Sword and Sandal

by Roland Graeme

  Smiling at me, with his face and chest bedewed with sweat from his exertions, Eric tensed his muscles one more time. His cock pulsated visibly. It was now fully erect.

  “Do you like what you see?” he asked me, softly.

  “I love it. You’re magnificent.”

  “You aren’t so shabby, yourself. And it looks as though you’re pretty hard up,” he observed.

  I could feel my face reddening. “So are you,” I retorted.

  “Yeah. It looks like we’ve both got a problem. Maybe we’d better do something about it.”

  “Yes, why don’t we?” My voice had a casualness to it, a nonchalance, which I was in fact far from feeling. “Maybe if we took turns standing under a cold shower—?” I suggested.

  But Eric wasn’t deceived. He laughed. “Fuck the cold shower! We can take a hot one, afterward, if you want to. Together.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d heard him correctly. Afterward? After what, exactly? And—together? And if I wanted to? As though I’d refuse Eric anything he asked of me!

  “Come here, buddy,” he urged. “Come here and take care of me. You know you want to. And if you do a good job … then I’ll take care of you.”

  It was though I was hypnotized, and acting involuntarily. I slid off the edge of the bed, onto the floor, and I crawled quickly on my hands and knees toward Eric’s feet. (It’s interesting, what you remember, in such situations. After all these years, I can still recall the coarse texture of the hotel’s cheap wall-to-wall carpeting, against my skin.) Once I was between his legs, I ran my hands slowly up from his ankles to his crotch, then higher, over his belly, up to his pecs, to his nipples. He sucked in his breath in a faint, hoarse rasp. His dick bobbed close to my face, throbbing with lustful pressure only inches from my slavering mouth.

  “Fuck,” I heard myself moan. “It’s so big. So hard.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Are you going to suck it?” he whispered.

  “If you want me to.” I was so much in awe of him that what I wanted no longer seemed to matter.

  “Suck mine, and I’ll suck yours.”

  “All right. Get on the bed,” I muttered, my voice now thick with lust. “Sit down and spread your legs. Let me get in there between them. Let me worship that fucking body of yours, man!”

  Eric laughed, as though he felt reassured by my eagerness, and he did as I asked. I angled myself in next to the edge of the mattress, with his opened legs warm against my sides. As I looked down at his cock, sweat began to trickle down my forehead and chest. His meaty prick lay flat against his belly—big, solid, and thick, rising straight up from the hairy dangling balls between his thighs. My fingers shook as I touched his dick, which jumped in response, stood straight up from his belly for a moment, but then fell back heavily as I caught it in my palm.

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve done it, is it?” Eric asked. “Gone down on a guy’s dick, I mean?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I’ve done it before.” Lots of times, I was tempted to boast. “But—this is different. This is special.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Do it, Gino. Suck me,” he pleaded; and now there was an audible need, almost a hint of desperation, in his voice. “Please suck my cock!”

  I bent my head and I kissed the warm smooth tip of Eric’s cock. The shaft tried to jump about again, but I now had my fingers wrapped tightly around it. I slipped my tongue out of my mouth and ran it lightly over his cockhead, wetting it, until it glistened in the dim light cast by the fixture on the wall over the bed. I moved my mouth lower, tickling my tongue slowly down the heavy length of his manhood. I let my fingers slip from it and I buried my face in the thick growth of hair above his dick. Then I ran my hair through the dark bush, and nuzzled lower, into the hot space between his thigh and his balls. He squirmed when my tongue touched him there. He tried to push my head away, but I wouldn’t let him. I ran my tongue back and forth in the tight groove of flesh, then quickly dropped it lower and began to lick his balls.

  They were enormous. The sac of skin around them was covered with silky black hair. I sucked his nuts between my lips and into my mouth—first one, then the other. My mouth was stuffed with his testicles. I pressed my lips under the base of Eric’s fuck tool, and his two big nuts dropped deeper into my mouth. I washed them gently with my saliva, moving them from cheek to cheek with my tongue. Then I removed my lips and positioned them lower, onto his right thigh. My tongue licked its way inch by inch down that incredibly solid muscle toward his knee, stroking wetly back and forth across his skin.

  I held his leg up and kissed it all the way down, right to his foot, which I took in both my hands and licked. All the way down to the toes went my tongue, then over the sole. He kicked and squirmed, moaning as I tickled him, but I held on and didn’t stop. I brought my lips to his toes, opened them, and sucked down hard. Eric squealed and jerked his foot up and down while I sucked hungrily first on his big toe, then on each of the smaller ones in turn. But I could tell he liked it, because when I dropped that foot and picked up the other one, he stuck it right in my mouth!

  “Oh, fuck!” Eric exclaimed. “You’re a whore! A goddamn muscle whore!” But the way he said it made it clear to me that he didn’t intend it as an insult. On the contrary, it was the highest praise he could give to another man.

  I washed his foot with my tongue.

  “Whore,” he repeated. “Oh, you’re such a good little muscle whore!”

  I was doing my best to earn that title, to be exactly that!

  I worked my way slowly, lovingly back up to his crotch, doing everything to his left leg that I’d done to the right. By the time I reached his balls again, his cock was standing straight up. It seemed twice as thick and powerful and horny as it had been before. The head, swollen to the size of a lemon, pulsed and twitched and was flushed a deep reddish-purple hue. It was dribbling semen from its tip. That cock desperately needed to be sucked and satisfied!

  But I didn’t suck it—not yet. There was still more of that hot stud body of his that my tongue hungered to lick and to taste.

  The next thing I knew, I had my face buried between Eric’s glutes. I was doing what thousands of Eric’s gay fans had no doubt fantasized about. I was sucking his ass!

  I tongued his anal pucker furiously. Eric squirmed and shouted. After several minutes of nonstop rimming, which left me breathless, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my mouth away from between his buttocks—only to jam my lips against the shaft of his cock.

  “Suck,” he pleaded, hoarsely. “Suck my cock!”

  I swallowed his throbbing fuck tool with a mindless recklessness. I choked on it. But I didn’t care if that thick prick of his did strangle me. I held on to it with my lips, sucking its full length, voraciously, letting its bulk ream out my throat.

  Oddly enough, I thought about the first time I’d blown Renzo. When he’d raped my mouth and throat at knifepoint. The memory seemed to inflame me. It made me hotter. More determined to satisfy Eric with my mouth!

  His prick was now like a well-oiled engine piston, pumping back and forth within the snug, but frictionless, fit of its cylinder. My mouth and throat offered him no resistance whatsoever. Passive, they accepted his every fierce, demanding thrust. I was a wide-open orifice, there to be fucked!

  “You’d better … unless you want it … in your mouth,” Eric panted, barely audibly.

  I grunted. Oh, I did want it! All of it. Everything he had to give me. In my mouth! I sucked him even harder. And my heroic oral efforts soon had their intended effect.

  “I’m coming! Fuck! I’m gonna shoot!” Eric yelled.

  Then, with a sudden violent jerk, he threw himself up from the bed and wrapped both of his arms around my head, pulling my face all the way into his crotch and forcing his dick straight down my throat. His body tensed, then froze for what seemed an eternity, during whi
ch I literally couldn’t breathe because his swollen meat plugged my throat. Then, mercifully, just as I began to choke on his cock, he gasped and I felt it throb between my lips as he started to gush.

  His hot fuck juice, thick and sweet and frothy, like freshly whipped cream, poured from his dick and blasted down my throat. It backed up, filling my mouth to overflowing. I felt it dribbling down my lips and chin and running down my neck in thick, warm streams. His cock jerked fitfully, emptying its load into my guts. I tried to swallow it all as fast as he gave it to me. I maintained my oral grip on his cockshaft, sucking furiously, draining him dry. Even when I was sure he had stopped ejaculating, I continued to nurse him with my lips, bringing my tongue into play, too, to lick his cock clean. I never wanted him to take his cock out of my mouth!

  A moment later, though, Eric let go of me and fell back heavily on the bed. He laughed hoarsely and pulled my mouth off his cock.

  “Damn! You’re some cocksucker, aren’t you?’ he exclaimed, breathlessly.

  “I guess so,” I replied, humbly. “I try to be. Did I do it all right?”

  “All right? That was great,” he assured me. “I still can’t believe it, man. I mean, you look so butch. So fucking innocent. Nobody’d ever be able to tell that you’re such a dirty pig of a cocksucker.” This sounded like a rather back-handed compliment; but then Eric immediately added, “Like me.”

  “Like you?” I echoed him, automatically.

  “Yeah. I like sex,” he said—which I subsequently learned was a considerable understatement, on his part. “All kinds of sex. In fact, there’s only one thing I won’t do, in bed.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, naïvely.

  “Fuck a woman,” he joked. “Who needs ‘em? Give me a dude with big, hard muscles, a big hard cock, and a hot mouth and ass, any time. Speaking of which—you’re hot, Gino. And I’m still horny. Come here, stud. Get back to work.”

  Then he threw his legs over my shoulders again. I assumed he wanted me to rim him once more, and, panting and breathless though I was, I was willing to suck his ass with my semen-smeared lips.

  But then he grunted, “Fuck me! You didn’t come yet, did you?”

  “No,” I managed to gasp.

  “Good! Shove your cock up my ass and fuck the shit out of me, baby!”

  I couldn’t believe it. Eric Streiff, the pro bodybuilder, the big physique champion—he wanted me to screw him!

  “Are you kidding?” I blurted out.

  “No, I’m not. Do I look like I’m kidding? I’ve got my cheeks spread for you, fucker. And my hole open. I want your big, fat dago dick up my ass.”

  I recovered from my shock and disbelief quickly enough, I must say. I got right down to practicalities.

  “We’re going to need some grease,” I said.

  “Got it. Right here.” Eric slid open the top drawer of the nightstand beside the bed, and he pulled out a can of Crisco.

  Now, I’ll grant that today, it would seem weird for a guy to pack a can of vegetable shortening in his luggage, when he went on a trip to Pittsburgh (or anywhere else, for that matter). But you have to remember that, at the time, Crisco was the preferred anal lube of many gay men. It was readily available, it was inexpensive, and it did the job.

  I scooped out some of the creamy substance from the can, and I slathered it all over my prick.

  All of the sex sessions which I’d enjoyed with Renzo and my other tricks now told me what to do. I was no longer a novice. I knew how to make love to another man. I pressed my dick forward, between Eric’s buttocks, guided by blind lust. Eric took it—without hesitation, without effort. And, of course, in those carefree days back then, raw, without a condom. His ass sucked my greasy cock deep inside him while his legs gripped my back to hold me inside him. I settled down on top of him and I began to fuck.

  I still couldn’t believe that this was really happening, that I was naked in bed with Eric Streiff, my idol, screwing him, kissing him. It was like the wettest wet dream, the most pornographic of pornographic fantasies, of all time. I went berserk, hammering my slippery dick in and out of his ass with brutal abandon. But Eric, far from complaining, seemed to love this rough treatment. He writhed, embraced me in his powerful arms, locked his mouth against mine, and rammed his tongue in and out of my mouth in rhythm with my cock, which was plowing his butt. He was very warm inside. And he was also very tight, but increasingly slippery from the blend of the melted Crisco, sweat, and the jism that my dick was dribbling into him. My cock went in and out of him with just enough friction to drive us both insane. Deeper and deeper he took me, until the whole length of my prickshaft was up his butch stud’s ass!

  I’m sure than in my state of acute, mindless arousal, I was more than little clumsy; but Eric didn’t seem to mind. Later on, I learned that he occasionally liked it kind of rough. As for myself, I was ecstatic. I was fucking a pro bodybuilder for the first time, pounding my prick into a beautiful, magnificently well-built man. It was good. Good? What the hell am I talking about? It was sensational! It was absolute fucking muscle nirvana! How can I describe to anyone who isn’t into muscle sex the sensation of fucking another bodybuilder, of feeling a real stud’s ass around my cock? The weight and solidity of his hard body quivering beneath mine? The sound of his groans as he took my cock up his ass again and again? Words fail me.

  I wanted to fuck him for hours, but I couldn’t last more than a few minutes that first time—it was too exciting. My dick just couldn’t take it! I could feel the cum building up inside me. Then, all of a sudden, the hot fluid rose from deep down in my balls, and blasted its way through my cock and up into his ass.

  As though he’d been waiting for this moment, Eric came, too. His hot, thick spurts flew everywhere. Both of us twisted and choked and held onto each other’s sweat-slippery bodies as we came and came together. Finally there was no more left and I could feel my sperm sliding inside Eric’s ass, around my cock, and oozing out onto the bed because I’d shot so much into him that his ass couldn’t hold it. And I could feel and see Eric’s cum, too, which he’d blasted between our bellies and chests. It dripped sluggishly down our exhausted torsos. He grabbed me by the back of my head and crushed his mouth against mine in a deep, tonguing kiss until I thought I’d pass out from the sheer lack of air. My dick still throbbed inside his butt.

  I spent the night with Eric and we fucked again, slept together, and then we fucked even more in the morning when we woke up in each other’s arms. I couldn’t get enough of his cock and ass. Hell, we were so hot for each other that after going out for breakfast, we went back to his hotel room and sucked and fucked some more. We went through a lot of Crisco. If check-out time hadn’t been one o’clock in the afternoon, and if we both didn’t have our travel arrangements to return home already made, we’d probably have gone on balling each other for days and nights on end.

  I was still fairly new to gay life, but, thanks to Renzo and a succession of other men, I was no longer a complete innocent. I knew the ropes, and I also knew how to play them.

  Nothing would have thrilled me more than had Eric taken in his arms and declared his undying love for me. But I was already enough of a seasoned realist by then to know that was unlikely to happen. A more likely scenario would be if our night together turned out to be just another one-night stand. If it had, I would have been disappointed, but I’d have been able to live with it. After all, I’d had sex with Eric Streiff. I’d done what thousands of gay men only dreamed of experiencing.

  Luckily, my relationship with Eric steered a course midway between those two extremes. We didn’t become lovers, in any gushy, sentimental sense. But I wasn’t just another one of his many casual tricks. We became what I guess I’d have to describe as true fuck buddies—close friends who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, and who were always ready to get physical with each other—whenever we weren’t separated by an inconvenient geographical distance, and whenever we weren’t involved with other guys. (And, since we both
enjoyed group sex, our involvement with third parties wasn’t necessarily a deterrent!)

  These issues of physical separation, and of romantic or just plain sexual entanglements, weren’t insignificant considerations, of course. But neither were they insurmountable. Not for a couple of oversexed, resourceful guys like us! We contrived to hook up, with some regularity, for years, after that first night in Pittsburgh.

  Chapter Six: My First “Acting” Job

  Eric lived in California, at the time. California was the bodybuilding capitol of the world, a Mecca to which every aspiring physique champion was attracted. Training there was every bodybuilder’s dream.

  As a professional bodybuilder, Eric traveled a lot, competing, guest posing, and making various personal appearances. As a result, our paths occasionally crossed. He was a frequent visitor to New York City, for example. Whenever he came to the East Coast, he made a point of looking me up.

  We’d get together, catch up, and—invariably—we’d end up in bed together. Ours was a friendship, spiced by an element of casual sex. We were fuck buddies, in short.

  I couldn’t complain. I would have liked to be Eric’s lover, and be in a committed, monogamous relationship with him. But he wasn’t cut out for that. He was promiscuous by nature (as was I, to be honest). Sexually, we were extremely compatible. I realized that I would have to be content with that.

  Knowing Eric took my interest in bodybuilding to a whole new level. Eric was living the kind of life to which I now aspired. He was a celebrity. He traveled constantly, seeing the world. He wasn’t wealthy, by any means—then, as now, only a handful of bodybuilders earned a lot of money in the course of their careers. But by my modest standards, Eric was financially secure, to an extent that I envied.

  He was no intellectual, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He was a shrewd businessman, and he had a genuine gift for self-promotion. He had two basic sources of income. One category might be described as “legitimate,” connected directly to his status as a reigning physique champion. Eric won prize money at contests; and, even when he wasn’t competing, he was paid to guest pose. Representatives of European bodybuilding federations continually invited Eric to fly over and guest pose at their events, with all of his expenses paid. He was also especially popular in Japan, where physique enthusiasts practically worshipped him as some sort of a Caucasian muscle god.