interested, I could take over and the rest would be back-room fun without the hour-long drive to Altoona. Not an approach... not a pick-up line... just a glance, a lick of the lips, a hand brushing a chest... even a raised eyebrow. All I had to do was to make myself available... or perhaps even a little bit aloof... and they would find me. And I would seal the deal with a whisper into an ear or a straight-forward comment that was impossible to misinterpret. My choice; my way.

 

==============================

 

I drove back to Altoona on Friday evening with the completed ad for Rumors and the accompanying paperwork; a release from the photographer to use the picture; a dozen black-and-white glossy copies of the photo-plus-text to send to magazines; and a list of business addresses for the magazines on Troy's list. All he needed to do was to write the checks and we'd be in business. Rumors would be a "destination" for horny guys from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, Scranton to Charleston, and Buffalo to D.C. I had dreams of a gay hotel, a resort, the gay-capitol of the east coast, second only to New York. Big dreams, that's what advertisers provide to clients... and to the target audience.

 

I got there just before the doors opened. After a few hard knocks on the front door, Troy let me in to help him and I showed him the ad. He was so proud, he taped one of the pictures to the mirror behind the bar. "Get that shirt off," he said. "Let's open this place up for business."

 

The Friday-night crowd always seemed to be frantic for pleasure. Perhaps the long workweek kept all the energy pent-up and ready to explode on the weekend. Although the place was usually more crowded on Saturdays, there was more noise, more intensity, and more blatant sexuality on a Friday. Everyone was wired!

 

"Take over for me," Troy said, tapping me on the shoulder as I sat with my back to the bar, surveying the raucous patrons. "I need to get some more small bills out of the safe." 

 

"Sure," I replied. "As long as they stick to beer and the standard mixed drinks, I think I can handle it."

 

"I hope someone orders a "Cum-spray," just to see the look on your face," he said with a chuckle. "You'd probably consult the recipe guide before you realized he wasn't ordering a drink." We both laughed.

 

As soon as Troy headed upstairs to open the safe, Hammer entered with his usual entourage, but this time, there was a new "member", a young kid who looked no older than 14. They had apparently stripped him in the parking lot because he was naked except for white bikini underwear and a collar around his neck attached to a short chain held in Hammer's fist. A few guys were carrying items of his clothing. He looked a little bewildered or even frightened, covering his genitals with his hands as he moved through the crowd of men trying to get a piece of him.

 

Hammer glanced in my direction. I wasn't wearing the collar. As we locked eyes, his face turned dark and dangerous. Then he turned quickly and led the boy into the backroom and, presumably, downstairs. It took a few minutes for the noise level to subside to a gentle roar again. The sight of such fresh "meat" had aroused the meanest instincts.

 

Even Troy noticed it when he returned. "What happened?" he asked. "I heard some shouting when I was upstairs, and now everyone seems hyper. Were you dancing on the bar while I was gone?"

 

"No," I said, not knowing exactly what to tell him. "Hammer showed-up... a big scene... he had a boy in-tow, definitely underage. At least I think he was. He looked scared."

 

"He probably picked up another one of those hitch-hikers on the Interstate... run-aways from God-knows-where. He can sweet-talk ‘em onto the back of that bike and then make ‘em feel grateful. Then he twists it into sexual favors... and they're fucked before they know it. I've seen it happen before." His face was getting red. "But he's not gonna get me shut-down for getting a minor drunk... or worse. He's using my place as his own fuck-palace. I'll be right back." He reached under the bar to retrieve a cut-off baseball bat, something I'd never seen him use before. He pushed his way through the crowd and headed through the backroom. I'd never seen him so angry.

 

I tended bar for a few minutes, anxious for Troy's return. Then I heard it... a wave of sound approaching like a freight-train. "A fight! A fight! There's a fight downstairs!" The crowd surged toward the back room. I came around the end of the bar in a full-run and began shoving my way through the crowd. "You better help him," someone shouted to me. "They've got him." The stairway was packed. I practically crawled over guys' backs to reach the hallway, which was also packed with bodies. I shouted some obscenity, I don't remember what, and a narrow passage formed so I could enter the room.

 

Three guys had Troy immobilized... arms behind his back... someone around his ankles... a forearm under his chin. His shirt was in shreds... and someone was working on the buckle of his pants. Hammer stood a few feet away, brandishing the cut-off bat like a dildo-sword. With his other arm, he grasped the young kid who was now totally naked and in-chains.  

 

"Let's see if he's as tight as when I used to fuck him," Hammer shouted. "He hides behind that bar upstairs like a eunuch in a harem. Let's show him what it's really like, for a change."

 

Troy struggled, but he couldn't break the hold around his neck. He couldn't open his mouth, but he was still trying to shout something. And he hadn't seen me yet because he couldn't turn his head. His pants were down around his ankles now and Hammer was stroking that bat as if he were lubing it for action.  

 

"Let him go, Hammer!" I shouted.

 

"Well, ...here's Lover-boy to rescue his Daddy," Hammer said as he released the boy, who shrank back into the crowd which quickly engulfed him. Hammer whirled to face me... and the men holding Troy turned him so I could see his face, fully, for the first time. There was a large cut over his right eye, which was blinded by the blood streaming from the cut. There was another scrape on the side of his face. He struggled furiously when he realized I was there... probably to distract Hammer's attention from me. But Hammer stepped forward. "Are you ready, boy? Do you think you can take me and all my buddies? You're gonna get your ass fucked, too... and this'll be a time you won't want to count."

 

"Just get out of here, Hammer," I shouted. "Leave and take your bunch with you. Troy is only trying to protect this place." I turned to the crowd. "Guys, ...can't you see? If this place gets closed-down, where will you all go then?" I shouted. There was a mumble of agreement, but no one made a move to help Troy.

 

Hammer took another step, reaching for me as he swung the bat in a practice-swing. "I don't want to hurt that pretty face," he taunted. We circled each other as the crowd made room for us.  I felt hands patting my shoulder... a form of encouragement. He was motioning "come on" with beckoning fingers as our eyes locked. Then he feigned a lunge and laughed as I jumped back.  The crowd murmured a warning. Then he lunged again, for-real this time. I grabbed his hand in mine and immediately ducked under my own arm to twist his arm. He spun to the side in response to the pain, and I reversed direction, twisting the other way, bringing his arm up over his shoulder and back. As I applied all my weight to his hand, there was an audible tearing of ligaments and the crunch of bone. He yelled in sharp pain. Two fingers had folded back all the way to the back of his hand, and one showed a jagged bone fragment. The entire room seemed to freeze for a split-second that seemed like an eternity. Then Hammer bolted for the door, knocking over several guys in his way. He fought his way up the stairs, one-handed, like a wounded animal. I followed for a few steps, but then returned to free Troy. The guys who were holding him had already released him and had melted back into the crowd. He rubbed his wrist and one shoulder, trying to get the feeling back in his fingers.  

 

"Thanks, Bud. None of my Navy tricks worked. There were too many of ‘em." He bent to pull up his pants. "You saved my ass."

 

Those in the crowd who had hung-back in fear now came forward to congratulate me.

 

"He's strong, but you're fast!" "Gave that fucker what he deserved." "Look out." "He's got a mean streak and a long memory."

 

One of the regulars, who had "welcomed" me to Rumors that first night, slapped his hand firmly on my shoulder and said loudly, "Now we'll have to call you ‘Breaker-Brian' for breaking that fucker's fingers... or maybe we'll just call you ‘Breaker.' That was how the nickname began... and the legend of the young knight deposing the King. 

 

I asked the crowd to make-way as Troy and I went back upstairs. He washed his face in the bar sink while I prepared a plastic bag filled with ice to stop the bleeding. Then he resumed his bartending duties, despite a sore shoulder. I could see him wince occasionally as he hoisted two beers over the edge of the bar.

 

One of the older patrons called me over for a few words. "I was sitting right here when Hammer stormed out," he said. "Mad as Hell. He said something about burning the place down, so tell Troy to watch out," he added.

 

I relayed the message to Troy.

 

"I'll mention it to Dan, that closeted cop who shows up here regularly. He'll know what to do," said Troy. "Maybe a restraining order... or a security guard. Maybe Dan could watch the place when he's off-duty. He'd love getting paid for watching. That's what he does most of the time anyway." He smiled, despite the gravity of what he was suggesting.

 

The boy. I had forgotten him in the moments after the fight. Where had he gone? Was he OK? I rushed back downstairs to look for him.  

 

He was crouching in the dark corner of the Pit, trying to look as small as possible. No one was harming him, but no one was helping him either. I knelt and lifted his chin. Perhaps he was mildly drugged... his face showed no expression or recognition. His wrists were still cuffed to the chain that connected the collar to a leather cock-ring; his fists were tightly clenched in the iron cuffs.

 

"Are you OK?" I asked as I reached for the chain to pull him to help him stand. He staggered to 

his feet, still trying to cover himself unsuccessfully with his cuffed hands. "Did anyone hurt you?"

 

"I'm kinda sore... down there," he murmured quietly, nodding in the general direction of his pelvis. They had probably stopped to fuck him along the road before bringing him to the bar for more games. "And my clothes..."

 

"First, let's get you out of these cuffs," I said, realizing that Hammer probably had the key... and he had probably headed for the hospital.  

 

He jerked against the chain, but only succeeded in giving his cock and balls a vigorous shake.  "Come with me," I said. "Can you walk?"

 

He took a few steps as if he still had a cock buried up his tight, recently-virgin ass. "I think so," he said, limping a little.

 

"All the tools are upstairs... where we've been working. But I can probably find something there to jimmy these old cuffs. They look like they're left-over from Ivanhoe." He didn't have the faintest notion of what I was talking about. I led him up the stairs and to the freight elevator.  There were a few catcalls and invitations. His youthful body, dirty and hunched over, still had the appeal.  

 

On the third floor, I found Troy's massive toolbox which contained an old pair of bolt cutters, a cold-chisel, and a hammer... and I began to work on the cuffs. They were hand-made soft iron, so I could break the hasp without needing to tackle the much harder steel of the padlock. With his hands free, he quickly reached for the cock-ring while I unbuckled the collar. His wrists were abraded a little under the cuffs... and he rubbed them gently.  

 

"Let's get you cleaned up... and find some clothes," I said. He nodded appreciatively.

 

I let him use the shower on the 2nd floor... and while he washed himself, I scouted Troy's closet and bureau for anything the kid could wear. Everything was too big, but it would have to do... a large white tee-shirt, some long shorts, a long belt to cinch them up, and some flip-flop shower sandals.

 

He came out of the shower wrapped in two towels... one around his waist and one over his shoulders... as if showing a few inches of bare skin would get him fucked again. I tossed him the clothes and left the room. "Come downstairs when you can. The stairs are over there."

 

"What are we gonna do with him?" I asked Troy after I explained what I had done.

 

"We'll help him out a little and send him on his way, I guess. What's his name?"

 

"I forgot to ask," I replied, feeling a little foolish. Of course, boys like him have names. The anonymity of Rumors was becoming the way I operated.

 

He came down the stairs at that moment, looking a little silly in the oversized, baggy clothing.  The shirt hung off his shoulders and the shorts were gathered into pleats around his waist by the cinched belt. He looked abnormally small, like a kid trying on his dad's suit for Halloween. But he had a smile now, even though he still covered his pelvis with one hand as if protecting himself from attack.

 

"I'll bet you're hungry," Troy said. "Not much for a growing boy to eat down here... some beef jerky, some milk or cream. How about some peanuts or chips?" He was dragging food from the shelf behind the bar and stacking it in front of the kid. "And... what's your name, by the way?"

 

"I'm Jeremy," he answered. "But everyone calls me Jay-Jay because of my initials."

 

"Right out of Junior High," I thought to myself.

 

"Are you from around here?" Troy was leaning over the bar so the conversation would seem more personal and not an inquisition.

 

"I'm from Pittsburgh," he said. "At least I was."

 

"Did Hammer pick you up there?" Troy continued.

 

The boy looked around the room quickly at the mention of his name. "Yeah," he answered after a pause. "About 3 days ago, I think. Me and my buddy... but we got separated along the way.  He was riding on someone else's motorcycle... and they just disappeared. Hammer said they'd catch-up, but they never did."

 

"And you've been at his place?" I asked.  

 

"I guess so," he said vaguely. "There were other guys, too." I could only imagine what he'd experienced.

 

"Stay here tonight," Troy interjected. "It's after 1:00 am, so there's no place else to go. And then we'll decide what to do in the morning."

 

J.J. nodded his assent and propped his head with his hands, elbows on the bar. He looked like he could drift off to sleep any second.

 

"Back upstairs," I said. "I'll fix up a place for you to sleep... on the couch."  He complied eagerly.

 

"Thanks, Mister," he said. I suddenly felt old.

 

==============================

 

In bed, Troy and I discussed the options. Troy wanted to give him money for a bus ticket, but I knew he'd probably use the money for something else, or he'd head even farther from home and into the subculture of lost, exploited boys from which he had just escaped. I'll take him back to Pittsburgh," I said. "I know someone who'll ‘mother' him long enough to get some help and find his family. She did it for me... she'll do it for him."

 

I'll still give him some money," Troy said. "He'll either steal or pan-handle without it. And we both know where that'll lead."

 

"Are you OK?" I asked. "How's your shoulder?"

 

"Strong enough to hold onto you," he said, dropping his arm over my chest. We lay there, too tired to do much more, but too awake to sleep. He shifted to kiss my forehead. I snuggled closer, familiar now with his hard body and comfortable with his touch. I could lie with him like this, or even fuck with him, if only he wouldn't take every action as a promise for the future. The future was too uncertain... for me, at least. Things to do, places to go, a career to launch, a life to make for myself. He wanted more than that... and every time I gave him a small bit of me, he wanted the whole package. I couldn't give him what he wanted... and he couldn't be satisfied with the here-and-now. We were at loggerheads even though our relaxed comfort with each other belied it.

 

Suddenly the door opened. We both startled, forgetting for a moment that J.J. was in the Quarters. He looked around the edge of the door with wide eyes.

 

"I... sorta... had... a bad dream," he said haltingly. He was only partially awake. "I woke up not remembering where I was, and all the memories came back."

 

"You're safe here," I said, sitting up. He saw that I was naked... and in-bed with Troy.

 

"You guys are... that way, too?" he said as he took a few steps through the door. "Can I sleep here?" he continued, looking at the broad bed without much spare room.

 

"You sure you want to?" Troy asked, wondering how he could tolerate the closeness after what he'd been through.

 

"I'd feel safer here," he said, "...than I would in the dark, alone. I think so, anyway. I'll sleep on the floor if you want."  He started to drop to one knee.

 

"No, right here," Troy said, patting the bed between us. "Just don't mind my snoring and Brian's kicking. He sleeps like a big dog sometimes."

 

"You're the first one to complain," I added.

 

J.J. crawled between us from the foot of the bed. Still wearing the baggy shorts, he lay between two naked men... touching neither of us. Then he closed his eyes, relaxed, and fell soundly back to sleep. Within a minute his mouth sagged open and his breathing slowed.  

 

Troy gave me the "what now?" look... then reached for the light switch. We lay there, listening to him breathing, until we joined him in sleep.

 

=============================

 

We woke up at around 11. It was about a 2 hour drive from Altoona to Pittsburgh, and then over 3 hours back to State College, so I wanted to get an early start. Or perhaps I'd drive back to Altoona to spend another night at Rumors. I hadn't decided. We worked two hours on the Labyrinth, adding the final details. Even J.J. helped with some touch-up painting. The opening would be the following Friday night. I didn't want to miss it. There wasn't time for massive advertising, so Troy was depending on word-of-mouth. Lots of guys had heard about the new addition; their curiosity was aroused. At five bucks a head the expenses for materials might be off-set the first weekend. And it would put the place on-the-map. Watching J.J. trying to find his way in and out of the maze proved that it would be a big hit. He was a smart kid. He learned to run through the whole maze in about 5 minutes... without the added incentive-to-linger that darkness would bring.

 

=======================================

 

The drive to Pittsburgh was uneventful. He rarely spoke. I think he was still a little afraid of me after the fight with Hammer. Afraid, perhaps, that I would do the same things to him that Hammer had done... but younger guys had never been much of an attraction to me.  

 

He wouldn't tell me where he lived. And he refused to go to Deb's, so I dropped him off at one of the major downtown bus-stops and gave him ten dollars. I think Troy had given him money, too... but I didn't know how much. He did have the manners to say "Thank you," but then he hurried off into the busy Saturday dinner-hour pedestrian traffic.

 

I could have gone back to Rumors... or to Mikey's... or back to my dorm in State College... but then I remembered Hammer's descriptions of his trips to Pittsburgh and Liberty Avenue.

 

By the time we moved to Pittsburgh when I was a kid, Liberty Avenue had already undergone 

the transformation from run-down small businesses to the cheap-rent-district for gay-bars, porn shops, and other low-life entertainment establishments. But the artists had moved-in lately... and the 1930s architecture had been spruced-up and given a new coat of paint. New business had moved-in, too... copy-centers, avant-garde clothing stores, retro shops... so the place was bustling with activity.

 

I parked on one of the side-streets. Hammer wouldn't be here. Two broken fingers would take a few days of recuperation before he could handle the bike again. No chance of an immediate return-match. I suddenly felt invigorated by "the hunt."

 

Around the corner, the bar "La Cage" beckoned. [Later, it was combined with a store next-door and remodeled into the present-day Babylon.] It was early, but the crowd was gathering... not as familiar and friendly as Rumors... but the unknown had its allure, too.

 

I crossed the threshold to try my luck...

 

       

 

The pleasure principle: In psychoanalysis, the demand that an instinctive need (usually sexual or aggressive) be gratified, regardless of the social or practical consequences. Sigmund Freud held that the id was dominated totally by the pleasure principle, but that, with the development of the ego and superego, individuals become aware of the demands of social reality (the reality principle), and thereby learn to temper and regulate their quest for pleasure. The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition.  2002.

 

 

The burly guy at the door held out his hand as if he were expecting something. I paused, not knowing what he wanted.

 

"Five bucks," he said without looking up, and while reading ‘Male Bondage'. "And an ID," he added. I had never been to a bar like "La Cage" that had a cover-charge, so it took me a minute to pull my wallet out of my tight jeans and to dig out the bills and the driver's license.  

 

He looked up then... from my knee to my pelvis and up the centerline of my black lycra muscle-shirt. "For you... only two," he said as he gripped a pair of the bills I held out for payment. "A discount for guys like you." He checked the driver's license, "...Brian." He smiled as if he wanted something.  

 

I stepped past the small table and entered the dark front-room. "La Cage" was a typical, small gay-bar in a large city... about fifty feet wide and a hundred-and-fifty feet long... an old building with its deterioration covered-up by too many coats of paint, the most recent one black... a floor of worn linoleum... booths and mismatched chairs and tables placed too close together. I learned later that there were two bars, one in front for the regulars who simply wanted to drink and converse, and a second, in the rear, with loud music, a bar upon which boys could dance, and a small stage just one step down for more sensuous, public ‘activities'. 

 

The only lights in the front barroom were beneath the array of bottles behind the bar... brown, clear, green, and gold... they made the swarthy bartender glow like copper. A small candle flickered on each table in response to muttered conversations of faces hunched forward and lit eerily from below. They contributed more heat than light. The low rumble of male voices... the clink of ice-cubes... the distant throbbing of augmented-bass... the ripple of suggestive laughter.

 

I strolled through the milling crowd almost unnoticed and sat on the first available barstool. I spun to face the crowd, feet on the stool-rail and legs spread casually and invitingly. I was in no hurry for a drink; the night was just beginning.

 

To my left, hunched onto the bar on his elbows, was a lanky young guy staring dejectedly at the scuffed mahogany surface. He held a glass of partially melted ice cubes which he swirled occasionally with a supple wrist. His tight, white, boot-top jeans and fluorescent orange Hawaiian shirt practically glowed in the dim light. 

 

"Drinking alone... on my birthday," he said, finally looking my way with big, sad eyes.

 

"Well, your glass is empty," I said. "Let me buy you another one... for the occasion."

"It's an Orange Blossom," he said, swirling the cubes again. "...with just a touch of Cointreau and real orange-blossom-water... and a dusting of powdered sugar on the rim... but just cheap champagne."

 

I turned to the bartender who had stepped-up behind me. "A Jim Beam with water on the side," I said.  "And a..."

 

"One of his Orange Blossoms. I know... and I know the recipe." He turned and started mixing the Orange Blossom.

 

"You from around here?" the lanky-boy asked with a soft southern drawl indicating immediately that he wasn't.

 

"I've been in Pittsburgh since I was 13... but now I'm away at college. Just came home for... for some clean laundry." I lied. My mother hadn't done my laundry since I'd gone to school... but the real reason for my visit would have required a long explanation. "You don't sound like you're from around here," I added.

 

"The pride of Hazlehurst, Mississippi... well, not exactly the pride... more like the pussy-boy," he said with a sad grin. "My name is Em... short for Emmett." The drinks arrived as we shook hands... pseudo-formality for a gay bar.

 

"Happy Birthday," said the bartender. "I hope you have many more."

 

"I'm Brian," I said. "You don't look old enough to be in here," I said, checking out his youthful face and soulful eyes. "Did the bouncer card you? He did me."

 

"I gave him a blow-job two weeks ago... and he feels a little guilty because he shot his load into my eye... and I made a big scene out of it, like I'd been shot... so he lets me in now... with no charge. I'm not sure how long it'll last before I have to blow him again."

 

I laughed aloud at the image of him writhing on the floor with an eye-full of cum. "So how old are you?" I asked.

 

"Almost 19," he said.

 

"How can you be ALMOST 19... unless your birthday is within the next 3 hours?"

 

"That's just a ploy to get guys to buy me drinks. Sorry. But you'd be surprised how often it works," he said shamelessly. "You should try it. You're gorgeous. You'd never need to buy a drink in a million years. 'If you got it, flaunt it, honey, ...make it work,' my Aunt Lula used to say.  She was an exotic dancer in her youth."

 

"I've never heard of... Hazelhurst, was it?" I said, trying to remember the name of any town in Mississippi.

 

"About two miles from Slop Jar and a loud-holler from Scrofula... that's what we used to say."  He paused. "It's a joke. It's near Jackson... and only a few minutes from Hell to any gay-boy who happens to grow up there. But, I think I was the only one."

 

"And you live here now?"

 

"Yep. For the last month. I've got a job restocking the CDs in a music store... and wiping the drool off the Sting posters. Bless his heart." He gave a cute little smile that let me know whose drool it was. Suddenly he looked serious again. "And what's a good lookin' guy like you lookin' for on a Saturday night on Liberty Avenue? Do I have a chance?" Before I could answer, he reached out tentatively and stroked the backs of his fingers across the tight fabric covering my pec. "I wish I had those," he said, nodding at my chest. "I'm as flat as Liza Minelli. Maybe someday they'll have pec-implants for guys and I can look like you."

 

"All it takes is some time, some determination, and some sweat," I said. "You could whip that body into shape in no-time."

 

"Does that mean you don't like it the way it is?" he asked with mock disappointment as he slumped in his bar stool. "One thing about us southern gay-boys, we have slim hips, fluffy biscuits, and a wide smile."

 

I laughed and put my arm around his shoulder. "I think tonight may be your lucky night."

 

He crossed his fingers behind his back, for luck, and gave me that big, southern smile. "Oh, My! I think my rectum just winked. Have you been in the backroom?" he asked, nodding toward the closed doors.

 

"This place has a backroom?" I asked, remembering the backroom at Rumors and hoping that there was a similar place to get this guy on his back with his legs in the air.

 

"It has go-go boys and good music," he said. "Some of them are a little lame, but they also let amateurs strip during their breaks. They'd love you," he said, pointing at me in a sexy way and giving me a wink. "Come on, I'll show you." He gripped my forearm and literally dragged me off the barstool.

 

The rear bar was more brightly lit. The tables were even more tightly packed. The walls were lined with standing patrons... to get a better view of the bar, where two naked guys were shaking their ample endowments in the faces of men sitting on the barstools. As we settled against the wall, the music stopped and the two guys bent down to pick up their clothing and a small pile of cash they had accumulated before we arrived. Em waved at one of them and chirped "Hey, sugah." Then he turned to me and whispered loudly over the music that began again, "Don't believe a word that one says. He'd rather climb up a tree and lie to ya than stand on the level ground and tell ya the truth." I could imagine the stories he might tell me about Em.  "The other one, though... bless his heart."

 

"You say that a lot," I observed. "Bless his heart."

 

"Oh, that," he said.  "..It's just southern gay-boy slang for "I'd fuck him." We both laughed at the foibles of southern slang.

 

Two new boys ascended the bar, both attractive... one wearing a tightly fitting baseball uniform, the other wearing street clothes. They began to move in time with the music as the audience began to clap, apparently a sign that they approved and wanted the boys to start stripping immediately. We found an empty table closer to the bar.

 

"Do you meet many guys here... you know, ...for sex?" I asked, trying to decide whether this place was somewhere I'd frequent when I was in-town.

 

"Yep!" he replied with a wink. "Honey, even a blind hog finds an acorn once in a while! But, so far, it's only been blow-jobs in the alley... getting or giving... but I don't complain."

 

Our conversation was interrupted by a guy who clamped his fist on Emmett's shoulder and turned him to the side. "Hey, Em... why don't you get up there and show these boys how to move?... and bring your friend with ya!"  

 

"No, no..." I said with a grin. "My best moves are in a prone position. I'm no dancer. But, go ahead, Em. Show me what you can do... Bless your heart."

 

He smiled and batted his lashes. "Sugah... when you've got show-business in your blood, you don't need to be asked a third time." He stood... posed demurely as those at surrounding tables started to applaud. By now, the two boys were naked and stroking themselves in-time with the music. Em climbed the short stairs to the bar, stepped past one of them, and took his position in the center. His movements were minimal, at-first... just swaying and stroking the contours of his body with sensuous hands... but as the audience began their rhythmic clapping, he unbuttoned his outrageous shirt slowly, feigning embarrassment, which drove the audience wild. With his back to the audience, the shirt slipped slowly from his broad shoulders revealing the V-shaped back and narrow waist. As he turned, he threw the shirt directly at my face, and I caught it in a quick grab. He smiled that crooked smile and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Come and get me, Big Boy."

 

He kicked off his loafers behind the bar and began to open the fly of his white jeans ever so slowly. The other two had joined him and were stroking his chest and shoulders as he exposed the faint treasure-trail and flat lower abs. At that moment, I realized that he was making eye contact with only me... as if he were dancing to seduce me. I gave him a raised eyebrow, a crooked smile, and a slight nod. We would fuck later that night. The pants were so tight, it was like removing a wet-suit to get them off. Meanwhile, the others were kissing and stroking each square inch of newly exposed skin. Em feigned mock surprise, but continued to strip. Beneath the jeans he wore the tiniest, white, satin thong held on by strings no thicker than a strand of spaghetti. The money started coming then; patrons pushed forward to stuff bills into the pocket of his thong or beneath the thin straps, catching a quick peek or a furtive caress as they shoved the bills inside. Now he pranced from one end of the bar to the other.

 

 

The feigned shyness was gone. He was Liza Minelli on-stage. The tip of his cock protruded two inches above the margin of the cod-piece... red and flared... a promise of much more. At the end, the thong came off, of course... with his back to the audience...the thin strap in his ass crack suddenly disappeared as he snatched the handful of fabric off... and then he turned to expose his entire shaft unfurled, bobbing in-time with the music as the crowd went wild. When the music stopped, but before the wild applause stopped, he gathered up his clothing quickly and got dressed behind the bar. Then he returned to the table.

 

 

"I don't know what comes over me," he said. "Some of Aunt Lula's influence, maybe.... Although she used a lot of feathers and fans. She was a Flora-Dora girl, my mother says. And I don't think she was even my aunt. But when I get up there, you could butter my butt and call me a biscuit... I'd do almost anything." He looked embarrassed again. "I hope you liked it."

I nodded my assent. "Had enough of this place?"

 

"My Aunt Lula used to say ‘There's no such thing as ENOUGH!'...but, of course, she was married to Uncle Silas."

 

"I plan to put some of those moves of yours to good use," I said. "But, where can we go? I don't have a place here in Pitt to sleep... and my dorm is two hours away. How about your place?"

 

"I don't ..exactly ...have ...a place," he said haltingly. "I'm staying with this guy, or "woman" I met when I got to Pittsburgh. She's never said I couldn't bring someone home. I have my own room. but I haven't done it in the 3 weeks I've been staying with her. Maybe I should give her a call."

 

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Tell her we plan to let her get SOME sleep."

 

"I'm not sure about that," Em said. "I'm as noisy as a hog-caller convention when I get wound-up." He left to find the pay-phone... I learned later that his, ...or her, name was ‘Godiva', and she was a drag queen who lived almost exclusively as a female.

 

It was then that I realized that guys were looking at me... hot guys... guys I'd fuck... just waiting for an offer or an opportunity. A larger percentage of the guys were young, compared to Rumors. And although the place had fewer amenities, the atmosphere here was more highly charged. That's what a big-city college-town had to offer.  

 

One of the dancers, with a dark tan and wearing only his white bikini underwear, sidled over and leaned on the table with a muscular arm. "Care to join me on-stage?" he oozed. "I'd love to open that ‘package' in front of these guys and let you fuck me with it. I'll bet you'd like performing for an audience." He reached back to stroke his ass through the soft, white lycra. "You could make it hurt... and I'd like it. I could show you my tan lines." He paused for a moment. "I don't have any tan lines."

 

"I'm saving it for later," I said confidently. "Some other time. I'll be back."

 

"He's taken." I heard him mutter to another table as he passed.

 

Em returned, wending his ass through the crowd like a car careening through traffic. "She says it's OK... as long as you're cute. I told her to have her smelling salts ready. And we need to wait a few minutes so she can get her girdle on. She's not working tonight, so she was just hangin'-out around the house." Somehow that thought made my cock soften a tiny bit. I grabbed his ass as we left the table. I could tell it was going to be a fine night.

 

The house was an old Victorian a few blocks off Liberty Avenue... partially restored, with a jungle of a flower garden in front, broad steps, and a porch swing. I'll forgo the long narrative of my first meeting with Godiva. Suffice it to say that she was more quiet and demur than I expected, almost motherly to Em. And she disappeared quickly leaving us alone in the broad front hall.  

 

"Y'all come on in and stay a spell," he said, sweeping his arm into the front parlor. "I never dreamed my White Knight in shining armor would be driving an ‘81 Ford," he said as he draped his arms around my neck. "On second thought, take me to the turret."

 

It was almost a turret, actually. His room was a circular room on the corner of the third floor, the summit of a round tower reached by its own tiny staircase. There was a mattress in the center of the floor and a large shoulder-harness backpack spilling its contents onto the floor. The rest of the room was bare. The only ‘decoration' was the surrealistic pattern made by the peeling multi-layers of wallpaper. The only light was a bare bulb hanging from the high ceiling.

 

"It's not much," he said apologetically. "And if I'd known you were coming, I woulda... straightened up a little."

 

"No problem," I said. "We both know why we're here." I turned off the light. The curved windows which stretched three-quarters of the way around the room admitted enough light to find each other in the darkness.

 

"Well, yes. That's true," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "But we southern boys have our manners to maintain."

 

"Bless your heart," I said.

 

He paused, unsure of my meaning, then laughed. "My thoughts exactly," he said, stepping forward to help strip my shirt from my torso. He kissed the back of my arm as I raised it over my head to finish removing the tight shirt. We undressed quickly, then stood facing each other, naked in the moonlight reflecting from the floor and the rumpled white sheets of the bed...

 

I paused for a moment... not only to enjoy the view of his slender nakedness, but also to recognize the unique character of this moment. Not since my childish sex-play with Lee had I been totally alone with someone my own age in a sexually-charged setting. The long hours of nude modeling for John, and the infrequent and unsatisfying sex faded in comparison with this moment. There was no intimacy at Rumors; even the private cubicles were just one thin wall away from the sounds of the sexual pleasure of others. Hammer and Troy were more like mentors than partners; the sex was hot, but they ran the show. But here, it was just the two of us... standing ready to explore and to share pleasure and passion. No encouragement from others... no need to ‘perform'... no expectations beyond a juicy, sweaty climax... no bondage or domination. He simply wanted me... and I wanted him. He reached out slowly with an upturned palm to invite me into his bed on the floor.  

 

I stepped forward and slipped a hand behind his back and pulled him against me. He gave a little moan of pleasure as if I had already met one of his needs, then lifted his thigh to stroke along the outer margin of mine. I felt him tremble, slightly. This was new for him, too... the only gay-boy in a small town was finally finding what his dreams had led him to pursue. I turned him then, with my hands on his waist... pirouetting on one foot, his back slipped against my chest.  My cock nested in the vertical cleavage of his ass as my arms locked around his torso. His head tilted back against my cheek; his hand reached back to stroke my hip. He trembled more noticeably now.

 

"I've waited so long for this," he began, sounding as if he were choking back tears. (And he seemed to have lost some of his southern drawl.)

 

"I know," I murmured.

 

"No, I don't mean I'm a virgin," he added hastily. "I've been fucked in-anger many times... the anger for being different... the punishment for being queer... the advantage of knowing they could get away with it." He paused to suck in a new breath. "But this is different. You want me.."

 

"Yes," I murmured. "For all the right reasons."

 

"I'm trying not to cry," he sobbed. "And I'm not doing a very good job of it."

 

"Just let it out and let it go," I said. "We have all night."

 

I felt him tense in my arms. "There!  No more." He shook his head emphatically. "It's just that you're the first person who ever wanted to touch me that way. And I've wanted it for so long.  And here I am, making a perfect fool of myself."

 

My hand slid down his flat belly and through his soft bush to grip his cock. It was totally soft... cut with a flared head... with ample skin so, even when he was hard, it would slide easily.

 

"And here I am, soft as a ripe persimmon..." He reached down to feel my hand on his  cock.

 

"I can remedy that," I said.  "I'm an expert."

 

He chuckled and turned his head sharply to kiss my cheek.  "I'm a grower, not a show-er, Well, do your magic," he whispered.

 

We moved sideways onto the mattress, then knelt, then lay side by side. I pressed him down with one hand while I reversed direction and rolled onto him in ‘69'-position. His mouth eagerly sought-out my cock as I kissed his inner thighs and spread his legs wide. With a mouth full of saliva I pressed my lips to his shaft, then opened them to take his softness into me. Hard cocks are fine... aroused and ready for action. But soft cocks are like delicate fruit, ready to devour... full of promise. I had seen his cock hard during the strip-tease, and it was hard to imagine that this velvety mass of malleable flesh could expand to the size I remembered. As I thought about it, it began to swell in my mouth. And I began to work it as I had been taught... slow, sensuous moves... concentrating on the tip... constricting the base... teasing the slit.  

 

His hands traced the contours of my ass and lower back, guiding my rhythm to match his swallowing. Without some quick prevention, I would have cum almost immediately. I gripped his face between my thighs and shoved it deep, driving my cock into his throat and leaving it there.  He gagged then, and quickly recovered. But he got the message.

 

His cock was pressing against the back of my throat, so I slid off it slowly leaving a sheen of wet saliva. The head twitched in my lips as I held it momentarily before releasing it. "Grab my knees," I said, ...and lift your knees up into my pits. I'll show you something."  He paused for a moment, as if it took a few seconds for the message to penetrate the sensual fog, then he followed my instructions. I rose onto my knees, then bent at the waist and lifted his ass upward with my hands at the juncture of his ass and lower back, where the pronounced dimples were.  Then I buried my face between his thighs, spit a wad of saliva into the puckered well of his anus, and began to rim him. He reacted as if I had penetrated him... an initial jerk of repulsion, and then a relaxation into the pleasure of it. He lifted his head to kiss my cock-tip swaying above his face.

 

I gave him the full treatment. No boy who has been forcibly sodomized has any idea about the pleasure of rimming, despite any pleasure he has given himself with his fingers. The wide, bathing tongue-licks and the rolled-tongue penetrations are new sensations that focus one's attention on that three-square inch area like a camera lens shutting down to f22. He moaned with pleasure as he tried to capture my swaying cock-tip like a dog leaping for a hotdog on a string. Every time he got close, I'd press into him with my long tongue. I added a probing, wiggling finger to open him wider... which simply made him moan louder.

 

Balancing on one arm, I reached for his right hand with my left, putting my fingers into his clutching palm. We held hands for a moment, acknowledging the mutuality of our need... and then I began to press it into him. At first there was great resistance, the memories of prior forcible penetrations, the reflex to escape... but then his eyes opened, and as he studied my face memorizing it for future recall, I felt a wave of relaxation flood over his body, letting me enter. I took him as quickly as possible, not to prolong the pain. He gasped once, with a furrowed brow and a grimace, and then he settled into the peaceful euphoria of fulfillment, savoring the moment and rocking his pelvis in-rhythm with my in-and-out fucking.  

 

"I knew ...it would be ...like this," he said as he clutched my shoulders in a vice-grip. "I knew it COULD be... like this." His fingers interlocked behind my neck as he pulled himself up to kiss me. I met him with wide open lips and an exploring tongue, fucking him at both ends. He moaned into my mouth, almost rattling my teeth. He broke away, gasping for air. "I knew," he began. His eyes rolled back in the rapture of complete euphoria.  

 

I didn't let him go there completely. "Stay with me," I said. "There's so much more." I kissed him again, driving my head deep into the pillow. He struggled then, momentarily, as I felt his ass tighten on my hard shaft... memories of being forced... cloudy images of humiliation and punishment.  

 

"No, do it," he said, not making complete sense. His hands stroked down my back to grip my hips in an effort to force me in deeper. "I want it." Then he forced a hand between us... to feel the shaft penetrating his ass... to grip it on the outstroke... to feel its hardness as it pulsed into him with increasing force. Then he gripped his own cock as it bounced against his abs and pounded it feverishly as he had done all those years in the privacy of his room. Rising to the pinnacle of sensuality, we soared into the unknown like hawks mating in mid-air. The moonlight made our skin as white as milk, with dark shadows like a Rodin sculpture ...bodies interlocked like wrestlers... the clutching and grasping of need... the raw sounds of primitive desire... the sharp gasps of surprise and exceeded expectations.  

 

Further details are hard to relate. He had pushed me beyond the normal awareness into sex-by-reflex, doing what felt good, testing the boundaries, making-it-up as I went along. I remember rolling him over to fuck him in that position, too... and we continued on-and-off all night.  

 

I awoke in the morning to find him propped up on one elbow, looking at me.

 

"You are SO cute when you sleep," he said, running his finger along my profile. (His southern drawl had returned.) "Your nose sorta wrinkles and your lip curls... like Billy Idol."

 

I smiled but brushed his finger away. It tickled. My body ached from the physical punishment of last night. I felt like I'd done the decathlon.

 

"Do you drink coffee? Of course, you do..." he continued, prattling-away as I imagined his Aunt Lula would do. "I'll get some. You stay right here." He arose, unfolding that lanky body, and slipped into his white jeans that were crumpled on the floor.  

 

When he opened the door, he paused, then released an "Ooooooohhhhh" of surprise and pleasure. "Isn't she sweet? Thank you, Godiva, Sweetie... Look, Brian... She brought us two breakfasts on a tray." He planted the tray on my belly, which was a surprise since my morning hard-on was still at half-mast under the sheet. I struggled to balance the tray while he pulled off the jeans and got back into bed. Orange juice in stemmed glasses, chocolate croissants on doilied plates, mugs of hot coffee, and a single rose in a slender bud vase.  

 

"I'm not letting you get-away," he said, biting the end of the croissant suggestively. "We're gonna shop for china, silver, and linens this afternoon, and..."

 

"Hold on," I said. "You've got the wrong idea about me. Last night was just a pleasure-fuck... not a proposal of marriage." I took a gulp of coffee to prevent me from saying something hurtful.

 

"Oh. I sorta knew that... but you can't blame a girl for trying," he said, wiping some chocolate off the corner of my mouth. "I've heard about you guys... love-‘em-and-leave-‘em." He settled back onto the pillow in mock disgust. "But it was mighty fine while it lasted, all sixty-three minutes of it," he said, back-of-hand to forehead like the heroine in the B-movie.

 

"Listen," I said, breaking the dramatic moment. "I'll probably be back in Pittsburgh someday. It's my home... as much as it can be... and the closest big city. Our paths will cross again... as long as you keep hustling drinks, I'll be there to buy you another someday. But don't expect a long-term affair. It's just not gonna happen."

 

"I'll whisper farewell... and wave from the front porch... like a southern belle bidding adieu to her soldier going off to the Great War," he said, suddenly cheerful again. "Not expecting you to return, of course."

 

As silly and as overly dramatic as Em was, I still found him pleasant and delightful. He made me laugh... and I hadn't been doing enough of that lately. The memories of Rumors came flooding back then... the tug-of-war between Troy and Hammer... the fight... the opening of the Labyrinth next weekend. Life's little diversions could distract for a few moments, but ‘reality' was only hiding in the wings, waiting for her grand re-appearance. I had expectations to meet, actions to uphold, territory to defend. But for what reason?

 

I collected some of the melted chocolate on my thumb as I raised the sheet with the other hand.  "I have this little problem... down here... that maybe you can help me with? Oh... there, I've gone and smudged some chocolate on it. I'll try to keep it off the bedclothes..."

 

"Imagine that," he said, rising onto one elbow again. "And how did you know I'm a sucker for chocolate?..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday's child is fair of face, 

Tuesday's child is full of grace, 

Wednesday's child is full of woe, 

Thursday's child has far to go, 

Friday's child is loving and giving, 

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

And the child that's born on the Sabbath day 

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

 

You would think I'd save my energies for the upcoming weekend, the opening of the Labyrinth at Rumors. But my trip to Pittsburgh and Liberty Avenue "got the juices flowing," so-to-speak, and my level of sexual energy (and probably my testosterone) were at their peak. It became almost a game, a contest with myself, to see how many guys I could tempt into making the first move, to fuck a new guy every night, and to leave them wanting more.

 

Monday's-boy was a guy I met in the shower at the gym. The face of an angel, but the body of a devil, looking much better without the baggy soccer shorts he'd been wearing in the dressing room when I arrived. Just a few additional soapy strokes of my cock caught his attention. I caught him staring at it. He was embarrassed, at first, but he moved to an adjacent showerhead to get a better look and to strike-up a conversation. We went back to his dorm room ...a rare single room with a balcony, to smoke some grass and to fuck into the wee hours. He said he occasionally met guys in the gym, but that he'd never had a night like this one. I walked back to my small apartment at 2 am, still invigorated from the rambunctious sex-play.  

 

=========================

 

I met Tuesday's-boy in the gym also. He was walking through the hall with one strap of his tank top draping over his shoulder revealing the most perfectly formed pec. He rubbed the bare shoulder with a chalky hand... a gymnast, I guessed. He looked upset. The blond hair, dampened and darkened, clung to his forehead like crude bangs.  

 

"Shit!," he said as he passed me.

 

"Excuse me," I said. "Are you OK?"

 

"I just popped my shoulder," he said. "Hurts like Hell and I need a trainer, but none are around.  Think you can shove this back into alignment?"

 

"Just tell me what to do," I said.

 

He explained how to press on his shoulder from behind while pulling on the crest of his trapezius with the other. Every time I touched him to practice, he winced.

 

"Will this hurt?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

 

"It'll hurt for a split second - very badly - but not as much as the cumulative pain of waiting for someone else to do it," he said. "Go ahead... My teammates do it all the time. It's just one of my many weak spots."

 

I rehearsed the move a few times in my imagination and then gave him a quick jerk. He reacted with a reflex shudder, and when I turned him around his face was ashen and his eyes glazed.  "I'm OK," he whispered, then bit his lower lip. A tear deposited itself on his high cheekbone.

 

I talked to him for a few more minutes about how he had dislocated it and how it was happening more and more frequently.

 

"That damned high bar. It's my most difficult event, and the one I hate the most. My trainer was a high-bar specialist, so he pushes me way beyond my ability, he cried softly. "How can I repay you?" he said, glancing down after the word "repay," so that I might not read the real meaning of his question. But I had seen the look in his eye as we had begun the conversation... the eyes like stroking fingers caressing my body... the unconscious tongue-swipes on open lips... the body language of desire.  

 

"When you're feeling better," I said. "When the pain is gone."

 

"Nothing takes my mind off the pain better than a..." He didn't need to say the words; I knew what he wanted. The smile that developed before our eyes met again said more than words.

 

"Where?" I asked, placing my hand on his muscular forearm.

 

"The gymnastics arena is too big... too many doors,.." he said, thinking on his feet. "But, I have a key to the gymnastics equipment room. I'm the team captain, and the coach is out-of-town, so..."

 

"Lead the way," I said with a return-grin. "Maybe you can show me a little floor exercise routine... maybe a little Thomas Flair... but definitely a perfect landing." We both laughed because the images were athletic and sexual at the same time.

 

He was quite a bit smaller than I, with the gorgeous, lean musculature of a champion. Broad shoulders with accentuated deltoids, pecs like slabs of beef, abs that showed the striations of individual muscle fibers, and the trim, square ass that showed that he could do things with those legs that no mortal had ever imagined.

 

"We can leave the light on... or turn it off," he said as he opened the door to the equipment room. The small, square, wire-mesh-imbedded window would provide sufficient light to find the appropriate anatomical parts. I could have done it in the dark.

 

"I'll be careful with the shoulder," I said, pulling him close.  

 

"Don't treat me like I'll break," he countered. "You can't do anything worse to my body than I've done to it myself... a hundred times."

 

I laughed. "And I only get one try. Unlike the Vault."

 

"We'll see about that," he said with a faint smile. I knew this would be the only time we would be together... despite his beauty... despite his grace... despite his agility... despite his intensity of desire.

 

He stood relaxed, waiting for me to make a move. I reached to his shoulder and slipped the remaining strap over the muscular hump. The tight lycra bunched across his pecs. I reached into his shorts then, one hand on each side, and grasped the shirt tail, stripping it upward as he carefully raised his arms above his head in the most elegant way. His torso was hairless... pits, chest, and belly, just the way I liked it... so that every muscle would show when he did his routine. Even in the dim light his body looked like chiseled, flesh-colored, statuary marble. His body was my toy, to enjoy as I wished.

 

"I think I have what you want... in here," he said putting his thumbs in his skimpy shorts.  

 

I took a handful of the thin fabric in my fist and pulled. "Yeah..." I said. "If you're talking about that slim ass." As I pulled, the fabric ripped into three large pieces dangling from the waistband like plates of armor, suddenly useless. He dropped to his knees.

 

"Let me suck you first," he said. "I know what to do." He reached up my inner thigh and gripped my semi-hard cock sequestered in the fabric of my exercise shorts. "I knew you didn't wear a supporter," he said. "Or any underwear. I've learned to judge the bounce-and-the-bulge. Those of us who spend our time in the gym are experts at this. We rate our opponents by their Commando score." He pulled my hard cock out of my shorts, pressing the gathered rayon onto my hip. "There," he said with a smile. "I've got what I want."

 

He leaned forward, gathering first my balls, and then a few seconds later, my cock into his mouth as my cock sprang to attention. I gathered the blond hair into my fist. The curls splayed out of my fingers like yellow cake frosting squeezed in a tight fist. His hungry mouth gulped on the column that would soon violate that fuckable ass.

 

He looked up at that moment, ready to swallow my whole member, but realizing that it would not be enough.  He smiled, knowingly. "You want the Olympic version of my routine?" he said as my cock slipped into his lips.

 

"You can score a ten... maybe," I said, tightening my grip on his hair. "But there are no medals for this."

 

"I can wear this medal in my heart... forever," he said, diving onto my shaft again.

 

"That's not where you'll wear it," I said, beginning the in-and-out thrusts that showed him I meant business.

 

I let him pleasure me with his mouth until the urge was too great. He knew he was preparing me for more.

 

And, in the end, the gymnastic equipment provided the perfect position for fucking... because I bent him over it, at the last minute, and gave him the most sensuous pommel horse routine he had every accomplished... the Splayed Penetration... the Ass-grinding Pirouette, The Y-Spasm, the "Fuck-Me" Flail, the Back-arching Shot-to-the-Heavens, with a sensuous "I-am-Yours"-finale.  The impact of my thrusts lifted him onto his toes as his belly crept over the saddle of "the horse."  Was it my imagination, or did his toes point in just the perfect position to define his gastrocnemius? As the ‘routine' came to an end, I filled him with my cum as if he were a jelly-doughnut.  

 

"You didn't use a condom," he said when it was over.  

 

"I know," I said, feeling guilty. "I know that I'm not positive... so sometimes I forget. It's not PC, I know..."  

 

He said "That's OK, but next time..." His voice trailed off as he sank into that deep relaxation that only hot sex can trigger. "I wanted to feel you inside me... I wanted to feel you fill me. I could have used Tylenol... but you're a hundred-times better." He was covered with a thin film of sweat, and draped over the horse like a wet towel. "I feel like I could do my routine now... and complete every movement... with a perfect score of ten. You're incredible." He reached out with limp arms to gather my neck and shoulders into his grasp. "How about doing the whole team?"  he teased, pulling me down onto him. "They're all closet gay-boys who do all this exercise just to appeal to guys like you. Even the married ones..." he said, pulling me down onto him as if he wanted to start again. As I gathered my clothes, I looked back to see his perfection still draped over the horse like a Michaelangelo Pieta. Or like Saint Sebastian bristling with arrows. The look of satisfaction on his perfect face said it all.

 

=====================================

 

What is it they say about Wednesday's child? "Full of woe?" Well, he was full of something, but the woe probably came the next morning when his stretched ass finally regained some sensation.

 

Wednesday's-boy was someone I met walking across campus that evening. I had been studying late and needed some exercise to take my mind off fucking. But when we passed on the dark sidewalk, our eyes met, and I knew there was a spark of interest. I waited until he had taken several more steps which would put him under a street-light... and then I turned. Yes, he had turned, too. I took a few steps backwards, never removing my eyes from him, until I, too, was in the circle of an overhead lamp. And then I stopped and turned away to lean against the pole to light a cigarette. I heard his footsteps approach without turning. "Don't I know you?" he said.  "I've seen you before."

 

"Do you want to know me?" I asked. "Maybe I was in one of your classes... or maybe we've nodded at the gym. I'm there quite a bit."

 

"Yeah... it looks like it," he said, taking in my chiseled torso accentuated by the overhead light.  He brushed his hand subconsciously over his own chest, giving the nipple a flick through the thin tee shirt with his thumb. "You got a place to go?"

 

"Right here," I said. We were standing near the clump of rhododendrons in front of the Carnegie Building, where John had sucked me the first time just a little over a year ago.

 

"Here?  Under the street light?"

 

I gave him one push in the center of his chest that pushed him into the darkness. "No, Dickhead," in the bushes." I pulled aside a branch and brushed past him into the interior of the clump... just feet from the sidewalk, but ever so secluded. He followed, almost stunned. "Get outta those shorts."

 

In the darkness, he gave me a puzzled look, as if this was not what he'd intended. But his hands moved to his belt buckle and the shorts were at his ankles in one second. He stepped out of them as I pushed him backward a step, then opened my jeans. "Against the wall," I said. "Do it."

 

He looked afraid momentarily, as if he had intended a handshake, and was now being expected to deliver a blow-job... or he had intended a blow-job, but now was expected to... my intent was sinking into his consciousness. He turned to the brick foundation of the building as I pulled off my loafers, tee shirt, and jeans, retrieving that condom I carried at all times for "emergencies."  This would be a quick one... just enough to satisfy my urge for danger and his urge for sexual contact. I pushed his tee-shirt up his back as I approached. My chin tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck as my hand pressed the other shoulder against the rough brick. With the other hand, I stripped the condom onto my already-hard shaft. He felt its size against his hip and he tried to turn his head to say something, but before he could, I growled "I'm gonna fuck your boy-ass right here where you'll remember it every time you walk by. Roll that ass toward me."

 

He did it, pressing his chest against the sharp brick and digging his fingernails into the mortar-joints. I slipped the tip into the hotness of his crack without even a guiding hand. Its upward curve found the target without a second try. His shape guided me right to the spot. The sphincter spasmed against my tip as if trying to suck me. Some guys were just anatomically meant to be fucked.

 

He moaned as I pressed into him, tight and unprepared for this. With my weight against his back, and digging into the dirt with my toes, I felt his gasp for a breath. If he shouted or even talked loudly, we might be discovered. I move my hand from his shoulder to his face to cover his mouth and to prevent an outcry. He tensed on my cock, more in fear than arousal, but I began the in-and-out motion which would bring us both to a climax. "Keep quiet," I whispered in his ear, "or the campus police will have both our asses." He nodded, and I removed my hand.

 

"God! You're so big," he said.

 

"It gets bigger," I hissed. "Just wait." He moaned softly, now in control of the pain and beginning to enjoy the ride.

 

We sidestepped three feet to the left, dragging his hard cock against the Running Bond of Carnegie. "Put your foot on the pipe," I instructed... "Open you up." The large pipe came through the foundation at a height of about 2 feet, then dove into the dirt. With his foot atop the pipe, his hips rolled wider giving me just the added depth for full-stroke fucking. And, standing on one foot, he needed my help to maintain his balance. He felt the difference immediately as my cock-tip made the curve and surged into new territory. He was frantic now, alternately clutching the wall for support, then pushing himself away for comfort, rolling his pelvis downward to lift his ass, then driving back onto my shaft for more stimulation, groaning with pain, then moaning with pleasure.

 

We came simultaneously. Without touching himself, he shot his cumload over the brick then smeared it into a gleaming sheen with his belly. His ass tightened with each expulsion, heightening my explosive power. We trembled together in the aftermath like boulders shaken together by an earthquake.

 

He was still clutching the wall for support as I retrieved my clothing and got dressed. I left him there, shirt draped over his shoulders and legs still trembling. I remember wondering whether he would recognize me the next time our paths crossed. He would certainly remember this night.

 

=============================

 

Have you ever suddenly become aware that someone is watching you? The intensity of his gaze gave me a burning sensation on the back of my neck. It was like a sixth sense... like taste, smell, or touch... I'll call it Lust... the physical awareness that someone is getting sexual pleasure from observing you.  

 

I was in the Weiss grocery store doing my usual ritual... tracing the aisles from right to left... produce, seafood, meat, canned goods, dairy, frozen foods, bread... always the same order, always the same route. He followed me at a distance, making sure that there was another shopper or another cart between us. Tall, young, dark longish hair and dark eyes, dark skin, chiseled features with rugged handsomeness, large hands, a fit body... he was dropping items randomly into his cart without even looking at the shelves. His eyes were constantly on me... except for the moments when I looked his way. It was hard not to be conspicuous in a tight, red muscle-shirt. I decided to test him, so I suddenly wheeled my cart past him and back four aisles to the produce section again. It took a few moments... but there he was again... following me. I strolled slowly past the green, leafy vegetables... then made a quick right turn that brought me directly past his cart. I paused and leaned toward him, pointing at one particular cucumber in the ordered array. "This one," I said. "Extra-long and thick... just right." (Have you ever watched gay men pick out a cucumber?)

 

He smiled. "Is that how it is?" he said, glancing down at the bulge in the left pant-leg of my jeans. "Ripe and juicy?"

 

I nodded my assent. "Just oozing deliciousness. Skip the frozen food. You're not going straight home from the store," I said. It was then that I noticed the wedding ring on his left hand. 

 

"I was just looking," he said quietly so that other shoppers wouldn't hear. "You're very nice."

 

"Look, but don't touch? Is that it?" I reached for the cucumber and put it in his cart. "Here.  Use this then,..." I said, turning away.

 

"No, wait!" he said, returning the cucumber to its place in the ordered rows. "Let's talk."

 

"Not here," I said. "The corn has ears."

 

He laughed at my stupid joke, but I continued. "In the parking lot... Atherton Street exit. I'll be in a black Saturn." He turned. I watched him walk away. Narrow hips in the low-rise jeans, a fine ass, thin, muscular legs. I imagined them over my shoulders.

 

He was waiting for me at the exit when I finished putting my groceries in the car. "Follow me," he said, bending down to bring his face close to my window. "I know a place."

 

The black Saturn roared off, south out of State College and I followed in hot-pursuit. He obviously knew where he was going, but I was struggling to remember each twist and turn so that I could find my way back to State College. We seemed to be making a wide circle to the south... through Greenwood Furnace State Park... then Turkey Hill Road... and finally a sharp turn onto a road that almost didn't look like a road at all. The entrance was obscured by overhanging trees. The gravel road quickly turned into two mud ruts as it curved up and up again through dense forest. His brake lights signaled that he was slowing to a stop. I pulled up behind him and shut off the engine. He was out of his car by the time I opened my door. We met face-to-face in the silent forest.

 

"The road goes to my father-in-law's summer cabin," he said. "I don't have a key, but no one will come up here. They're in Florida until June." He leaned against the rear fender of the Saturn.

 

"Even the fucking bears would get lost out here," I said, stepping forward so that my thigh brushed his. "But I don't care where we are... as long as you're gonna give me what I want."

 

"It's what I want, too," he said, looking away. "I don't do this often... but..."

 

"You're married." I interrupted. "I saw the ring."

 

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I fooled around with guys when I was in high school and college, but I always considered myself to be bi-. Girlfriends for trophies... maintaining the hetero-image.  And then the condom failed... and she got pregnant... and the rest is history. I'm too young, and trapped in a sad marriage ...with a little daughter, and sometimes I just ache for the touch of another guy."  

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. I knew the ache... but at least I had the freedom to satisfy the 

urge when I felt it. "Well, you wear the ring. You don't need to hide it."

 

"Even when I fuck her...," he said, looking up with sad eyes, "I'm remembering how it feels to be stuffed full of cock and to be pounded into submission. The fantasy makes me fuck her harder, of course... and it's probably the only thing I do right in this fucking marriage."  

 

He swatted a mosquito. It had taken a few minutes for them to find us, but now we were both surrounded by a buzzing cloud of blood-hungry insects. The conversation was interrupted while we moved into the back seat of his car and slapped the remaining mosquitoes that clung to us.  

 

"So much for being alone," I said with a grin. "They're everywhere this time of year." The closeness of a Saturn's back seat provided immediate intimacy for two large guys. I could smell his after-shave mixed with the sweat of arousal. The mood changed as our eyes met; dark sensuality descended like a curtain. We were oblivious to our surroundings. I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. He fumbled with the buttons on my shirt until he had it open to the navel. His mouth settled onto the overhang of my pec, sucking my nipple as his hand slipped up my inner thigh to cup my basket in his fist. 

 

"Extra-long and thick... just right," he said softly. "The perfect cucumber." I pulled the back of his damp tee shirt out of the tight waistband of his jeans. His back felt hot to my touch. The indentation of his spinal column between thick ridges of muscle guided my hand, upward at first, then downward into the tightness of his jeans. He quickly struggled to release his belt, making room for my hand to descend further. His ass-crack was hot and moist, the tight cleavage between muscle-mounds. He rolled closer to me, driving my hand deeper.

 

"Let me see it," he begged. "And then I want to suck you. I haven't tasted cock for six months."

 

"Get it out," I said. "I like my hand right where it is." He smiled as my fingers pressed deeper into him.

 

He unbuckled my belt, still nuzzling my chest, then opened the buttons of my fly. My 

cock spilled-out like lava under pressure. "A beauty," he said with a low whistle. He lunged then, pressing me backward against the car door and diving for my cock with an open mouth. His lips grazed its semi-hardness. His tongue pulled the last bit from the tightness of my jeans.

 

"Get me fully hard, and I'll fuck the shit out of you," I promised. He looked up momentarily as if to acknowledge it with his eyes, then descended again to lift the tip into his lips. His mouth felt so good. I gripped the back of the front seat with one hand and the headrest of the back seat with the other, flaring my lats as he began to suck me seriously. I tilted my head back against the cool glass, imagining my cock sliding between wet lips as I rolled my pelvis slowly in rhythm with his ministrations. "I'll let him get his fill of this," I thought. "He can suck me all day if he can do this good a job." I lay back and enjoyed the ride. "You do a good job,... for a hetero," I said aloud. He looked up, smiled, smacked his lips, and went back to work with the intensity of a wine-taster.

 

His head bobbed over my open fly. His hands gripped the waistband of my jeans at the hips and began to pull them down. I lifted my ass slightly to let the fabric slide between my ass and the car seat. When they were low enough, he circled my balls with his fingers, milking them gently.   I would let him taste my first cum load, I decided. It would let me fuck him longer when the time came.

 

I gripped his head between my hands, arching my back and tensing my pecs. "Take me all the way," I said, increasing his speed with the force of my grasp. He looked up then... that supreme moment when a guy looks up at you in adoration and awe... with his lips tightly surrounding your cock... and the bulge of his Adam's apple bouncing as he swallows on the head... the moment at which his eyes say ...I love you... for lack of words... the moment at which you want to fill him with your jizz... the moment at which you feel it bubbling forth from the balls within his grasp...the pressure rising to an almost unbearable level as you tighten to make it last one second longer... the gushing release as you reach the limit of self-control... the frantic grasping... the wild convulsions... the unintelligible cry... the persistent mouth wanting more, sucking the last drops from super-sensitive balls... the second-wave of expulsion racking your body with uncoordinated muscle contractions... the feeling that you could die at this moment and feel no regret. The moment seems to last for eternity... and then is over too soon.

 

He pulled off, then tight-lips milked the remaining drops from my urethra like toothpaste from the tube... an eager tongue tasting the last drops because the earlier spurts had been ejected too deep to taste. The taste-memory of each man's cum is never forgotten. He brought the last drops as passengers on his lips as he crawled over me to kiss me. "Share," he said. We kissed long and hard... mouths grinding on one another... tongues dueling... noses battling for dominance. I gripped the back of his hair with my fist and pulled him backward until our lips parted. "You are SO hot," he said. "But I wanted you to save it... to fuck my ass," he said, tightening his lips afterwards to hide the disappointment.

 

"There's more where that came from." I said. "Meanwhile, get those pants off and get your cock out. I want you to jack off while I watch."

 

He smiled. "That should be easy... if I'm lookin' at you," he whispered. 

 

While he pulled off his tight, low-rise jeans, no easy feat in the back seat... I pulled off the shirt that still clung around my shoulders. I was naked now from the knees up. His extra-large nipple disks showed through the red cotton of the muscle-shirt, and below it a faint hair-trail descended over his firm abs and a denser trail over his lower belly branched into a substantial bush from which his cock rose like a great tree. He knelt with one knee between my thighs and his other foot in the foot-well at my side.  His right hand gripped the swaying shaft, and he began the slow motion so familiar to every guy.  

 

"When I saw you in the store," he said, "I never imagined I'd be naked with you... in my car."  

 

"You never know what kind of bargain you can ‘pick-up' in the grocery aisles," I said, watching his arm and shoulder muscles jack the hard cock. His free hand brushed across the small pool of cum that had continued to drip; he spread it over my abs as if he were finger-painting.

 

"I can't believe I had that whole thing in my mouth," he said, nodding toward my cock. "And your body..." he continued, "I want to shoot my load all over you."

 

"Get it in my eye and you win the prize," I said jokingly.

 

"A challenge... like that... makes it... even more fun," he said with gasping breaths. His hand had sped-up and his grip had tightened, making his cock-tip glow with deep redness. "Never dare me to do anything," he continued. "I'm a sucker for a dare. I'll do almost anything."

 

I chuckled. "I'll remember that," I said. "I can use that to my advantage... later."

 

"Ahhhhh...I'm getting close," he moaned. His abs tightened into knots and his pecs fluttered with excitement. With jaw open, chin protruding, and eyes cast upward he looked as if he were working intently. The sweat on his dark skin looked like polished mahogany.

 

"Shoot it, man," I urged. "Look at me."

 

His eyes snapped back to my chest... then widened in anticipation. "Gonna...CUM!" he said, shooting his load onto my chest. His pelvis rocked back, almost like a recoil, and then shot forward again as his second shot hit my face.  

 

"Close enough," I said, making him laugh as the remaining expulsions dribbled onto my belly. I gathered some of his cum on my fingers and fed it to him. He licked my fingers eagerly. I spread the remainder over my chest, marking myself with his scent. "Keeps the mosquitoes away," I said with a broad grin.

 

I sat up, trying to figure out how two grown men could fuck in the back seat of a Saturn. After a few tries, positioning him, I still couldn't find a way to get the proper angle for insertion. He started to laugh... which made me laugh... and we ended-up clutching each other, convulsing in laughter. "I wish I had a station wagon," he said. "Or an ambulance, or a hearse."  

 

"Damn the mosquitoes," I said. "I want that ass, even if it means a few bites. Come on."  I opened the door and backed out of the car pulling him by the wrist. The outside air was noticeably cooler; we had certainly heated-up the interior.

 

"The trunk is stronger than the hood," he said as we tried to figure out the logistics. So, I pushed his ass back onto the trunk and lifted his legs over one forearm. He sank back against the rear window as I rolled his knees forward toward his chest. When his ass rolled into view, I pressed the heel of my hand into the cleavage between his cheeks and rubbed the length of his crack, spreading him wider. As my Opponens pollicis slipped over his anus, I felt his glutes tighten vice-like on the fleshy part of my hand, wanting to hold it there. He had developed a cold-sweat of anticipation. A few strokes of my cock and I was hard again. He reached between his legs to feel it... to guide it.

 

"You brush the mosquitoes off me, and I'll brush ‘em off you, and what we can't reach will just add some sensory stimulation," I said as I pushed forward, sliding the pre-lubed condom on my shaft while I spread him open with my shoulders.

 

"Fuck me," he said. "It's what I need."

 

"We'll see if you need as much as I'm gonna give you," I said, feeling the head slip into the tightness of his opening. He twisted, trying to re-arrange the folds in his sphincter... trying to open for me. I didn't wait. I shoved it into him. He gasped once, then clawed for my shoulders.  "Take it," I said in a loud whisper. "You wanted to feel what it's like to take ‘The Big One.' Well, here it IS!" I surged into him almost full-depth as the back of his head hit the window. His legs clutched my shoulders. His heels pounded my back.

 

"Damn!" he shouted into the silent forest.

 

I gripped his thighs tightly with my forearms and hands, then started to pump into him in-earnest. His ass rocked back and forth on the cool, black metal. The car's springs creaked like distant crickets. I stepped onto the rear bumper with one foot to get a better angle, then leaned sharply over him. Deep in his eyes I could see the satisfaction... the gratification of delayed longing... the compulsion for male intimacy, realized. He moaned softly, incapable of words. "Every time you give it to her, remember THIS," I said, finally reaching full-depth and full-stroke. "Satisfy her needs, even if it doesn't satisfy YOURS." For emphasis I slammed into him so hard that the back of his head bounced against the window. He reached out for me now, instead of grasping the car for support... fingers clutching at my shoulders, biceps flexing as if he were trying to lift himself off the metal, his heels digging into my back.

 

I came then... thinking of his wife, whimpering and crying as he was doing... never knowing that she was not satisfying his need... that she was incapable of satisfying his need... just as this boy/man was unable to totally satisfy mine. No one could.

 

I grabbed my clothes and left him with his legs still in the air, dazed and delirious. It felt odd to be naked behind the wheel of my car, but I wanted to get out of there quickly without the post-fuck conversation. Near the end of the dirt-road, before it joined the highway, I stopped to put on my clothes. The smell of him on my body reminded me of the futility of it all.

 

=====================================

 

On Friday night, I packed my gear for the trip to Altoona... just the basics for hygiene and comfort. I planned to arrive late; the Labyrinth was the reason for my trip, and it didn't open until Saturday. The backroom and the Pit were losing some of their appeal to me, apparently... superseded by the shower, the locker room, and the produce section.

 

The night had not been a block-buster. The parking lot had only six cars when I arrived at midnight. Most guys were probably saving their "juices" for Saturday.

 

Troy was behind the bar, as usual. His face brightened when I entered. "How was your week?" he asked.  

 

"Oh, the usual," I said, trying to remember the faces of the guys I'd fucked.

 

He tossed me a towel. "Wipe off the tables, will ya? This place is as dead as the ship's morgue tonight. I'm gonna hustle the hangers-on out of the backroom with the offer of a free drink for-the-road... and then I'm gonna shut down. Everyone will be here tomorrow." He stepped from behind the bar. "I've hired Kenny to tend the bar tomorrow night so I can be the proper host... upstairs," he said with a wink. "I picked a guy who doesn't drink much. He's pretty reliable. You get to know all their habits from behind that bar." By the time he returned with a few disheveled patrons, I had finished the tables.

 

Later, in the Quarters, we lay together, still dressed, on the not-quite-broad-enough bed.

 

"I have something for you," he said softly as he reached for an object in the nightstand drawer.  

"I've been thinking about this a lot... and I think it's the right thing."

 

It was an envelope stuffed with money. And when I pulled out the bills, a small key chain with one key fell into my lap.

 

"It's the key to the front door," he said. "You've earned it."

 

I let the key dangle from my finger. "By the time I get here, the door is usually open," I said with a smile, remembering the one time I had been forced to bang on the door to awaken him.

 

"It's not just for convenience," he said, rolling to face me. "It's a symbol of ownership. I want you to be my partner. My business-partner, that is, ...until, ..." His voice trailed off, but I knew what he was thinking. Before I could interrupt, he began again. "You've worked damned hard on this project... which will turn this place into a real money maker. It was your idea to start with..." (I wasn't sure that was true.) "...and I couldn't have done it without you. I want to make you a full-partner." I smiled at the word "full," always looking for the sexual joke.

 

I could have said "no," then. I could have reminded him that my career was headed for a big city, not Altoona... that I wanted to expand my creative talents in advertising, not in filling condom dispensers. I had tasted the gay life in Pittsburgh, and I couldn't be satisfied with tired, old Altoona... even with its newest attraction.

 

He took my smile as assent. Looking deep into my eyes for a moment, as if trying to read my thoughts written on my retinas, he waited for further encouragement. When none was forthcoming, he turned away and rose from the bed. "Get undressed," he said. "Tomorrow's a big day. Last-minute clean-up upstairs... a tour for some friends before the crowds appear... then the big opening at ten... and the fuck-fest begins." He stripped quickly and was about to get back into bed when he saw me struggling to remove my jeans while still lying down. He gripped them at the ankles, lifted them high, and poured me out like sand. As he got back into bed, I pulled the tee-shirt over my head. His hand was on my chest before my face popped from the neck-hole. With the other, he started rolling me over.

 

"Not tonight," I said, sleepily. "Let's save it for tomorrow."

 

"This has got to be a first," he said with a smirk. "The great Brian Kinney, turning down an ass-fuck."

 

"I'm tired," I complained. "This has been a hard week."

 

"Then you just lie back," he said, lowering me onto my back again. "Don't move a muscle. Well, technically, it's not a ‘muscle' anyway," he said, gripping my semi-erection. "I'll do all the work."  He clicked off the light while stroking me slowly.

 

In the darkness, I felt his shifting position, the warmth of his breath on my groin, and then the moist lips on my cockhead. I followed his instructions, not moving a muscle... total relaxation... excepting the one part of my body unable to relax under these circumstances. He could take whatever he wanted from me. It was not freely given, but not withheld, either. If he could find pleasure in my neutrality, so be it. I closed my eyes, dreaming of the faint taste of shower room soap, the sturdiness of the pommel horse, the musty smell of trodden soil under the rhododendrons, and the buzz of mosquitoes. The tight lips around my shaft mimicked the pulsating muscles of boy-ass. He could have what he wanted. They could all have what they wanted. I felt the pressure building inside, pressing against slack abdominal muscles. I didn't try to stop it or to hold it back to increase the pleasure. Just let the physiological response occur... the unavoidable out-flow... the gushing life-fluid destined for digestion rather than fertilization. It was the least I could do.

 

 

 

 

 

Never promise more than you can perform. Publius Syrus (42 B.C.), Maxim 528

 

The phone began ringing at 9:30 am... calls from as far away as Rochester, New York, asking for directions to get to Rumors.

 

"Hey, Bud... is this place as hot as I've heard?"

 

I'd given him the driving instructions twice. He didn't seem too bright. "Come and see," I said.  "One more guy just raises the temperature a little."

 

"Hey, you sound pretty nice. Can I meet you there?"

 

"I'm the Minotaur in the center of the maze. If you can find me, you can have me," I said, knowing idle promises were probably safe."

 

"Hot Doggie!" he said. "I'll be on the road in ten minutes."

 

Other calls just asked for directions and hung up. A few tried to engage me in a little phone sex... or they wanted my home phone number. I gave them the number of the Altoona Police Department which was taped next to the phone in case of emergencies.

 

While I manned the phone, Troy finished taping the last light-cracks in the plywood-covered windows. It would be a moon-lit night, and we wanted the place to be absolutely pitch-dark, except where dim blue or red bulbs illuminated some interior gathering-spots within the maze.  

 

The sound system worked fine. Troy had selected a movie soundtrack from a film I'd never heard of... mostly low rumbling sounds accentuated by piercing, slicing sounds and the sound of a heart-beat. It raised the tension level without being too distracting.

 

The parking lot started to fill early. Troy decided to open the bar at 8:30 instead of 9:00, because a lot of guys milling around outside with nothing to do was simply asking for trouble. And the last thing we wanted was trouble on this premiere night. Troy had even hired two off-duty policemen (who looked vaguely familiar, even in their uniforms) to quell any rowdiness, inside or out. Local residents, who happened to be driving-by on this usually quiet street, paused to gawk at the crowd. What could be going on in the old warehouse? I told Troy... all we needed were klieg lights and a laser light show and we'd have the whole city of Altoona there. He raised an eyebrow as if to say "The boy has let this advertising-thing go to his head."

 

We went through a keg of Iron City in the first half hour. Troy had me rolling kegs like a pro. I couldn't keep the bar stocked; hard liquor was flying off the shelves. Most of the guys were congregating in the bar and theater instead of the backroom and arcade. The anticipation and the arousal-level were high; the testosterone pheromones were about as thick in the air as cigarette smoke. I walked around with a distinct bulge in my jeans that let everyone know I was ‘ready-for-action'.

 

By 9:30, the stairs to the third floor were already packed with guys waiting in line. Well, actually some of them weren't waiting at all. One young guy had already been stripped by his buddies and was giving head on one knee on the staircase.

 

After making sure everything was taken-care-of at the bar, Troy and I used the freight elevator to ascend to the third floor. Troy sat at the ticket table with the cash box. My job was to direct guys when they entered... either to the left, to the coin-operated locker-room where clothing and valuables could be stored, or to the right, to the dark entrance into the Labyrinth. As ten o'clock approached, Troy stood at the top of the stairs and shouted for quiet.

 

"Now, I'm not gonna make a big speech," he said. "But there are a few things I want to say.  First, I want to thank Brian, here... because, without him, this project woulda never gotten off the ground. And I want you all to know that I've made him a full partner here at Rumors... so now you can direct some of your shit to him and leave me alone!" There was a loud laugh from the guys packed in the staircase. "And Number Two... we don't want any violence... don't want anyone to get hurt. This is a place for pleasure... a fuckin' good-time... so behave yourselves, or I'll kick your sorry asses out the front door and never let you back in. Understood?" There was a murmur of agreement from the stairwell. "OK, then... five bucks gets you in. The Labyrinth is open-for-business!"

 

There was a roar and a surge of bodies on the stairs. Suddenly I wasn't sure I was standing in a safe place... like trying to direct traffic in Pamplona on the day they run the bulls. Some guys were naked already and headed directly into the Labyrinth; I wondered where they had left their clothing. The remaining guys stripped, fully or partially, in the dimly lit locker-room, then joined the steady stream into the maze. Troy counted 105 guys before the first surge thinned to a few stragglers. The ones who had spent more time at the bar were having more trouble climbing the two flights of stairs.

 

"This should sober 'em up," Troy said with a wink. He folded a wad of bills and put them in his back pocket. "I'll take some of this cash downstairs. When I get back, you can go join the boys in the maze. You've earned it."  

 

By the time he'd returned, I had stripped off my jeans and tee shirt. It was the first time I'd seen him with a drink in his hand during working hours.

 

"Seeing you like that," he said, nodding at the ring which made my cock sway slowly from side-to-side, "makes me want to join you in there as soon as possible."

 

"Last one in is a rotten, scum-sucking faggot," I said, waving as I turned the corner and ducked into the shrouded darkness of the entrance. "That includes all of us!" cried a voice in the darkness.

 

There are no "watchers" in the pitch-blackness of the Labyrinth. Voyeurs needed light for their vicarious pleasure. In the Labyrinth, hands became eyes. Touch guided men to the individual pleasures they sought. Each man had his own quest. Some sought simply to complete the maze... a path of almost half-a-mile, assuming no wrong turns. Some looked for the biggest cock to suck. Some searched for their favorite body-type. Some tasted its delights like guests at a buffet. Some found what they wanted and lingered. Some clutched desperately at anyone who passed... a fear brought on by the darkness. And some lay-back to let passers-by find them... hands looking for walls but finding warm flesh instead.

 

In total darkness the walls fell-away, giving the sensation of spaciousness. But the physical walls brushing your shoulder and the backs of your knuckles gave the sensation of claustrophobic closeness... like drowning at night. The mixed sensual messages of vastness closing down around you raised your heart rate... and your arousal. 

 

Just beyond the veil of darkness the first men waited... the ones who wanted first crack at new-comers. Hands explored my body as I passed. Stiff cocks brushed my thighs... hard bodies blocked the path, wanting a kiss as the toll to pass. The holes cut from one passage to another had been found; disembodied arms reached through to grasp anything that passed-by. There was surprisingly little talking... an occasional comment of "Nice" as a fist gripped my shaft... but spoken invitations were unnecessary. We were all there for the same ultimate purpose... the satisfaction of the same primitive urges... "running the gauntlet" of lust, anonymity, and sensual overload.  

 

I made a wrong-turn, intentionally, to explore an area that ended in a circular dead-end; if one traced the outer wall, he would change direction without knowing it; if he traced the inner wall, he might travel in a circle all night. But no one was traveling there... just a clutch of bodies collected in a tight area, writhing like a snake-pit. I could barely move into the cluster... a mouth on my shoulder, fingers in my hair pulling me deeper, arms around my knees holding me back, a face buried in my ass-crack. I reached for support and found hot skin. A mouth closed over mine, sucking the air from my lungs. The sensation was overwhelming... feeling everything at once... all the touching, kissing, and licking blending into one amorphous creature devouring me. I had anticipated the pleasures of the maze... but I had never imagined this. Hair brushed my belly. Hard pecs pressed against my back as a cock slipped between my thighs. I was lifted onto my toes by a muscular arm around my waist. I barely felt the penetration, overwhelmed by all the other sensations. Random cock in random ass... try it on for size... feel his heat... squeeze him until he tightens in reflex spasms... fill the hole... any hole... grasping to urge someone on... anyone... swirling in the sexual Maelstrom... moist lips... smooth skin... the smell of sweat and more sweat... the sounds of sex... arousal and loss-of-control... then down onto the floor... no room... ankles against my sides as people step over the writhing cluster... the plywood wall against the side of my face... the ramming tightness in my ass...

 

My ‘escape' from this cluster was more of an accident than it was intentional... expelled, like dropping from the birth-canal... like being run-down by a wandering band of mouths, then left in the saliva-covered path as they randomly search for other victims in the darkness. I got to my feet, dazed and disoriented. Which way to go?  I, who had built the maze, was now lost in it. I retraced the path in my memory... two quick right-turns, then a left... then avoid any turns for ten steps... I felt the wall for familiar features... a pass-through hole or an angled corner.  Nothing was familiar. Was I going back toward the main path, or away from it?

 

My hand, sliding along the wall, suddenly encountered bare skin... an arm... a hand reaching out to touch my chest. "Come here," he murmured, wrapping strong arms around me. The anonymity of the Maze worked both ways. He might have recognized me, if he could see me.  Would I have chosen him if I could see him? Before I could think about it, our mouths met in a gentle kiss which grew in intensity as our bodies came together in the narrow passage.  Ascertaining size and shape... feeling his smoothness and muscularity... my type. Longish hair... my fingers snared two hands-full as his forearms brushed up my lats and forced my elbows out, then crossed over my back and crushed me against his chest. I spun in his grasp, with one arm around his neck forcing his head down to lick my pec. He followed its margin to my pit, bathing its concavity with warm saliva. "You taste good," he said as he used his body to force me back against the wall. "Let me suck you." He dropped to his knees as I released my headlock, finding my cock with his chin before his lips surrounded it. I leaned back against the wall, palms flat for support, letting him do all the work. As he began to suck me, another guy encountered us as we blocked the passage. When he realized what was happening, he buried his face in the curve of my neck and offered his cock for sucking, too. Mouth, then, hand... then mouth again... sucking and stroking, as hands explored my torso. Fingers feeling my cock entering the seductive lips. Nipple pinches. A tongue along my jawline. An eager mouth on my face, a face trapped between our hips as our cock pressed tightly against our bellies. We kissed as I felt our cocks slip side-by-side into wide-stretched lips. An arm locked around my thigh, pressing my knee against the kneeling man's chest. I clutched at the wall for support.

 

A fourth joined us. We disconnected long enough to move along the passageway to a wider spot. A dim red glow came from around the corner giving skin the sheen of flame, ...the appearance of being too hot to handle. Now side-by-side, backs against the wall, two of us enjoyed the mouths of the two on their knees. Red eyes gleaming in the shadows of dark brows... cocks gleaming as if the skin had been stripped off and the bloody core revealed... asses thumping against the drum-like plywood. I arched my belly to give him a better angle. He gagged his approval. The guy next to me leaned over to it, licking each others' faces to retrieve the warm, clinging strands. I pulled away, leaving a molten-glass-like thread still connected to one forehead until it broke free and sagged over his nose.kiss my shoulder again. "Now that I can see you," he whispered, "I want to suck you, too." I reached up, grabbing his hair in my fingers again, pressing him down against my chest. The guy who was sucking him suddenly shifted to my cock... the shaft pressed between two mouths sliding in unison from base to tip... kissing around the mushroom head. I shot then; the stimulation was too intense. They fought for it, licking each others' faces to retrieve the warm, clinging strands. I pulled away, leaving a molten-glass-like thread still connected to one forehead until it broke free and sagged over his nose.

 

Hands reached to pull me back as I twisted around the corner into the bright redness of a small room. I knew where I was then... the first of several small rooms, large enough for three or four to lie on a raised, carpeted platform. Stopping to watch for a moment... and to recover my composure... the action seemed in slow-motion.

 

Three guys surrounded a young kid, held down by heavy hands, as they took turns fucking him.  Slow thrusting, then hard, approaching a climax, then withdrawing, to be replaced by the next in line. They circled him... two watching the third as his muscles rippled in the red glow. "Wanna join us?" one said, motioning me into the circle. "He's not feeling anything now. There's plenty for everyone." I stepped closer. It was the boy I had fucked a few weeks ago... eyes closed, chest heaving with heavy moans, clutching at the bodies moving in their circular dance.

 

"I've done him," I said.  "...back when he was tight enough to feel it."

 

They laughed and resumed their punishment of his ass. I stepped into the shadow of the room's exit. He would be there all night, taking on all comers, waving those lovely legs in the air as an enticement.

 

Blackness again after a few turns. The sounds became louder now as I approached the largest of the rooms... rhythmic murmurs like Buddhist monks chanting sutras: 

 

"You are the light itself

Rely on yourself

Do not rely on others.

The Dharma is the light

Do not rely on anything other than the Dharma."

 

But these were hymns to the carnal power, the powers of lust, excess, exploitation, and domination. I stepped into the dim blue light of the room... dark-shaded lust... the redness of aroused skin lit only by blue light casting black blotches on shinny musculature.

 

The room was filled with men... all ages and sizes... milling about in ever-changing patterns and combinations... eyes lowered to view torso and cock and to avoid any form of recognition.  Hands groped swaying cocks and balls... slipped into muscular ass-cracks... grazed treasure trails like hungry sheep... the "meat-market"... looking for just the right curve or shape or mushroom-flair... the anonymous grope and mumbled approval... the occasional sinking to the knees to get a better look. Each man gripped his own, showing it off like a prize... holding his essence in his hand like an offering.

 

I walked slowly through the crowd, letting the fondling hands explore me while checking a few that were appealing ...either for their looks or their size. One particularly attractive guy blocked my path with his broad torso. He reached down to grip me tightly, watching my eyes for a sign of fear. I returned the favor, holding his shaft in my palm and along my wrist as my fingers curled under his balls. We stood there a moment, daring the other to move. And then... the slow movement... the thin skin sliding on the marble-smooth core... the constant eye-contact... the confrontation. He squeezed harder, and I returned the pressure. I kept the motion slow and deliberate... the ultimate stimulation... while his hand sped-up in a subtle hint of his state of arousal. I twisted my hand on his shaft, letting the velvety head slide along my soft, veiny forearm. His brow furrowed. He looked worried. I smiled as his spunk covered my forearm. He reached out for support, and the man next to him encircled his shoulder with a strong arm.  "Fucker," he growled. "I almost had you." I smiled more broadly, then wiped my forearm on his shoulder as I turned to leave.

 

The exit from the room followed the same path by which I had entered for a few feet, then a sharp double-turn to the left. I had entered the long, complex exit path of the Labyrinth. We had made it difficult to enter, but even more difficult to leave. A wrong turn could have sent me back to the beginning. I had never known this part of the maze very well.

 

Small rooms to the side where hard action occurred. Tight places in passageways where men congregated. The heat of too many bodies crowded together. The overwhelming darkness. I tried to remember the way, but I was beginning to use trial-and-error. Trapped in my own maze... unwilling to ask for help. I stumbled over someone lying in my path. He clutched at my leg as I stepped over him. "Fuck me," he said. "Fuck me... right here." I broke his grasp and moved on.

 

A ramp! I felt the floor rising a little. I knew where that was in the maze-scheme... the entrance to the area where guys in adjacent passageways could suck-cock through holes in the wall without kneeling... a series of glory-holes at various levels... a gauntlet of willing mouths. All mouths, and all ass-holes, for that matter, felt the same if your need was powerful enough and you overlooked the nuances of technique. Feeling along the wall, I found the row of holes and chose one at random. Lips immediately clamped around my cock as hands reached through other holes trying to draw me closer.

 

A hand on my shoulder was pulling me backward. A sudden shove forward. I almost lost my balance. I staggered forward in the darkness, afraid that I would collide with a wall, but I managed to steady myself. Whoever pushed me caught up with me in the narrow passage. He was all over me this time, pinning one arm behind my back and trapping it against the wall. He smelled of whiskey. His body pressed against me, forcing me to struggle for breath. But as I opened my mouth to inhale, his mouth covered mine as he moaned loudly into me. The taste, the soft hair brushing my upper lip, the longish hair brushing my fingers as I tried to pull his head away from mine. I tried to speak, but I couldn't call his name. He knew who was in his grasp.

 

I twisted my head to the side sharply to free my mouth. "Troy!" I shouted. "Troy, it's me."

 

"I know... I've been looking for you." His speech was slurred and he spoke more slowly than usual. "The answer to my dreams," he said, pressing harder against me. "The whole time we were building this damned thing." His cock pumped against my belly. Then he spun me around against the unforgiving plywood. With my cheek against the wall, the memory of the black latex paint returned. I pressed back against his body. 

 

 "Why are you acting so rough? I whispered. "We'll have plenty of time after everyone leaves."

 

"Just takin' what's mine," he whispered quietly in my ear with whiskey-breath. I tried to move slowly. He held me. I tried more vigorously. He held me tighter. "You're in here, looking for a hot fuck... probably looking for Hammer," he continued. "Well, he's not here."

 

"I'm not looking for him...," I began.

 

"Some guy said he's gone to Pittsburgh. Another one said he was in New York. But, anyway... he's gone now... and you're mine."

 

I was beginning to feel like the Grand Prize in some kind of Iron Man competition. And I didn't like it. "I don't belong to anyone." I struggled, and he forced my arm upward behind my back.  The pain in my shoulder gave me extra strength. I sidestepped his weight pressing against me and twisted. He pulled me hard against his chest.  

 

"Not so fast," he said.  "You owe me."

 

"I owe you nothing," I said, raising my voice. "You don't own me. You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

 

"Always trying to control everything..." he continued, not listening to me. "Smart-ass college boy..."

 

"Please," I said.  "Don't do this. You'll ruin it all."

 

"I finally got rid of Hammer," he was crying now, "...and you still don't want me." He shoved me away. I hit the wall and fell to one knee. Someone joined us then... encountering us in the dark passageway as he looked for the exit. In the confusion of bodies trying to pass in the narrowness, I slipped past Troy, preceding the guy... heading toward the end of the maze... and the light.

 

"Brian... Brian," I heard him calling my name as his hands scuffled along the walls looking for me. But I didn't turn back. He was drunk and unreasonable. He was ignoring everything I'd ever told him about our friendship. He was treating me like the latest pawn in the contest with Hammer. And I didn't like it. I had never promised him anything... other than to finish the maze.

I found the end of the maze, staggering into the dim light again. New guys were still entering. I could hear that the action was heating-up. It was a great success... but, somehow, the success wasn't enough. I had fucked everyone here that I had wanted to. Even the new out-of-town patrons looked tired and worn-out... not like the campus... not like Liberty Avenue. It was time to move on. I moved quickly down the stairs to retrieve my clothes, passing guys on their way up.

 

"Where ya goin', Bud? Don't ya wanna join us? They say this place is really hot..."  

 

I ignored them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOTICE FOR ALL SENIOR COMMUNICATION MAJORS:  

 

March 19, 1984

 

Job Interviewers from across the country will be here, starting in two weeks, and lasting for one week. Portfolios of company descriptions will be available in the Dean's Office for your perusal.  Interviewees should prepare a folio of relevant course projects, internship output, individual artwork, etc. to provide information for interviewers. This university has an 84% success rate (1973-1983) in placing graduates in their first jobs. Let's improve that statistic this year.

Sign-up for interview appointments with Ms. Shadrack in the Dean's Office. Be on time; be presentable; be gracious; and be smart. Interviews are your first major step to future success.

 

==================================

 

"Hmmmmm. I'll have that final semester project in COMM 421, Advertising Creative Strategies... and some assignments in COMM 422, Media Planning... but that's about it" I thought. "I'll have a form-letter from John Brigham... he reserves the personal letters for his favorite students. But, what else?" And then it struck me. How about the ad ideas I put together for Troy and Rumors. But... gay leather? Full frontal nudity? Guys on guys? Should I show them that? If I hide the fact that I'm gay, it will come out sooner or later. If I reveal it now, however, I may miss some job offers, but the offers I might get would indicate an acceptance... willingness... maybe even an attraction. It could work both ways, positive and negative. But, just seeing the looks on their faces when they see naked men would be worth it! Into the folio it goes. Fuck'em! [The proposed ad layout for Rumors is included at the end of this chapter.]

 

It took two visits to the Dean's Office. Many of the company portfolios were checked out, even though we could keep them for only an hour. I picked six ad agencies, all in the Pittsburgh area.  Yeah, yeah, I could have tried for some of the big New York agencies, but I've always thought of the City as being a place for tricking, late-nights, and fucking... not a place to get up in the morning and go to work. Why sit at the banquet table with no fork? I know my way around Pittsburgh. It's big enough for me. I know all the places; I've got sort-of a reputation; and my adopted Mom is there. Debbie would kill me if I tried to leave Pittsburgh.

 

The first interview was with D & G G Advertising. I'll omit most of the gory details; the interviewer was about 80 years old... claimed he was responsible for the red-and-white Campbell's Soup can... and he only asked me three questions in the half-hour interview. This was not a company that I wanted to work for. When he looked at my folio and got to the Rumors ads, he finally put on his reading glasses... but he only commented on the font choice and never mentioned the photos. He probably hadn't seen a naked man for fifty years.

 

The second interview was with Ryder Advertising Partners, another influential agency in Pittsburgh and a few other cities for the last 20 years. The interviewer (I think it was Marty Ryder, himself) was about fifteen years older than I... fit, smooth, friendly (yes, I'd fuck him.)  And he showed some interest in the Rage ads.

 

"We do, primarily, branding for commercial businesses,'' he began, "and a few of our clients make men's underwear and swimsuits," he said, "Interacting with male models, makeup, photographers, writers, things like that. There's a team at Ryder that does this kind of thing for several menswear brands... not as explicitly at this," he said, glancing at the nude bodies. "But, perhaps you could fit-in there." I was imagining fitting into several male models. My mind started wandering at the word ‘But'.

 

The third interview was with Centra Tech Applications, a start-up company. There were three interviewers. I got the impression that they were the three start-up guys, with no other employees. They were young, casually dressed (well, that's even being generous)... they looked more like students. And they seemed to have no organized questions to ask. It was more like a conversation at a bar... and I was certain that at least two of them were gay. Troy had "tuned" my Gaydar to a fine degree of accuracy. I doubt that they are still in business.

 

Three more interviews, with companies I won't name, were unworthy of mention. They barely looked at the Rumors stuff. And they spent more time talking about their companies than they spent getting to know me. They were a waste of my time. Maybe college interviews were not my way of getting a job. If I did some research, got some names, or used the Gay Underground to identify good contacts, that might give me a chance. One-on-one, either in the sauna, the backroom, or the hot tub, I'm at my best. I could have an ad executive licking my balls!

 

On Friday, I decided to go back to Altoona... perhaps for the last time. I could meet my sex needs on campus now... so, no need to drive that far to spend the evening with the same crowd of guys. I had fucked the best. The University was a better "hunting ground" for the type of guys I like. But, it was only a few months until graduation. So many guys; so little time. And then, if I could find any kind of job in Pittsburgh... that would open up an entirely new collection of asses to penetrate. I'll bet there are a thousand guys in Pittsburgh that fit my criteria, "Bless their hearts."

 

 

I arrived in Altoona at 3:30 pm so that I could have time to talk with Troy before the bar opened that night. He answered the front door after I pounded on it for five minutes.

 

"I've been up on the third floor... with the sound system turned up, so I didn't hear the pounding until I came down to use the toilet," he said, giving me a gentle hug. He seemed sad, or muted, or uncomfortable. Was he embarrassed by what happened at the opening of the Labyrinth?  Had he had a big fight with Hammer? Was the business not doing well after the opening? All of these possibilities came flooding into my thoughts. "Are you okay?" I finally said as we broke the hug. 

 

"Are we okay?" I added.  

 

"Well, seeing you... just seeing you, brings back so many memories. It's like when you flush the toilet, and the new, clean water comes in... washes away all the waste and shit. I feel like my life just "flushed," he said quietly. "Come, let's sit."

 

We sat at a bare table in the bar. No drinks. "I came to talk... to tell you several important things," I began. "I'll try not to use the words ‘forever' or ‘never' in what I have to say. Nothing can be that definite as I take this new step in my life... after graduation." I patted the back of his hand. "You will always be my friend. I'll have your phone number, and you'll have mine.  Wherever I go, I'll tell you. Whenever I can, I'll come to Altoona. When I'm at the peaks of happiness or the depths of desolation, I will call you. All of this, I assume you will do, too." He shook his head in agreement, but he was crying. I continued, "You have poured out more love to me than anyone else in my life. You have given the greatest gift, yourself. I know this isn't what you want. But, it's what I have to give. And you can come to Pittsburgh... and we can fuck our brains out until the last few grey cells are left, and we'll have the combined intellect of two amoebas trying to eat each other." He looked up with sad eyes but shaking his head ‘Yes'.

 

"I probably said some hateful things at the opening. I should never drink... not the best occupation, bartender, if you're an alcoholic," he said quietly. I don't even want to remember what I said. It was such a God-damned awesome time... that ‘opening'... fulfilling one of my dreams... I just wanted to have it all... all I ever wished for. I even prayed... for you. Everything came together at once, and I was weak. And I'm still weak... I need to get control of myself."

 

"Do you need protection from Hammer?" I asked, moving my chair closer to him. "I've worried about that... since that night."  

 

"No," he replied. "No one has seen him or heard from him. He's not in Altoona, and no one saw him leave. There's a rumor that the house is going up for sale. His bike is gone. The truck is still sitting there, so he probably hasn't moved. Hardly anyone even talks about him anymore. I'd sure like to know where he is, because I'd like to feel reassured that he's not coming back. He may be dead in some roadside gully, or shacked up with a 13-year-old. I don't care either way.

 

Can I give you a kiss?" I asked, "before I leave?" His eyes brightened and he gave me a big smile. "I want to get another reminder-dose of that mustache fuzz," I added. We kissed then, ...like men kiss ...hard and urgent, from the first touch... with arms involved and pelvises grinding. I haven't kissed that many girls, but... it seems different, the way guys do it.

 

He walked with me to the door and stood under the canopy as I got into the car and drove away.  He had gone inside before I left the parking lot. Sunset was only an hour away. I could be in State College before dark.

 

The boring drive back to State College turned out to be eventful this time. After I crossed the bridge in Tyrone, on I-99, maybe a mile past it, there were four guys thumbing for a ride... all gangly and acting silly... each of them in shorts, two bare-chested and two with Penn State tee-shirts. I usually don't stop for hitchhikers. Too many crazies out there. But, this looked too good to be true. I pulled off to the shoulder, and I heard whooping and hollering behind me... then the crunchy sound of shoes on gravel. "What's the matter, man?" I said as I lowered the passenger window.  

 

"We need a lift... going back to State College. Are you going that way?" "We really need a ride," chimed-in another.

 

"Okay, hop in... but this better be a good story," I said. "They tumbled into my car like greyhounds... three in the backseat and one next to me. 

 

"We're part of the Crew, the rowing team," said the front-seat guy. "They call us ‘the Coxless Four..."

 

"An unfortunate name," I replied, shaking my head.

 

"Oh, ...No, ...it means we row a 4-man boat without a coxswain... the light-weight girl, usually, with a big mouth, who handles the rudder and shouts directions. We don't have one of those," he said, somewhat proudly. "We steer with the strength of our strokes... and we do it without directions."

 

"That covers who you are, but it doesn't explain why you're here in ...Tyrone, is it?"

 

"We have a big race on Sunday, the last race of the school year, so we thought we would give Jer, our new member, one more practice," he continued to explain, as ‘Jer' waved from the backseat. "I'm Jerimiah," he said, "but everyone calls me ‘Jer.'"

 

"Jer has, or should I say ‘had', a car, so we put the 4-man shell on top, roped it down, and headed for Bald Eagle State Park... where we usually race and sometimes practice. But Jer, having never been to the lake, turned the wrong direction on I-99... headed toward Bald Eagle, the town, which is about 40 miles in the wrong direction. Being ‘goof-balls,' none of us noticed until we got to the bridge in Tyrone... so, there we are, now, 80 miles from the lake, and right beside a river, the Little Juniata, ...so we decided to row there. Not as good as the lake, ...rocks and shallow spots, ...but, at least, Jer got his butt into a boat for a few hours to know how it feels. We train on rowing machines... which don't capsize and throw you into the cold water."  He stopped to take a long breath. "But when we got back to the car and strapped the boat on top, the car wouldn't start."

 

"If it's the battery, I've got jumper cables," I volunteered.

 

"Nope, the batteries' fine... must be something else", he said, shaking his head. "But Jer's mom always insists that he carry his Triple-A card with him, so we called, and they said there was no local representative in Tyrone... and the closest tow truck could get there after dark and would tow it to some repair place. And that's how we ended-up here, along the highway."

 

I started my car.  "I'll do anything to help Penn State athletics", I said ...avoiding the over-used "I'm a big athletic supporter." 

 

"We're a club, not a team," said Jer from the backseat.

 

"To me, ...you're just hitchhikers, I said, knowing that it wasn't totally true. These guys had tremendous shoulders, long triangular backs, long legs... the perfect body-build for rowing... and other ‘sports'. "I usually don't stop for hitchhikers," I continued. "If you get a crazy guy in your car, you never know what could happen. But a group of four? Even if one of you is crazy... I paused, while Jer waved again from the backseat, "the other three can help me restrain Jer. (You can see where this conversation is leading.)

 

"We'll pick up the car on Sunday or Monday, and use another 4-man boat for the race," Mark said. (The passenger-seat guy finally told me his name.)

 

"Do you guys live in the dorms," I asked innocently.

 

"Yea," said Mark. "Crew guys usually get single rooms because no one wants to room with a guy who goes to bed at 9:00 and wakes up at 5:00am to be in the gym or on the lake for practice. But, two crew guys together are okay ...so I room with Jer, and Tommy rooms with Carl. "They waved from the backseat after being silent for about 4 miles.

 

"Do you live in South Hall?" I asked. "When  I lived in the dorms, that's where I stayed."

 

"Yes, we're all in South Hall," said several voices from the backseat.

 

"Tell me," I said. "Is that guy still living there? ...the one who gives a blowjob to any guy who knocks on his door." There was silence for five seconds, and then a bit of acknowledging head-shaking. "They say he was particularly fond of athletes..." A long pause. "But, ...who needs that if you've got a willing roommate." There was a stifled giggle from the back seat. I continued. "I'm gay, guys. If that's a problem, I can pull over and let you out. But, if you're gay, too, or just accepting... I can pull something else." "All four of us," Mark said. "Jer's probably the least experienced, Carl's the most, ‘the Ringleader', we call him. We get naked, ...fool around... no drinking or drugs, though. How about you?"

 

"The story is too long to tell here," I said. "I've just learned to say it up front, to tell guys what I want, and to make the first move. No apologies, and no regrets."

 

"I can't wait to hear what you want!" shouted Jer, leaning forward to shout it in my ear.

 

"I have a small apartment in State College. I can drive straight there. We can have a couple of hours of Five-Man Naked Wrestling, no booze, no drugs... and you can be in your beds before your self-imposed curfew... or, ...we could just fuck all night." There was another long pause, and then "I'm in." "I'm in." "I'm in." from the backseat. "I'm totally in," said Mark.

 

I pressed the accelerator a bit harder to get this crew to the starting line.

 

As soon as I unlocked the apartment door, the rowers tumbled into the room and clothing was tossed in the corner. It was a contest to see who could hit the mattress before the others. I love athletes; they'll compete about anything.

 

It is difficult to explain the next two hours... and you've probably had enough of my feeble attempts to describe sexual acrobatics, so I will restrain myself. (Even that sounds sexual!) In the dim light of sunset, it became impossible to determine who was doing what with whom. In even-number orgies, guys pair-up and partner changes are usually reciprocal. The sensory factor stays about the same. That's the glorious thing about an odd-number orgy. Guys pair up, and there's one guy left out. So, he has a great incentive to join one of the couples, an incentive to steal a partner and to change the scenario. His presence may distract one of the pair, who becomes odd-man-out... and the cycle begins again. Someone is always the odd man trying to get in, and the sensory level rises as partners change. Tricks, wrestling holds, distractions, teases, double fucking, sixty-nine sucking, changing partners, lube all over, double licking a cock, spit-roasting, throat fucking, twink-sandwiching, quad-tonguing a guy's body, rimming, gang raping, just plain power fucking, and ultimately a jizz shower for everyone. We did it all, I believe. They walked to their dorm in various stages of undress... and, if that didn't get them "juiced" enough to win the race on Sunday, nothing ever would. Perhaps I could get a job training the 8-man boat crew. And there are two; light-weight and heavy-weight. The permutations and combinations are thrilling to contemplate.

 

The phone rang at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning. "This better be important," I thought.

It was Lindsay Peterson, an old friend from Pittsburgh whom I had encountered frequently on the Penn State Campus. She sounded desperate and was talking so fast I could barely understand what she was saying. She apparently never stopped to inhale. "Oh, Brian, I need your help. I'm so upset. It's only a week until graduation and I never thought my parents would come because they moved to Arizona but now they say they are coming and I've told them, over the last year, that I had a boyfriend and I used your name because I didn't really have a boyfriend and you know I never would have a boyfriend so they're coming to meet him, or to meet you actually, and I hadn't told you about this, but you're such a good friend, and are you going to skip the graduation ceremony or will you be there... or could you be there so that they can meet you and maybe take us out to lunch and you could pretend you're my boyfriend, but we could ‘break-up' in a month or two and they would never know the difference... and I'll make the break-up all my fault so my father won't try to search for you and kill you or something like that..." She finally paused. I was so overwhelmed, I couldn't say anything for a moment.

 

"You're right, Lindz, I had decided not to go to commencement... mostly because of the gown, the funny hat, and the long speeches. But, recently, I changed my mind and decided to go. I want to walk across that stage in front of John Brigham and the rest of the faculty, and maybe give him ‘the finger' as I pass him because I'm graduating in spite of him, not because of him. So, yes, I can meet your parents. I promise not to kiss your Dad; I'll use my best manners at lunch, and I'll even be charming and attentive to you. You've covered my butt a few times, so I'll cover your... never mind the anatomy, and I'll even write a sad note to you after our break-up that you can show to your mother. But, when are you going to tell them... the truth? I got lots of "Thank you's" but no answer to my question.

 

Five letters had arrived. On the basis of my grades, my personal statement, my folio, and my interview I had not been selected for a job. "Fuck ‘em,"

 

The last letter to arrive was from Ryder Advertising. I held it up to the sunlight streaming through my window. I couldn't read it. I laid it on the table and did other things, never out of sight of it.  They (or Marty, himself) had been my first choice. Waiting wouldn't change what the letter said... so, I opened it, almost like a ritual sacrifice. I had expected the most formal, hyper-ventilated, rejection.

 

"Brian,...You're our first choice. As soon as graduation is over, get your butt to our office ...no appointment needed. You can even take a few days to celebrate. We'll talk about salary, responsibilities, vacations, ...all that good stuff when you're here. Deedee will have papers for you to sign. Just one rule... lay off the new, young, copy/delivery boy. He's my wife's nephew.

(signed) Marty" ...followed by a large scribble that looked, to my gay eyes, like a cock and balls. (It turned out to be his scribbled signature... but I never told him what it looked like.)

 

===================================

 

"Rumors" was my incubator. I arrived as an insecure, secretive, loner... seldom able to make a first sexual move... a watcher, not a participant. I had two unsuccessful loves and two terrible examples of marriage behind me, a church that said it loved me but hated the very essence of me, a jury-rigged ‘family' for support, and a hint of self-loathing.

 

At Rumors, I felt the unconditional love of one man; I experienced the self-serving domination of another; and I gained the respect, the appreciation, and the lust, of a large group of men who were gay, like me. I learned to appreciate and improve my body. I learned to seduce. And I learned to dominate.

 

That all sounds so serious. But I also learned that a quick quip, a short joke, or a mocking comment can brush away all that serious stuff ...and I could just have a good time, celebrating myself. 

 

I am, today, a totally different creature than I was in high school.

 

And I think I have told you enough.  Although, there's no such thing as Enough!

 

 

Sample 1-

 

Explicit; appeals to the leather/biker crowd; chain chest-harness is appealing; the kiss attracts attention.

 

Good for magazines like: ‘Mach', ‘Drummer', ‘Leatherman', ‘Bound and Gagged', ‘Honcho', and ‘Iniquity'.

 

 

Sample 2- 

 

Gorgeous torso, perfect abs; Romantic and erotic. It might be better if the guy on the right were whispering something in blond-boy's ear.

 

Good for magazines like: ‘Jock', ‘Obsession', ‘Torso', ‘All Man', ‘Hot Male Review', ‘Advocate'.

 

Sample 3-

 

Good pecs and shoulders. Perhaps not ‘dark' enough to fit ‘Rumors' image. (Uncut cock seems small).

 

Sample 4-

 

Too ‘Twinkie' probably. Guys like this seldom come to ‘Rumors'. The Calvin underwear is the wrong image too. The whispering is good though... and the subtle cock view. We could do something like this with older models... and without the tighty-whiteys.