My cock slurped out of his mouth, and he looked up from my lap. “I think you have potential.”
“I’m not a fucking charity case.”
He sat up, pumping my wet dick in his hand. “No, I know. Look, everything I said—maybe it doesn’t all apply to you. I mean, those are some of my reasons for why I like fat guys. I have lots of reasons for lots of things. Very rational and orderly but, uh, sometimes reasons are just there to cover up the fact that there are no reasons.”
“Huh?”
“Look, I’ve been rattling off all these reasons why I like fat guys. Honestly, most of them don’t apply to you, but I do like you. You give me a boner, and I’d like to fuck you when the coke wears off, and yes, a Vicodin would be smashing, thanks. But you know, I don’t know the fuck why. I can’t spew forth some thesis on how you’re my archetypal fat guy or something. I just—I just talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
“And coked up.”
“Yeah, well that too.”
It was all clear suddenly; I had this guy figured out.
“I think this is how you fuck,” I told him. “You fuck with all this talking! I know this game; I do it all day with my customers.”
“So maybe you can top after all,” he said, way too smug.
“I do—I do it all day. It’s called salesmanship. And it’s what you’ve been doing to me all night. I’m your birdie.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I prefer blokes to birds.”
“No, your mark—you’re trying to sell me. And I don’t think it’s right.”
“ ‘Right’? Look, we’re doing drugs—that’s wrong, that’s against the law. I’m sucking you off in a parking lot—that’s against the law. You’re fat, and I want to fuck you—that’s against the unwritten laws of fagdom. But we’re doing it because we want to, despite legal prohibitions and social codes.”
Rain splattered on the windshield; the cab of the Volvo was cold. My dick had shriveled into a wet little morel mushroom.
“The coke can do that,” he said apologetically. “Shall we go back to the pub?”
I tucked myself in. I didn’t know how long it would take the coke to wear off. I looked at him sideways.
“This has been a trip,” I told him, “but I’m gonna go.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thanks for everything but, ah, I’m going to go.” I opened the door and stepped into the rain. He leaned over.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll see you at the gym, I’m sure. Thanks.”
I shut the door. He sat inside, and I walked down the parking lot, toward the ATM, blinking past the winter drizzle. The scene appeared outwardly pathetic, but I felt really good. I’d never before walked away from sex—or even suggestions of, or the possiblity of, sex. When I got to the shelter of the ATM canopy, I looked back and saw him doing more lines off Kelly. I took out $40 and felt sober—coke wears off pretty quickly, after all. His Volvo wagon roared out of the parking lot, and I headed back into the bar.
from Voodoo Lust
M. S. Hunter
I awoke slowly from a drugged state, only gradually becoming aware of my surroundings and my condition. First I realized that I was lying on a surface that was moving, bouncing about on a rough road. But there was a mat under me, so it was not painful. Opening my eyes and looking up, I decided that I was on the floor of a small van traveling at moderate speed. It was apparently daytime, as dim light filtered through the van’s dirty rear windows. I was still naked, but something seemed different. I looked down at my body and realized that something was missing—my pubic hair! I moved my arms and determined that the hair from my pits was gone as well. I had been body shaved! Turning my head slightly I could feel the hair on my head move against my scalp. At least they had left that.
When I turned my head I also saw something else—two pair of military boots. Soldiers? My guards? My questions were answered at once when I heard voices speaking in Creole.
“I think he’s waking up.”
“Good! Then we can have some fun with him before we get to the turnoff for the island.”
“Yeah! And I want to fuck that pretty white ass.”
“And I want to eat it. I want to get my tongue up that chute.”
The other soldier laughed. “Right! I know you, Carlo. You’d rather eat an ass than fuck it. But let me fuck it first, and you can eat my spunk out of it.”
“Sounds good to me, Andre. And you can fuck his face while I do it.”
“If I’m still hard enough. Maybe I’ll just suck on that big white dick while you’re eating his ass.”
“Okay, but if you fuck him first, I’m going to swing on that while you’re doing it.”
They both began laughing, and then one of them said, “Look! He’s awake and he’s getting a hard-on!”
I was indeed wide awake by now and, despite the obvious fact that I was still a prisoner, I was thoroughly turned on by the conversation I’d been overhearing. It’s doubtful they would have been speaking so freely if they had had the slightest inkling that I understood the language.
Now I looked boldly at the two and, as I had suspected, they were the same soldiers who had taken me to the interrogation room and who had sported erections while I was being forced to suck off that disgusting Inspector Moreau. If they wanted to “have some fun” with me while we were going wherever we were going, that was fine by me.
One of the soldiers began to remove his boots and the other followed suit. In short order they were both stripped naked. They each had a rifle that they unhesitatingly leaned against the van’s wall back near the door. I thought fleetingly about jumping up, grabbing a rifle, or both of them, and trying to escape. I dismissed the thought at once. Where the hell could a naked white man with a rifle go? And where was I? Just somewhere in Haiti. I might get out of this van, but that would be all.
Instead, I took a good look at my guards. One, Carlo, was pitch black, smooth as silk with just a tiny patch of pubic hair, and well-defined musculature all over. Swinging between his legs, already half hard, was what looked like ten inches of uncut dick. My mouth watered at the sight.
The other, Andre, was different—taller, a medium-brown color, with body hair—not a lot, just a sprinkling on his chest with a trail of it down to a curly swirl around his genitals. This one wasn’t just half hard. His dick was already at full mast and, at a quick guess, about nine chocolate inches.
That was about all I had time to observe before they were onto me. Carlo, speaking Creole as if I was supposed to understand, said, “Don’t worry, Peter, we’re not going to hurt you.” And then his mouth was stoppered as he dived down on my rampant cock, swallowing it all the way in one gulp. This guy was no novice at cocksucking. His lips wrapped themselves tightly around my shaft and began to move up and down. It was as expert a blow job as I’ve ever received. This Carlo could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.
Meanwhile, Andre had straddled my face and was ready to plunge his dick into my mouth. I opened up without hesitation and in it went. That’s when I realized that it was one of those with an upward curve, all wrong for the angle. It scraped the roof of my mouth. I signaled for him to turn around, and after a moment he got the message. He swung around, facing Carlo, and now the head of his curved cock was pressing against the opening of my throat. After all the cocks I’d sucked over the last couple of years, it was easy for me to relax, suppress the gag reflex, and let that long, thin shaft slide right in. Andre proceeded to give me a most satisfactory face-fucking. That he was enjoying it as much as I was, was clear from his moans and, after a minute, his words to Carlo. “Oh man, this is great. This kid got more of my dick down his throat than anyone, even Leon, ever did.” I didn’t know who Leon was, but I knew a compliment when I heard one. I’d long since decided that, if I was going to be a cocksucker, I should try to be the world’s greatest cocksucker.
Carlo didn’t answer. Hardly surprising since his mouth, so full of my dick a
moment before, was now full of my balls. When he released them, he pushed my legs up into the air and plunged his tongue straight into my asshole. What a sensation! One long dick down my throat and one hot tongue up my love chute. I was in heaven. All thoughts of my serious predicament were gone from my mind.
“That’s it, Carlo,” I heard Andre say. “Get it all wet and ready for me.”
Carlo lifted his head. “I think it’s ready now.”
They changed positions, Andre now between my legs, still stretched up into the air, and Carlo straddling my face, facing Andre. Carlo’s dick, longer and fatter than Andre’s, presented a new problem. It was straight as a die, so in order to let it into my throat I had to tip my head backward. I did, and in it went. His silky ball sac came down onto my eyes and nose, treating me to a heavenly aroma but cutting off all vision. It didn’t matter. I could feel what Andre was doing. He inserted first one finger and then another into me, twisted them around, and in no time had my sphincter relaxed and my hole wide open. Then it was the head of his cock that I felt knocking at the gate. I was hoping that the spit Carlo had left was enough lubrication, but that didn’t matter either as I felt him pushing some kind of lube into me.
“Oh!” I heard Carlo say, “I see you’ve got some ju-ju.” I didn’t have time to wonder what ju-ju was as I then felt a double sensation at my midsection. Just as Andre’s long shaft began to penetrate me, I felt Carlo’s lips engulf my cock. His short, stocky build made it possible for him to do so even though my legs-up position made the distance between my face and dick shorter than it would be if I was stretched out flat.
Meanwhile, as Andre’s rod slid into me, that curve at the end drove it right against my prostate on the first thrust, sending new waves of pleasure coursing through my body. So there I was with one big black dick in my mouth, another up my ass, and hot lips sucking on my own cock. What more could I ask of life?
What more? Well, after a few minutes of this triple delight I heard Andre yell, “Oh! Mother of God! Here I come!” Whereupon I felt his dick swell, he shoved it in further and harder than ever, and his erupting fountain of joy bathed my insides with a copious offering of Haitian jizzum.
When he finally withdrew Carlo said, “Now, you know what I want.” What he wanted was what I’d heard him say before we began. At once he was off my dick, pulled his huge shaft out of my throat and mouth, scooted down between my legs, and his mouth landed squarely on my asshole. In went his tongue, and it was accompanied by a sucking action by his lips that seemed to be glued to the rim of the hole. It was a sensation I had never felt before. This was rimming at its most spectacular.
“Go for it, Carlo,” I heard Andre say. “I put plenty of my spunk in there. Eat it all out.” And that was exactly what Carlo was trying to do.
Andre, after a couple of minutes of relaxing beside us, now leaned over and took my swollen dick in his hand. He was slicking some of that lube onto it and I thought it a wonder that I didn’t come at once as his hand slid up and down the shaft. Instead it got harder and harder, feeling as if it would explode. But it didn’t. Then Andre’s mouth went down on it. He wasn’t the expert cocksucker Carlo was, but quite good enough.
That didn’t last long. Andre had other ideas. He came off my cock, straddled my face, facing toward Carlo, and, instead of dropping his now resurrected cock into my mouth, lowered his hairy ass toward me. He wanted his hole eaten just as Carlo was eating mine. Fine by me. I stuck out my tongue to meet him and he landed squarely on it. Clean and tasty. I drove in as far as I could, my lips spreading out over those brown buns. With all that kinky hair around his butthole and over his asscheeks, it was a little like rimming a Brillo pad. But I didn’t care. I kept forcing more and more of my saliva into him, and that was just what he wanted.
Again this position only lasted a few minutes. Andre turned around, straddled my body, and brought his now well-lubricated ass right down on my rigid rod. Andre let out a moan of delight as I penetrated him and began lifting himself up and down, fucking himself on my cock. His warm love chute clutching and massaging my dick felt divine. With Carlo still rimming me, sucking Andre’s earlier deposited spunk out of my ass, I was in a new version of heaven.
It was too much to last long. I felt the vibrations of ecstasy mounting in my body, spreading from my toes, from my head, from my asshole, from everywhere into my throbbing dick. “I’m cumming!” I yelled. Though I said it in English, both soldiers seemed to understand. Carlo at once abandoned his meal between my asscheeks and came around Andre to squat over my face, his dick immediately sinking into my mouth while he took his friend’s cock into his. As I felt my cum erupting into Andre’s ass, Carlo’s spunk began squirting into my mouth. At the same time I heard Andre shout, “Here I cum!” So I knew that Carlo, too, was getting a load of jizz down his throat.
That was it. We collapsed into a sweaty pile, me in the middle—a not unfamiliar position, the crème in an Oreo cookie. Both Carlo and Andre then surprised me by kissing me tenderly. If this was their method of being my guards, I hoped their assignment would be permanent.
Just at that moment we felt the van swerve left off the road and onto a much rougher, apparently unpaved path. We bounced a bit and we all sat up.
“We’re almost there,” Andre announced.
“Yeah, time to get dressed,” Carlo added. “And we have to get Peter ready to become one of General Sanon’s slaves.”
What the devil does that mean, I wondered.
Of course I wasn’t about to be allowed to get dressed, even if there had been any clothes there for me. The soldiers donned their uniforms, and then, with apologies muttered in Creole—that I wasn’t supposed to understand—my hands were cuffed behind me and manacles placed on my ankles that allowed me to make only short steps. Carlo and Andre retrieved their rifles, and it was clear that I was back to being their prisoner.
The van came to a halt and I heard the driver and someone else climbing out of the front seats. The rear doors of the van swung open and I saw another soldier, the driver, and Captain René LeClerc. LeClerc looked at me with a strange expression on his face, somewhere, I thought, between pity and lust. He stepped back and my guards lifted me—I couldn’t have taken the step alone—out of the van. I looked about. We were in a small unpaved parking lot surrounded on three sides, except where the road emerged, by jungle. On the fourth side was water, sea water I thought, though a body of land, probably an island, blocked most of the view out to sea. Closer, on the shore, was a small building and a jetty. Tied to the jetty was a boat, a small power launch. Standing about, entirely at ease, were a dozen or so soldiers. At once I was acutely aware of my nudity. They were all looking at me as Carlo and Andre, one on either side holding me by my arms, marched me toward the jetty and the waiting launch.
“Hey, Carlo!” I heard someone yell. “What’s that dribbling down your chin? Whose load did you just get in your mouth?”
“Andre!” another shouted. “Why are you walking so funny? Just had something stiff up your ass, eh?”
This was followed by laughter on all sides. I looked at my guards. The grins on their faces told me that they weren’t at all offended by the jibes of their fellows.
Finally, as I was lifted into the boat, I heard, “That one’s a beauty. When do we get a crack at him?” Then the boat’s engine fired and we were off toward the island offshore.
The Bad Boys Club
Michael Huxley
Prologue
I was lucky. My initial same-sex experiences began occurring when I was very young, and culminated in sharing, with my first “lover,” both his and my first orgasm. Talk about timing: I’d never even had a wet dream, and to this day still haven’t. No, after that glorious fix I was hooked, and have consequently appeased my wonderful addiction by getting off as frequently as possible ever since. God forbid I would allow however much time is required to lapse between shooting loads for such an event to occur!
Interestingly, at his request, I
relayed my first-time experience to a French actor I had the extreme pleasure of meeting last summer while staying in Paris, “doing research” for my novel-in-progress. On returning to the States, I wrote about my encounter with this actor, whom I shall refer to as “Alain,” within a fictional context. Extracting this conversation from the longer manuscript and placing it within a nonfictional framework has resulted in the piece you are about to read.
Because it was relayed under such hot and heavy circumstances, I have opted to communicate this tale by interpolating both the conversation with Alain and the situation within which it took place. But, wank assured, the sexual revelation chronicled here occurred in my hometown of Louisville, Kentucky—to me—precisely as articulated to Alain in Paris.
It was launched at Lakeside, the summer after I turned thirteen. At one time a fully operational limestone quarry, Lakeside was, and I presume still is, Louisville’s premier swim club, conveniently located on Trevillian Way, within easy walking distance of my old neighborhood. Now I ask you: How else was a boy on the verge to spend the sultry summer days in urban, brain-fuck Kentucky than hanging out with his buds, every day at Lakeside? I was soon to find out.
“The Three Mikes and Chris”—as we called ourselves—were quite an inseparable foursome at that time. One seemingly typical Lakeside afternoon, Mike Hannon and Chris Hart had repaired to the concession stand, leaving Mike O’Day and me to our own devises, sunning on the smooth rocks near the deepest end, away from the crowd. Imagine my surprise when, out of nowhere, he asked me: “Hey Michael, you ever like to do…y’know…dirty stuff?”
I knew exactly what he was talking about; I’d enjoyed doing what I then considered “dirty stuff” as far back as I could remember, but always by myself. Wasting no words, my pregnant response was a simple “Yes.”
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