by Kris Klein
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
The Brothers Dim © January 2010 Kris Klein
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
The Brothers Dim
By Kris Klein
Craigslist is, like, the biggest online whorehouse in the country. Well, maybe “whorehouse” isn’t the right word; at a whorehouse, you have to pay for your sex (and even though you always pay some “price” for sex, I mean financially). On Craigslist, it’s all free. In fact, if you can’t get laid off of Craigslist—chances are you can’t get laid anywhere.
Assuming you’re willing to settle for less, of course. I mean, have you taken a walk through the “men seeking men” section lately? I’m in Phoenix, but it’s the same in every city—the “m4m” section, in its entirety (and I’m talking the sexually-oriented ads, which is like ninety-eight percent of the section), can be broken down into several distinct categories: 1) the young (often barely legal) queers who will let anyone under twenty-five with a big dick, long as he’s height/weight proportionate, fuck them in the ass—often without a condom; 2) old gay dudes, over fifty and often over sixty, who only wanna suck some dick—any dick—and, often, have given up on the younger gays and go straight for offering straight men the kind of oral attention their woman can’t give them (many times hinting at how “generous” they can be if you’ll let their old alligator lips on your tool); 3) the dudes who post dick pics (or blurry/dark body shots taken with their cell phone camera) and want somewhere to stick it—especially if you’re young and height/weight proportionate—not realizing how gross and misleading dick pics are (or can be) if you can’t see the guy attached to it (after all, would you invite nine inches of cock to your house—if it showed up and was attached to John Goodman?); and finally, the true hustlers—those who seek a “generous benifakter” (swear to God, that’s how it was spelled) to pay for their company. These grade-Z callboys, too, aren’t usually anywhere near in quality to one you’d find outright advertising in a gay magazine, or paper, for hire. Nope, not on Craigslist—the hustler-wannabes here are the equivalent of the “Clearance” bin at Wal-mart, by comparison.
There are others, but that’s the “men seeking men” section of Craigslist, in a nutcase—er, nutshell. There are a handful of cool guys there, for sure—the ones seeking more than sex; the ones who aren’t ashamed of posting a face pic and are actually worth the effort to land; and, for comic relief, the guys who post an image of a sunset, or a cartoon character, or some pic taken from a porn site with their ad, so their ad will show an image attached (therefore guaranteeing more guys will open it—even though, once opened, the guy feels tricked and will never read the ad, anyway).
It’s a bit of a minefield, but if you know how to work it, “CL” can net some amazing results. Which is where my tale comes in.
I’d taken almost a year off of sex, not by choice, to move back to my old hometown in Indiana and get close to my family again. I’d been living in Boston—had moved out there to be with a boyfriend of four years, who’d gotten a teaching job he couldn’t afford to pass up—and had hated it from day one. The college guys were hot as hell—but shit, I had a boyfriend, and I wasn’t interested (though, I would find out later, that Duane was extremely interested in college boys—the skank). I also very much liked the sense of history you found everywhere in Boston; it’s a beautiful city.
It’s also too expensive, the people way too snobbish, and Duane way too much of a slut. I was wanting time to think, sort of missing my family (some of whom I hadn’t talked to in years), and when my sister said she had a spare room in her house I could stay in, as long as I wanted, it seemed like the chance to dump Duane and relive some fond memories of the past.
I was there almost nine months total, and boy can nothing kill your sex drive faster than being in your backward home town, with three sisters always in your business. I got a job managing an office supply store, which paid better than I’d thought it would, and saved and tried to enjoy small-town life with the siblings.
Flash forward those nine months later, by which time I was crawling the walls like fucking Spider-man, my high-octane sex drive going without for so long (and had you seen the available rednecks in my hometown, you’d know why). I had saved some money by then and decided a new start in Phoenix might be the thing I needed. I’d visited the Arizona city once, years ago, in August—when, yes, I got a true idea of how hot it gets—and somehow still found it a pleasant change from, at least, the humidity of the Midwest.
Once in Phoenix, living in my one-bedroom apartment near downtown, my sexual appetite kicked in like never before. I was ravenous for dick and ass, and soon as Cox turned on my cable and Internet I tackled a few of the more popular gay sites—though fast grew tired of the pretentious, cliquish homos I found there. Craigslist, as least, offered variety.
I never answer ads on CL but do place them, trying different wording and styles of ads to see what works; it’s like casting multiple fishing lines with various kinds of bait attached, trying to see what nibbles at it. After Duane especially, I was pretty much burnt out on gay men—had always been attracted to straight and married guys myself, anyway, having bedded my share of them when I was younger—and to me, especially now with my sex drive in hyper-mode, it was all about the hunt; the challenge of actually tricking one (or more) dumb straight dudes into coming over. I wanted the testosterone, the masculinity, the no-nonsense sex that comes with fucking around with a straight guy who’ll get up and go home afterward. No worries about if we were going to like each other the next day, if he was going to ask for my number or become obsessed with me, whether he’d only been nice to me because he wanted to screw me—no such bullshit comes with fucking around with a straight or married man (who are usually sexier from the “forbidden fruit” angle, anyway). It’s no-strings, often no-holds-barred (if you get him turned on enough) sex, which was what I sought.
Besides, I was thirty-three—too old for the gay dudes I’d want on CL, and (gag me) too perfect for the over-fifty, overweight queens to whom I was still a “boy”. So in the end, bypassing “men seeking men” for “casual encounters” seemed the natural way to go.
Casual encounters can be m4m, m4f, m4mf, ts4m—shit anything goes here, so long as it’s legal. I decided to try a “Straight dude, just broke up with gf, sks to explore sex with another guy for first time” ad (another category you find a lot of on CL; I wasn’t the first gay guy to pretend straightness or bisexuality)—and, indeed, placed a few varieties of this same posting—but when the responses started coming, I could tell right off who the straight dudes were, and who the gay men posing as straight dudes were (I would share the secret here—but why spoil my future fun by revealing the cheat, then everybody stops doing it?), and was able to get a couple of straight guys interested in coming over for a quick blow-and-go…but otherwise, my ad campaign was a dud. Too ma
ny gay dudes answering it, and I didn’t want all their drama. What I needed were some dim-witted straight guys—God knows there were enough of them—horny enough to be willing to experiment with a little male-on-male fun.
Then, one night, I came across an old photo, taken maybe six or seven years ago, of me with my best buddy at the time, Becky. We’d lost contact when she got married and then I’d found Duane, Becky moving to Seattle, but to this day I love and miss her. She’s an adorable redhead, petite and cute as a character in a Disney cartoon, and the photo depicted her and me sitting on a bed, beneath a huge poster of a hot sunbathing bimbo in a bikini, Becky in my lap and hugging me—my arm around her—with both of us smiling like we didn’t have a care in the world (which, back then, we didn’t). I loved that photo, really missed Becky (who’d always encouraged my overactive sex drive, so long as I played safe)…and while sitting there, looking at it and strolling down memory lane, perhaps the best idea of my life came into my head.
The next afternoon, around three-thirty, when most people would be getting off work or close to it, I placed the following ad under “casual encounters”—under mf4m:
More or less straight dude, 33, blonde/blue, 5’11”, 165, with gf who’s 25, a natural redhead, petite and cute as hell, seeking str8 and very sexual guy for possible 3some. The gf and I have done it with a girl before, twice, but never with another guy, and while it was hot watching her work with another girl…what she don’t know is, I’d kind of like to fool around the same way with another guy—maybe even get fucked. She’s out of town for about two weeks, got on the plane today, so thought it’d be cool—while she’s gone—to find a really hot and horny guy for a guy-girl-guy 3-way…only I’d like the dude to come over and let me “test drive” him first, at least orally, to see if he’s cool and up for maybe us both to work him over in bed, when the time comes. White/Hispanic guys a plus, 18-30 only, and married or guys w/gf a plus because then I know you’ll be as discreet as I want and NEED this to be.
I placed the ad with shaky hands, feeling a tingling in my gut like I had a winner at last—a sure-fire lure for dim-witted straight guys to fall for—then left my house to go cover someone else’s four-hour shift at the crummy retail job I had. When I got home later, after nine, I booted up the computer and went to get a cup of coffee while it kicked in (it was March, and the night air outside had a slight chill). Sitting back down at the computer ten minutes later, I opened up my email account, signed on—and about dropped my coffee cup at what I saw.
I had sixty-two new messages.
Sure most of them were spam, or from friends or family. I set my coffee mug on the desk and skimmed through the subject lines of the emails before me. Two were from family members—my sister, and some photo my teenaged nephew had sent me—and I had three from close friends. Near as I could tell, however, the other fifty-seven emails were all in response to my ad on Craigslist—and sweet Jesus, most of them had photos attached!
I began reading through them at random, based on the subject lines: “24, straight Puerto Rican, and yeah you could suck me first”—“sounds hot, is 18 too young?”—“MWM up for discreet 3some, never been with a guy but willing to try it”—these were but a few examples; most of the responses had only my ad’s headline for the reply’s subject. I was determined to check each and every one—and was bowled over by the photos attached to most of them; all face shots, many of them handsome, sexy-as-fuck straight men I would have dropped to my knees for in a heartbeat. Email after email, it was obvious each of these guys had bought into the ad, hoping to be selected for the threesome after being “test driven” by me—whether they were into the thought of fooling around with another guy, or had never entertained the notion before. Could straight men, I thought, really be this stupid? Was even the potential for getting pussy this important to them?
Then, about twenty minutes in, I came across this email:
“Hey man, what’s up? My name’s Kyle. I’m 21, white, 6’/155, slim but with a nice build. Was very interested in what your ad has to say. I’ve had my dick sucked twice before, back in high school, and have been wanting to try it again. I’ve never sucked a guy or anything. Never been in a 3way yet either, but your girl sounds hot. Do you have pics of both of you? Mine’s attached. Am free tonight, my girlfriend’s working late and I don’t have to pick her up until midnight, if you’re up for getting together. Let me know.”
Kyle sounded hot—very cute—and when I scrolled down to check out his photo…shit, was I ready for him. It was a close-up shot of his face, and the guy had the biggest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen on a man. His face was long and handsome, his brown hair combed back, moustache and goatee a little on the full/shaggy side. Which was who he sort of reminded me of, actually—a really hot, dark-haired Shaggy from the “Scooby-Doo” cartoons. Or maybe one of those stoner/skateboarder dudes you find hanging around the government building downtown, on weekends when everything’s closed and they can use the ramps for boarding. Sleepy-eyed and sexy. Very hot.
I wrote Kyle back right away, telling him I didn’t have a photo I could share online because I was worried enough about being found out by the girlfriend (though I had one he could see when he came over, no problem) and sent the email after inviting him over right then and there. I continued through the mess in my inbox, answering a few “potentials” for the next day or during the upcoming week—then gasped when I came across yet another guy up for fun tonight:
“Saw your ad, it sounds cool. I’ve never done anything with another guy, but suppose we could try it—see if I pass your test drive, and I’d totally fuck your girl. I’m white, 19 years old, and I live in Chandler but if you’re still up for tonight I could swing it, depending on time (I work at 6am, but kind of wanna do this while I got the nerve). It’d be just you and me tonight, right? You got any photos? Mine is attached, hope to hear back from you bud. Oh yeah, my name is Chuck.”
The attached photo blew me away—a decently-lit camera-phone shot, taken in his bathroom mirror, showing a damned hot, shirtless young guy with thick, dark brown hair and a smooth swimmer’s build. Dark nipples on a trim, hairless torso without an ounce of fat on it. He was seriously cute, very sexy; didn’t seem the brightest crayon in the box, like most straight boys his age, but man was he sexy.
I replied to his email with virtually the same reply I’d sent Kyle—and by then, Kyle had already written me back. For the next ten minutes I negotiated the deal, and was happy as hell to find out both guys seemed anxious to come over for their “first interview”—either to get it over with, hoping to get picked for the three-way, or else eager to do it while they had the nerve. Kyle was in the area, so we agreed on ten o’clock (less than thirty minutes away)—whereas Chuck being in Chandler, it was going to take him longer anyway, so I set him for eleven (the latest he could do it, to be in time to get his girlfriend at midnight). If their times ran into each other—well hey, maybe a hot, unexpected threesome neither of them expected might be on the menu—and I felt an hour between the two guys was enough leeway to work with. At the last minute I even remembered to write each guy, telling him to make sure he had his driver’s license in hand when he showed up, so I could see he was really at least eighteen, because each looked so young. Both agreed right away to show me their IDs when they arrived—which, alone, said to me these were at least “mostly straight” boys.
With Kyle due at ten, I hustled around my apartment, doing a quick clean-up before taking a quick shower and brushing my teeth. All my gay porn magazines and movies had been put out of sight earlier in the day, in case the ad had taken off—and as the icing on the cake, I had even taped the photo of me and Becky to the wall above my dresser, in my bedroom, to be able to show ‘my girlfriend” off to my potential new sex buddies. By this time it was ten minutes past ten, and I settled back onto the computer in the living room, checking emails again (another six new replies) to see if maybe Kyle or Chuck had decided to back out or cancel. There was nothing, but I kn
ow Craigslist; based on the guys you find on it, gay or straight or whatever, there’s a reason it’s nicknamed “Flakelist” when it comes to those who don’t show up.
It was almost twenty of eleven when my doorbell finally rang, and by this time I wasn’t sure who it was; a late Kyle or an early Chuck? I made my way to the peephole, peering through, and smiled at the sight of the handsome, lean young man I saw standing under my porch light. I opened the door happily.
“Hey Kyle—come on in.”
“Thanks—sorry I’m late, man; traffic was worse than I thought.”
He’d said in one of his emails he was a diesel mechanic, and though even cleaned up he still wore the navy blue pants and striped blue and white shirt from his job—complete with the big “KYLE” nametag stitched to the chest of the shirt. God, he was even sexier in person—taller than me by almost two inches, lanky and long-legged, his beard even shaggier than it had been in the photo. His eyes were amazing—big, droopy-lidded baby blues that screamed “young, dumb and full of cum”—and the mouth inside his moustache and heavy goatee looked tasty, big lips curling into a smile showing perfect white teeth as I let him into my home.
“What’s up?” he said. “You Mark?”
“Yep. Come on in and have a seat.”
We settled onto the couch in my living room, Kyle refusing a drink. I asked him about his driver’s license.
“Oh yeah—hold up, I got it.”
He pulled out a thick wallet, removing his driver’s license from the window compartment without hesitation, as if I was a cop. I studied it for a second—he was, indeed, twenty-one—and then noticed he had a cool, kind of unusual last name, and an address on Doveland Drive…in Chandler, Arizona.