Monthly Archives: August 2006

Bottle Neck

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Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen

Running the back of one hand across my brow to mop free the beads of sweat that were daring to descend down into my eyes and across my face, I thumbed the radio to the AM emergency station with my other.

As I twisted the dial on my 1989 T-bird’s analog radio, I squinted my eyes against the late summer sun bearing down on me through my car’s open roof, as if piercing my vision would in some way help me hear through the static of the distant airwaves. Eventually the transmission caught the station and creaked through my failing speakers clearly enough to be discerned.

Evidently, a dump truck had overturned a few exits up ahead, blocking three of the four westbound lanes. “Great”, I mumbled to myself while turning the radio back to the greatest hits of the 70s station I’d been listening to since I crossed the state line.

I was on my way to Memphis to ‘visit’ my old college roommate. By ‘visit’, of course, I meant to take up residence on his couch until I figured out what the hell to do with this next stage of my life. I’d been fired from the restaurant I’d been washing dishes for in Lexington because the owner caught me getting blown by thefry-cook back in dry storage at the end of my shift. He freaked out and said he didn’t want any sodomites around the food he served his customers. Fuckin’ Bible belt. Everyone around here is so goddamned uptight.

Around me, the fumes of diesel burning away the ozone permeated the air while little mirages of gasoline vapor bounced about between the roar of 18-wheelers’ engines grumbling atop the searing pavement. When Dante was describing his descending levels, I can’t imagine how he overlooked Tennessee interstates in August.

Given the news on the radio, I pretty much figured I was going to be here for a while. I looked around for something to occupy my mind, but apart from the cardboard boxes and bags of clothes heaped up in my backseat, I had nothing of any interest in the car with me. I popped open the glove box to see if maybe there was a stray road map or something of some use to help me navigate my way around this bottle neck. But all I found was a flashlight, a roll of electrician’s tape, and a few Lifestyles condoms that expired about six years ago.

Slamming shut the glove compartment; I cast my eyes to the passenger seat floorboard. There were some greasy fast-food bags and a couple of empty cans and bottles. Just trash. In giving up my search for entertainment, I decided to relent to the moment and just ease my seat my back, close my eyes, and wait it out.

Just as I was easing into a nice state of comfort, slowly baking there under the sun like a brownie under the bulb of an easy-bake oven, I was startled upright by the deafening popping and hissing of the hydraulic brakes of a semi idling to a stop beside me. I gave the driver a quick, disapproving look and he just smiled back and waved in that ‘how ya’ doin’ partner, my name is Earl’ sort of way. I smirked and cast a sardonic little hand flip of a wave back at him, expressing my displeasure at his disturbance.

It was at this moment that I realized I was going to soon need to empty my bladder. I looked around and there was nothing to either side of the road but pine trees for as far as the eye could see. I had managed to work my way into the far right-hand lane when traffic started to jam up, so I figured I could just ease it over into the emergency lane and take a little stroll into the woods if it came to that. But then I figured I would lose my place in line, and god only knew if anyone would ever let me back over.

Scanning the rear-view, I noticed behind me a little old lady in a Buick and in front of me was a white work van with enclosed rear windows. To my left, of course, was our good buddy Earl’s rig. My thoughts turned back to the empty bottles in the floorboard. The only person around me who was even within range to notice was the truck driver beside me, and to be honest, I didn’t really care if some Tennessee trucker saw me pissing in a bottle. It’s not like I was ever coming back to this godforsaken town anyway.

Fumbling once more in the passenger seat floorboard I found an empty wide-mouthed chocolate-and-banana flavored Yoo-Hoo bottle. What could I say? Whenever on a road trip I always get a hankering for Yoo-Hoos and Slim Jims. And dammit, I’m notashamed to admit it.

Twisting off the bottle’s cap, I gave one more quick look around just to make sure I hadn’t missed anyone who might catch me relieving myself. I was in a convertible, after all. But I didn’t notice anyone, so I went ahead and undid the drawstring on the grey jogging shorts I’d decided towear for the long drive and edged down the waistband to free my dick. Easing the bottle down between my legs, I nestled the tip of my cock into its rim and tried to relax myself.

Sweeeeeehhhh Swooooooohhhh!

The sound shattered my concentration. I snatched my waistband back up immediately and turned toward the source of the shrieking noise. And there was Earl, stretched across the cab of his truck, whistling at me. When our eyes met, he blew me a quick little kiss…

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Masturbate-a-thon turns violent and cum flies everywhere

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SAN FRANCISCO – The annual Masturbate-a-thon turned violent Thursday when several very competitive participants got unruly and began squirting others with their semen. gay sex gay men penis palooza masturbate-a-thon What was scheduled to be a fun and friendly event suddenly took a turn for the worse (or better depending on how you look at it, and I know ya like to look at it) when one gay cockstroker slapped another pudwhacker for flirting with his lover who was also participating in the strokefest. Suddenly several guys were stroking each other in retaliation, physically mocking the outrage, and began to cum on each other. The police arrived but they too were gay and decided to join in. Click here to view the Penis Palooza footage.

Jackson Malfoy

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Jackson Malfoy lives a deliberate life. He has never told a lie. He has never obtained goods or services without the exchange of a fair payment. He has never raised his voice to another. He has never succumbed to anger or jealousy in approach to any man, woman, child, or beast. His callous is the skin of his resolve and he practices stoicism as habit.
Jackson Malfoy was 26 years old the first time he shook his fist in disapproval of the actions of another. The driver of a barn-red Aston Martin had cut him off during his morning commute on the outer belt of I-95 and his right hand momentarily lifted from it’s 2o’clock position on the steering wheel of his 1997 Toyota Camry to curl into a fist, uniting ordinarily relaxingly splayed fingers into a clenched fist that bore fading white patches above and about each tense knuckle.
Jackson Malfoy approached his 30s a virgin in every regard. His tongue had never met with the effect of any alcohol. No manner of mind-or-mood altering or enhancing substance had ever coursed the path of his veins. No word of profanity or obscenity had ever descended his lips. And the touch of no man nor woman had desecrated his body’s temple.
Now settled into adulthood, Jackson Malfoy never deviated from his routine. After completing his morning commute and parking in the seventh space of the third row of his Insurance Company’s parking lot, Jackson would traverse the sidewalk to the building front, carefully avoiding each crack and expansion joint in the cement beneath his well-polished Italian loafers. Once inside the office, Jackson would greet Marcus, the security officer, with a jutting nod of his head while placing his umbrella in the aluminum holding bin next to the security desk. If it was not a rainy day, Jackson would walk past the elevators and ascend the three flights of stairs that led to the floor on which his cubicle resided.
At lunchtime, Jackson Malfoy would open his black leather attaché and remove from it one turkey and lettuce on whole wheat sandwich, a bottle of avion brand spring water, and a single piece of fruit. Mondays were apples. Tuesdays were oranges. Wednesdays were bananas. Thursdays were grapefruit. And Fridays were either strawberries or freshly sliced kiwi, depending on which looked more appetizing during his weekly Saturday morning trip to the grocery store.
Jackson Malfoy would exit his office building at close of business in the exact fixed pattern of which he had entered. Marcus would joke that he often thought the monitors in his security desk were malfunctioning and playing back the morning’s tape in reverse when he watched Jackson walk by. Jackson would merely shrug a smirk at this comment, juttingly nod his head in rehearsed fashion, and make his way out the door in pursuit of row three, space seven.
Upon entering his fifth floor studio apartment on the corner of Main St. and 3rd Ave in the center of downtown, Jackson Malfoy would place his attaché on the center of the small breakfast table adjacent to the door – the second seat of which had never been occupied. He would then remove his blazer and tie, carefully placing each on its corresponding hanger on his dressing rack before seating himself on the couch to view Channel 9’s coverage of the 6o’clock news.
At 9pm, after exercising on his elliptical trainer for exactly one hour during which he viewed…

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My Sister’s Guy

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I knew when I saw the new black metallic BMW Z4 in the parking lot she had landed a big fish. I just couldn’t figure out how she did it. I laughed to myself as I ran a finger across the finish, it was cleaner than the sheets the guy was fucking on I thought to myself.

I was just back from University for the summer, well, hopefully not for long. Staying with my family over the summer was not my idea of a good time, but I had lost my job and my roommate, Tyler had kicked me out for non-payment of rent. Actually I think it had more to do with the fact he found me with Melanie. Not cool since he and I had a sexual relationship as well. Left with just a change of clothes in my backpack, my stuff now belongs to him. Well, one of my shoes went flying past my head as I was leaving. And since it was no longer a pair, I decided he could retrieve it from the hallway. Melanie and I are over too, Tyler made it pretty clear to her we were together. I think I will have a bruise on my cheek where she slugged me, if I don’t already.

Coming home will be a total surprise for everyone I thought to myself, but it turned out to be a bigger surprise for me. Opening up the door to my bedroom, nothing was left to the imagination as I found my sister Veronica naked and writhing in the sheets with Lance Brockton, 28, eldest of the Brockton sons and heir to the fortune no doubt. I stood in shock for a moment.

“Fuck, sorry!”

I closed the door in a hurry, a little too quickly, more like a slam. I squinted my eyes shut. I knew I had just made things worse.

“Anthony, you’re home?”

“No, I am still away at school.”

“Oh, you stop that.”

Mom took me in her arms and gave me a big hug. She was always glad to see me, no matter what.

“So, what happened? Why are you here? You have a fight with Tyler?”

“Mom!,” I gasped . She knew about my sexual orientation, but she had promised not to tell my dad. That was supposed to be left up to me.

“All I asked was if you had a fight with Tyler, nothing sexual. Your father is snoring away, a truck could ride through and he would not wake up. Stop worrying. Now, tell me why you are home.”

“Um, Yeah, we did have a fight. I am not sure I will be going back to stay with him. Could we please change the topic?”

About that time, Veronica stepped out of my room. Thank God for small favors. She would have an explanation for everything. How she would explain being only 18 and sleeping with Lance in my room, I just had to hear.

“Mom, explain to this moron that this is my room now.”

“What? Her room?”

“Yes dear. It was much larger than hers, it only seemed fair, since you are off to college and she will be staying here.”

“Staying?”

“Your sister has to repeat her senior year.”

“Oh, so now who is the moron?” I glared at her. She slugged me in the shoulder. At least not the face, I had enough pain from Melanie.

“So, where is my stuff then? In her room?”’

“Well dear, what you did not take with you, has been packed away in storage for quite some time. I converted your sister’s room into a sewing and craft area. You will have to sleep on the pull out in the family room.”

This was an insult, added to injury. Not only had I lost both my girlfriend and boyfriend, my apartment and job, but now my room to my baby sister. I was not sure what could be worse. I wanted so badly to spill the beans about Lance being in my room – excuse me – I mean her room, but I was too tired to start anything.
“Go back to sleep Veronica, sorry your brother and I woke you, hun.” Mom hugged her and went back to her room.

I shrugged and went for the kitchen. At least I would have some food before sleeping on that damn hard couch. I had just finished making a huge sandwich when I turned around, and there was Lance, in just his boxers. He was buff, tanned, his abs and pecs were yummy. As I wrapped my mouth around my sandwich, I felt my jeans getting tighter and hoped the kitchen counter was hiding my reaction. He walked closer and smiled at me, then reached out and put his finger on the corner of my mouth swiping in an upward motion, then sticking it in his mouth.

“Mayo, mm, looks good. What kind of meat you got?”
I nearly choked to death on that one, and then he slapped my back, which was making the situation worse, not better. Dropping my meal to the counter top, I tried to catch my breath. Not sure which was more embarrassing, choking to death in front of the guy or my growing erection.

“You okay?”

Tears were now coming out the corner of my eyes, but I could breath. I couldn’t believe with all that had happened in the last twelve hours that my libido was still working on overdrive.

“I’m fine, just got it down the wrong hole.”

“That can be a problem. Glad you are okay though. I don’t think you have a wrong hole for my meat.”

“Excuse me?”

He grabbed my ass cheek, “You heard me.”

Blushing , I leaned back against a bar stool, stumbling. This was too weird.
“Sorry. I don’t swing that way, dude,” that was all I could think to say. It was a lie, but man, he was here with my sister.

“Your penis says otherwise, but that’s your business. Just here for a soda.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a can, opened it and swallowed. He nearly took it all in one gulp. By now not only was I hard, I had a wet spot of pre-cum on my jeans. I slid my hand down to hide it, but it was too late. His eyes followed my hand, then he put his hand over mine. “You really are turned on by me. Nice bulge.” He turned and left the room.

My heart was racing a mile a minute. Suddenly I felt less hungry and more horny. I decided I needed the bathroom more than anything at the moment. It shared a wall with my old room. That is when I heard the bed start to hit the wall. I did the only thing I could. I concentrated on every rotten thing I had ever seen eaten on that reality show. I coaxed my hard-on down enough to get the piss out and went back to my sandwich, sat…

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Above the Rim

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“Nice shot,” Heath remarked before planting a firm slap across the breadth of my left ass cheek. Hmm, team sports aren’t so bad after all, I thought to myself while I turned to hustle back down the court.

As the soles of my white Adidas jogging sneakers slipped and squeaked against the freshly waxed gym floor, I couldn’t help but have my concentration on the ball-carrier broken by eyeing the strong, round, sinewy shoulders and sweaty, muscular thighs of the other men on my team.

On my team I laughed quietly to myself for thinking. If only these guys truly were ‘on my team’. What an infinitely more interesting game that would be! But just as my mind was about to wander, Jeff hit me with a pass and I was forced to handle the ball. Forced to handle the ball. Dear god, the sports innuendos are just unavoidable, aren’t they?

I didn’t mind playing this game with the half-interested sort of focus that I now demonstrated. I had only joined the local YMCA men’s league because Heath, a coworker, said they really needed someone to fill out their team. The last thing I ever wanted to spend my precious evenings doing was dribbling a ball down some lacquered court, but I figured I could use the exercise since my activity level had dropped somewhat since college. That, and I just couldn’t say no to Heath. One look into those dreamy deep-brown eyes of his, or the way he tussles those bouncy chocolaty curls atop his head, and I’m sold. And in the unlikely event that I actually could hold out, all he needs to do is shoot me a quick grin of that man-dissolving smile of his and I’d be bent in the knees.

He had joined the office last year when Jonesy retired. It was his second job out of school and the pour thing didn’t know his head from a wastebasket. Fortunately for him, and me, I was there to usher him into his business adulthood. If only he would have let me usher him into another important stage of his life…

Naturally, I kept my eyes on Heath through most of the game. I flubbed up here and there, but for the most part, I actually played the game like I knew what I was doing. I never figured my dad forcing me to play on my high school’s basketball team would ever actually turn out to be a good thing in my life, but it’s still doing for me now what it did for me then: giving me an eye-full of sweaty man-candy in the locker room after the game.

We lost. But none of the guys on the team take it too seriously, so everyone was still in pretty good spirits after the game. The YMCA ‘locker’ rooms are really little more than oversized changing stalls that are barely big enough for five grown men to fit in comfortably. This, of course, made the whole situation infinitely more comfortable for me as John and Paul, our two stout, biblically handsome forwards crossed paths in the center of the room, twisting sideways to pass one another and nearly sliding across my lap as they scrunched to do so. I didn’t move a muscle to get out of their way either. Each stood the better of 6’2” and is ripped like an old pair of acid wash jeans. I dropped the damp gym towel that I had been using to blot the sweat from my brow down into my lap as Paul slid past me, just to cover myself in case his perfectly formed buttocks happened to brush against any protuberances in my shorts. As he maneuvered by me toward the open seat on my right, I was overwhelmed with his thick, musky scent. It was erotic and evisceral. And momentarily the sweaty towel in my lap shifty altitude by a few minor degrees.

On my left was Heath, while John and Grant, the fifth member of our team, were across from us adjacent to the door. Grant reached across and gently swung the door closed. Paul and Heath already had their shirts off, and I had to strain myself not to stare at their exquisitely chiseled pecs and rippling abs. I wanted desperately just to reach out and trace my fingers across the framework of Heath’s rock-hard stomach, but I had to resist the urge.

The next few minutes were agony as each strapping young man disrobed, toweled himself dry in long, forceful, sliding motions that revealed terse thighs, steely butts, bulging triceps and some of the nicest packages I’d seen since Christmas.

All the while I kept my eyes darting about, mostly toward the ground and only occasionally back up when I was sure whichever Adonis who’d captured my eye wasn’t looking back.

John was the first to finish packing his bag. He wished us all a good week and said he see us at the next game before stepping carefully through the door. Grant’s exit followed shortly thereafter in kind.

Then something astonishing happened. Just as I had finished stuffing my own sweat soaked shirt and jogging shoes into my gym bag, I noticed Heath standing to turn toward Paul. He placed his hand gently on Paul’s hip and gave him a quick peck on the lips before uttering, “Good game, babe.”

I was floored. My jaw dropped. Completely and totally floored. When Heath first came to work I thought I had mistakenly misjudged him as gay and then just left it at that. My gaydar has always been pretty strong and I never imagined that one could fly under it as slyly as he had. But for Paul to be his partner was even more boggling. The two of them noticed my astonishment and each let out a quiet giggle.

“You didn’t know?” Heath asked with a hint of disbelievability in his voice. “Paul and I have been dating for more than a year,” he continued. “Oh, he didn’t know we were together?” Paul chimed in.

“Didn’t know you were together?!” I began, “Hell, I didn’t even realize you were gay! I mean, I sort of thought I got the vibe, but you are the straightest gay man I’ve ever met!”

At this point we all shared a good hearty laugh, then the tone turned quite serious as both Heath and Paul silenced their giggles in unison. “Whaddaya think?” Paul asked, staring deeply into Heath’s swirling brown eyes. “He is pretty cute.”

I just sat there flabbergasted, trying to wrap my head around what exactly was going on. “I dunno,” Heath responded, “He’s a coworker. This could get weird.”

“No it couldn’t!” I darted the response involuntary from my lips, almost like a hiccup of the subconscious. I didn’t even know for sure what Paul was suggesting, but without giving it a moment’s though, I knew for certain that I very much wanted to be a part of what it was.

“It couldn’t?” Heath queried, seeking affirmation for my spontaneous commitment to their as of yet undetermined proposal.

“No. I don’t think so. We’re all grown men here, right? We can conduct ourselves appropriately,” I managed to put the words together in the right order but I was tingling with such excitement that my voice trembled and quaked with each breath. Heath and Paul were both noticeably amused by my boyish anticipation.

Without another word spoken, Heath casually pushed the door shut and flipped the lock down to seal us in tight. At the same time, Paul seductively stretched the white Lacoste polo he had just donned over his head and removed his shirt to reveal his sculpted torso. And this time, I didn’t need to sheepishly hide my admiration of his physique. I was able to study every curl and crevice of his rolling pecs, streamlined shoulders and sliced abdominals. Behind me I heard a rustling that could only be the sound of Heath also removing his own shirt.

As much as I wanted to continue to sit there admiring Paul, I just had to spin about to give Heath his equal due. I was amazed at what I saw. Heath was far more deft and nimble than I’d given him credit for based on his moves on the court. He hadn’t only removed his shirt with that momentary rustling, but had completely disrobed. And while I wanted to soak him all in, perfectly capturing every inch of his long, smooth, pale torso in my mind’s eye, all I could focus on was the hunk of man-meat dangling between his legs just below one carefully sculpted little square patch of quarter-inch long pubic hair. He was by no means the biggest guy I’d seen, but his cock had charm, and it fit him well.

He walked around past me so that he and Paul were now standing side by side, in front of me. In synchronization they each took one of my hands into each of their own and lifted me from the little cold steel bench upon which I’d been sitting. As they did so, the sweaty towel that had been disguising the true nature of my condition fell hopelessly to the floor, revealing the tenting of my shorts that my diamond-hard prick had formed. Once I was standing, Paul quickly began pulling my shirt off over my head while Heath simultaneously slid my shorts and boxers down to my ankles. As he did so, the waistband of my basketball shorts caught agai…

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Twins

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Jim and Jerry were identical twins. They were identical in every way, even in their personalities. Even their parents had trouble telling them apart when they were infants so their mother tied different colored ribbons around their wrists in order to tell the two apart. They grew up sharing everything and it was quite evident that they both enjoyed each other. They even took the same classes in school and studied together. They had fun with dates, switching back and forth, confusing the girls as to who they were dating. When Jim and Jerry turned 21, they went to a tattoo parlor. Jim had a crescent put just above his right inside ankle and Jerry had a 5-pointed star put on his right inside ankle. The crescent and the star were the same size. So, at first glance, you didn’t realize there was a difference.
When they were in their late teens, they both realized they had the curiosity for sex with men. Sure, they had played with each other in a jerking competition but, soon realized there was something exciting about seeing other guys cocks and they wanted to experience more. Even in the school showers, they looked at the other guys wondering what it would be like to have one of those young cocks in their mouths.
The two boys got a two bedroom apartment and decided they’d live together until one decided to move on. It was a very nice apartment in a yuppie type neighborhood. They went to the local import store to buy some furniture, mostly rattan type chairs and table, some inexpensive beds, dressers, and some cooking and eating utensils. It was very comfortable and they felt quite at home with their living quarters. They both had jobs at local grocery stores as checkers and had decided they would not work at the same stores to save confusion of their employers.
They talked about having sex with other men and both decided they would experiment if they could find someone that would go along with them. They talked about a plan where one would pick up someone and bring them home. The other would be in his bedroom and wait for the activities to begin. At one point, they would switch places without telling the guy what was happening. This seemed to be a fun thought to them.
The two young men headed for a very notorious gay bar and decided not to dress alike. In fact, Jim wore sunglasses and a western hat while Jerry didn’t wear anything on his short-cropped head. As they entered the bar, they saw a couple of interesting guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. Jim walked to one end of the bar and Jerry walked to the other so that no one would suspect they were together. It wasn’t very long before Jim started carrying on a conversation with the guy next to him in the bar. He was a hunk and Jim got quite turned on by him. Jerry started a conversation with another guy at his end of the bar but it was quite evident the guy just wanted to talk.
Before long, the hunk put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and moved it down to his chest. He could feel Jim’s nipples under the t-shirt and lightly pinched them. Jim immediately started getting hard. The guy suggested that they go somewhere more private. Jim said that sounded very promising. With that, Jim looked across the bar and gave his brother a nod. Jim then excused himself to the hunk and said he had to go take a leak. He went into the bathroom and not long after, Jerry entered. Jim asked Jerry what he thought about the hunk. Jerry said, “Go for it.” Jerry then said, he’d catch the bus and head home and told Jim to have another beer before he brought the hunk home to give him some time.
Jerry left and Jim went back out to the hunk and bought him another beer and introduced himself as Jim. The hunk said his name was Al. They sat there for about 30 minutes until Jim suggested that they go to his apartment. The hunk seemed eager to get this good looking guy in the sack. Al was about 6 foot tall and a build like a weight lifter. His muscles rippled under his t-shirt. He had quite a bulge in the cock area and Jim could only imagine it was either padded or the guy was hung like a horse. The two walked out of the bar and a half block away to Jim and Jerry’s car. It took them only about 10 minutes to get to the apartment.
When they opened the door, a dim light was on and they made their way into the living room. Jim motioned for Al to sit down on the sofa and offered him a beer. The hunk nodded and Jim made his way over to the kitchen, pulled out two cans of beer and brought them over to Al. He handed him one of the beers but instead of Al taking the can, he grabbed Jim’s wrist and pulled him down onto the sofa. Al immediately put a lip lock on Jim. Their tongue…

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Joy Ride

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Joy Ride
by J.M. Snyder
This story appeared online at Ruthie’s Club in 2005 and is included in my short story collection, Shorts, published in 2006 by Lulu Press.

A light-weight Kawasaki Streetbike buzzed around the curve, taking the turn wide as it shot through the red light and into the parking lot of Sylvia’s Bar and Grill. Gravel sprayed up from the bike’s wheels in a flourish. From where he leaned against his black Harley-Davidson Electra Glide, Mack Thomas shook his head in disgust. Over the engine’s drone, he hollered, “Get a real bike!”
Beside him on a Harley Softail Deuce, Stan Freeman laughed. Mack crossed his thick arms in front of his broad chest and nodded at the newcomer. To no one in particular, he muttered, “Nice moped.” Stan laughed again.
“Yeah yeah,” the rider said, cutting off his engine. He shook a mess of blonde hair free from his helmet. “Laugh it up, Pops. I can out-ride you with my eyes closed.” Barely in his twenties, Brad Anderson had a wide grin, bright eyes, and tousled hair so damn perfect that Mack clenched his hands into fists to keep his fingers to himself. In the suddenly quiet afternoon, the sound of his popping knuckles seemed menacing. “Is that supposed to scare me?” Brad asked. He flashed Mack a quick smile, then winked. “Because it’s not working.”
With a shake of his head, Mack grunted. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” he wanted to know.
Brightly, Brad said, “Nope. Today’s your lucky day, old man.”
Old man didn’t quite fit Mack, and he wasn’t sure if the kid was as fearless as he played at or just plain stupid. At thirty-five, Mack was a stolid man, well built and in shape, muscles bulging from the torn holes in his shirt where sleeves used to be. The bandanna tied down over his hair, the black wraparound sunglasses he favored, the leather chaps and length of chain he wore looped through his belt only added to the effect. He was the type of guy most people went out of their way to avoid, ducking their heads or turning away as they passed by him, silently praying to slip into Sylvia’s unnoticed. The huge touring motorcycle that crouched behind him, with its built-in hard bags and luggage box on the back, looked as if it ate bikes like Brad’s for breakfast. And yet the kid puttered down daily to the little truck-stop bar where Mack and Stan hung out, messing with them and egging them on, trying to … what, exactly? Mack wasn’t sure. If he wanted to fit in, the best thing he could’ve done would be to turn that Streetbike in for a Sportster — bottom of the line, true, but at least it had the HD logo on the back and not some foreign name. Maybe he wanted to goad them into a race, show off what his little bike could do against their choppers, but if that was the case, Mack wasn’t going to buy it. Brad’s father was chief of police out in the county, and the road past Sylvia’s was a straight stretch to the interstate with speed trap written all over it.
Or he could have something else in mind. Most of Brad’s comments to Mack were laced with innuendos that Stan either didn’t catch or ignored completely. “You got a lot of power between your legs,” he said once when Mack was on his hog, engine idling beneath him. Later, defending his Streetbike, he explained, “I like it fast and quick and easy. In and out. You know what I mean?” The way he stood up on the bike as he rode away, ass in the air like an invitation to follow, a glance over his shoulder to see if Mack got it and a smirk on his face when Brad was sure he did … the kid wasn’t just asking, he was begging for it. For Mack. Follow me, those dancing eyes teased. Their gaze stayed on Mack even as Brad shook his wavy blonde bangs out of his face. Chase me, old man. Come on, you know you want a taste of this. And he did.
Still straddling his bike, Brad leaned over and crossed his arms on the handlebars. “So what are you old farts up to today?” he wanted to know. Behind his dark sunglasses, Mack watched the way Brad’s thin t-shirt rode up to expose tanned skin in the hollow of his back. The tight biker shorts he wore hugged his thighs and ass. Beneath the shiny red material, his round buttocks looked like two apples, and Mack frowned against the thought of sinking his teeth into those firm mounds of flesh. He could tear into that ass with his teeth and lips and tongue, driving deep inside with his fingers and cock — ”Hey cowboy,” Brad called out in that flirtatious tone he used whenever he spoke to Mack. “Like what you see?”
“Get out of here,” Mack answered, his voice gruff. He turned away, hating what this kid could do to him, hating that he allowed himself to get reeled in like this. Brad wasn’t his type, with his surfer blonde hair and frat boy good looks. Mack went for older guys usually, his own age, with real bikes and leather fetishes and — admit it, he told himself, glaring at the door to Sylvia’s just for something other than Brad to look at, it’s because he’s everything you’ll never have that you want him so damn bad. One taste, that’s all you need, and you’ll see dick is dick no matter what it’s attached to. One taste, Jesus — is that asking too much?
Brad laughed. “You’re just jealous.”
With a snort, Stan asked, “Of what? Not that.” He nodded at the Streetbike.
“Oh please,” Brad answered. He kept his gaze on Mack, as if he thought perhaps the biker was watching him from behind his shades, which he was. “It’s hot and sexy and tight. Responds to the slightest touch, one hell of a ride. You know you want it.”
Stan patted the leather seat behind him. “This is a Harley,” he explained, and Mack bit back the urge to tell him that he didn’t think the kid was talking about what Stan thought he was talking about. “There’s no better ride in the world.”
“I can think of better,” Brad disagreed. “Hey Mack, can’t you?” When Mack didn’t reply, Brad pressed, “Come on, Daddy. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Mack clenched his jaw — he wouldn’t allow himself to be baited, not here in front of Sylvia’s where anyone could see, not in front of Stan. But Brad didn’t let up. “And smarter than you. And faster —”
“That bike’s not faster than mine,” Mack interrupted, then glared at the grin on Brad’s face that clearly said, See what I can make you do?
Sitting up in the seat, Brad started his bike. “How much you want to bet?” he asked, revving the engine. It sounded like an annoying mosquito compared to the roar that Mack’s Harley made when it came to life.
“I ain’t betting you shit,” Mack replied. “I already know.” Behind him, Stan laughed.
Brad eased up on the throttle, letting the Streetbike’s engine idle. “You know what I think?” he asked, his voice low. He watched Mack closely to see how his words hit home. “I think you’re too scared to take me on.”
Mack’s head jerked up at the insult, his mouth grim, his hands bunched into fists again. He had a limit and the kid was getting dangerously close to pushing him over it. Stan cautioned, “I think you’d better go.”
“Give me a try,” Brad continued, as if Stan weren’t even there. Revving his engine, he looked Mack in the eye, sunglasses or not, and said, “Show me what you can do. If you’re not chicken —”
Stan jumped to his friend’s defense. “He’s not! Go on, Mack. You can’t let him talk to you like that, the little punk. Teach him some respect.”
“I’ll teach him something,” Mack growled. His skin felt flushed and raw, suddenly too hot and too small for his body. A throb that began somewhere deep in his groin began to pulse at his crotch, pumping blood into his thickening cock. His balls ached at the bold way Brad watched him, waiting, as if he knew he’d have his way in the end and all this banter was turning him on just as much as it did Mack. Oh, he would love to teach that boy something, all right …
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Brad teased. He revved his engine but didn’t start to back out of the lot until Mack mounted his own motorcycle. Over the choppy purr of Mack’s Harley, Brad called out, “Don’t worry — I’ll try not to lose you.”
Then he was gone, darting out into the flow of traffic like a dragonfly. Mack took a moment to tug his helmet down over his bandanna and secure it under his chin before settling into the leather seat of his Electra Glide. Stan’s hearty thumbs-up confirmed that he didn’t realize they had never been talking about the bikes at all. With a sardonic glance at his friend, Mack gave chase.
* * *
Mack cruised at a steady speed, just over sixty miles per hour, Brad’s bright red ass five seconds ahead of his bike. Once Sylvia’s slipped away behind them, it became obvious that the kid wasn’t interested in outrunning him — if he were, he wouldn’t keep looking in his mirrors to make sure Mack followed. He hadn’t put his helmet back on for this ride, and his blonde locks whipped to one side every time he checked the mirror. Mack could imagine the feel of that hair between his fingers — tangled and slightly oily from the wind. His hands tightened on the handlebars, goosing the throttle involuntarily as he wondered what that hair would smell like pressed against his nose. A clean, wild scent, perhaps, that gave way to sweaty musk closer to Brad’s scalp. He’d find out.
Easing into the ride, Mack let the chopper’s engine drown out the world around him. He ignored the few cars on the road, zooming around them as if they stood still. Like a cat after a mouse, he let the kid get ahead a bit and then he gunned the engine, closing the distance between them until his front tire spun mere inches from Brad’s exhaust pipe. Then he’d fall back again, letting the gap widen, playing the role Brad so badly wanted him to play. Don’t think I won’t catch you, Mack thought, grinning as Brad glanced back in the mirror at him. You’ve been asking for it for too long now, kid. Let’s see if you can handle it.
Up ahead was an intersection with a red light, but the left turn lane had a green arrow. That led to Snake Road, a secluded stretch that was just what Mack had in mind. Engaging his throttle, he shot into the empty space to Brad’s right, his engine barely turning over to keep up with the smaller bike. Brad shook his hair from his face, a damned smirk on his lips. Neck and neck now, Mack pulled towards the other bike, just a little at first as a warning and then hard, forcing Brad onto the shoulder of the road. The kid held the bike steady — at least he could ride, Mack would give him that. He eased off, allowing Brad back onto the tarmac and into the turning lane. Nudging his Harley closer a second time, Mack shot ahead, taking the turn hard as the light changed.
A quick look over his shoulder showed the yellow Streetbike revving after him through the turn. Good. The kid could also take a hint.
Just past the light, railroad tracks ran parallel to the main strip. Mack let up on the throttle and coasted over the bumpy rails, hanging back enough to make sure Brad followed. Though he had to sacrifice speed for control, slowing down as he crossed, the kid started on the throttle as soon as he was back on the road, a determined set to his jaw as he raced after Mack.
Beyond the tracks, Mack opened up. Woods lined either shoulder, broken only by an occasional house or overgrown field. The speed limit was high, even around the switchback curves that gave the road its name, but Mack wasn’t going all out. Now he was the one checking the mirror, making sure Brad was still behind him. Had the kid honestly thought he could outrace him? That little Kawasaki against his Electra Glide? Was he serious? Here on an open stretch, it was all Mack could do not to leave the Streetbike in the dust. But that wouldn’t be much fun, would it? It wouldn’t make this little stint worth his while.
Around him the woods fell back and tall grasses waved as he passed. Mack slowed, looking for a track worn into the grass. He knew about where it was — it led from the road through the field, down to a copse of trees that hemmed in the river. A great spot for bass fishing, and a bit of a duck blind during hunting season, but at the moment probably completely deserted. There — off to his right, he saw the swathe in the…

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Taking Care of Truckers

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From an early age I knew I was slightly submissive I just loved to please others. Around age 18 I found out I love to eat pussy then later on I also found out I loved to please guys just as much.
Ok a little background, this story takes place back in the early 70′s when it was still ok to go bareback and eat cum. Also back then every men’s room had at least a glory hole in it. Yeah at the malls the police and others mostly overlooked gas stations and sex there. I also discovered adult bookstores video booths and a local nature area by our local river and the rest stop just outside of town that was where I went most of the time for action because my favorite kind of guys were 30 something year old truckers who acted straight but didn’t mind letting me service their hard cocks for them. Ok on with the story. I was at the nature area one night around midnight. On a hot august night and I was at my best spot, it was just off the trails a bit and was covered on 3 sides, it had a big log about a foot off the ground and I laid out a blanket so my head was resting on the log and on the log was a message carved into it that read for a great blowjob sit here and don’t talk just feed me I didn’t put it there but I liked the message so I was there and when I saw a guy come into the opening I would lay my head back and look to the side and close my eyes and open my mouth. I also would be playing with my cock through my leg hole most guys would see me that way and they knew what was written on the log and I loved that surprised feeling of a cockhead brushing against my lips and then sliding into my mouth.
I would open my eyes and take their hard cocks into my mouth and really suck them off or I’d let them take charge and just fuck my mouth hard and deep. I also loved to hold their cocks in my hand and look up into their faces as I ran my tongue up and down on their cocks. I also told them it was ok to cum in my hot mouth or they could pull out and cum all over on my face or do both. I also loved to be servicing one cock while another guy or two would be watching me do it and then I would take them into my mouth. This is where I was told by a guy I just sucked off about the hot action at the rest stop.
The very next weekend found me at the rest stop it was about 12am and it was hot so all I had on was a tank top and some gym shorts. I was nervous and walked in to see it was old, dirty, and only had a dim light over the sinks and in the very back were three stalls, all empty at the time so I looked in all of them and noticed the walls all had old glory holes at least 8 inches round and smooth. I sat in the middle stall took my shorts off all the way and put them on the back of the toilet. I was trying to read the walls but in the very dim light it was hard, then I heard the outside door open and in walked a guy. He slowed down as he walked past me into the last stall. He sat down and in no time he was stroking a nice 6 inch cock where I could see it and so I ran my finger thru the hole to let him know I was ready for his cock. He stood and shoved his cock into my stall and in my waiting mouth very quickly he grunted and shot a big load of cum into my mouth then quickly zipped up and left.
In only a few minutes another guy came in and took the first stall and right after that another guy took the last stall and so I leaned forward to …

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Mexican Horsewhipping

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Mexican Horsewhipping
The already broiling heat of the midmorning summer sun beat down on the asphalt of a little used road in the back country of the Sonora desert in Mexico. The sun was huge and straight up in the sky and seemed to blot out the blue surrounding it. Heat waves shimmered up from the black ground as a van carrying three burly Mexican ranch hands and towing a horse trailer pulled up to a desolate spot in the desert. The driver, a tall, thick, burly ranchero with greasy black hair and a long drooping mustache, stepped from the cab and surveyed his surroundings. As he wiped his heavily scarred, acne pitted face and neck with a bandana, his eyes focused beyond the many giant cacti to a huge rock that resembled the back end of a hippopotamus. He walked over baked desert floor to the rock and ran his hand over the smooth back end and across the mesa-flat top of the rock and grinned a tobacco stained smile. He turned and called something back to his amigos, which made them laugh. As he walked back to the horse trailer he could hear a labored breathing which made him emit a disgusting chuckle. He stepped up onto the trailer hitch and looked down into one of the stalls and asked,” Jew feeling good back there chico?”
A young man or boy’s voice, breathless and distinctly American called out,” Oh… Gawd… Yeah!”
He stepped down and suddenly the greasy ranchero’s facebecame grimly serious as he fingered the horse whip on his belt, took it offwith a flick of the wrist, cracked it at a cactus which took off a limb and replaced it in the harness in two seconds flat. He chuckled again and said back to the trailer, “Jew need to save da strength chico, jew are going to get beeeeg excersize with a beeeeg pinga!” His amigos laughed with him this time.
Just then a dusty but new black Mercedes limousine rolled up behind the trailer and stopped. An obscenely fat, older Mexican with greased back grey-black hair, thick framed black glasses, a white guayabera and black slacks tucked into cowboy boots, a large red nose and bulbous lips emerged from the salon. He looked to the ranchero who pointed to the rock and the fat man lumbered over to inspect it. He too ran his hand over it and when he was satisfied he smiled obscenely because he could also hear the panting coming from the trailer. He slowly licked his fat lips and nodded his head. The rancheros had been instructed and knew what to do. They moved to the back of the trailer and opened the doors. There were two stalls in the trailer, one containing a large black stallion, and in the other, a naked, heavily oiled, and sweating young man of 18 years. He had short, sandy hair, the chiseled face of an Anglo model, a smooth and muscular and almost hairless swimmer’s body save for a thin horizontal band of short pubic hair above his thick, fully erect, 10-inch penis.
It was the boy’s huge cock and sexual prowess that had gotten him here to the desert. Just days earlier the fat, rich Mexican had seen the boy in a pornographic movie while north of the border taking care of business interests. Mixing business with pleasure, he had indulged his whim of looking at young men in various ultra-hardcore porn movies. One particularly perverted friend, who knew of the fat man’s tastes, had shown him a film of the boy being brutalized in a prison-themed film. In it, the boy was “raped” by five large, muscular, well endowed black men after he was caught masturbating in the shower (laying on the ground, madly pumping at the cement floor, clearly the boy’s favorite technique.) He was captivated by how such a fresh looking 18-year old could take such mammoth black pingas so deep into the small orifices of his tight body. He was also in a scene where he runs afoul of the prison guards who take him out to the baseball diamond in the prison yard and double and triple team him on the pitchers’ mound. And as punishment, the warden put him to work on the chain gang with some enormous brutes who fuck him on the pavementevery which way without mercy. The fat man had been told that the boy had completed all three scenes in a single day! But what had impressed and aroused the fat man was not only that the boy clearly enjoyed every brutal moment of it but also the fact that the boy had unmistakably been under the influence of methamphetamine (as several close-up shots had revealed large dilated pupils and an unnatural stamina). The boy was still young and had an innocence about him. And he was not yet ravaged by his drug consumption and this intrigued the fat man immensely. He despised people who consumed drugs, even though he trafficked in them, and he wanted to teachthe boy what real punishment was. In reality, he was a megalomaniacal sadist who loved torturing young, porn actors whom he considered to be just this side of total corruption (he had tortured many by now). He was at the same time both repelled and arousedby this behavior. This boy’s obvious relish and delight in hardcore, drug-fueled sex was something the fat man couldn’t allow and he was just the man to whip some morality into the boy. After some discreet inquiries to the boy’s sleazy agent through his equally sick friend, the fat man had the agent entice the young man south of the border ostensibly to film a porn flick (and it was to be filmed although not to be widely distributed) and the promise of ten thousand dollars plus all the meth he could shove up his nose. The boy agreed after being told few details and flew down from Los Angeles in the fat man’s jet. On the flight down, the boy had been very excited but also a little concerned: wasn’t it possibly dangerous to go far into Mexico to shoot a porno with people he’d never met? All he’d been told was that he was going to have a lot of sex in the desert and this excited him because he loved action in outdoor places. The thrill of being accidentally seen by regular people excited him terribly. He told himself to relax.
Now, an hour before this odd caravan had trekked to this lonely spot in the desert, one of the servants at the fat man’s ranch had been plying the boy with alcohol laced with Viagra tablets and a good quantity of high grade methamphetamine which the boy eagerly snuffed up his nose. After he was good and excited, one of the rancheros had led the boy to the trailer, instructed him to take his clothes off (which the boy had been desperate to do), handed him a six pack of Tecate beer, a bottle of oil, and several porn magazines and told him to get in back in the stall next to the horse. The boy was clearly aroused (judging by his erection) by the combo of drugs and pornography and had immediately slathered the oil on his body then dropped to his stomach on the floor of the trailer to start flipping through the mags before the man shut him in. The boy was mildly curious of the horse but forgot about it when handed the porn.
Far out in the desert now, he laid on his stomach inside, facing the front of the trailer and propped up on his elbows. He was furiously humpingthe metal floor of the trailer, deep, drawn outhumps as he looked down upon several lurid and glossy porno mags that lay open belowhis head. When the doors flew open he scarcely interrupted his thrusting rhythm as he looked back over his shoulder at the men. The rancheros could see the boy’s spread-eagled legs, shiny tight ass and big tool hammering with each thrust and the boy could sense their awe and arousal which made him more excited so he pumped the floor even harder and faster. His enormous rock-hard cock and heat dangling egg-sized testicles made a smacking, slapping and slightly squishing sound with each bounce on the metal floor because he was so wet with oil and perspiration. The drugs had most obviously whipped the boy into an insane sexual frenzy and the fact that the boy enjoyed being an exhibitionist only added to his energy. His slight grunts and heavy breathing were audible and the oil glistened and sweat poured down his hairless body as each thrust flexed and contracted the muscles in his buttocks, legs and back. When the fat man reached the back of the trailer and knowing that they were all watching now, the boy slid the magazine up away from under his face, moved off his elbows so that now his arms and hands were palms-down at his sides while his chest rubbed the floor. This allowed the boy more leverage so as to lift his ass to an even higher apex of each thrust before endlessly crashing his cock to the floor. After a few moments he then reached back and grabbed and squeezed an ass cheek with each hand and proceeded to slam-hump the floor of the trailer. All the men dropped their jaws and alternately gaped and swallowed and wiped the sweat from their faces. The boy’s face was filled with a wild ecstasy, his frenzied writhing bringing him very close to orgasm.
Just then, the fat man issued a sharp command and two of the men jumped inside the trailer and tied the boy’s hands behind his back and hauled him out of the trailer, his big dick slapping up and down. They thrust him in front of the fat man. The boy was stunned, wondering what they’d do next. He stared at the fat man in wide-eyed wonder. The fat man licked his lips, then suddenly drew the boy to his body in a bear hug and reached down with one handto brutally squeeze his ass. With the other he grabbed the boy’s head by the hair and pulled it back to roughly thrust his fat lips and tongue down the boy’s throat. The fat man slobbered and slurped all over and into the boy’s face, mouth and ears. At first the boy was grossed out but soon the fat manstarted inducing the boy to hump the fat man’s pants in the crotch. Soon the boy responded with the same vigor he had shown in the trailer, but with his hands tied behind him he was forced to respond to whatever the fat man demanded of him. After some minutes of this he pushed the boy onto his knees and whipped out his own hard cock and proceeded to jack-hammer his face. The boy coughed and gagged on the sizable schlong, his eyes and forehead slapping the man’s enormous belly. As his hands were tied,he couldn’t stop the fat man from two-handing his head and forcing his cock all the way down his throat. As soon as the fatman reached orgasm, he threw the boy down on the dirt. The boy looked up eyes agog, pupils huge and still very turned on and slowly started to hump the rocky ground as if seeking permission.
The fat man walked over and stepped on the boy’s head, ground his boot in and said, “You are corrupt and immoral. I will teach you the meaning of these words!”
The boy winced but continued toslowly pump the ground, pretending to struggle against the rope tying his hands. The wonderful ecstasy from t…

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