Tangled Sheets

by Michael T. Ford

  “Sure,” I said, watching his face break into a smile.

  Paul actually lived a little ways out of town, in a big old house he was using his architectural talents to fix up. I hadn’t seen it yet, but I’d heard all about it from him at our Sunday morning breakfasts. As we drove over there in his truck, he told me all about the new roof he’d recently put down. I kept myself occupied by looking at the trees slipping by us and the way the cold autumn sun glinted off the waters of the reservoir Paul lived near. Turning into his long driveway, we pulled up in front of the house. A grinning jack-o’-lantern was sitting on the steps leading up to the side door, and I imagined Paul carefully scooping out handfuls of seeds and cutting out the face alone in his kitchen.

  As we walked toward the house, Paul was passing the football from one hand to the other. When we reached the long sloping yard that ran up to his door, he hefted it in one hand. “Go out for a long one,” he said, pointing toward the house. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  I dutifully took off, running up the leaf-strewn yard as he pulled his arm back and threw a long, solid pass. The ball arced up, spinning, and then fell back down toward me. I put my hands together and it landed awkwardly in the nest made by my fingers, sliding sideways and threatening to tumble to the ground. As I brought my hands to my chest in a desperate attempt to keep the ball from falling out of them, I looked up and saw Paul running straight at me.

  Before I could dodge him, Paul’s arms went around me and I fell to the ground, pulling him down with me. I landed hard in a patch of leaves, the football still cradled in my arms as I stared up into the clear, blue sky. Paul had fallen right on top of me, pinning me beneath him, and I was very conscious of the weight of him bearing down on me. Then I felt something else, something hard pressing against my stomach. It took me a second to realize that it was Paul’s cock, and that he had a hard-on. I could feel his breath on my neck where his mouth was next to my head and the way his arms were holding me loosely. His prick was getting thicker, stretching along my belly.

  Then Paul suddenly pushed against me and stood up. Leaning down, he held out his hand. “Sorry about that,” he said, grinning. “Guess I took you down a little too hard. Even winded myself there for a minute.”

  I took his hand and he pulled me up. Paul said nothing as he walked up to the side door of the house and unlocked it. I followed him into a large, bright kitchen. He threw the football onto the big wooden table and gestured around. “This is it.”

  “It’s great,” I said, looking around at his handiwork. I knew he had done everything himself, right down to building the cabinets, and again I felt sorry for him living alone and having no one to share it all with.

  “Come on, I’ll give you the whole tour,” he said, leading me through a doorway into the rest of the house. Walking room to room, he showed me everything he’d done to the place. He had really done a great job, carefully stripping the old wallpaper and repainting, plastering the ceilings, rehanging windows. While he didn’t have much in the way of furniture, the house was very comfortable. Paul was like a kid showing off his new toy, and I made sure he knew how impressed I was, asking questions about everything he showed me.

  “The best part is upstairs,” he said, opening a door in a hallway to reveal a staircase. “Wait until you see the view from up here.”

  The stairs went up for a ways, turned sharply left, and then opened out into a large, open space that Paul had turned into a bedroom. Nestled at the top of the house, it had two big dormer windows that looked out over the backyard and the pine forest that rambled behind the house. The narrow boards of the wooden floor had been carefully stripped down and refinished, and the walls were painted a soft green. He had furnished it very simply, focusing the room on a large wooden bed covered in a soft white goose-down comforter.

  As I was looking out the window admiring the view, Paul came up behind me. His hand brushed the back of my sweatshirt, and I jumped. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away quickly. “You had some grass on it from when I tackled you.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “You really knocked me over.”

  Paul sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his sneakers, pulling them off and tossing them aside. “You just have to learn how to catch the ball without looking down,” he said. “Come here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

  I walked over and stood in front of him. Still sitting, he took my hands in his. “Look,” he said, putting his big hands over mine, “you need to hold them closer together. Like this.”

  He held my hands loosely, his fingers brushing the backs of my hands. Having him touch me that way was making me a little too excited for my own comfort, and I hoped I wouldn’t appear too nervous. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, nodding but not really hearing anything as the pressure of his fingers on my skin increased. Then his grip tightened and he pulled me down, leaning back on the bed so that I was on top of him. He was still holding my hands, and I was looking down into his face.

  “See what happens when you look down,” he said.

  His voice was strangely soft, as though he was afraid of something. But he made no move to let me go, his dark eyes looking into mine expectantly. I looked at his handsome face, his jaw shadowed with dark stubble, the small scar on his chin. His lips were slightly parted, and I felt his heart beating heavily against my chest. Without thinking, I leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips. When I pulled my face away, I saw that he was smiling.

  He let go of my hands, and I ran them over the worn, soft flannel of his shirt, feeling the muscles of his shoulders and moving down his sides. I reached inside and ran my hand underneath the bottom of his T-shirt, touching his warm skin and feeling the hair of his belly rasp against my palm. Sliding my hands up his stomach, I pushed his T-shirt up, exposing more and more of his torso.

  I stopped when I had reached halfway up his chest, letting my hands rest on either side of his rib cage and enjoying the warmth and solidness of him in my arms. His navel was surrounded by a splash of short hair, and I bent down and ran my tongue in circles around it, dipping into the center and kissing him. Moving my mouth slowly upward, I followed the line of hair that ran from his belly to his chest, lightly licking his skin. He tasted slightly of the sweat he’d worked up playing ball, and the sweet muskiness of it on my tongue combined with the rough touch of his hair against my lips in an overpowering way.

  Throughout all of this, Paul hadn’t once moved, just watching my every movement on his body. It was as though he were under some kind of spell, holding his breath until something woke him. When I reached the line his T-shirt formed across his body, I told him to sit up and slipped his flannel shirt off and pulled the T-shirt over his head. His chest was broad and solid, his pecs firm. The hair I had seen over his collar dusted his chest, and his nipples formed small rosy peaks against the lightness of his skin.

  Standing up, I shed my own clothes quickly. Paul’s eyes remained fixed on me as I removed my shirt and slipped my sweats off. His gaze traveled from my well-developed chest to my cock, which hung half-hard between my legs and was rapidly filling out. Climbing back onto the bed, I lowered myself onto him, once more kissing his mouth. His hands went onto my back and rested there, tentatively feeling the muscles of my shoulders and then moving down to my ass, where his fingers gripped me tightly. The feel of his sweatpants on my bare skin was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his naked torso, and I rubbed myself against him as we kissed, enjoying the way the rough material scraped against my cock and balls below while above I was pressed closely to his flesh.

  Paul began to moan softly as I kissed his throat and tickled him by rasping my unshaven cheek against his skin. My tongue slid behind his ear and then into it as I worked slowly along his jaw and down his neck, exploring his body with my mouth. Taking hold of his thick wrist and raising it behind his head, I slipped into the dark forest beneath his arm, my lips sinking into thick hair wet with sweat. I nuzzled deep in his
damp patch, breathing in his masculine scent and licking him clean.

  I could feel Paul’s cock pressing against me through his sweatpants, growing harder and harder. As I had suspected from the size of his bulge, it was long and hard. My own prick had stiffened as well, and the two of them lay alongside one another like great sleeping beasts. Moving down between Paul’s legs, I pulled the waistband of his sweats down until the tip of his cock was sticking out. Wide and tapered to a heavy, blunt point, it was leaking a sticky stream that had matted the hair on his belly. Taking the tip into my mouth, I closed my lips around it and sucked gently, washing away the heady fluid. I could feel the blood pounding beneath his skin as I worked my tongue along the ridge and into his hole, drinking up his juice.

  Sliding Paul’s pants farther down and off, I got my first glimpse of his massive prick. The shaft was thick between his thighs, his balls heavy and round in their smooth sac. I hefted the big tool in my hand, sliding my fingers up and down it slowly while I milked more juice from the lips of his swollen head. It ran in a steady line down the underside of his cock before I wiped it away, sliding my tongue in long strokes up Paul’s shaft.

  Paul sat up, watching me lick his prick. “Come up here,” he said nervously. “I want to suck you, too.”

  Positioning myself alongside him so that our faces were between one another’s legs, I went to work on his balls, taking one into my mouth. Paul put his hand on my ass and pushed me toward him as he took my cock into his mouth. I was surprised at how easily he took the whole thing in, his lips eagerly moving up and down my shaft. His mouth was hot and soft, surrounding me like a warm blanket as he worked every inch. Looking down, I watched as my prick slid in and out of his face, his cheeks swelling and releasing as he blew me.

  Turning back to his cock, I lazily ran my tongue all over the big piece, darting into the spot behind his balls and then licking his shaft while his prick slid against my cheek. I could hardly believe I was finally getting a chance to service the big stud I’d jerked off thinking about for the last year, and I still didn’t quite believe I wouldn’t wake up and find it was all a dream. But the cock in my hand felt very real, as did the mouth slurping up and down my crank.

  Going down on Paul, I pushed as much of him as I could into my throat. He helped by pushing himself forward and driving the last few inches into my mouth. Wanting to feel as much of him as I could in my throat, I turned onto my back, pulling Paul on top of me so that he was straddling my face. That way, he could pump his prick into my mouth while he sucked me, his balls sliding against my face as he moved in and out, driving his fat head into me. Running my finger down his crack, I felt for his asshole. Pushing just the tip of my finger in, I massaged his tender opening, rubbing it while our cocks slammed in and out of one another’s mouths.

  We came at the same time, each of us unleashing torrents of cum that gushed down the other’s throat. My mouth filled with Paul’s hot cream as his cock pulsed again and again and I struggled to swallow it all, not wanting to lose even one drop of his milk. I in turn exploded repeatedly, and Paul drank in every bit of it. When he rolled off me, I could see that some of my cum was on his chin. Sitting up, I licked it from his skin and then kissed him.

  We kissed for several minutes, our tongues slipping in and out of one another’s mouths as we stroked each other back to hardness. Then Paul turned over so that he was on his stomach, his head resting on his hands and one leg pulled up so that I could see his cock and balls laid out against the whiteness of the bed in the space between his legs. His hair had recently been cut, and the back had been shaved so that his hairline ended in a clean, soft line that curved across his neck before giving way to the pale skin of his shoulders, which were speckled with light brown freckles.

  Bending down, I kissed the space where the bones of his back pressed up against his skin in a succession of small hills, stretching my body along the length of his so that my weight rested on my arms and my cock was pressed into the hollow of his back just above his ass. Rubbing slowly against him, I ran my prick over the curves of his mounds. Paul spread his legs farther apart, and the head of my dick slipped into the narrow valley between them. I could feel the wrinkled mouth of his hole against my head and pushed against it. An inch or two of my cock slid inside, and I heard Paul gasp. But he made no move to stop me, so I continued to push in until my head had passed the tight ring of muscle and I felt the walls of his chute caressing my shaft.

  Once I felt the rise of Paul’s ass touching my stomach, I stopped. My whole prick was buried in his hole, my balls lying against his. For a minute I just lay against him, feeling the heat of his skin soaking into my chest as I stretched my arms along his and held his hands in mine. Then, slowly, I began to move in and out of him in short thrusts. He grunted softly as I loosened his tight butt, and I could feel the muscles in his legs soften as he gave in to the feeling of having me inside him.

  I started to pump him in longer, faster strokes, pulling almost all of the way out and then sliding back in until I was completely inside him. Paul began to thrust back against me, his ass closing around my cock as I pulled out, his shoulders bunching beneath me as he forced his ass up to meet me. His fingers were entwined with mine, and he pulled me farther into him with every entry. I felt my prick begin to swell in anticipation of coming, and I increased my movements so that my stomach was sliding over his back in smooth, fluid movements, the bed rocking rhythmically under our weight.

  When I came, I felt as though I had fallen into a deep pool of warm water that was fast closing over my head. My whole body shook as I flooded Paul’s ass with my load. He seemed to swallow me up as I poured stream after stream into his eager hole, coaxing every last drop from my willing balls. When I had finished, I pulled out of him and he turned over. Lifting his legs, I slid once more into his welcoming chute.

  Paul worked his cock steadily while I pumped him in short strokes, teasing the first few sensitive inches of his tunnel. Before long, he groaned loudly and threw his head back. A flash of white erupted from his tightly held dick and landed with a wet smack on his neck. Three more blasts covered the rest of his chest in thick drops as he cried out and squeezed his spurting tool. The sight of him blowing his load brought me off again, and I pulled out of him just as I came, covering his balls and prick with a fresh coat of jism before I collapsed next to him, completely drained.

  After we washed up, Paul and I lay in his bed watching the sky outside the windows melt from gray to black as the stars came out and the moon appeared full and round above the trees. It was going to be a very cold night, and the wind was already beginning to moan around the house. But there in Paul’s room it was warm, and as I ran my fingers through his still-damp hair, I felt as though I wanted the winter to last forever so we would never have to leave.

  “There’s something I want to tell you,” he said. He was fidgeting with the sheets, his fingers rubbing the material together nervously.

  “Not more surprises?” I was waiting for him to tell me he had just done this because he was horny, and that now it was time for me to leave.

  Paul took a deep breath. “You know that story about my wife and the FedEx guy? Well, it was kind of the other way around.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “I was the one getting the banging,” he said. “I couldn’t help it. Once I got a look at his legs in those blue shorts, I asked him in. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we were in bed and his cock was slamming into my ass. My wife came home just as I was shooting my load. She took one look and packed her bags.”

  I was speechless. “What happened to the FedEx guy?” It was the only thing I could think of to ask.

  Paul laughed. “I don’t know. I never saw him again. I was too busy telling myself it was just a one-time thing, that I didn’t really like men. At least that’s what I told my wife. But she must have known better. She asked for a divorce and I came here to try to get on with my life.”

  “And it worked?
”

  “Well, it did until I met you. At first I thought it was just because I was lonely, you know. Then I started having dreams about you and wondering what you were doing during the day. But I wasn’t sure you were into guys, so I didn’t want to ruin it by doing anything stupid.”

  “Until today,” I said, ruffling his hair and rolling on top of him so that I was looking down into his face.

  “Yeah, until today. It just seemed time to do something.”

  I leaned down and kissed his mouth. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me too,” he said as he pulled me close in his arms. I could feel his cock pressing against mine, beginning to swell again. “And you know what, it’s the first pass you completed all season.”

  The Boxer

  A friend of mine was putting together a collection of stories about sports and asked me to write about an archetype. I had a framed magazine cover featuring boxer Rocky Graziano on my office wall at the time, so I decided to write about a fighter. The story is like I imagine an encounter with such a man would be like—short, rough, and no-holds-barred.

  The man I want is a fighter. Dark and brooding, he spends his nights in the sweat-soaked air of a downtown gym surrounded by other muscular, half-naked men, all of them working out their aggressions on punching bags and each other. No air-conditioned health club could ever hold my man; he prefers the run-down cement walls and musky air of a real boxing hall, where old men stand and smoke cigars in the corner while they search for the next great brawler.

  When I arrive, he is in the corner, his fists beating the soft sides of the heavy bag that hangs from the ceiling by a thick chain. His big hands are wrapped tightly with tape that twists around his wrists and forms a ribbon of white across the thick hair of his forearms. He is wearing white shorts as well, and his chest is bare. He is a big man, well over six feet tall, and his body has been hardened by years of hard physical labor. He is a man of the streets, untamed and fearless, and watching him work out makes me want him more than ever.