by Neil Plakcy
“It was,” he said, his tone flat and lifeless.
“Sorry, man.”
“It happened. Can you stand?”
“Don’t think so,” I said. I knew if I stood up my sausage was going to pop right out of my shorts.
“Too much pain?” he asked, a smile playing across his lips. “Maybe we should make sure there aren’t any other injuries. I was a professional boarder before my accident.” He tapped his thigh. “Paralyzed my legs. Now, I’m a paramedic. Just remove your shorts and we can finish the exam.”
My wood grew even harder at the thought of his hands returning to my body.
“Just put all your weight on the good leg and face the wall.”
“I’m sure I’m fine,” I began.
“Then drop your drawers and we can finish.” His tone said there would be no argument.
I pushed up to my foot and turned to face the wall, and he positioned his wheelchair behind me and waited.
I unbuttoned and slowly unzipped my fly. My raging hard-on leapt out of my shorts and as I tried to control it, I lost the grasp on my shorts, and they fell to the floor.
Bare assed and dripping, my body tensed.
His hand began above the sore area and rose up to my waist. His fingers moved gently down one asscheek and curved along the underside. His other hand followed suit and reached between my legs. A finger brushed against the hair on my balls and I stood up on tiptoe.
“Did I hit a sensitive place?” he asked.
I swallowed hard, and squeaked out a wimpy, “Yes.”
“I hate to think there’s damage down there.” His hands circled my ass again and his thumbs spread my cheeks. “Could you bend forward?”
My hands cupped my dick and I slowly followed his orders. My legs spread slightly as I moved.
His hand slid down the crack, and his fingertips hit my low-hangers. His fingers curled around them and cupped them firmly. He pulled gently on them. “No hernia here. Maybe there’s a problem in the front.”
Juice dripped down my rod and slicked up my hand. How could I spin for him and show him my stiffy?
His hands grasped my waist and turned me around. My balls swung back and forth as I covered my dick with my hands.
“Are you bleeding? In pain?” His hands reached for mine.
“No,” I said as he took my hands away. My cock sprang free and a drop of precum landed on his cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
He reached up to his cheek and wiped the drop with his finger. Then he lifted his finger to his mouth and tasted it. “Nice.” With his right hand, he stroked my dick; with his left he guided his chair sideways. He brought my joint to his mouth, licked the tip and slowly drew me into his mouth. His tongue ran along the tender underside, and I almost blasted my load.
My cock slipped out of his mouth, and he rolled backward and turned the chair. “Follow me,” he said.
“But you can’t screw,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Your legs don’t work.”
“There are many ways to have sex and finding them is half the fun. Come on.” He pushed his chair ahead and rolled down the hallway.
I watched him disappear into a room. My legs wanted to run out of the apartment, but my cock wanted his hot, wet mouth, and my mind couldn’t focus.
“Fuck.” I stepped out of my shorts and limped down the hall, one shoe and sock on, the other foot bare. I neared the door, my wood leading the way. My hand covered it as I looked in.
Peter had already slipped off his shirt, and his broad muscular shoulders rippled with each motion as he tugged on his pants leg to bring his foot to his lap. He slipped off the shoe and quickly removed the other one. He undid his pants and pushed himself up with his arms. He jerked one side down and then the other. He was left wearing only a pair of white briefs.
He locked the brakes on his chair and swung his ass into a huge bed, then lay back against the pillows. “Join me. And don’t be shy, I’ve seen what a big guy you are. “
I kicked off my remaining shoe and sock and slipped onto the bed next to him. Tentatively, I touched his chest and let my hand drift down his belly. He had hairy legs that held some tan. They were warm to the touch, but the muscle tone felt different, softer, and his knees stayed bent.
A huge scar ran down the length of his abs and disappeared into his briefs. “I had surgery to stabilize my spine. One on the front, and one on the back. See?” He shifted his left shoulder and turned to show off his back.
As he rolled back, I looked down at his briefs, where a huge bulge filled the pouch. My finger trailed it. “You’re hard.”
“My legs are paralyzed, but not all of me is.” He smiled.
My hand rubbed up and down his tool. As my fingers tugged on the waistband, he pushed me down the bed so that my dick was at his face and swallowed me whole. I rolled onto my side as he cupped my balls. I pulled his ass to bring his pelvis to my face. I slipped his shorts off as his joint slapped his belly. I licked down his shaft and slowly drew it into my mouth and sucked. Sweet, salty cream played over my tongue.
My tool drilled his mouth as I worked down his rod and chewed on his nuts. I felt my cock slip out of his mouth, and he rolled away to the side of the bed.
Peter pulled out a tube of KY jelly. “I use this to cath myself, but there are better uses for it with this.” He held up a condom. “Let me apply this.” He ripped the packet open and pressed it to his lips. Before I knew what he was doing, his mouth slipped down my tool and carried the condom with it. Sealed and protected.
He turned his back to me and rolled onto his side, flashing his ride.
I turned and spooned his ass, then rubbed my cock up and down his crack. The tip found his hole. I reached around him and grabbed his joystick. My hand pistoned him as my drill plowed his butt. My balls slapped his rump.
Peter reached back and pulled me deeper into him.
That’s all I needed to know about how he liked it. I rode him hard, pounding, plumbing and playing. Peter rolled onto his back and his legs came over my shoulders. I slipped a pillow under him and humped. I grabbed his KY and greased him.
My nads started to rise as my thrills grew. My rocks were crumbling.
“Ride me, harder. Harder.” He hit the remote, and the television blazed to life.
“And here Peter is ready to shoot his ride.” The screen showed ESPN’s logo and the tagline of the World Skateboarding Championship.
Holy shit. I was banging a world champ. My cock swelled as Peter’s vital form worked his ride. His handsome face smiled at the camera.
My hand pistoned over him as he gasped. His joint jerked and an explosion of thick, white cream shot across his chest. As the warm goo covered my hand, my rod shot, filling my bag with spurt upon spurt of cum.
We collapsed together and watched him shine on the screen. What a dawg. He was the man.
His abilities were amazing. Side by side, we enjoyed his boarding and watched as he defied gravity and did some amazing shit on and off his board. “That’s tight,” I said as the TV went black. I slipped on my shorts and picked up both socks and shoes. “I gotta jam. I hope I see ya around.” I prayed I’d get home before Gran missed me, or worse, caught me like this. Wow, what a fuckin’ hot ride!
As I left Peter’s apartment, Gran entered the building and walked down the hall with two bags of groceries. She had started to hand me a bag when she noticed the bandage. “Jessie, are you all right?” She set the bags down.
“I’m rad, just wiped out.”
“If you wore some clothes, you’d still have some skin on your bones.”
Peter wheeled to the open door. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Fraizer.”
“Thanks for taking care of him,” Gran said.
“Your grandson is very talented. I boarded professionally, so I have some moves I could teach him, if he’s willing to work hard and learn ’em.” He winked at me.
Gran turned to me. “The only way to improve is to pract
ice,” she waved her finger at me.
“I’ll work real hard, honest. Daily if needed.” I bent and picked up a bag, showing Peter my ass as I did.
“We’ll see what you can do if you set your mind to it,” she said.
“Come by anytime,” Peter called.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for our first lesson.” I couldn’t wait to see what he could teach me, and maybe he’d teach T, too. That would be radical.
IN THIS OUR DAY
Ryan Field
When Bradley Klinger moved to the little town of Mount Saint Hope in upstate New York, he never imagined that a twenty-one-year-old in a hooded sweatshirt would follow him home one night on a skateboard. He was forty-five by then, but said he was in his midthirties and no one ever questioned him. His brown hair was still thick and wavy. His voice was soft and smooth. He worked out daily and watched what he ate.
Mount Saint Hope was a quirky town, stippled with art galleries and trendy boutiques. And it was at the foot of the Berkshires, within driving distance from Manhattan. Some people moved there because of the scenery, some moved there because of the artistic surroundings, but Bradley decided to move there mainly because Mount Saint Hope was a quiet, small town with a large gay community.
On his first Sunday morning in town, he went for a proper brunch to a local gay restaurant called Harlow’s. As he waited for his food, he noticed the young owner of Harlow’s, Jared Bransford, standing near the kitchen door.
His head went up and his eyes opened wide. Jared reminded him of the young man he’d always wanted to be (or could have been). If you stood them both side by side in a dark corner and dressed them in the same baggy clothes, they could have been brothers.
Jared’s head went up, too. He kept looking over his shoulder in Bradley’s direction, smiling and nodding. Eventually, he walked over, patted Bradley’s shoulder with his wide palm and said, “Hey buddy, you’re new here, aren’t you? I’m Jared. My partner and I own this place.”
Bradley’s lips turned down. He hadn’t planned on the fact that Jared might have a lover. Bradley lifted his head and forced a smile, then he cleared his throat and said, “Ah, well, yes. I’m Bradley. I just moved into town.” He had trouble finding his voice; it sounded shaky. And when he lifted his hand to shake Jared’s, he almost knocked over his water glass.
“Where are you from?” Jared asked, looking him up and down. His eyes were dark brown and his lashes were long.
“I just moved here from Brooklyn,” Bradley said. He didn’t go into detail, though. He’d been the only child of elderly parents with many health issues. He’d never actually had a career. After college, he’d spent his days caring for his parents and overseeing the apartment houses his family owned. His sexual encounters had been in dark cruise spots, and he’d never had a real lover or life partner.
“I’m from a small town south of Baltimore, called Martha Falls. I haven’t been here in Mount Saint Hope for long, but I like it. The scenery’s great.”
Bradley had a feeling Jared wasn’t just talking about the mountains and the lakes. “Yeah, me, too,” he said, smiling. “I needed a change, and this place spoke to me.”
“I’m glad you decided to move here,” Jared said. He looked at the entrance. A large group of rowdy lesbians walked up to the desk and asked for a table. “I’ll stop back before you leave. I have to get to work now. We’re getting busy.”
Bradley sat up straight and smiled. “I’ll be here.”
Bradley couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the meal. Jared looked like one of those young guys he saw walking around in packs, carrying skateboards and tossing cigarettes into the gutter. He didn’t look like a restaurant manager, in his baggy short pants, which fell below his slim waist and rested on his hip bones. His shirt was two sizes too large and hung from his shoulders. The front of the shirt was tucked into the buckle of a wide, studded belt, and part of his underwear was showing. He wore a black baseball cap on his head and bulky shoes on his feet. Though his shorts were long, Bradley saw that Jared had shapely calves covered with a fine layer of dark brown hair. When Jared wasn’t looking, Bradley stared at his legs and whistled.
Mount Saint Hope was a small town; people talked. Over the next week Bradley heard Jared was the lucky twenty-one-year-old lover of a sixty-year-old multimillionaire from Manhattan. People said the restaurant was a toy, just something to keep Jared busy while the wealthy lover worked in New York all week. Jared drove a flashy Bentley Continental to go to work in a restaurant where everyone else either drove a pickup truck or a beat-up Toyota, he always dressed as if he were going outside to ride his skateboard, and when he passed other gay men in town he had a tendency to look in the opposite direction.
When Bradley returned the following Sunday for brunch, he and Jared joked around with each other, passing flirtatious comments back and forth as if they were the only two people in the room. Bradley smiled and sighed when he watched Jared lope from one table to the other. The way Jared’s back pockets moved when he crossed to the kitchen door caused a sensation between Bradley’s legs that he hadn’t felt in years.
Jared’s fingers were long and thick, with knobby knuckles and wide, flat nails. The broken hollandaise sauce on the eggs Benedict, the burnt English muffins and the stale coffee tasted better than any food Bradley had ever eaten as long as Jared served it to him with his large, rough hands.
Jared Bransford was every sexual fantasy Bradley had ever pictured. When Jared brought him the check at the end of the meal, Bradley raised his hands and pressed them together as if he were about to give a blessing, and said, “This was great. Really. Loved everything.”
Jared put his arm around Bradley’s shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a sweetheart,” he said. “I know this place is still a work in progress, but it’s nice of you to say it was good.”
Bradley thought about Jared all week. While he masturbated in the shower, he fantasized about dropping his pants for Jared, bending over the restaurant table and spreading his legs as wide as they would go. He imagined wrapping his naked legs around Jared’s tight waist and running his fingers through Jared’s shaggy brown hair. When he came, he licked his fingers clean, pretending he was licking Jared’s fingers.
The next Sunday morning they started talking about movies. When Bradley mentioned he was a fan of zombie horror films, Jared pulled out a chair and sat down at his table. “I love horror films—can’t get enough of them,” Jared said. “My favorite is this old zombie movie called In This Our Day, even though I haven’t seen it in ages.”
“No way,” Bradley said. “That’s my favorite, too.” He lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry over the lunch crowd. “The zombies are really hunks.”
Jared laughed and reached beneath the table and squeezed Bradley’s leg. He smiled and said, “I liked talking like this, man. We should hook up and watch some movies sometime.” His voice was deep, with a rough, raspy tone.
Bradley spread his legs wider and took a short breath. Jared’s hand was sliding up his leg, and he didn’t want him to stop. He wanted this skater boy’s hand inside his pants. “When I come in next Sunday, we’ll set up a time,” Bradley said. “I have a collection of movies you’ll love.”
Despite this promise, Bradley was apprehensive about going back to the restaurant the next Sunday. There were, after all, almost twenty-five years between them. Bradley wanted to make sure that Jared wasn’t playing games with him. Jared never talked about his older lover. The odds were that Jared would either forget all about it or pretend that it had never happened. When he’d been Jared’s age, that’s probably what he would have done.
On Thursday night, Bradley met a few friends for dinner. Getting out of his car at his assigned parking space, he heard a peculiar sound from across the street. The noise reminded him of scraping hollow plastic against the pavement.
In the shadows on the other side of the parking lot, a dark figure wearing a hooded sweatshirt was
riding a skateboard in circles. He was agile and knew how to handle the skateboard. His long legs were slightly bowed and his loose jeans fell against narrow, masculine hips. The guy’s hands were in his pockets and his head was pointed down. Bradley felt something move between his legs. All the furtive encounters he’d had in the past with anonymous young men came rushing back. His heart started to race and his breathing increased. But he wasn’t taking any chances either. In the past, his encounters had always taken place in known cruise areas. This was his home.
Bradley clicked the door locks and the car alarm beeped. The guy in the hoodie jumped off his skateboard and started walking toward him. He loped with large, heavy steps, carrying the skateboard under his right arm. When he reached the middle of the parking lot, he said, “Hey, man. It’s me, Jared.” His voice was low and soft. The right side of his angular face went up and he smiled.
Bradley took a deep breath and said, “Why on earth are you lurking around in the dark?”
Jared lifted his arm and waved a DVD jacket. “I bought a copy of In This Our Day. I figured I’d stop by and see if you wanted to watch it tonight.” Then he motioned toward the other side of the parking lot and pointed to his Bentley. “I hope I parked in the right place. I don’t want to take anyone’s parking space. My car doesn’t exactly blend in well around here.”
Bradley hesitated. His mouth opened halfway and he stared at the DVD. He looked at the car and said, “You’re fine over there.” Then he looked at the skateboard and said, “You’re very good. I saw some of your moves.”
Jared shrugged. “I used to compete when I was kid.”
Bradley knew Jared was twenty-one, still a kid to him. “I see.”
Jared crossed toward him and smiled. “Can we go inside and talk?” He had an innocent expression; his eyebrows went up and his lips turned down. There was a thick layer of stubble on his face, as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “You know I’m not just here about a movie.” He reached down between his legs and adjusted his crotch. Bradley could see the outline of a large dick.