“It’s easy,” Paul assured me. “Wait. I’ll get the grease.”
He padded into his bedroom, and came back with a tube of K-Y in his hand. He handed it to Harold, who unscrewed the cap and rubbed some of the water-based lubricant over the head and shaft of my cock. My dick was quivering with anticipation, and so, I was excited to see, was Harold’s hard-muscled, dark-skinned body. His own erection never subsided, but dripped semen from its tip, as he squeezed some more of the K-Y out into his palm, then put his hand around behind himself and brazenly worked the slippery lubricant into his ass crack and manhole.
“Yeah, man, finger-fuck yourself,” Paul encouraged him, lewdly. “Get that ass of yours good and hot!”
“Oh, I’m ready, baby,” Harold told me, sucking his breath in with gasp. “I’m ready for your big dick, kid. I want it, but you’re really hung big, you know? Go in slowly, please,” he begged, “until I know if I can take that horse prick of yours.”
“If you can’t take it, I will,” Paul boasted. “In fact, that might be one hell of a good idea … letting Keith screw both of us, one right after the other.”
I gasped in shock, at the mere thought of taking both of these guys up the ass. It sounded incredibly decadent.
“Me first, though,” Harold insisted. “Let my ass warm him up for you.”
“Go ahead,” Paul whispered to me, eagerly. “Go ahead and fuck him, baby. Fuck his hot, tight black ass for him. I’ve been in there lots of times, and let me tell you, he is one hell of a good stud fuck. His hole will suck the cum right out of you.”
Harold said nothing further for the time being. He just groaned as I placed my index finger against the pucker of his asshole and I spread his butt cheeks apart with my other hand. He started panting with barely controllable excitement when inserted my cockhead into the slippery pit of his asshole. I pushed my prick through the tiny aperture an inch at a time, pausing and pulling back out, but then going back inside, slowly, as he had cautioned me. What a feeling! The glans of my penis seemed to be caught between a pair of lips, which closed around it and sucked on it, avidly.
I soon was halfway in him, or more. Looking down, incredulously, between our bodies, I saw that a couple of inches of my cockshaft still remained outside Harold’s sphincter, which flexed visibly around the circumference of my erection.
I could no longer contain myself. Forget about proceeding slowly and cautiously! I was wildly aroused, incredibly horny, as hot for sex as I’d ever been during all of those occasions when I’d masturbated myself to a lonely orgasm. But this situation was entirely different. For the first time in my life, I was penetrating another guy’s body. I was having real sex, at last!
I couldn’t stop now. I simply had to find out what it felt like to fuck another man up the ass!
“Aw, sweet Jesus!” Harold whimpered. “I’m telling you, this pretty white boy is hung! It’s almost too big!”
“You lucky bastard. It must feel fantastic,” Paul exclaimed, enviously, leaning forward even more to observe the progress my prickshaft was making as it sank ever deeper inside his buddy’s yielding, squirming ass. “Go for it, Keith,” he urged me. “Fuck the horny son of a bitch!”
As Harold’s anus vibrated hotly around my dick, I stared up at Paul’s handsome face, wide-eyed.
“I’ve never fucked anybody before,” I blurted out.
“Shit! Not even a girl?” Paul asked.
“No, never,” I confessed. “This is my very first time. You’re going to have to tell me what to do. Am I doing it right, so far?”
“You’re doing just fine, kid,” Paul assured me. “Put the rest of your dick into him. Push it all the way in, nice and easy.”
I pushed! My anal probe disappeared between Harold’s muscular black buttocks. I was jammed up his asshole to the balls. He let out a scream of mingled pain and pleasure, and his back arched up. Then Paul reached down lower and grabbed him around the waist with both arms, hugging Harold tightly against his thighs.
“Fuck him!” Paul “Shove your prick in and out of his hot black ass!”
“It’s too big. I can’t take it all the way,” Harold gurgled in protest.
But his tone of voice didn’t sound all that convincing. Neither Paul nor I was persuaded that he was having any real difficulty taking my cock up his ass. He wriggled and moaned in a way which betrayed his increasing excitement, as I began to hump him with absolutely frenzied motions of my pelvis.
I still couldn’t believe it. I was fucking my very first piece of stud ass!
“Damn! This boy is hung,” Harold declared. “He’s tearing me apart!”
“Relax, buddy. I know you’re not all that tight-assed,” Paul taunted him. “It’s been a long time since you were a virgin, back there.”
I had an inspiration, and I reached under Harold’s belly, where I found his cock. I massaged it back into full, throbbing erection while I fucked him. I kept my dick planted deep in his ass and slid my other hand underneath his torso to pinch the stiff-pointed nipples which crowned his sleek, hairless pecs. He yelped with delight, and he began to hump backward against my groin, literally fucking himself on my cock.
“Fuck me, Keith, fuck me!” he shouted. “Oh, Christ—ram that big prick of yours deep into my ass, kid. Yeah, give me that white boy dick!”
His body relaxed slightly between mine and Paul’s, and he raised his head and began to lick the shaft of Paul’s cock, which was rubbing lewdly against his face. When his tongue reached the tip of Paul’s rosy-pink hard-on, Harold opened his mouth wide and sucked the cockhead inside. He went down on Paul ravenously, taking him to the balls, while I went on pumping my meat deep into his butt. His breathing, as he fed upon his friend’s hot, thick prick, kept rhythm with my steady fucking motions.
“You’re getting the hang of it, all right,” Paul told me, as Harold blew him. “Kneel down lower, Harold. Stick your ass up high in the air, so Keith can fuck you like a dog!”
Still sucking madly away on my fellow sax player’s cock, Harold pushed his behind up against my crotch at a more acute angle.
“Stand up, Keith,” Paul gasped.
I got the idea. I rose on the balls of my feet, and, hunched over Harold’s rear end, I pounded my prick between his spread buttocks from above and behind him, using my hands to hold his ass cheeks wide open for my thrusts. It was raw, brutal sex and I exulted in my possession of his body.
He was still sucking Paul’s dick, even taking the head of it down into his throat. His body shook from the repeated impact of my thrusts deep into his anus. He let out his breath around the cock he was sucking in groans and muffled sex cries, his voice echoing off the living room walls and almost drowning out the loud jazz record which was still playing. The very air in the room seemed to throb, hot and vibrant and alive with excitement.
I was getting close to an explosive climax. My legs straddled Harold’s thighs, and I could feel his heavy body shaking under me as I plowed in and out of his rectum.
Then I came, my jism searing its fiery pathway through the core of my cock, and spurting deep into the recesses of his ass, which seemed to contract around my exploding fuck tool, sucking my semen right out of me. Harold came, too, almost simultaneously with me, firing a hot white liquid missile of sperm down onto the mattress below his belly and chest. He moaned long and loud as he jettisoned his load in glistening wet wads.
Gasping, I let go of his ass cheeks. He collapsed down onto his knees, and while I blasted my final jet of cum into the torrid tunnel of his anus, he salivated desperately around Paul’s cock, which was still lodged in his mouth and throat.
“Don’t stop,” Paul warned him, in a breathless rush. “Don’t you dare stop sucking me now, motherfucker! Not when I’m just about ready to come!” He looked at me, with a tight, lustful smile. “And you, Keith,” he warned me. “Don’t think you’re going to get off this easy. You’re going to have to fuck me, too. I want you to give me what Harold got—and then some! You t
hought you liked being in his hole?” he teased me. “Wait until you’re plowing mine!”
Chapter Three: A Night Out on the Town
Two days after the threesome in Paul’s apartment, I moved in with him. It took me a day to admit to myself that I had enjoyed every moment of the experience, and that I was intrigued by Paul and very much attracted to him. It took me another day, plus a mostly sleepless night, to work up the nerve to phone Paul and ask him if he was still looking for a roommate. The actual process of moving my few possessions to his place took no more than a couple of hours.
No sooner did I have my clothes, my instruments, and my musical scores and notebooks put away, than Paul insisted that he take me “out on the town” to celebrate. He’d start by treating me to dinner, he said.
Dinner sounded good, but I was wary about what the rest of the evening’s entertainment might involve.
“You aren’t planning to take me to a gay bar, are you?” I asked.
He grinned at me, in that special way he had, which always made me melt inside. I could already feel my resistance—to anything this guy tried to talk me into doing—ebbing away.
“Why do you ask?” Paul responded. “Are you afraid I will take you to a gay bar—or that I won’t?” He laughed.
“It’s just that … I wouldn’t mind seeing what goes on in a place like that,” I said, trying my best to sound all light and airy about it.
“Sure, I’ll take you to a gay bar,” my new roommate assured me. “Hell, I’ll take you to every gay bar in Manhattan, eventually. That’s what you want, isn’t it, kid? You’re just dying to find out for yourself what big city gay life is really like, aren’t you?”
I agreed that I was curious. Then we debated about what I should wear on this auspicious occasion.
Our arrangement as roommates was that I’d sleep on the mattress in the living room. But, in Paul’s bedroom, I had half of the closet space, and a separate chest of drawers which I could use.
Paul took me into the bedroom. “Strip,” he told me, bluntly. “We’ll get you refitted from the ground up.”
He was acting so businesslike about it that I quickly overcame my hesitation, and I got undressed. Paul had already slid open the closet door, and the drawers of the chest of drawers, surveying my wardrobe. He turned and stared at my naked body. I could feel myself blushing—all over—with a strange combination of embarrassment and pride, the latter at being admired so openly by another man.
“Jesus,” Paul finally said, in a low voice. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Talk about fresh meat! Now I’m almost afraid to take you out with me and expose you to the wolves. They’re all going to want to sink their teeth into you, baby.”
I forced myself to laugh. “Well, I’ll have you to defend me, won’t I?”
“I’ll be at the head of the line with my teeth bared.”
“Come on, Paul, quit fucking around. What should I wear?”
“Well, with a body like yours, you only need the basics,” he said, stepping toward me and examining me critically from head to foot. “Let’s face it, stud—you’re a pretty good-looking young number just the way you are, without anything fancy on your back. With pecs like these—” He reached around me and gave my chest muscles a squeeze, so that I yelped and jumped away from him. “All you really need on top is a decent-fitting T-shirt. And with a pair of buns and a basket like these—” This time, he made a grab for my cock, which was semi-hard, but once again I evaded his fingers. “All you need down below is a tight-fitting pair of worn-out old jeans.”
“I’ve got the jeans, and the shirt.” I went to get them, but I hesitated before I pulled them on. “No underwear?” I asked.
“No underwear,” Paul said, firmly. “Go commando.”
The jeans fit me so snugly, in fact, that I had trouble getting the fly buttoned up over my raging erection. I had to exhale forcefully, emptying my lungs, in order to close the waistband button.
“Turn around,” Paul told me. He took a good, long look at the way the seat of the jeans encased my buttocks. “Not bad. Nice ass,” he declared. “Here, I’ll lend you the T-shirt. I’ve got one that’s perfect. It’s too small for me now, because it’s shrunk in the wash—and I’ve bulked up, down at the gym,” he bragged. “It’ll be perfect for you, though.”
He tossed me the shirt, which was a soft emerald green color. As soon as I had pulled it on, I had to admit that he was right. The synthetic material felt very lightweight against my skin, almost as though I was wearing nothing, and it stretched itself around my torso and hugged every muscle I possessed above my waist, in a way which was exceptionally revealing and flattering. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I could see my nipples clearly outlined under the thin, clinging material. My biceps bulged under the short sleeves.
“Yeah, you look hot,” Paul assured me. “You don’t need any jewelry. Just a pair of trainers on your feet. Without socks,” he specified.
“I feel practically naked,” I protested, as I pulled on the footwear.
“The less to take off, should the opportunity arise,” Paul told me.
He put on an outfit similar to mine, and I had to admit that he looked damn sexy in it—like a walking wet dream.
“Just remember,” I insisted, as we grabbed our jackets and left the apartment. “I’m not sucking anybody’s cock or getting my ass fucked. I’m just going along with you to take a look, not to participate.”
“Oh, sure, kid. Whatever. That’s what they all say, the first time,” Paul retorted, in that smug way he had, which always made me want either to hit him, or hug him.
We had dinner in a small Italian restaurant in our neighborhood. It was the kind of mom and pop place which served good, basic food at reasonable prices. Then we took the subway downtown.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?” I demanded. I was following Paul along a block of deserted warehouses, on the West Side, near the docks. The neighborhood didn’t seem to me to be very safe.
“What’s the matter? Are you getting nervous?”
“A little.”
“Well, keep your shirt on, kid. We’re here.” He stopped in front of a battered steel door, discolored by rust. I was sure he was kidding. This couldn’t possibly be our destination. “Or—take your shirt off, once we’re inside,” he added, slyly, as he banged his fist unceremoniously on the unmarked door. “A lot of guys do, and showing off the merchandise might get you an extra grope or two.”
“Bastard,” I muttered. To my surprise, the door was opened by a musclebound bouncer, who glanced at both of us, nodded, and silently gestured for us to walk past him and enter the inner sanctum.
I found myself inside an old warehouse, which had been converted into a bar. At first it was too dark for me to see anything very clearly, but I could make out a couple of dozen guys lined up along the long bar, drinking, talking, and laughing—and busily cruising one another. In fact, even to my inexperienced eyes, the drill appeared to be that a patron of this drinking establishment was expected to put the make on everybody in sight. The music was loud enough to drown out most of the noise made by the crowd of drinkers, making conversation difficult.
“Want a beer?” Paul asked me, casually, as he steered me toward the bar. Unapologetically, he squeezed his body between those of two guys who were drinking beer out of cans. I followed him through the gap he’d created.
One of the other studs at the bar, in jeans and a sweatshirt, turned and looked at me—an automatic reflex on his part, it seemed, as I felt his hot, eager eyes travel slowly down me and stop appreciatively at my crotch, where my semi-hard cock was creating quite a bulge in my jeans.
I glanced around, as my eyes got used to the gloom and my surroundings came into clearer focus. I was still young enough, naïve enough, and new enough to the whole gay scene to be on the lookout for any telltale signs of stereotypical homosexual behavior—a limp wrist, a high-pitched voice or a lisp, nelly behavior in general.
But Pa
ul had taken me to a bar which attracted an extremely—almost an exaggeratedly—butch crowd. And so about all I saw was a lot of men drinking heavily, and staring at one another rather more boldly than the guys in a straight bar would ever do.
So this is a gay bar, I told myself. It’s not so bad. It’s just another bar, really. The only difference is that it’s all men—all gay men!
“Don’t just stand there, Keith,” Paul coached me. “Smile. Circulate.” He handed me one of the two beer bottles he’d gotten at the bar. I grabbed mine and I sucked down the cold brew, gratefully. “You do look hot in that outfit,” Paul told me. “Everybody here is going to want to take you home and fuck you.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” I protested.
“Oh, bullshit,” he scoffed. “Come on.” He took me by the arm and he led me through the mob of horny guys, toward the far end of the bar. There, a dark, long-haired stud with a beard, in a flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots, turned and looked me right in the eye as I passed him. He smiled. Instinctively, I smiled back, and then I blushed. He followed my ass down the room with his eyes.
By my third beer, I began to relax and feel at home. Nobody had thrown me down on the floor, ripped my clothes off, and raped me—somewhat to my disappointment. To be honest, I really wouldn’t have minded too much, if that lumberjack type who’d cruised me had tried to do exactly that!
The place was filling up fast, I noticed. Paul, naturally, seemed to know a lot of the guys, at least as casual acquaintances, and he introduced me to one man after another. They were friendly, on the whole, and most of them didn’t hesitate to cruise me—nor were they subtle about it.
I have to admit it—being the object of so much attention not only helped to put me at my ease. It definitely massaged my ego, as well. I was beginning to enjoy myself.
I wasn’t surprised when a particularly handsome young stud, the kind of guy who turned heads there in the bar, and whom everyone was admiring and lusting after, came up to us. He slapped Paul familiarly on his shoulder.
Jazz Baby Page 2