FRICTION FICTION: MY DOUBLE LIFE by Derek Adams (1995)

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995


ONE HOT, HUMID NIGHT AFTER WORK

The thermometer on the shop floor was reading 106°, and I knew for a fact it was situated
to catch the only cool breeze in the place. From where I was standing, beside the big
lathe, it felt more like a hundred and twenty. My khakis and T-shirt were dripping wet,
and the headband I wore to keep the sweat out of my eyes had become a soggy joke by 9:30
this morning. The salty water was pouring down, blurring my vision. I refused to look
over at the big clock above the foreman's office—I was hoping like hell that it was about
3:55, but I was afraid that if I looked at the clock and found out it was only 3:15, I
might just give up and melt down into a big puddle right there by my work station. I
brushed my bare arm over my face in an unsuccessful attempt to wipe it dry. My hairy
forearms were thick with sawdust and wood shavings, and I succeeded only in getting
grit in my left eye.

"Damn!" I yelped, digging in my back pocket for a handkerchief. I dabbed gingerly at
the corner of my eye, trying to dislodge what felt like a fucking two-by-four. Just as
my tears washed it out, the whistle blew, and every piece of screaming equipment at
Atkins Fine Cabinetry, Inc. was shut down simultaneously. Suddenly the cavernous room
was so quiet that you could hear the clock ticking, letting us know we were on our own
time now. I put my tools in order quickly, laid an oiled rag over them, and headed across
to the locker room and the showers.

"Hey, Jack!"

I spun around and my face broke into a big grin. "Paul. How you doing, guy? Looks like
you managed to survive another shift in this hellhole."

"Yeah. Just barely." He pulled off his shirt and wrung it out. The moisture poured out
of it as if he had been keeping it in a bucket of water. "I was thinking of heading over
to Hank's for a couple of beers to replace some of this." He glanced briefly at the puddle
between his feet. "Want to join me?"

"Sure thing, Paul. The idea of a tall cold one right now strikes me as even better than
sticking my dick in a tight, hot place."

"Let's go, Jack." Paul clapped a hand on my shoulder, and we started toward the locker room.
Just as we passed under the foreman's window, Driscoll, our shift manager, stuck his head
out the window.

"Hey, Madsen. I need to talk to you for a few minutes."

"We're off shift, man," Paul protested. "We have a beer in our future."

"Don't worry, Bannerman. I'm paying it as overtime. What do you say, Jack?"

"What the hell," I whispered, nudging Paul in the ribs. "I'll talk to the man for time-
and-a-half. Shit, I'll even buy the beer tonight. You go on ahead. This shouldn't take
too long. I'll meet you at Hank's." Paul turned off to the left and headed on to the
locker room. I climbed the stairs two at a time, loped across the metal grids of the
catwalk, and stopped at the door to the foreman's office.

I knocked, then stepped inside. The air here was about twenty degrees cooler than the
shop floor. I took a deep breath, savoring the slight chill that ran through me. Driscoll
was sitting behind his desk, every hair on his head in place, his shirt still crisp and
snowy white. He was busily writing something, pretending he didn't know I was even there.
Oh, he knew I was there, all right. He knew, and I could already make a pretty good guess
that his cock was about half-hard, and the little pinkish nipples on his smooth chest
were already popped up into points like pencil erasers.

I could also guess that his tight little asshole was already quivering in anticipation
of the stretching and pounding it was due to get in about three minutes flat. I had sort
of lied to Paul a few minutes ago. There was no beer in the world that struck me as
better than sticking my long, hard cock in a hot, tight place. Driscoll qualified on
both counts as far as that went. His silky fuckchute was almost too tight for comfort
sometimes—this dude could do some pretty amaxing things with the muscles in his ass.
When I had mentioned it, he had retorted that sometimes my prick was too big for comfort,
so that made us even. Must have been all right, though, because we both came back for
more on a pretty regular basis.

I stripped out of my shirt, balled it up, and threw it at him. It hit him across the mouth,
splashing my sweat over his face and neck. He looked up at me, his blue eyes wide. I
stepped around his desk, grabbed him by the neck, and yanked him up out of his chair.
"Lick that out nice and clean," I growled menacingly, shoving his face into my reeking
armpit.

Driscoll started licking my pit, sucking the sweat-soaked tufts of hair that grew there
till they were nice and dry. Once he had the left one groomed to my satisfaction, I
pulled his head slowly across my broad chest, guiding him over to my other stinking
pit. Driscoll's tongue was working overtime, licking the salt out of the shaggy mat
that covered my thick pecs. He must have liked the way I tasted because I could feel
his fat prick poking me in the belly.

When he had both my pits cleaned up, I let him chew on my tits for a while. Every time
he bit down on the sensitive points, I could feel a bolt of electricity running right
down to my nuts. While he was trying to suck my brains out through my tits, his hands
were clawing frantically at our pants. Wasn't long till he had both our cocks swinging
free, sliding up between our tight-pressed bellies and poking down between our legs,
the heads oozing sticky trails of man-slime to mark the path.

My big old salami was as hard as a rock now, aching to do some serious tunneling. I
grabbed Driscoll's muscular ass and squeezed it hard. The middle finger of my left hand
found its target almost immediately, and my foreman's tight little asslips gave it a
welcoming kiss, then swallowed it up to the third joint.

"You ready for some fucking?" I barked, pulling his head back from my chest and stirring
my finger roughly around in his butthole.

"I want every fat veiny inch of that big, hooded mansticker up my butt just as fast as you
can feed it to me, Madsen. I want you to fuck me right through the top of this desk." He
flipped around and leaned forward till his chest was on the top of the big oak desk. He
reached back and pulled his asscheeks wide apart, giving me a clear shot at his puckered
rear entry.

"You like that big thing, huh?" I shucked back my foreskin and jammed the fat, slimy head
of my prong against my target. "You tell me how good that feels, punching up into your hot
ass."

"Plug that hole!" Driscoll moaned, his voice barely audible above the creaking and groaning
of his desk as I lunged forward and buried myself halfway to the root. "Aaaahh! Keep it
coming, man. I want it in me, right now. That's the way!" he snarled as I grabbed his hips
and drove it in to the short-and-curlies. "Now fuck me, Madsen. I want you to build up enough
friction to set my asshole on fire."

"Any way you like it, buddy," I grunted between clenched teeth. Fucking this dude was like
hammering a very big peg into a very small hole. I started driving in and out of him, my
big balls slamming up against his fat cock on every stroke. He writhed around on the desk
under me, playing my dick with rare style. I leaned forward over him, bracing my hands on
either side of his head, then lowered my torso till the hairs on my chest and belly tickled
his bronzed back.

This little action kicked him into high gear. He started bucking his hips back into my
pelvis, riding my cock from base to crown, his assring spasming all the way. He was
doing such an expert job of it that I just stood there, stock-still, letting him show
off his technique.

After a couple of minutes of this, I could feel my halls knotting up between my legs,
and I started feeling that little tickle deep in my belly, signaling that I was about
five good pulls away from popping a load. "The milkman's on the way." I shouted, yanking
roughly out of his butt. He spun around onto his back and fixed his eyes on my throbbing,
swollen lovemuscle. I grabbed a handful of balls and started fisting my meat. The big
comehole in the tip opened wide, and my belly knotted up like a washboard as the first
shot pumped up along the shaft.

"Shoot it, Madsen!" Driscoll roared, jacking himself so fast that his hand was a blur.
"Cover me with your hot juice. I want to have to put on my wading boots to get out of
here tonight."

I gave my cock two more long, hard pulls, and it started flexing around wildly against
my palm. The first shot splashed against his balls, making him holler lustily. The second
shot arced up in the air between us and splattered against his chest. That got him off
right away, and he added his juice to mine as we both pumped ourselves dry.

When the last drop of my spunk had been squeezed out and was hanging on the end of my
foreskin, I wiped it on his sleek thigh, stepped back, and pulled up my pants. "Will
there be anything else, Mr. Driscoll?" I asked as I slowly pushed my cock down into the
left leg of my khakis.

"I think that will do for today, Madsen." He licked his lips. "I may need to talk to
you again next week about your performance. I'll let you know." He was still sprawled
out over the desk, his belly white with spunk. I picked my shirt up off the floor and
left the room, closing the door softly behind me.



Paul swung around on his bar stool when I clapped him heartily on the back. "Where the
hell have you been, Jack? I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about our beer and
gone on home."

"I've got no reason to go home early," I shot back at him.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean anything by that. Let me get you a brew." The reason I had
no need to get home was that I had no one to go home to. My wife and I had split a couple
of months ago, and I hadn't felt the urge to find a replacement for her.

"Hey, Paul, it's not a big deal. We didn't get along, so we're better off apart. I figured
out how to use the stove and the washing machine years ago. I can get along just fine. I
got held up at the plant for almost an hour."

"Was Driscoll on your ass?" Paul handed me a tall, frosty mug of draft and gave me a
quizzical look. His blond eyebrows arched up over his light brown eyes like a couple
of fuzzy caterpillars, and his mouth turned down slightly at the corners, puffing his
full lips into a sensual pout.

"Not exactly." I chuckled inwardly as I imagined his reaction if he had known the truth
about my overtime session. The way I saw it, it wasn't that big a deal. A cock's a cock
and a tight hole's a tight hole. Plain and simple. Bottom line, I got my rocks off and
Driscoll got his rocks off. Sure beat the hell out of blue balls. "He just wanted to talk
about my performance—some bull. No problem for me. Hell, I earned an hour of overtime just
watching him work." At least that part was true! "Next beer's on me."

We sat there and drank for quite a while, watching the crowd and listening to tunes on
the jukebox. We must have put back quite a few, because when I got up to go to the can,
I was a little unsteady on my feet. I splashed some water on my face, then prepared to
face another mug of suds. "Hey, Paul, old buddy," I said as I straddled the bar stool
again, "I think you and me are getting tanked. Are we celebrating anything in particular,
or are we just getting shitfaced?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm just getting shit-faced." He looked over at me as if
he was getting ready to say something else, then shook his head and took another long
pull on his beer.

"What's up, dude? You don't look like the happiest man in the world."

"Hell, Jack, I had another fight with Julie this morning before work. The bitch threw
me out of the house." He looked back over at me and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't
even know what I did wrong this time."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Yeah. No. Hell, I don't know. Shit, she sure is hell on wheels to get along with. If I
stay out late, she complains. If I stay home and try to get her in the sack, she acts
like she's doing me a big favor if she lets me fuck her. I don't get it."

"It's hell, buddy. You can bunk with me till this all blows over. I got plenty of space.
Come on, let's get the hell out of here. I've got a whole case of beer in the refrigerator
over at my place. One good thing about living alone—you can stock the kitchen with beer
and frozen pizzas, and nobody bitches you out about it. Come on, Paul."

We paid up and left the bar. I climbed into my old pickup and pulled out of the lot. I
saw Paul's red Z car in the rearview mirror and led the way to the freeway. My place is
far enough out of town so I don't have neighbors staring at my dick every time I take a
piss. Not a bad deal, really—ten acres with lots of trees and a creek that runs year
round. I pulled up into the side yard and parked under the old pear tree that was cracking
the shit out of my foundation. Something else to deal with one of these days.

"Where's that beer? I can still walk a straight line." Paul climbed out of his car and
followed me into the house. I grabbed the mail—nothing but junk and credit-card
applications—threw it on the rapidly growing pile in the front hall, then headed for
the kitchen. I grabbed us both a bottle, and we went out to sit on the back porch.

"Make yourself at home, man," I offered, flopping down into a lawn chair and unlacing
my heavy work boots. I peeled off my socks and T-shirt as well, then sat back to wait
for a breeze to cool me off.

"Shit, it's hot!" Paul groused, working at the knots in his shoelaces. "I wish to hell
it would rain, or something. What with this weather, and the fact that I haven't gotten
laid for over two weeks, I'm about fit for the funny farm."

"So what's with you and Julie?"

"She told me that I was insensitive. I think she was just pissed that I came on to her
during the game show she was watching. Told me I could wait, but the TV wouldn't. Pissed
me off royally. So I said something. Then she said something else. Next thing I knew,
we were fighting like cats and dogs. Finally she slammed the bedroom door in my face,
and I ended up sleeping on the couch. Why the hell does life have to be so complicated?
Damn it, all I want to do is get my rocks off once in a while without consulting TV
Guide for an available time slot."

"Well, Paul"—I got up to make a beer run—"sometimes you can take real good care of that
without any gals around." I walked into the kitchen, figuring I'd give him a couple of
minutes to chew that over. I had been looking at Paul as he sat across from me. He had
a body like Driscoll's—sleek and hairless as a baby's butt—but built a lot bulkier. His
arms and chest were thick with muscle; even sitting down, his belly was ridged like a
washboard. He was about twenty-eight, and so handsome he was almost pretty. His hair
was a dark blond, curly and thick. I had never seen his bare legs, but I figured from
the way they strained against his jeans, they were thick with muscle and probably as
hairless as his chest. I don't know whether it was the beer or the little session with
the foreman this afternoon, but I was getting horny as a billy goat. My dick kept tingling
and swelling against the crotch of my pants, wanting to get in on some more action. The
more I thought about Paul, the more it started acting up. I figured I might have to excuse
myself for a few minutes and go into the bathroom to whack off—or something.

"Drink up, Paul," I said, putting a new bottle into his hand.

"What did you mean by 'taking care of it' without any women to help you out? Hey"—he
shifted around in his chair—"you're not queer or something, are you?"

"Hell, no, man. I'm just saying that if you're horny enough, it doesn't matter who's
working on the business end of your pecker—it still feels great. A good set of lips
and a tight hole is all it takes, man."

"Shit, Jack, there's no way I could even start to get hard if I had some man messing
around with my dick. The whole idea of sticking your cock up some dude's hairy ass is
too fucking weird." He looked at me intently for a long time before he continued. "Say,
Jack, old buddy, how the hell did you get to be the frigging expert on the subject of
fag sex anyway?"

"Hey, buddy"—I flashed him a big smile—"I was in the navy for three years. What the hell
do you think the guys on board ship did for all those weeks? Not a hell of a lot of pussy
floats by."

Paul burst out laughing, and his body relaxed back into his chair. "I never thought about
it, I guess. I was never in the service, so I can't say. From the way you're talking, you
kind of dig this shit."

"I dig sex in general, man. Tell you what. I'll make you a fifty dollar bet."

"Oh?" He was starting to look a little uneasy again. I plunged ahead anyway.

"Yeah. I'll bet you I can have your cock hard in ten minutes flat. Then you'll see how
weird it is. Got the nerve?"

Paul downed his beer quickly, then stood up. "Sure, Jack. I've got the nerve. Fifty says
you can't do it."

I stood to face him. "This is my ten minutes, man," I growled at him. "You pay attention
to me. Got it?"

"Sure, Jack. Go for it man."

I put my hands on his shoulders, and he tensed like a coiled spring. "Just relax, man.
Look at me and tell me what you see."

"What I see is this really strange man trying to put the make on me." He grinned nervously.
"Okay. What I really see is this dude, and he's tall—a big fucker, actually—lots of coal
black hair, green eyes, a big nose, pretty decent teeth, and a really terrific mustache.
You know, I always wanted to be able to grow one. Never could." He licked his lips, then
started talking again.

"You've got a great-looking body—I sure as hell have to give you that. You've also got
the kind of chest I'd have killed for when I was a kid. One of the worst days of my
life was when I finally figured out I'd never grow hair on my chest." He stopped suddenly
and looked up at me, startled. "I just had this crazy thought, and since this is sure as
hell a crazy situation, I'm gonna do it."

"Go right ahead."

He reached over and put both hands firmly on my chest, fingers splayed out wide. "I always
wondered what this would feel like," he whispered. "I've never touched a hairy chest before.
God, it's really strange. But, you know, it's kind of nice—like petting an animal."

"I am an animal." I winked at him. "Go on, Paul."

His hands dropped back down to his sides. "Well, you've got a pretty tight belly."

"Go ahead and touch that, too, if you want to." His hand grazed my belly. Then he reached
out and made solid contact, stroking down to my belt.

He blushed scarlet, but didn't move his hand. "And you wear your pants to show off what
you're packing between your legs."

"You want to see what I'm packing?"

"Sure, man. What the hell. You got eight minutes left."

"And you've already got something squirming around in your pants." I unbuckled my belt
and opened the zipper, letting my pants fall down around my knees. My prick was already
getting pretty interested in the proceedings, starting to stretch out before climbing
up to have a look around. Paul took a good look at it. His jaw dropped.

"Jesus, Jack! You got one hell of a big dick. Still got the skin on it, too. That's
another thing...." He stopped and looked up at me sheepishly. "What the hell!" He
shrugged, reaching out and fingering the head of my meat. He pulled the skin down
tightly over the head, rubbing it between his fingers. My cock bounced violently and
he pulled away. I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand back to my pecker.

"Your turn, Paul." I reached over and popped open the buttons on his fly, shucking his
jeans down over his hips. He jumped back and almost fell flat on his ass. "I win, Paul,"
I gloated, pointing down at his fat, red-crowned cock.

"Shit!" he groaned. "I've gone queer for my best buddy at work."

"Let's do it, then." Before he knew what was happening, I dropped to my knees and got
my mouth on his dick. I mashed it against the roof of my mouth, rasping my tongue up
and down his swollen cometube. He tried to buck back a couple of times, but I grabbed
his silky ass and held on tight. Once he figured out how good it felt, he relaxed.

The muscles in his ass started to flex rhythmically after a few minutes—the horny bastard
was already getting into it. I swallowed him down to the bush, sticking out my tongue to
tickle his nuts. He gasped and his hands clamped down on my shoulders for support.

I swung on his cock till his ballsac started to wrinkle up. I gave one last, lingering
twirl of the tongue over the swollen crown, then stood back up. "Now I'm going to show
you what to do with that thing when it's feeling hard enough to punch through a concrete
wall." I pulled a chair over from the kitchen table, turned around, and put my left leg
up on the seat, spreading my asscheeks wide. "You want to fuck me?"

"Jesus, man! I mean, what the hell—sure."

I looked over my shoulder at him. "Just remember that this asshole is the personal
property of your buddy, Jack. Okay? Treat it real good." I braced my right hand against
the sink to steady myself. Paul grabbed me by the hips and pushed his prick slowly up
into me. It burned like hell, but my dick snapped to full throbbing attention as soon
as he breached me.

"Damn, your asshole's tight."

"Feels good, huh?" I squeezed my asslips down tight. Paul gasped and pumped me again.
"Oh, yeah. That's just right. Play with my tits. man. Pinch on 'em. Yeah that's right.
Pull on 'em real hard. Yeah. Twist 'em around, man. Yeah, that feels good." He was
catching on real fast and, from the sound of his breathing and the way his dick was
flexing and thrashing around in my guts, he was enjoying it as well.

He pumped me for about five minutes, punching harder as he got closer to dumping his
load. "Shit, man, I'm gonna come. Oh, Jesus!" I pulled off him and spun around to watch
him shoot. He grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed down tight. The cap was swollen
up like a mushroom, and his cometube stood out sharply. Paul whimpered. Then the juice
started to flow, pumping out of him like water out of an artesian well. He got me on
the belly and on the chest. The more he squirted, the harder I got, figuring that it
was now my turn.

"Good shots, man," I said after his breathing had returned to normal. "That wasn't so
bad, was it?"

"Oh, man. That was incredible. I got to thinking about the fact that I was fucking my
buddy, and I just went nuts. I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

"You're just about to get your big chance to find out," I leered at him.

"Huh? Shit, man, you don't think you're going to stick that thing up my ass, do you?"
He looked very shocked.

"You sure had yourself a hell of a time rooting around up my manhole. Don't you think
I deserve a taste of the same feelings."

"Sure. But my cock isn't anywhere near as big as yours. I don't think I can take it,
Jack."

"You've gone this far. Let me give it a try. Hey, buddy, I promise I won't do anything
to hurt you. You trust me, right?"

Paul nodded then stood there looking at me, as if he was waiting for instructions.
"Why don't you get down on your hands and knees, buddy?" He knelt and braced his hands
out on the floor in front of him. I got down behind him and started sniffing at his
crack. He smelled of sweat and of the cheap industrial soap they supplied in the showers
at work. I flickered my tongue over his rosebud asshole, and he bucked like a wild pony.
The next time I licked him, he jumped again, but not as hard. After two minutes, he was
pushing his ass back against my stubbly chin, moaning every time my tongue popped up
his chute.

I rimmed him till he was squirming like a puppy on the kitchen floor. I started
alternating my tongue with my index finger, popping them in and out one after the other
till he didn't know which was which. One finger was soon joined by another, till I had
three thick digits wedged into him. I fingered him for a while, playing the knob in his
gut till he was rock-hard again.

When I figured Paul was about as loose as he was going to get, I grabbed my dick with
my free hand and pulled the old switcheroo. The head of my spike popped through his
assring. He was hot inside, and his guts felt like silk on my cock. I kept pushing
down slowly, giving Paul a chance to relax, or protest, or something. His shoulders
were knotted and the muscles along his spine were ridged up tight, but he didn't say
a word.

When I was about halfway in, I started to pull out so I could have another long, slow
slide into him. He pushed back with me, as if he didn't want to lose contact with my
prong. I pushed back in till I was about three inches from tickling his cheeks with
my pubes. Paul pushed up from the floor and pressed his back against me. I grabbed
him around the waist and groaned as my cock slid all the way in.

I reached down for his prick, palmed it, and gave it a squeeze. "Shit, Jack, don't do
that. I'm gonna come again. Ahhhh!" He shot another load into my hand. I raised it to
my lips and licked it, then put my hand up to Paul's mouth. His tongue flickered over
my sticky fingers. "Don't stop. Jack. Seems like I'm having all the fun so far." His
laugh rumbled deep and sexy in his chest.

"Not quite," I murmured in his ear. I started running my hands all over his body, from
his broad shoulders down over his arms to his thighs, then back up again, over his
tight torso, Paul never lost his hard-on after he shot his wad. It stayed swollen
tight against his belly, leaking slime as if he hadn't come in over a week. I stirred
my pecker around in his gut, poking the fat head against his knob till he was whimpering
again.

"I'm gonna shoot it again, man. I can't help it. Shit, what are you doing to me?" He
threw back his head, and his manhole clamped down tight as another creamy shot of spunk
started pumping out of his come-hole. The smell of all this jizz in the air was driving
me nuts. I got Paul flipped over onto his back without breaking our connection, pinned
his knees behind his ears, and started fucking him for all I was worth. He pushed his
butt up to meet me on every stroke, his head thrashing from side to side. My balls were
tight against the shaft, and it felt as if the spunk was gathering up from all points
in my body.

"Jack. I'm gonna—" The rest of what he was trying to say got lost in a guttural howl,
but I got the point. Watching his swollen dick let loose again put me right over the
top. I pulled out of him and started jacking myself frantically. The cowl of skin
snapped back and forth on the purplish head, making my prickhoney all frothy. I got in
that one last magic pull, and I saw stars! My first shot pumped out of me like a bullet,
shooting in a high arc that splashed against Paul's neck. He looked up at me and grinned,
scrambling to a sitting position. His lips closed over my left nipple, and my next shot
caught him on the shoulder. I kind of lost track after that. Next thing I knew, I was
sprawled out flat on the floor with Paul on top of me, his tongue still teasing my tit.

"Hey, dude. How about sharing a quick shower, then hitting the sack?" I slapped his ass
playfully. "Tomorrow's a workday, you know."

"Damn, I almost forgot about that." He stood up, then turned around and looked me directly
in the eyes. "You sure I won't be in the way if I bunk with you for a few days?"

"Like I said, Paul. You're welcome for as long as you need a place to stay. No problem,
man."

"I was just thinking, Jack. This is gonna be great. We usually only get the chance to
grab a beer once a week or so. Now we'll be able to hang around together. Watch all the
ball games we want. Shoot the shit. Knock back a few brews. You know, just you and me.
Beats hanging out at Hank's, right?" He looked at me and grinned shyly. "We might even
make another bet...about something."

I winked at him. "Sounds like a hell of a deal to me, dude."

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



2. MY DOUBLE LIFE


"You want that big, hard dick up your ass, don't you?" Bob grunted, wedging the huge knob
capping his prick through my assring. "Tell me how much you want to get fucked."

"Oh, yeah, man," I gasped, fisting my aching shaft frantically. "Fuck me! I need your big
cock in me." I howled and shook as he thrust his hips forward, impaling me on twelve brutally
thick inches of dick. His fat balls smacked against my lower back. I could feel his knob
expanding deep in my guts. The sweat was starting to pour off him, running in streams down
his neck and into the thick mat of hair on his heaving chest. I grabbed a handful of his
luxuriant belly fur and held on tight as he started to fuck.

"Oh, man!" he cooed, prying my dick away from my abs and using it to tilt my ass just the
way he wanted it.

"I can feel your butthole chewing on my meat. Oh, yeah! Wiggle that ass. Move it. That's
right. Just like that!"

"I'm gonna come!" I squealed, my toes curling as I started spitting cream. I pointed my
cock straight up in the air and my whole body tensed up as my balls spit out a shot that
arced high above Bob's head. It splattered back down across his shoulders and neck, inspiring
him to ream out my fuckhole even harder.

I was limp and gasping for air when Bob yanked his dick out of my butt, peeled off his safe,
and let fly. "Shoot it," I urged, grabbing his big nuts and stretching them out tight. "Shoot
all over me!" Suddenly his nuts snapped out of my grasp and drew up till they were riding the
sides of his meat. His pisshole gaped and the head of his dick damn near doubled in size as
the first spout finished the long journey from his balls. Bob's lovejuice gushed up over my
belly, pooling in my navel and running down my sides. Every muscle in his big body knotted
as he tensed for his second shot. It hit me in the armpit, hot and steaming, smelling richly
of his sexy funk. After that, I watched in fascination as the jizz continued to flow like
champagne foaming out of a bottle.

When Bob's big nuts were finally drained, he rolled over on his side, pulling me along with
him. I nestled my cheek against his hairy chest and slowly closed my eyes.

"Cut!" the director shouted. "That's good, guys. We'll go with that one. Great come shot, Bob."

"Thanks," he chuckled, rolling out of bed and reaching for a towel. "That was great, Carl,"
he said casually as he wiped my come off his chest. "Fucking your beautiful blond butt is the
kind of work I can deal with any day."

"My pleasure," I chuckled, looking up into his handsome face. The man was a walking wet dream,
but unfortunately he wasn't my type. Oh, don't get me wrong—he was probably the best sex I had
ever experienced. He knew how to use that big dick of his to curl my toes. I had made three
movies with him, and every time the sex kept on getting better and better. Our director usually
didn't use the same pairings in more than one video, but the buying public's response to the
two of us fucking had changed his mind.

"Can I give you a ride someplace?" Bob rested his big hand on my shoulder. "I'll buy you dinner
if you like."

"Thanks, Bob." I scooted off the bed and out of his reach. "I've got other plans."

"Maybe some other time then?" His smile faded slightly.

"See you around," I said evasively as I headed for the showers. I wanted to catch the 6:10 bus,
and I had only twenty minutes to get cleaned up and get out to the bus stop.

I was in a hurry because Adam, my college roommate, was going to go out with me for pizza and
beer. I'd been working on him for weeks, and finally he had agreed. I didn't want to be late
because I sure as hell didn't want to explain where I had been.

Adam and everyone else at school thought that I worked at a fast-food joint in a local mall. My
film career was strictly a deep, dark secret. I could have had a job flipping burgers for the
minimum wage, but there was no way that would pay the tuition for the school I was attending.
On the other hand, a single featured role in a sex video brought in more than a month's worth of
living money. I didn't mind doing it, especially since Bob and I were working together regularly,
but I had my sights set a little higher than a porn star when it came to a relationship.

The man I wanted was Adam Reeves. He represented everything I aspired to be. He was rich, handsome,
and refined, and I loved listening to him talk about all the things he had done and experienced
that I had only dreamed about. I had grown up dirt-poor and learned most of my lessons on the
streets. I wanted to break away from my past, and if I had to fund the effort by having my ass
packed on camera—so be it.

I had the feeling that Adam was beginning to be interested in me. Of course, I gave him lots of
encouragement. I paraded my body in front of him every chance I got: stripping down to my briefs
to study and sleeping in the nude, the covers carefully pulled down to show off my hairless bubble-
butt. I was doing my damnedest to get him hot enough to jump my bones and pin me to the mattress.

I made it home in the nick of time, and Adam and I walked across campus to the pizza joint he had
suggested. We had been there only a few minutes when a group of people he knew wandered in and our
table filled up with rich preppies. I smiled and tried to remember everyone by name, but I really
wanted Adam all to myself. I finally gave up trying to join the conversation and focused on how I
could seduce Adam later, when we were all alone.

I knew he was gay—he was quite open about that—and I hoped he could be convinced that I was the
man of his dreams. My body was tight, the muscles sculpted by regular workouts. My thick pecs
curved out full and tight, capped by big pinky brown nipples that stood out like pencil erasers.
My abs were a series of deeply cut ridges, and my biceps bulged like veiny grapefruits. Tonight
I was wearing a pair of tight Levi's and a T-shirt that hugged my torso like a second skin. I
had caught Adam eyeing my arms a couple of times during the evening and I was ready to do whatever
was required to keep his interest alive.

"Carl. Carl?" I jumped guiltily and looked across the table at Adam. The crowd at the table had
melted away and we were alone.

"I'm sorry." I lifted the pitcher and topped off his beer.

"I think you're trying to get me drunk," he protested, waving the pitcher away. "I've had four
already. I've got an early class tomorrow." He flagged down the waiter and paid the check, then
pushed back his chair. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," I nodded, chugging my beer and following him outside. When we got back to the dorm, I
decided that the time to take action had arrived. While Adam was sitting on the side of his
bunk, untying his shoes, I stripped out of my clothes and planted myself directly in front of
him. My cock was already half-hard, and my tits were starting to puff up into tight little points.

"Let's do it, Adam," I said hoarsely, putting my hands on his shoulders. He flinched slightly,
but didn't move away. "I want you to climb all over me. I want to feel your hands stroking me,
buddy." My prick bounced excitedly as I thought about it. "You can do anything with me you want,"
I added teasingly, spinning around and flexing my ass seductively.

"You're a horny guy," he chuckled softly. "You really want to get laid, don't you?"

"By you? You're damned right. Get naked and let's get into bed together." Adam took off his
clothes slowly and hung them in the closet. When he was naked, he turned and put his hands
tentatively on my hips. That was all the invitation I needed—I wrapped my arms around him and
our bellies slapped together. I lunged forward and crushed my mouth against his, jabbing my
tongue eagerly between his lips. I must have startled him because he turned his face away
from me. Undeterred, I started kissing his neck, rubbing my throbbing hard-on up and down on
his belly

I wanted him to grab my ass and wedge his fingers into my sweaty crack, but he kept his hands
clasped firmly around my waist. I groped him several times, but his dick remained soft, no
matter what I did to get him aroused. When I dropped to my knees and swallowed him to the
bush, he yelped and pushed my head away.

"I'm sorry, Carl, but I'm not nearly the hog for sex that you are. Besides, I'm a little drunk.
Sorry."

"No problem, Adam," I assured him, standing up again and rubbing my cock along his thigh. "We
can still have fun. Stick your finger up my ass. I want you to fuck me with your finger. That
might be just what your one-eyed buddy needs for inspiration. It's tight and hot, Adam, and it's
all for you."

"UH...I don't know, Carl. You sure you want me to do this?"

"Yes!" I gasped. I'd had several beers, and I wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Play with
my ass, man. I've got an itch way up inside that really needs to be scratched." I looked at him
and smiled lewdly. "Help me out." I put my left foot up on the edge of his bunk. I grabbed my
balls and pulled them up along my cock-shaft, baring my asshole to his view.

He fingered me halfheartedly, poking my ring a couple of times, then letting his hand fall back
to his knee. I'm just not into it," he shrugged.

'Maybe you'll get off on this," I said, reaching into the drawer under my bunk and pulling out
a big dildo that I kept hidden away for emergencies. I was so horny that I had to have relief.
I figured that maybe Adam needed some visual stimulation.

"Jesus, Carl! You aren't going to try to push that big thing up your asshole, are you?"

"Watch me," I growled, pulling my desk chair over and planting the twelve-inch sextoy firmly
on the seat. I greased up the bulbous head and straddled the chair. Adam watched my ass closely
as I flexed my thighs and lowered myself till my asslips wrere kissing rubber. He gasped out
loud when the head of the dildo popped into me. I groaned. A glob of clear cockjuice spurted
out onto the floor at Adam's feet.

I started pinching my tits, pulling my sensitive nipples out taut from my pecs. This really
got me revved and my sphincter dilated, letting me sink down till my balls were bouncing off
the seat of the wooden chair. I rose up slowly till I was in the clear again, then sat down
fast, gasping as my whole body spasmed with intense pleasure.

Adam's eyes were glued to my manhole, watching as the dildo pistoned in and out. I noticed
that his dick was finally beginning to respond, rising up from between his legs. The harder
I fucked myself, the more excited he got, flogging his meat till he spouted his load onto the
sheets. The sight of him coming got me off as well, and I hollered lustily as the jizz started
pumping out of me. I shot a blast high in the air that spattered at my feet. Then I pointed
my meat at Adam and clamped down hard, blowing a wad against his belly. He yelped and scrambled
out of range, wiping my jism off with a towel. I milked the last of my juice out and shook it
off the tip of my prick.

"You're like an animal." Adam shook his head. "You really like sitting on that thing, don't
you?" he continued, his eyes still focused on the base of the dildo that was crammed deep in
my guts.

"I'd like something else better," I leered, looking pointedly at his cock, now limp in his hand.

"Good night, Carl." Adam climbed into bed and pulling the covers up around his neck.

"Good night," I sighed, rising up off my toy cock and putting it away. I'd broken the ice, but
I still had a long way to go to get what I really wanted.

All during the following week, I tried to corner Adam again, but with no luck. I completed
another scene with Bob and he asked me out again, but I didn't go with him. He had been inspired
during our scene together, doing things with his monster cock that nearly drove me around the
bend. I came three times while he was fucking me, which made the director very happy. When
the cameras shut down, Bob kept on holding me, his tongue thrusting insistently into my mouth.
I finally pushed him away, noticing that his dick was still hard as a steel bar, dripping juice
like crazy. Just looking at him kneeling above me, his cock throbbing, his big body sheened
with sweat, was making me horny again. I couldn't stay, though—I was going out with Adam.

We had been invited to a fraternity pledge party. I was surprised because the guy who invited
us had never even spoken to me before, but I figured that if Adam wanted to join, then I'd do
my best to get in as well. When we arrived, Adam's friend spirited him away while I was left
cooling my heels in the hall.

I finally got tired of staring at the woodwork and went looking for Adam. At first I couldn't
find him; then I heard voices in a darkened room at the back of the house. I stuck my head
through the door, and my heart sank into my shoes. In the center of the room was a big-screen
TV and I saw a pair of hands rolling a rubber onto a huge, veiny cock that curved up slightly
at the business end. It was a piece of meat that I recognized immediately. It was Bob's dick
and the hands that were smoothing the condom along the throbbing shaft were mine. I didn't
even realize that the damned film had been distributed, and I sure as hell didn't expect to
see it here.

The next scene came into focus. I was lying back on the bed, legs spread wide, begging Bob
to jam his meat up my manhole. I could hear the men in the room laughing as my face filled
the screen. I was panting and my eyes were glazed with lust.

"I told you so, Adam," a voice piped up. "Your friend appears to be every bit the star. No
doubt you two have great times together."

"I don't know about that." It was Adam's voice, and it made my stomach ache to listen to what
he said. "I suppose it doesn't really surprise me. He's been trying to put the make on me
since the first day we met. The other night, he even went so far as to stage a little sex
show for me." I couldn't believe he was going to tell, but his voice droned on, cutting
through the panting and groaning on the video's sound track. "He hauled out a dildo damn near
as big as the dick he's riding right now." There was a close-up of my asshole grabbing at Bob's
prong while he pumped me frantically, his balls slapping my sweaty ass. "I guess he figured
that watching him fuck himself would inspire me to have a shot at him. He's got a great body,
but I really don't think he's the sort of person I want to spend time with."

"Oh, I don't know," someone else laughed. "Maybe we should pledge him. He could do a star turn
at our fund-raiser." As the room erupted in laughter I turned on my heel and walked out into
the warm night.

I had never felt so humiliated in my life. As I walked along the dark streets, I realized
how angry I was at myself—not because I had made the movies, but because I had been too stupid
to realize that Adam didn't give a damn about me. As my thoughts cleared, I realized that I
had been putting my energies in the wrong direction. I didn't really want to be a part of Adam's
world of money and expensive fraternities. What I wanted was to feel a man's strong arms around
me. A man who cared about me and could satisfy my strong sexual needs. A man who wasn't afraid
of his cock and knew how to use it. A man like Bob.

I turned abruptly and began retracing my steps. Bob had told me where he lived after our second
video together, and I remembered the address. I was hoping like hell that he was at home and
alone, although I had given him no reason to wait around for me to show up.

It was probably crazy, but I wanted him so badly it hurt, and I was willing to risk humiliation
for the second time tonight. After all, what did I have to lose?

"Carl! It's good to see you. Come on in." Bob held the door open for me and I stepped in to his
apartment. He was wearing an old pair of cutoff sweats, and he looked incredibly sexy. He smiled
warmly as he motioned me over to the couch. He sat down beside me, his furry thigh pressing against
my leg.

I looked over at him, taking in his curly hair, the cleft in his chin, his blue green eyes and his
sincere smile. Under the harsh lights on the set, he had looked great—in the soft glow of the lamp-
light, he was irresistible. The hair on his broad chest gleamed with coppery highlights, swirling
around his thick nipples and shooting in a line down over his concave belly. His dense bush of
pubes curled crisply over the waistband of his sweats and his cock and balls formed a big mound
in his crotch.

"I've had a lousy night." I figured I should come clean with him. I told him my story and tried
to explain why I had been less than enthusiastic about going out with him in the past. He listened
quietly until I had finished, then put an arm around my shoulders.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you wanted." His voice rumbling deep in his big chest.

"Well, Bob, actually I was hoping they might still work out. I've decided that the chemistry
between us is a hell of a lot more important than the life-styles of the rich and asexual."

"Are you trying to make a pass at me," he asked, looking at me and winking.

"Yeah," I nodded, reaching into his shorts and wrapping my fingers around the shaft of his hot
dick. "If you're still interested, I'm all yours."

His arms slipped around me and he hugged me tight, covering my mouth with passionate kisses. I
massaged his cock till it had stretched out to full length. Then I wriggled free of his grasp
and got down on my knees between his legs. I licked the honey off his knob, teasing the rim of
his crown till it glistened with spit and lube. His hands were all over me—stroking my arms and
shoulders, cupping my pecs and rubbing his callused palms against my tits.

He groaned and rolled his head against the back of the couch when I went down on him, not stopping
till my nose was buried in his pubes. He smelled and tasted great—like a horny man whose balls
are heavy with come. I fucked his cock with my tight throat, content to kneel there all night,
sucking his massive spike.

"Get naked, Carl," he ordered, pushing my head away. "I want to fuck your hot butt." While I
stripped, he rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a foil-wrapped packet. He tossed it to me and I
ripped it open. He held his dick steady while I plopped the rubber on the bulbous head and started
working the latex down over the silky shaft. When I had it unrolled all the way, there was still
a four-inch band of bare flesh between the rubber and his chestnut brown bush. I squeezed hard
and his knob puffed up like a big ripe plum, squirting lube into the tip of the safe.

"Fuck me," I whispered, straddling his hips. I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest,
feeling the muscles beneath shift and flex. Then I leaned forward and kissed him, our tongues
thrusting and twining together. "I want your cock," I sighed.

When he breached my chute, my body flooded with sexual heat. Waves of pleasure that started
deep in my belly washed over me as Bob's cockhead mashed against my joyknob. He was so damned
big that the pressure never let up, leaving me balanced on a fine line between pleasure and
pain. The pleasure won out hands down about the fourth time he lifted me up, then let me ride
back down slowly till his pubes were dusting my crack.

My prick was curved up tight against my abs, oozing juice that ran down my cockshaft and dripped
off my balls. Bob bounced me up and down on his lap till I was groaning with pleasure. Then he
grabbed me and stood up. I locked my legs around his waist and held on tight as he walked into
the bedroom, carrying me, every step punctuated by a kiss and the flexing of his big meat.

He climbed up onto the bed and fell forward, slamming into me so hard that I felt his balls
mashing against my ring, trying to follow his dick inside. I started sucking his nipples,
chewing the meaty points of flesh hard enough to make him buck and writhe, stretching my guts
to the limits of my endurance.

Bob had me plugged at both ends, his pistoning cock filling my asshole while his tongue probed
deep into my throat. I was trembling like a leaf, right on the edge of shooting my load. My
cock was pressed tight against his belly, the silky hairs growing there curling around my
shaft, tickling me. Being here with him was wonderful—we had worked together enough to know
how to push each other's buttons, and we went for all of them. I grabbed at his hairy ballbag
and squeezed his nuts because I knew he really got off on it. He reciprocated by flexing his
dick, making it thrash around inside of me like a wild animal.

Bob felt my body tense and started pounding me harder, knowing how I liked it fast and rough
while I was coming. The magic stroke came quickly, racking my frame with the most intense
sexual rush I had ever experienced. I grabbed Bob's hairy ass, pulling him in deep. He whimpered
and I felt the rubber ballooning in my gut, filling with his hot load. It seared my asschannel
even through the layer of latex and made me start shooting.

We both kept our hard-ons for the rest of the night, fucking slow and easy till the sun came
up. It was our best performance ever, and no one was destined to enjoy it but the two of us.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



3. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF COACH NEWMAN


"All right, move your pansy asses!" Coach Newman's deep voice echoed in the university
gym and we all picked up the pace on our laps. Coach was standing in the middle of the
polished hardwood floor, pumping the hand weights he always carried around with him. His
biceps were swollen up and his thick forearms were corded with twitching muscles. When
he turned his head and glared in my general direction, I shifted my eyes, hoping he wouldn't
notice me.

"Kraychik!" he bawled, making my buddy Stan's shoulders knot up. "Try to run like a man."

It looked as if today was Stan's turn to be harassed. I felt relieved, but that didn't
lessen my hatred of Newman one little bit. He was an arrogant, overbearing bastard and
he intimidated the shit out of me.

It was a pity that Coach Newman was such a jerk because he was really a righteous-looking
dude. He kept his black hair clipped off short which emphasized his cruelly handsome features.
His steely blue eyes were deep-set, the bridge of his long nose was slightly-flattened, and
his prominent jaw jutted out defiantly. By the time my Phys. Ed. class rolled around in the
afternoon, his chiseled face was smudged with a heavy five-o'-clock shadow.

At thirty-seven, Coach was in peak condition, his huge body sculpted like one of those old
statues of naked heroes you see in the encyclopedias. Long silky strands of black fur
curled luxuriantly on his massive forearms and his muscle-knotted legs. In sharp contrast,
there wasn't a single hair on his torso to obscure his incredible definition. His squared
pecs bulged out aggressively, capped by a pair of tits the size of half-dollars. They were
dusky brown, the fleshy point of each nipple standing out like a pencil eraser. He was like
the comic-book heroes I had jerked off over when I was younger, only Coach Newman was real
and he was built much better.

However, none of that mattered after I got to know him — the dude was an asshole, pure and
simple. One day, he got on my case for some damned thing and rode my ass all during class.
Then, when everyone else was dismissed, he made me do a hundred push-ups and twice as many
sit-ups before he let me go to the showers. Then, on top of it all, he ordered me to report
to his office later.

When I got to Newman's office, no one was there and I ended up cooling my heels for a good
half-hour. When he finally showed, he pushed me roughly into the small cubicle and slammed
the door. He must have been swimming laps, because he was wearing his black Speedo and had
a towel draped around his neck. He stood about three feet away from me, his eyes boring into
my skull. I finally couldn't take it any more and looked down, focusing on his massive chest
as it rose and fell.

"What're you looking at, Foster?" he snarled, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me roughly.
I took a step back, bumped into a chair, and sat down hard. "You're always looking at me,
aren't you Foster? Do you like what you see?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied. I couldn't believe he was actually saying
this to me. Of course, I looked at him. I also fantasized about dudes like him when I jacked
off every night, for chrissakes! How the hell could he have known?

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he taunted, his upper lip curling back from his
white teeth. "You want to touch me, don't you?"

"No!" I squeaked, blushing furiously.

"Don't lie to me, Foster. I know what you want. Stand up!" I jumped to my feet, afraid to
disobey. Coach Newman pulled the towel from his neck and threw it into the corner of the
room. His arms dropped to his sides, his hands balled into fists. He flexed, popping all
his muscles to rigid attention. "Go ahead, Foster. Touch me. I know that's what you want,
you little fag."

Powerless to stop myself, I reached out to him. I was scared shitless, but the awful truth
was that I really did want to touch him. My heart was thudding against my rib cage with
fear, and sweat was beginning to trickle down my sides, soaking my T-shirt, hut there was
something else going on as well that overwhelmed any other thoughts. I had this funny tingling
in my belly—like when I'd been beating my meat for ten or fifteen minutes and could tell I
was moving into the homestretch—only I hadn't even touched myself since ] drained my pipe
the previous night. This was definitely a total mindfuck!

My hand reached out and I made contact. The man was a stone wall. Under the tightly stretched
skin on his chest, his pecs felt like warm boulders. Even the knot of his tit was hard as a
pebble. "You like that, don't you Foster? You like touching me. You wanna touch my arms? Go
ahead. Do it!" I jumped but did what he told me, gripping the bulging mounds of his biceps
tentatively. I could feel the swollen veins that ran across them pulsing against my palms.
When I ran my hands on down over his forearms, that long, silky hair curled around my trembling
fingers. The fire in my gut raged out of control. My cock snapped to rigid attention.

I squealed with surprise and pain when Coach suddenly reached out and clamped his hand down on
my hard-on. "You are a faggot, aren't you, Foster? I had you pegged for one the first day you
walked in here. Just a little cocksucker, huh? Well, get down on your knees and suck my cock."
He put his hands on my shoulders and forced me roughly to the floor. He hooked a thumb into
the waistband of his Speedo, then reached in and scooped out his cock and balls. When he let
go, they dangled heavily between his legs, only inches from my face. His prick was thick,
gnarled with veins, and had a hood that hung a good half inch beyond the tip. I couldn't
believe this was happening to me!

"Suck it, faggot," Coach growled, grabbing me by the hair and cramming my face into his crotch.
"And just forget you've even got teeth, or I'll break your goddamned jaw." He pulled my head
back and glared down at me. "Understood?"

"Yes," I gasped hoarsely, both exhilarated and terrified by what was happening. Coach grabbed
the shaft of his rubbery meat and smacked me in the face with it a few times. Then he peeled
back the overhang of skin and rubbed the big spongy knob against my mouth, leaking piss and
clear juice all over my lips.

"Open up and take it, Foster." It wasn't a request. I opened my mouth and he rammed his prick
in deep, damn near choking me. I gagged when the head bounced against the back of my mouth
and started down my throat, but Coach just slapped my face, grabbed onto my ears, and kept
on ramming. My eyes were watering and my ears hurt like hell, but I forgot about all of that
when my nose was buried in his dense bush and his big balls were bouncing off my chin.

"Work on it. Tighten up those lips and learn how to use that tongue. That's what your mouth
was made for, you queer cocksucker. Watch those teeth!" He smacked the side of my head, then
went back to fucking my face. He pumped his hips frantically, pulling his meat out till only
the sticky head was rubbing my lips, then cramming it down my throat in swift, brutal jabs.
He went at me till my jaws started cramping; then he yanked his dick out of my mouth, grabbed
my arm, and hauled me to my feet.

His hand shot out and latched on to the neck of my T-shirt. I heard fabric ripping, then saw
a flash of white hit the floor. Coach Newman's fingers dug into my pecs, feeling as if he was
trying to rip the muscle away from my ribs. "Drop your pants!" he growled, licking his lips.
My hands fumbled with my belt and zipper, finally getting them opened and letting my trousers
slide down on my thighs. He twisted my tits roughly, spun me around and slammed me down against
the desk, his hands clamped painfully on my neck.

"Wait!" I pleaded as he ripped my underwear off and tossed it aside.

"Shut up and take it!" Coach snapped, landing a heavy blow on my left asscheek. "Faggots like
getting their butts poked, Foster. You're gonna love it." He slapped my ass again, then crammed
a finger up my chute. It hurt like hell, but I bit my lips and didn't cry out.

One thick finger led to two, then three as he savaged my ass relentlessly. No amount of
struggling was going to help me get away, so I lay still. He was too strong for me to resist—
besides, if I did somehow manage to get away, I couldn't run very fast with my pants down
around my ankles.

Something was happening to me. I had never had anything up my ass before, so when the burning
sensation and the pain began to fade, I was unprepared for the waves of pleasure that started
shooting through me. He was hitting something up inside me with the tips of his fingers that
was making my belly churn and my toes curl. Coach had been right: I was a cocksucking faggot
who wanted to have things shoved up my butt.

I was still in a daze about the whole thing when he popped his fingers out of me, spit on my
crack, and started rubbing his cocksnout against my asshole. I felt pressure, then a sharp stab
as he abruptly breached my manhole. His meat slipped deeper and deeper into me. I was wrenched
with a searing pain as he stretched my gut all the way up to my diaphragm. "Take it easy!" I
groaned.

"Shut the fuck up!" Coach Newman growled threateningly, his hand tightening on my neck. "Loosen
up and take my big hard dick. I'm gonna fuck you till I'm ready to come, then I'm gonna pump
you full of my hot balljuice, so you might as well get used to it." He emphasized his point by
cramming into me even deeper, till I felt his pubes tickling my smooth ass.

Once he had me opened up from end to end, he grabbed my hips and started pummeling me, fucking
my virgin butt mercilessly. I gripped the edge of the desk till my knuckles were white, feeling
totally humiliated and degraded, even when the pain of the fuck gave way to that funny internal
tingling again.

"You've got a tight little butthole, Foster. You frigging cocksuckers always have nice hot
butts." He plowed deep and slapped both cheeks. My whole body spasmed, clenching my assring
down tight. Coach moaned with pleasure and smacked me again.

My ass was on fire, inside and out, when he stopped suddenly. All I could feel was his meat
flexing and thrashing around in my gut. Then he shuddered and I felt a blast of heat shoot
way up into me. It was followed by two more in rapid succession. Then Coach Newman started
humping again, crushing my balls against the edge of the desk. The pressure popped my cork.
I blew my wad all over the tiled floor.

When he was through with me, he yanked his dick out of my tortured hole and stepped back. "Pull
up your pants and get the fuck out of here, Foster. I'm sick of looking at you." I stood up
and struggled with my pants, covering my hard-on ashamedly. It was bad enough that he had just
fucked me against my will— now he knew for a fact that I'd been getting off on it. I miserably
picked up my torn shirt and jockeys and slunk out of his office.

"Don't mention a word of this, Foster," Coach Newman said as the door closed behind me. "Just
remember, nobody'd believe a cocksucker like you."


A bell rang and brought me back to the present. Before I headed down to the showers, I glanced
back over my shoulder and saw that Coach Newman had cornered Ramon Gonzales—a Latino fox with
coal black hair and a totally buff bod. Coach had him backed up against a wall and was poking
him in the chest with a bony finger. Poor bastard—judging by what had happened to me, I figured
maybe now it was his turn.

I was just soaping up when Gonzales stepped into the showers. He looked grim. I wanted to warn
him, but I guess maybe I had taken Coach Newman's warning too much to heart. While I was
wrestling with this dilemma, Stan Kraychik walked in and went straight over to him.

"You supposed to meet Newman tonight?"

"How'd you know," Ramon's voice was tight.

"Figured it," Stan chuckled dryly. "Don't go."

"Why not?"

"Just take my advice and don't go."

"What? And get my ass flunked out of gym class? I'm not afraid of that bully."

"Neither was I," Stan said. "I should have been."

"What the hell are you talking about, man? Spill it."

Stan lowered his voice to a whisper. "When I went to see him alone, he made me suck his cock.
Then he fucked me."

"You're shitting me!" Gonzales's eyes got big as saucers.

"No, Ramon, he's not," I piped up. "The same thing happened to me. The man's a maniac."

"Hell"—Stan burst out—"and here I thought I was the only one."

"Look, guys, the bastard ain't doing that to me!"

"It sounds like we have a serious problem here, gentlemen." We all turned around at the
sound of the new voice. Harris was standing back in a corner, under one of the water jets.
"The good news is that I'm willing to help you solve it." Harris had a reputation as something
of a wild man. He dressed punk, complete with Doc Martens and a green streak in his blond hair.
He was openly gay and made no bones about it. He was about the last dude I would have expected
to offer to help a bunch of jocks, but I was willing to hear him out.

"What the hell can you do, Harris?" Stan challenged.

"Just trust me, Kraychik. I'll get a few things together. I'll be back here by the time class's
out for the day. Gonzales, you go ahead and keep your appointment. We won't let you down."

We all went about our business, and Harris kept his word. He met us in the locker room, carrying
a black leather satchel. "What's that?" I asked.

"Surprises for our beloved Coach Jeffrey Newman." Harris smiled smugly. "He's gonna love this."

"I don't want to go in there," Gonzales said nervously.

"Just go in, give me about a minute, then pick a fight."

"What?"

"Do something, Gonzales. Hit him. Yell at him. Piss in his face. I don't care. Just make him
mad, then run like hell. Remember though, jump when you get to the doorway."

"I don't get it."

"Just do it, dude. Trust me." Gonzales shrugged, but went off to Coach's office anyway. Harris
gave the rest of us our instructions, and we all hurried to get ready.

We didn't have to wait long. As we were finishing up our assigned tasks, there was a shout, then
an angry roar. The door to Coach's office flew open, and Gonzales came barreling out. Coach lunged
after him, then suddenly slammed to the floor like a ton of bricks. The old rope-across-the-
threshold trick that Harris had set up worked like a charm.

Coach was knocked out temporarily, but he was already starting to groan, so we didn't have much
time. Harris, Stan, Gonzales, and I each looped our ropes around the assigned arm or leg and
hauled Coach out to the center of the locker room, where there were two support pillars about
ten feet apart. We used these to secure the ropes, leaving Coach hanging spread-eagled in the
air. He was tied securely, arms outstretched, legs spread wide.

Just as we finished the last knot, Coach realized what was happening. "Let me go, you fuckoffs!"
he bellowed, his muscles knotting as he tried to break free. "When I get my hands on you assholes,
you'll all regret the day you were born."

"Fuck you, Coach!" Harris sneered, stepping up behind him and ripping his shirt down the back.
Once he got rid of the shirt, he tore the man's athletic shorts off, leaving him bare-assed
except for his jock. He hauled off and swatted Coach's ass hard enough to make him roar. "You're
entirely too noisy," Harris muttered. "I can fix that, though." He pulled a knife out of his
pocket, cut through the elastic on Coach's jock, wadded it into a ball, and jammed it into the
man's mouth, leaving his cock and balls dangling.

"Mmmph!" Coach mumbled, still struggling mightily to break free. The muscles in his back danced
under the skin and the veins on his mighty arms looked as if they were gonna burst. The ropes
were holding, though, and unless he pulled the whole building down like Samson, we had the
bastard.

"Let's get a move on, gents," Harris said, reaching into his leather bag. He pulled out a white
towel and laid it on the floor at Coach's feet. Then he quickly laid out several items, most of
which I couldn't even identify.

"Man, Harris," Stan chuckled, "you really are a perv."

"Thanks, Kraychik," Harris grinned, rocking back on his heels. "I'm glad you appreciate me.
Gonzales! I got something for you."

"What's that?" Gonzales asked, eyeing the objects in Harris's outstretched palm suspiciously.

"Coach is always messing with your tits, right?" Gonzales nodded. It was true—Coach had this
thing about coming up and manhandling the guy's big pecs, telling him he had tits like a girl,
which was a damned lie. As a result, Gonzales often had bruises on his chest. "I figure maybe
Coach really wants you to grab back and maybe torture his big old tits a little bit."

"So what do I do with these?" Gonzales looked down at the clips curiously.

"Use your imagination, dummy!" Harris snorted. "Just look around and find a place where you think
those alligator clips might do the most good." Suddenly Gonzales started grinning and stepped
around to face Coach Newman. "You might want to work on 'em a little first, just to make your
job easier," Harris suggested. "Something like this, maybe." He hauled off and smacked Coach's
chest soundly, leaving a red handprint on the man's left pec. Coach jerked around as if it hurt,
but his nipple started tightening into a thick knot almost immediately. Gonzales took over,
swatting Coach's chest till his nipples were sticking out like pencil erasers. Then he carefully
positioned the steel clip on the target and let it bite into the tender flesh. Coach's whole body
jerked. His anguished howl echoed through the room, in spite of the fact he was eating his own
funky jockstrap.

Harris was still hauling stuff out of his bag. He held out a wide leather belt, which Stan put
to good use on Coach's meaty ass. It made a satisfying sound as it bit into his flesh, leaving
red welts to mark its path.

Coach wasn't happy. You could tell it by the way his eyes were bugging out and his nostrils
were flaring—even if you couldn't understand a thing he was trying to say. He was actually
looking pretty good, what with his muscles bulging and his belly flexed up like a washboard.

"I've got a special clip reserved for you, buddy," Harris announced, kneeling in front of
Coach and grabbing hold of his dick. "You're gonna love this." He gripped Coach's foreskin
and pulled it out as far as it would go. When his hand moved away, Coach got real still.
Harris had clamped another clip on Coach's dickskin. This one had a little weight attached
that made the man's cock start reaching for the floor. "That'll keep him nice and still for
the next round of fun and games," Harris explained.

"Man, I'll bet that hurts like hell," Gonzales said, looking down at Coach's cock and shaking
his head. Coach was starting to sweat, his big body glistening in the harsh light of the
locker room. "I sure hope so." He reached down and started the weight to swinging back and
forth. Coach's muffled roar sounded like a bull in heat.

"Foster!" I looked over at Harris. "Coach popped your cherry, didn't he?" I blushed and nodded.
"How'd you like to be the first in your class to fuck this big old stud's hairy ass?" I had
never thought of such a thing, but the idea gave me an instant hard-on. My dick started
snaking down the leg of my pants as I hurriedly stripped my shirt off. "Nice big dick, Foster,"
Harris said approvingly when I had shucked my pants off and stepped around behind Coach. "I've
got a feeling that Coach'll really like having that fat, veiny club punched up his shitter.
Won't you, Coach?" Harris slapped Coach's face hard enough to snap his head off to the side.

"Stand back, Stan," I ordered my buddy. "I think you've probably got him warmed up just fine."
Coach's ass was fiery red now, and Stan let the belt drop to the floor. I wedged my right hand
into Coach's furry crack, digging around till I felt the tight little pucker that was standing
between me and my first piece of ass.

Judging by the way his asscheeks knotted when I punched my thumb through his ring, Newman didn't
want to get fucked. It didn't matter, though. I hadn't wanted to get fucked, either, but that
hadn't stopped the big bully. Just thinking about getting my revenge made my cock surge with
blood and slap noisily up against my belly. I fisted my meat till my knob bulged, slipped it
down next to my thumb, and rammed forward with all my strength. He clenched down, fighting to
keep me out, but his sphincter was no match for my eighteen-year-old stiffer I sank in deep,
my whole body feeling the heat of his bowels as I plowed into him right up to the balls. I
popped my thumb out of him, and his channel squeezed me tight, end to end.

"Ride 'em cowboy!" Harris whooped, smacking me on the ass. I wrapped my arms around Coach's
narrow waist and started fucking the bastard the way he had fucked me. Coach bucked and writhed
around, trying to throw me off. The more he struggled, the better his tight hole felt, squeezing
my prick like a hot, wet fist. I pressed my face against his muscular, sweat-streaked back and
humped like mad.

"Hurry up, Foster!" Stan said urgently. I glanced over at him and saw that he was sporting a
major-league woody as well. Juice was dripping out the end, drooling down onto his sleek thighs.
He didn't look to be as long as I was, but his cock was shaped like a wedge, getting bigger and
bigger as it approached his blond bush.

"I'm getting there, man," I gasped. "This dude's doing some amazing things with his asshole.
Oh, shit!" I spasmed and jerked as I blew my load into Coach's hot hole. My daily J.O. sessions
had always been a highlight for me, but butt-fucking was about a thousand times better. I felt
like I was coming with my whole body, getting these incredible rushes from head to toe. I rode
his ass till the last drop of spunk squeezed out of my comehole, then slumped against the man's
heaving body.

Stan took over as soon as I pulled out, ramming it in to the short-and-curlies in one thrust,
then starting to pump with a vengeance. His butt was flexing, popping dimples in the sides of
his ass every time he jammed his prick deep into Coach. His big nuts drew up into a knot, and
Gonzales started stripping down, ready to take his turn.

Stan got his rocks off in about two minutes flat and came over to stand beside me, panting hard.
Gonzales hauled out his big mocha prick and waved it in Coach's face tauntingly. I had seen him
in the showers and had always figured he was hung like a horse, but I had never seen it hard.
Man, it was fucking impressive. From where I was standing, it looked to be twice the size of
mine and at least as thick as Stan's. When he stepped up behind Coach and slid up into his well-
lubed hole, the man didn't even flinch. While he was pistoning in and out, Harris hauled his dick
out of his pants and started jacking it while he stood in front of Coach Newman. "I'm gonna see
just how high I can shoot it," Harris explained as his hand flew up and down the veiny red shaft.
"I've got a feeling that I can get this bastard right between the eyes." We all stood around
watching, cheering him on.

I don't know what it was about Gonzales—maybe Coach had the hots for Latin dudes—but while he
was fucking Coach's ass, the man's cock started getting hard. At first I thought I was just
imagining it, but there was finally no doubt that his prick was rising up into the air, pulling
the weight right along with it. His foreskin was stretched tight over his knob, pulling his
balls out onto the shaft, and the veins on his meat were bulging out damn near as big as the
ones on his arms. Harris noticed it as well and couldn't keep quiet about it.

"Hey, Gonzales. Your new boyfriend's sprung a bone for you!"

"Fuck off, Harris," Gonzales snapped, all his attention focused on the sensations he was
receiving through the business end of his big dick. He had his hands braced on Coach's broad
shoulders, and he hooked his left leg over the man's thigh, driving straight up his chute for
maximum penetration.

"I'm not kidding dude," Harris insisted. "He's really-sweet on you." No sooner were the words
out of Harris's mouth than Coach started groaning again. This time, however, it wasn't an angry
sound. It was the sound of a man who was feeling nothing but good feelings. His dick started
twitching and the jizz squirted out of him, in spite of the clip that was still pinching his
skin tight. He was twitching on the outside and, from the look on Gonzales's face, he must've
been twitching on the inside as well. Gonzales roared out loud and emptied his nuts deep inside
Coach's well-fucked ass.

About the same instant, Harris blew a big wad, and his aim was true. He got Coach between the
eyes with a double shot that dripped down his face and onto his big chest. When Gonzales finally
climbed off. Coach was hanging limp between the posts, supported only by the ropes that bound
him.

"Well, guys, that was fun." Harris looked around at all of us, grinning from ear to ear. "I
don't know about you, but I think poor Coach Newman could use a little perking up."

"What've you got in mind, Harris?" I asked. Knowing this dude, anything was possible.

"I just happen to have something special in my bag for him." Harris rummaged around in his
leather satchel. When he hauled out the enormous pink plastic prick, I wasn't even surprised.
"I think he deserves this, don't you, guys?"

"Sure as hell does," Stan nodded. I agreed, and so did Gonzales, so Harris plugged the boytoy
into Coach's butt, right up to its plastic balls.

Harris motioned for us to gather around. "This cock has a special feature. You'll notice it's
tapered at the base, so it's not going to slip out of Coach's hot hole. And, best of all, it
has batteries." He flipped a little switch on the base, and you could hear a faint buzz as
the big dildo started stirring around in Coach Newman's guts. His eyes rolled back in his
head, and his dick started rising up toward the sky again.

"We just gonna leave him here?" I asked after we had all gotten dressed.

"Don't worry, Foster. Tonight's the fifteenth-anniversary bash for the class of '77. That's
Coach's class, if I have my facts straight. The gym will be open tonight, so I'm sure one of
his old buddies will be glad to help him out—one way or another."

"What if somebody finds him before then?" Stan asked.

"Not likely," Harris chirped. "I slipped the janitor a six-pack, so I know he won't be coming
down here to check on things. I don't expect anyone at all till Coach Newman's classmates pop
down here to see how the old boy's been doing. I'm sure they'll be real pleased to see he's
doing so well."

Coach Newman groaned again, but Harris turned the vibrator up to high speed, and he calmed
right down. All things considered, it looked like it was going to be a hell of a class reunion
for our beloved Coach.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



4. PUNCHING OUT THE DEVIL

This time I had really done it to myself. I had planned to spend the summer after my
graduation from high school strutting my stuff around town before I went off to college,
but a little indiscretion had sort of blown up in my face, and now here I was, stuck out
in Elephant Fart, Nowhere. I was so far out in the country that I needed a map just to
find my way out to the highway.

The problem was that I got busted while riding Matt Hammond's big bone in the backseat of a
car out at the local drive-in. We were halfway through the second feature and about three-
quarters of the way into our third fuck of the evening when a light flashed in the car and
the local law pulled us both into the station for lewd conduct and disturbing the peace.

I managed to avoid going to jail, but my old man was so pissed that he shipped me off to
stay with my grandparents for the entire summer. They were religious, and he figured that
maybe some time with them would help to change my evil ways. I wasn't too happy about this
turn of events, but he wasn't in any mood to argue, so I shut up and tried to make the best
of it.

After the first couple of weeks, much to my surprise, I discovered that I liked being out
in the country- and that I really loved all the hard work involved in living on a farm. I
had some weights set up down in the basement at home, and I worked out regularly, but it
just wasn't the same as being out in the fresh air, doing real work. Since I had arrived
in June, I had put two inches on my chest and an inch on each arm—all solid hard-packed
muscle. I was looking good, and I was planning to look even better when I went off to
college at the end of the summer.

I have to admit, as far as workouts were concerned, I hadn't been neglecting my cock either.
All I had to do to pop a woody was peel out of my clothes and stand in front of the mirror
in my bedroom. A couple of minutes of strutting around naked, and flexing my tight muscles
was all it took to get the blood surging down into my fat fuckmuscle. At eight-and-a-half
inches long and six inches around the base, it made a nice heavy handful when I jacked off
every day, twice a day.

This afternoon, I was sitting behind the barn taking a break. I had stripped down to my underwear
to catch a few rays before I finished mowing the backyard. The sun was hot and within two minutes,
so was I. My prick was throbbing, curving up over my left hip, trying to fight its way out of my
briefs. I started rubbing my hard belly and playing with my big brown nipples. Soon I had no choice
but to haul out my cock and give it a little massage.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and freed up my equipment. My pecker rose
eagerly and started pointing right at my face, the big pisshole gaping. I tugged my balls down
between my hard thighs and groaned with pleasure when my callused fingers first made contact
with the bunch of nerves tucked right below the swollen red cap on the end of my dick.

I was leaking by the time I had done a dozen strokes, the shaft glistening as I got it wetter and
wetter. I leak so much, I don't even need spit to prime the pump. Once the oozing starts, it doesn't
stop till I blow a load of come.

I tickled my balls and they started rolling around, the cords getting shorter by the minute.
It wasn't long before I had nothing showing but a couple of knots on either side of the shaft.
I really liked it when my nuts were hugging my cock this way because while I was pumping my fist
up and down, they rode right along behind, adding to the fun.

Within five minutes, my toes were curling. My breath was coming in short gasps as I started
getting that funny feeling deep in my gut that signaled the end of the trail was near. My
juicetube was puffed up tight beneath my pistoning fingers and the rim around my knob was
flared up like a mushroom cap as I kicked her into overdrive. I flexed my muscles, popping
veins out in my thighs and biceps and turning my flat belly into a field of razor-sharp ridges.

When I reached up and started tugging the meaty point on one of my thick tits, I got a rush of
pleasure that made every nerve in my body tingle. My balls bounced, my asshole spasmed, and
my cock started flexing around like it was trying to get away from me. I picked up speed and
watched my comehole open wide. A big drop of white filled the opening, hung there a split second,
then gushed out and splattered me right on the left tit. The second shot went up over my head and
hit the wall of rough planks that I was leaning back against. I aimed it so the rest of my jizz
splashed hot and sticky across my belly, pooling in my navel and running down into my pubes.

I pulled an old rag out from under the bench I was hunkered down next to and wiped myself down,
then slipped back into my clothes. I glanced at my watch—it was after four, and I was supposed
to pick my grandparents up after the afternoon session of the revival meeting they had been
attending all this past week.

When I got to the meeting site, I discovered that the proceedings were running overtime. I was
wearing cutoffs and an old stretched-out athletic shirt, so I wasn't exactly dressed to meet
the public. However, after I had been cooling my heels for over an hour, my curiosity got the
better of me. I slipped into the back of the tent to see what was going on.

The guy up on the stage wasn't at all what I had expected to see. Instead of a portly preacher
waving a bible around in the air, I saw a man who looked more like a professional wrestler. He
had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Every time he raised his arms to make a point,
the fabric of his shirtsleeves was strained to the bursting point by his huge biceps. He was
tall and dark, sweat streaking his handsome face as he ranted on about beating up the devil
and knocking sin down for the count. After listening for a couple of minutes, I figured that
he must have been a boxer before he got into the revival business.

I didn't pay a lot of attention to what he was saying, but I loved watching his big body as
he said it. The cheap suit pants and the shapeless shirt couldn't hide his dynamite body
from my active imagination. As he paced back and forth in front of the crowd, the muscles
of his thighs flexed and knotted against the shiny fabric, and his shirt buttons threatened
to pop every time he took a deep breath. I was glad I had stepped in to catch the show because
this dude would provide fuel for a dozen fantasies while I beat off during the next few weeks.

When he had wound it all up and the audience was singing a final hymn, I became aware of his
smoldering dark eyes staring holes through me. He was checking me out—no doubt about it. He
stared at my face for a long time, then moved down over my torso to my long, bare legs and
back up. By the time he was finished, my cock was getting hard and my skimpy cutoffs did
nothing to hide it. Finally I slipped out of the tent and started to beat a retreat to the
parking lot.

I hadn't gotten more than ten paces before he came striding out of the tent and called for
me to stop. I turned around and he walked up till we were damned near nose to nose. His
shirt was soaked with sweat and his big nipples showed through clearly. I could also see
through the thin fabric that his luxuriant dark hair wasn't confined to his head—his pecs
were coated with fur, and a line of shadow ran down over his belly as well. He looked at
me for a long time before he spoke, his nostrils quivering.

"Are you full of God or the devil?" His voice vibrated in my balls.

"The devil," I drawled, unwilling to be intimidated by any haranguing from a country preacher.

"I thought so," he nodded, his eyes wandering down to my basket once again. "I can help you
get him out."

"Oh. yeah? How's that?" I tried not to laugh at the guy, but the whole situation struck me
as a little strange. He had a tent full of people who were much more receptive to that sort
of line than I was.

"We'll punch him out." The man gripped my shoulder with a strong hand. "You just give me a
little of your time, and Dan Bascomb here will work with you to get that old devil out of
you."

"I don't think so." I was conscious of the heat of his hand and how good it felt on my bare
skin. "I've got to take my grandparents back home. Thanks anyway."

"You stay with the preacher, Bart. Do what he says." I spun around and saw my grandmother
standing a few-feet behind me. She looked very pleased that this guy had taken an interest.
I wasn't so sure.

"I really think I should—"

"You stay." She cut me off in mid-sentence. "You could use some good old country religion,
young man. It'll do you good when you go off to college. He's a fine boy, preacher." She
directed her steady gaze at the sexy Mr. Bascomb. "He's just a little too full of those
city ideas for his own good."


Well, that was that. My grandparents drove off with the rest of the crowd, and I was left
standing alone in the twilight with this very intense stranger. "Come back to my trailer,"
he ordered, draping a heavy arm over my shoulders and pulling me back around behind the
tent. "We need to have us a session."

The trailer was cramped and stuffy and smelled strongly of male sweat and dried come. I
took a deep breath. My balls started to tingle in spite of my efforts to focus on the
spiritual side of things. I stood in the middle of the small living area, waiting to see
what was going to happen next.

The preacher started to unbutton his shirt. My blood pressure started to rise as his torso
came into view. The man was built—every muscle etched clearly under his swarthy skin. His
big pecs bulged out hard and tight, his belly was a washboard, and his lats stood out like
wings from his waist to his armpits. The nipples I'd noticed through his shirt were big
and dark, the thick fleshy points in the center. The hair on his chest and belly was matted
flat till he ran his fingers through it and ruffled it up into tight, damp curls. I still
wasn't sure exactly what he was up to, but he had my attention riveted. I couldn't wait to
see what he was going to do next.

I sure as hell didn't expect him to take off his shoes and socks and then peel out of his
pants, but that's exactly what he did, standing in front of me wearing nothing more than a
jockstrap that was packed to overflowing.

"Do you think I'm strong enough to punch out that old devil?" His eyes flashed.

"Maybe." I gulped noisily.

"Feel these arms, Bart. Come on over here and feel the strength in my body. You have to be
strong to punch out the devil. He's a sly fox, and the weak get beaten down." I had no
objection to feeling his arms, even though I didn't know that they had to do with the devil.
It wasn't a line of reasoning I had ever heard in Sunday school as a kid.

His biceps were like warm rocks when I gripped them. I squeezed as tightly as I could, but I
couldn't make a dent in them. His forearms were just as hard, thick veins bulging out from his
wrists to his elbows. I kept rubbing and squeezing, figuring that since he had offered, it
would be bad manners to refuse him.

"Now feel my chest," he rumbled. "Run your hands over my body so you can feel the strength
in me. Do it!" I followed his orders to the letter, grazing his tits with my thumbs as I
rubbed over every inch of him, waist to shoulders. "Now do you think I can punch out the
devil, Bart? Do you understand how I can get him out in the open and defeat him?"

"Well, you sure are built," I admitted, my prick straining against the front of my shorts.
"How are you planning to punch this devil out?"

"You've got to help me get the battering ram ready, Bart. Then I can get to the heart of
the matter." This was starting to sound like the wildest seduction line I had ever heard
of, but I was more than willing to play along. I hadn't been laid since that famous night
at the drive-in, and I was horny as a goat. Hand jobs were great, but another man's cock
was a hell of a lot better.

"Sure, Dan." I tried my best to keep a straight face. "You just tell me what to do, buddy."

"Get down on your knees," he thundered. "Pull down that jock and get my tool ready." I
dropped to my knees and hooked my fingers into the sweat-soaked strap. When I yanked it down
to his knees, I couldn't suppress a whistle of admiration. This dude hadn't been kidding
about a battering ram! His damned prick was over a foot long, and it wasn't even hard yet.
A huge vein pulsed down along the center of the shaft, branching out when it got down to
the big red head. His huge balls sagged down low, the pouch bristling with long, dark hairs.

"It has to be hard to start doing its work," he whispered huskily. "Make it hard for me."
I buried my nose in his pubes, inhaling his spicy funk. Then I ran my lips and tongue down
along the shaft, feeling the blood rushing in, making it twitch and swell. When I finally
got down to the knob on the end, I opened wide and got ready to work my way back up to the
base.

He moaned and put his hands on my shoulders when my lips hooked over the flange of the
crown. I dug in his pisshole, then started to make like a sword swallower. If he figured
I had done this before, he didn't make any complaints. He just grabbed onto my ears and
helped me along the way.

I didn't come up off him till I was damn near blue in the face. I kicked the muscles of
my throat into gear, giving him a thorough, deep massage. It looked to be just what the
doctor ordered because when I finally pulled back, gasping for air, his big buttbuster
was waving around in the air, well on its way to pointing at the ceiling.

I gave him head till he was starting to leak salty-honey down my throat, slicking my tongue
and teeth. I kept my hands busy as well, tickling his balls and tugging at his luxuriant
bush till he was breathing heavily and the muscles in his legs were all knotted up. When
I looked up at him, he was smiling down at me sweetly, his eyes half-closed.

"Get up here, buddy," he crooned, pulling me back to my feet. "I think we're ready to punch
that devil right out of you." I stepped back and stripped, finally freeing my aching cock and
balls. When he saw the juice dripping off the end of my dick, he reached out and scooped
up a big glob of it with his finger, raising it to his full lips and licking it off. He
smacked his lips noisily and then pushed me back up against the table beside the door.

"Lay on this and I'll get to work." I scrambled onto the table and lay there on my back.
He grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs up and out in a wide V, baring my puckered asshole.
He thrust his hips forward a couple of times, battering my bung with the head of his huge
meat. I had never encountered a man with a cock that size, but I was sure as hell ready to
make the effort. I reached out and palmed the fat knob, milking him for enough lube to ease
the way in. Once I had it all slicked down, I pushed it against my bull's eye and grinned
up at him.

"You go ahead and punch out that devil, preacher," I leered. "I'm ready to get rid of that
wily bastard." He closed his eyes and rammed forward hard, burying the first few inches of
his schlong in my clutching manhole. I winced when he breached me, his thickness making
my ass burn like fire. Pain and pleasure fought it out for a couple of minutes, but pleasure
won hands down, and I wiggled my butt as I tangled my fingers in his pubes and pulled him
in deep.

"I can feel the devil's heat inside of you," he growled. "It's burning me." For a man who
was having his dick burned, he didn't show any desire to pull it out of the fiery pit quite
yet. He kept feeding it to me till his nuts bounced off my tailbone, sending a shiver up my
spine. I sucked my belly back and tightened down on every throbbing inch of him. His eyes
flashed at me; then he slowly started pulling out till my ring clamped down on the fat
spongy head.

"Punch that devil out, preacher," I roared, my voice echoing in the tiny space. "Ram him
till he gives up the fight and just shoots right out of that tight, hot hole of mine." The
muscles in his belly rippled, then he plowed back in to the hilt, taking my breath away. My
asshole spasmed, and I shot a spurt of honey up onto my pecs. He must have liked that because
he pulled back out and rammed into me again.

"Fuck my ass," I pleaded. "Do it!" That got him revved, for sure. He started pumping—driving
twelve in, then pulling twelve out. He wasn't a man to waste any of the big horn growing
between his legs. He fucked me silly with every hard, thick, throbbing inch of his big meat.
On every stroke, his belly would tighten into ridges and his nuts would slap against my
lower back. My balls were damn near ready to snap up into my armpits, and I hadn't even
touched my prick.

Preacher Bascomb was starting to sweat with the heroic effort he was making, salty water
running down his sides and dripping off his face. His nostrils were flared and the tendons
in his neck were standing out like cables, so I figured he was damn near as close as I was.
I reached up and grabbed his succulent tits, twisting them hard. He bucked and his dick
flexed, slamming hard against the pleasure button tucked up inside my manhole. I hollered,
and the come started blasting out of me like a fountain. I heard it splattering on the
window behind me, and felt it, hot and wet against my chest. When the preacher saw it, he
howled. His liquid heat started searing my ass as he pumped me like a madman, bouncing my
head off the wall behind me. When the last spasm had racked through him, he laid his head
down on my chest, his panting breath hot on my skin.

"There, now," he said when he got his breathing back under control, "do you think that old
devil is still lurking inside of you?" As he asked the question, his cockhead pulsed deep
inside of me, giving me a body rush that was damn near as good as coming all over again.

"You know. Preacher Bascomb, I think we're off to a good start, but that old devil is in
there deep. If you ask me, I think you're going to have to work a whole lot harder to get
rid of him. What do you think?"

He lifted his head and winked at me slyly. "This is a very serious case, young man. I think
I'd better keep you here for the rest of the night. I promise you one thing, though."

"What's that?" I squeezed my ring down tight around the base of his long, hard cock.

"I'll punch that old devil out of you if it takes me till sunrise tomorrow." With that,
he stood up and started humping my steaming asshole, fucking me like the devil himself.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



5. ORDEAL ON EAGLE MOUNTAIN

"Hey, Jake! Hold up a minute." I dropped my pack and collapsed on a shelf of rock, panting
like an old dog. The trail we had been hiking had led steadily upward for over an hour. I
was thoroughly winded.

"What's the trouble, little buddy?" Jake strode back and dropped his gear beside me. Don't
get the wrong idea. At 5'10" and a solid 170, I'm no shrimp—it's just that Jake, packing 245
tight, sculpted pounds on his 6'6" frame, could get away with calling damn near anybody
"little buddy." "Man, this is the life, ain't it?" he grinned, taking a deep breath. He
stretched mightily—putting on an eye-popping display of muscles into action—then sprawled
back beside me on the shelf of rock. I glanced at his torso for a moment, then closed my
eyes and sighed. The squared pecs, ripped abs, and pumped biceps that I had worked on for
so long just sort of faded to insignificance when I was beside my good buddy Jake.

"This mountain air is great—what there is of it," I agreed, still slightly winded. "We're
really hitting the wilderness. We haven't run across another hiker for over three hours."

"Yup," Jake drawled, "we're pretty damned isolated. We should be hitting our campsite within
the hour." He consulted a trail map, then shouldered his pack, raring to go. I stood up
wearily and looked at my own equipment. I didn't know how dried food and a sleeping bag
could get to be so damned heavy, but they were. I started to heft my pack onto my back,
but Jake grabbed the straps from me.

"I'll take it, Jim," he offered, lifting it as if it were packed with feathers.

"You don't have to do that," I protested.

"Tell you what—I'll carry the pack if you'll cook us dinner tonight. Deal?"

"Deal." Jake slung my gear over his shoulder and took off along the trail. Even though he
was carrying both packs now, I was still hard-pressed to keep up with him—a problem that
definitely had its compensations. Walking behind Jake was pretty damned inspirational. He
was wearing a pair of hiking shorts that hugged his butt like a glove. Every step he took
set the meaty globes of his ass to flexing and straining against the worn fabric. As I
slogged along behind him, I also got an eyeful of his long, furry legs. The thick muscles
knotted up with every step he took, sometimes looking as if they were gonna bust right out
of his skin. There was a vein in his left leg that meandered over the mass of his calf,
then shot up the back of his thigh to parts unknown. Little beads of sweat were forming on
the long chestnut hairs clustered on the inside of his thighs, glistening in the afternoon
sun.

I had a severe case of the hots for Jake Warden, but it wasn't something I could talk about—
not to Jake or to any of the guys in the plant where we both worked. Being a gay redneck
ain't the easiest thing in the world, and one of the first things you learn is to keep your
mouth shut about what you like to do in the sack. Jake had been divorced twice and was currently
fooling around with three different women, so he wasn't likely to appreciate me telling him
how frigging hot I thought he was. Having Jake as a friend was all I could hope for, but it
was worth the frustration because I really liked him. I learned a long time ago that a man
should never get so horny that he lets his cock fuck up a friendship—especially in a small
town.

"This is it," Jake announced when the trail opened onto a small meadow, bordered by a stream.
"Pretty damn nice, huh?"

"I guess it was worth the walk," I deadpanned. The place was gorgeous, and you could see the
trout jumping in the stream, sunlight glistening off their bodies. I could practically taste
them already. "I'll get a fire going if you promise to catch me a mess of those frisky fish."

"You're on," Jake boomed, extracting a fishing rod from his pack. He put the pole together and
took off across the meadow, whistling tunelessly, like a big, sexy muscle-bound kid. I made
camp, setting up the tent and getting a fire going in a ring of rocks I cleared from under our
bedrolls. I had just set the coffeepot on the coals when Jake came trudging back, a satisfied
grin on his craggy face.

"That was quick," I said, eyeing his catch.

"The little buggers were hungry," he gloated. He had six plump trout on a string dangling from
his waist. He had also gathered some wild dill from beside the stream. I greased the skillet
with a lump of bacon while Jake cleaned the fish and laid them out on a flat rock. Within half
an hour, we had prepared a feast fit for a king.

"Welcome to Eagle Mountain." I clicked my coffee cup against his as we sat beside the fire,
watching the shadows on the mountains turn from purple to black. "Great choice of vacation
spots, Jake. I have a feeling it'll be a week we won't ever forget."


We turned in shortly after it got dark, and Jake was snoring peacefully before I had even
taken off my hiking boots. His presence filled the little tent. I could smell him and feel
the heat radiating from him as I lay-there on top of my sleeping bag. He moved in his sleep
and his leg pressed against mine, knee to hip. The long hairs on him tickled my smooth flesh,
making me all hot and horny in an instant. I nudged him, but he just grunted and draped his
arm across my chest, a move which didn't help my condition at all.

After I had called his name a couple of times and gotten no response, I let my left hand slip
down between my legs to take care of business. My hard cock jerked as I palmed it, and the
first stroke left my fingers sticky with lube. I took a deep breath, sucking Jake's musk into
my nostrils as I started to jack off. The hairs on his thick forearm were tickling my pecs,
causing me agonies of horniness. I savored the moment, figuring it was as close as I would
ever come to having sex with my buddy.

I pumped my prick steadily, my eyes glued to the bulky form beside me. The moon was full and
there was enough light to make out his features. His squared jaw was partially obscured by
the two-day growth of beard on his face, but his prominent nose and the deep sockets of his
eyes were clearly visible. His thick, dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, except
for a stray wisp that was caught in the lashes of his right eye. His full lips were parted,
revealing part of a double row of gleaming white teeth. If I had moved my face just six inches,
I could have kissed him—but of course I didn't dare.

As my eyes traveled down over his torso, I jacked my meat faster and harder. The hair on his
chest swirled around his big meaty tits and feathered up over his collarbones. His belly
curved out slightly while he slept—packed with fresh trout—but you could teil there wasn't
any fat on the solid wall of muscle. Long hairs trailed down the middle of his gut, thinning
out to a silky fuzz towards his sides. His bushy pubes curled over the sagging elastic of his
briefs, and the bulge in his crotch glowed like an enormous snowcapped peak. It took all of
my willpower not to reach over and latch onto that mound of pulsing manhood.

Suddenly all my attention was focused between my own legs as my trigger tripped and I started
churning out a dose of jizz. My toes curled and my body tensed as my knob puffed up and got
ready to fire. I grunted as the creamy heat gushed up onto my belly and drizzled down over
my pistoning fist. I pumped it till I was drained dry, then wiped myself off with a paper
towel. After the shooting was all over, I snuggled up real close to Jake and drifted off to
a peaceful sleep.


"Don't move, little buddy." I heard Jake's voice grating in my ear and knew immediately that
something was radically wrong. I opened my eyes and saw the barrel of a shotgun sticking into
the tent like some kind of alien monster. The tent flap opened slowly, revealing a burly man
dressed in army fatigues. He was wearing sunglasses, but I could see his mouth clearly enough-
his thin lips were twisted into a cruel smile.

"Come on out of there with your hands up!" the man snarled. He shook the gun threateningly.
"Don't even think of trying anything or you'll be splattered all over this meadow. Keep your
hands where I can see 'em and get your asses out here now!" Jake clasped his hands above his
head and scooted out on his knees. I followed close behind, my heart pounding.

"We're on public land." Jake's deep, steady voice was reassuring.

"You're on my land, asshole," the man sneered. "I've staked this mountain out as a part of
my private empire. I don't take to trespassers."

"We'll leave right now," Jake said reasonably. "Just give us a half hour to break camp, and
then we'll be outta your face forever. Okay?"

"Not okay," the man retorted, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You know where I am, and you
could tell the damned government about me." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm going to be
forced to detain both of you as prisoners of war."

"What are you going to do to us?" I croaked.

"That all depends on you." The man smiled coldly.

He led us at gunpoint to a rustic cabin, about half a mile from our campsite. He got some rope
from an outbuilding and tied Jake, spread-eagled, between two trees. I watched for a chance
to overpower the man, but his gun was aimed right at my buddy's gut the whole time. Jake's
muscles twitched and bulged as he strained to break free, but the ropes were strong and the
knots held. He gave up the struggle and glared at our captor, his nostrils flaring.

"I'm feeling in the mood to be entertained. Don't get much company up here." The man took off
his mirrored glasses and looked me up and down. "Turn around and show me your ass, pretty boy."

"Don't do it, buddy!" Jake snapped.

The man glared at Jake and walked over to him. I saw his arm draw back, then heard his fist
connect with a sickening thud. Jake snorted, but didn't cry out. The man pummeled him like a
punching bag, landing blows all over his torso. Jake struggled and strained, but he was power-
less to dodge the blows. When the dude connected with his jaw, Jake's big head snapped over
to one side, and I heard him groan.

"Stop it!" I shouted. The man shot me a mad glance, took a knife out of his pocket, and sliced
up the side of Jake's briefs. They fluttered to the ground and my friend's cock and balls swung
down between his legs. His cock was long and thick, the foreskin hanging a good inch beyond the
tip. His enormous balls drooped heavily in a bag spiked with coarse black hairs. Once he had
Jake naked, he walked over and ripped my shorts off, then spun me around so I had my back to
my buddy.

"Look at that ass," the guy chuckled, putting the barrel of his gun between my knees and forcing
my legs apart. "Nice and tight and hairless with a pretty little pink pucker tucked down at the
base. That makes you feel pretty hot, doesn't it, big fella?"

"Not a chance, fucker!" Jake snarled. The guy smashed his fist into my ribs. I staggered and
would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed me by the neck and held me up.

"What'd you say?" the man roared.

"I said I liked looking at his ass," Jake shouted angrily. "I really get off on it. He's got
the hottest damned butt I ever laid eyes on."

"That's good," the man replied cheerfully. "Now, pretty boy, you better put on a show for us.
I wanna see you jerk that nice piece of meat you got there till you churn us up some white
stuff." I did my best to forget the ache in my ribs and started pulling on my pecker, trying
to get it up. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see the man with the gun jacking
his meat as he watched both of us. Watching seemed to be his game.

"Where's your fucking hard-on, pretty boy?" he growled after I had been jerking my shrunken
dick for a couple of minutes. I looked over at the man and saw the anger in his face. "You
better get a bone in your dick in about a minute or I'll have to go over there and kick your
buddy's nuts right up between his shoulder blades."

I locked eyes with Jake briefly, but his gaze fluttered and he focused on a point beyond me.
There was only one way I was going to get a hard-on while this was going on, so I focused
all my attention on Jake.

He was so fucking hot that I was able to work up a rod over him, even in the middle of this
shithole mess we were in. I stared at his body, my eyes devouring all the planes and angles
of his massive torso, wishing I could be alone with him. I noticed a thick vein that trailed
down along the shaft of his big meat, branching out as it meandered into his silky foreskin.

Jake's balls filled his bag like a couple of lemons, the left one hanging higher than the
right. More veins networked his scrotum, curving around the swollen orbs like tiny fingers.
I glanced down at my own crotch and was relieved to see that my fantasy was working—my dick
was swelling rapidly, beginning to point high in the air. Our captor saw it, too, and grinned
demonically as he frigged his own cock.

"Good for you, pretty boy. Now, why don't you show me how you can dock your stiffer in that
skin hanging off your buddy's joint. Do it!" He put his hand in the small of my back and
pushed. My face smacked against Jake's broad, sweat-soaked chest, and his big dick burned
against my gut.

"I'm sorry, Jake," I whispered, touching his prick for the first time. He flinched, but made
no protest as I worked his overhang down onto my swollen cockknob. It felt so fucking hot
I damn near passed out—like moist silk slipping over my tender skin. I got almost three
inches of my probe up inside it before it was stretched to the limit. The guy circled around,
eyeing us hungrily.

"Jack off in it, pretty boy," he commanded. I started pumping my fist, the heat of the little
collar of skin driving me crazy. The obscene sound of the man's snorting breath faded away as
I focused all my attention on my buddy's hot bod. Sweat was running down him, beading up on
his belly hair, gleaming in the sun like crystals.

Time and again, I had dreamed about balling with Jake, and now here we were, joined together
cock to cock. I slipped one hand around his waist to hold myself steady and pressed my
forehead against his chest, unable to look him in the eye. The smell of him, coupled with
the fact that I was connected so intimately, made me lose control. If the man with the gun
wanted to see raw passion, he wouldn't he disappointed. I stroked Jake's big cock, keeping
his foreskin tight around my joint. My hips began bucking and my nuts were knotted up in
nothing flat. The thick point of my buddy's left tit grazed my lips, and I began sucking
on it. The flesh drew up into a tight point, and I heard his sharp intake of breath. His
pecs knotted. I could have sworn that I felt his cock swell against my palm. I glanced up
at his face, but his eyes were closed. I hoped whatever feelings he was having were good
ones.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was feeling right at that moment. On the one hand, I was really
getting off on jacking off in Jake's skin. On the other, I felt shame for what I was doing
to this man I liked so much. As I continued to pump my fist, shame receded into the back-
ground as the urge to come became overwhelming. My prick surged and my balls snapped up
tight as my trigger tripped. I gasped and my asscheeks flexed as the contractions began
pushing the juice up my flexing stalk. Our captor recognized the symptoms and jumped to
his feet, still pumping his hog.

"Come on him, pretty boy. I want to see you shoot all over that big hairy fucker. You
fucking well better not miss your target, or you'll be sorry." I peeled Jake's skin off
my meat and stood in front of him, my whole body tingling. I took a final pull, and my
comehole gaped. My dick flexed. A bolt of white arced up in the air, splattering on Jake's
face. He tensed up and jerked his head to the side, but the thick juice drooled down across
his mouth and dripped off his chin. The second blast hit him on the left pec, hanging in
the thick fur like a little rope. I pumped the rest of my load out on his belly and thighs,
collapsing in the dirt at his feet when I was drained dry.

"Clean him up, pretty boy—with your tongue." I glared over at the man. He had jizz hanging
off his pecker like thick snot, his rifle pointed at Jake's belly. I got up and licked Jake
clean, carefully removing all traces of my spunk. I lapped at his cheek and chin and was
getting ready to swipe my tongue across his full, jizz-sticky lips, but the man with the
gun stopped me. "Let him do that," he snarled. Jake's tongue darted out and scooped away
the last traces of my load. I could see the muscles in his throat working as he fought to
swallow.

"You okay, buddy?" I whispered. He wouldn't even look at me.

"I'm still horny, pretty boy," our captor panted, continuing to jerk on his pecker.

"I could give you a blowjob," I offered, willing to do anything it took to keep him from
getting bored and shooting both of us.

"Don't touch me!" the man roared. "Nobody ever touches me. You remember that. Now you
think of something to turn me on, pretty boy, or I'm gonna have to hurt your big fuzzy
buddy there. Hurt him real bad."

"I got an idea," Jake spoke up. The man looked at him intently. "I'll fuck his pretty ass
for you, soldier," he said gruffly. "That'd make you real hot, I figure." I spun around
and gaped at him. "You cut me down from here and I'll get you turned on. I'll latch on to
his ass and turn him every way but loose."

"Yeah, I'd like to see what you do to the little shit to keep him so fucking loyal to
you. I'll bet you fuck him all the time." The man's eyes were glazed and his prick jutted
high in the air. "Take him hard, big guy. Work him over rough, like you're pissed with
him for getting you into this mess. Fuck him rough!" The man walked over and slashed the
ropes that bound Jake. He jumped away quickly, keeping one hand on his cock, the other
on the trigger of his shotgun.

Jake rubbed his wrists to get the circulation back, then lashed out and backhanded me,
sending me sprawling. He was down on me in a flash, flipping me onto my belly and pinning
me to the ground with one big hand on my neck. Then he hauled off and started blistering
my ass, every blow causing me to squirm and twitch helplessly.

"That's it! Beat him good, then fuck him hard. Go on, do it!" The man was pounding his
prick, spittle dripping off his lips as he circled us. Jake kept whaling away at my ass
till I had tears in my eyes. Then he stopped abruptly. I glanced back at him over my
shoulder and saw him stick two fingers in his mouth, getting them all slick with spit.
His long digits popped through my ring up to the webbing and jammed against my prostate,
hitting me with an incredible jolt of pleasure.

I watched in amazement as his big dick started to swell and twitch, slowly rising up from
between his thighs like old-growth timber. When it was fully erect, the damned thing looked
about a foot long and as thick as my wrist. The knob on the end kept swelling up bigger and
bigger till it popped out of his foreskin, gleaming crimson.

"Man, that's one hell of a buttprobe!" the man leered. "I wanna see you cram it in him. Give
it to him good." Jake straddled me, planted his hands in the dirt on either side of my head
and started battering my crack. The spongy knob slipped up along my spine a couple of times,
then bounced painfully off my balls before he got it lined up with my fuckchute. Finally he
found the slot and started to drive it home.

Jake grunted when his thick prong popped through my assring and began sinking into my steamy
sluice. I groaned and clawed at the dirt, but I was trapped, powerless to do anything but
lay there and take it. His jabbing thrusts hurt like hell at first, then began to give way
to the old familiar pleasure as his hot balls began bouncing off my sweaty cheeks. When he
was in me up to the hilt, I could feel his knob pulsing way up deep inside of me, blotting
out pain and fear and everything else but the rush of getting dicked. I wiggled my ass and
sucked my belly back tight, savoring the heat and size of him. I could hardly believe that
Jake had sprung a rod over my butt, but the evidence was impossible to deny.

"Shit, man, I'm getting off on this!" The guy was crouching beside us, watching Jake's cock
as it pumped in and out of my ass. I saw the lube drooling out of his comehole, making little
muddy spots in the dirt. His balls had disappeared up between his legs. I figured he was only
a few pulls short of the payoff. Jake must have sensed it too, because he clamped his hands
down on my shoulders and began riding me like a maniac.

Suddenly the guy howled, and I felt his spunk splatter on my leg. At the same instant, Jake
jumped to his feet, leaving my gaping shitter spasming. Before I could even turn my head,
there was a surprised yelp, the sounds of scuffling, and a deafening roar as the gun
discharged. I felt a moment of sheer terror, but forced myself to look anyway. Jake was
standing over the man, his fists clenched. He had knocked the guy cold with one well-placed
punch and thrown the gun to the edge of the clearing. Jake hog-tied the man, checked the
knots, then turned and strode away without a word.

I made my way back to our camp, but Jake hadn't returned. After about half an hour, I was
beginning to think he wouldn't come back at all. I figured he couldn't stand to be around
me after what had happened. I knew that things between us wouldn't ever be the same. I was
already pretty much resigned to packing up and moving on. I'd miss the job and the little
garden I had planted out back of the place I had been renting, but I could replace those
things. Jake was different—I knew I wasn't likely to run across anyone like him anytime soon.

"Hey, little buddy."

"Jake!" I turned and saw him, his naked body gleaming in the morning sun. "I—I thought
you'd—"

"You thought I'd what—run off and left my good buddy out here? Shit, man, I know you. You
couldn't find your way out of the plant parking lot without a map." He laughed at that,
then his expression turned dead serious. "Did I hurt you back there, buddy? If I did, I
want you to tell me."

"Nothing hurt but my pride," I said softly. "Listen, Jake, I won't ever tell nobody about
any of this. Between you and me, I mean. Hell, I'll testify against that asshole and—"

Jake put his hand on my mouth. "You saved my life, Jim. If you hadn't done what you done,
he'd have hurt me real bad—probably killed me. I won't forget that, buddy."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Can I ask you a question? Sort of a private question."

"Shoot."

"Dudes turn you on, don't they?"

I shrugged my shoulders. Hell, the secret was out anyway. "Sure, Jake, guys turn me on.
I can't help it."

Jake looked down at the ground and cleared his throat. "So, if a guy gives you a stiffer,
you're probably queer, right? I mean, a man couldn't get a hard-on for a guy any other
way. Could he?"

"Don't worry, Jake." I could see what he was driving at. "I figure you were thinking
about some gal when that fucker made you do it with me. I wouldn't worry about it if I
were you."

"I wasn't thinking about no gal." He shook his head. "I was looking right at your damned
ass when I blew that bone. I ain't gonna lie to you about it. The only thing I didn't
like was that rough stuff. I ain't never done no rough stuff on nobody, and I didn't like
it. Hell, I'm so damned big, I don't have any right to smack another fella around." Jake
looked down at the ground and shook his head. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I
was thinking about you, and I wish it hadn't been like it was. Rough, I mean."

I saw something out of the corner of my eye and looked down. Jake's meat was twitching
between his legs, well on its way to pointing right at me. "You ain't looking at my ass
now," I chuckled.

"Aw shit!" Jake blushed scarlet, but he didn't try to cover himself. I was feeling bold,
so I stepped over to him, wrapped my fingers around the pulsing shaft of his big cock,
and gave it a squeeze. He stood there, arms at his sides, his breath escaping with a soft
hiss. I winked at him and sank to my knees, kissing the head of his prick, slowly peeling
the skin back till the helmet-shaped head was totally bare.

Man, he tasted good! I took a deep breath and leaned into him, opening my throat and taking
him in down to the short-and-curlies. Jake's massive thighs tensed and he tangled his fingers
in my hair. I breathed in his musky scent, then came off him real slow, shucking up his skin
as I went. I settled down and started nibbling his overhang, rubbing it against my lips and
digging up inside of it with my tongue.

After I had licked every inch of his thick spike, I grabbed his dangling balls and pulled
him down to his knees. "Lay back on the bank here, big buddy," I growled, ducking my head
and licking the salt off his bag of goodies. He flopped back obediently, his prick so hard
it was vibrating. I straddled his narrow hips, lined his buttprobe up with my chute, and
sat down nice and slow, savoring every gut-wrenching inch of him.

I started rotating my hips, watching Jake's expression as I got busy fucking his cock with
my whole body. I leaned down and started sucking his tits. His hips kicked into action,
pumping his probe in and out of my hole, quickly churning up some serious heat. Jake grabbed
my ass, massaging the tight mounds of muscle, his callused fingertips tracing the tingling
lips of my chute.

"I don't know if I can take much more of this, little buddy," he gasped, his voice hoarse.
"Shit, my old dick feels good up inside of you."

"I'll bet you can take plenty more of this if I promise you a few rest breaks," I teased,
clenching my asshole like a wet fist. I winked at him and went back to sucking on his tit,
biting down hard just as he started to spew. I humped his belly frantically and let fly as
well, my jizz plastering his fur flat against his ripped abs.

"You were right about one thing, little buddy," Jake gasped afterward, his cock still
twitching up inside of me.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"This is a week we're both gonna remember for a long time."

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



6. IN THE ARMS OF ELI ROCK

"Jesus, McKlusky," I groaned. "Take it easy, man. I might just want to use my asshole
again sometime."

"You love it, you fucking slut. You love that big dick of mine plugged up your tight
blond shitter. Don't you?" He flexed his whanger deep in my ass, slapped me hard on the
belly, and jerked my fucking nuts halfway down to my knees. I crammed my ass back against
his hips and bent farther forward, resigned to taking my punishment. My toes curled when
McKlusky started pinching my big tits, pulling them out tight from the knotted mass of
my pecs.

I wasn't so crazy about McKlusky—to tell the truth, he was an arrogant asshole—but I was
hooked on his big cock. Nine-and-a-half inches soft, it didn't get any longer when he
sprung a rod, but it sure as hell got hard! The man was over forty, and his meat still
pointed straight up in the air every time I winked my hungry hole at him. He had a wife
and six kids, but he was ready to plug me every time he could get me cornered.

I had wanted to be cornered today—that was for sure. I was so horny out on the loading
docks this morning, my asshole damn near chewed a hole in my shorts. I work out on the
docks, helping the independent truckers load and unload their trucks. The work is hard,
but I don't mind that. The pay ain't bad, and all that lifting and carrying keeps me in
good shape so I don't have to waste no time at a gym after work. Besides, it also puts
me right out there with a shitload of horny dudes. Some of 'em wouldn't ever think of
packing it in anything but a pussy, but you'd be surprised how many of 'em will just
close their eyes and let me prove that my fuckhole feels just as good, any day.

I could tell McKlusky was getting close. He was puffing and grunting, reaming out my
asshole royally. The sweat was dripping off his big body, splashing down onto my bare
back and trickling down the crack of my ass. He was gripping my hips, driving it like
a posthole digger. My frigging ring was vibrating and I was just about ready to blow
myself. I grabbed my cock and started whacking it as hard as I could. I knew this dude
well enough to know that when he was done, he was out, ready to pack it in whether you'd
gotten your rocks off yet or not.

I felt that first big blast of hot stuff pump up into me and I let go as well, shooting it
out onto the wall of the storage closet where we were taking our mid-afternoon break. McKlusky
squeezed out a couple more big squirts of cream, then his meat popped out of me. I turned
around just in time to catch him wiping his dick on my T-shirt.

"You're an asshole, man," I snapped, grabbing my shirt away from him. "Use your own frigging
shirttail."

"You got it wrong, Cameron," he chuckled, shaking his head as he tucked his shirt into his
pants and zipped up. "You're the asshole and I'm the dick." He walked out of the small closet
and I could hear him laughing halfway across the floor. I swear, if he hadn't been so easy—
and so fucking hung—I wouldn't have given him the time of day. Still, he was a pretty good
maintenance fuck, if you catch my drift.

I pulled up my pants, buckled my belt and checked myself for damages in the sliver of mirror
propped up above the sink. Since I hadn't been chewing anyone's cob, I wasn't expecting to
find any jizz on my chin, but a guy wants to look as good as he can. I splashed some water
on my face and ran my fingers through my hair. Not bad, I thought, grinning at myself and
winking. My mug wasn't going to win any contests, but I didn't look bad. Besides, most folks
didn't spend much time looking at my face.

This job had pumped me up to the max, buffing every muscle till it looked like my skin was a
couple of sizes too small for me. It's amazing what you can do wrestling boxes and crates
around all day. I've got a real small waist and narrow hips, which makes my bubble-butt show
off real nice in contrast. It pushes out full and tight, curving sharply into the backs of
my thighs. The whole package is hairless, except for the triangle of cockhair between my legs
and a little fuzz in my pits. If any of the straight truckers who drift through here every
day are gonna swing, chances are they'll swing my way. I took a final look at myself and
headed hack to the docks.

"Hey, Steve!" I recognized that voice. I turned and saw the foreman heading my way, waving
his clipboard at me.

"Hey, boss, how's it hanging, man?"

"Where the fuck you been? I got a truck just pulled into Bay 16, and I been looking all over
for you."

"Taking a shit," I said, looking him straight in the eye.

"Well, haul your butt over and get moving. I don't want to be paying you any overtime. Move it!"

I loped across the warehouse, anxious to get away from the dude. He took his work too seriously
for my taste. The truck in the bay was a big mother, and I could see a solid wall of crates
through the open doors. This was not the ideal way to end the week.

"You the guy they sent to help?" I spun around and locked onto the bluest eyes I had ever seen.
They were plunked down into a handsome face with a long, straight nose, full lips, and about
a three-day growth of charcoal stubble. His hair was long and thick, hanging over his collar
in the back.

"Yeah. Steve Cameron. Pleased to meet you."

"Eli." He stuck out his hand to me. "Eli Rock. Good to meet you. You look like you've got the
build to be of some use to me. Hope you don't mind hard work."

"What do you think?" I flexed my arms at him. "I can handle anything you got to throw my way."

"Good. Let's get on it." We started pulling down crates, loading them onto dollies, and piling
them up at the holding area. Other dudes took the crates inside and got them organized. All I
had to worry about was wrestling them off the truck and getting them to that point.

We hadn't been working too long before Eli broke a sweat. He put up with it for a few minutes,
then stopped and peeled out of his long-sleeved shirt. Hell, I just stopped and stared. Couldn't
help myself. Eli had the arms of death—long and hairy, knotted with huge muscles that flexed
and shifted with every move he made. His forearms were bigger than my biceps, and his upper
arms were pumped up like a couple of oversize cantaloupes. Big veins ran over the tops of them,
down to his forearms, where they branched out like a highway map.

The rest of him looked pretty damned good, too—even covered with his sleeveless T-shirt. He was
thick through the chest, and his belly curved out sexily. It was the type of gut that would
fit perfectly into the small of your back—if he happened to stand real close behind you.

"Earth to Steve!" I jumped. Eli was looking me over intently. When he caught my eye, he winked
and nodded toward the back of the truck. "We get this done by five, and I'll buy you a beer."

"You're on," I shouted, grabbing another crate and kicking my butt into high gear. We worked
like maniacs for the next two hours, not even stopping to take a deep breath. The last box
hit the dolly just as the 5:00 whistle blew and the place started shutting down. I ached all
over and I was drenched with sweat, but I didn't care. Eli Rock and his fucking outrageous
arms were going to take me out and buy me a beer.

I punched out on the clock, grabbed my lunch pail, and headed back to the docks. Eli was just
finishing up with the cashier, settling his accounts. "I'm thirsty enough to drink a keg,"
he said, climbing up into the cab of his truck. "You got a car?" he called down to me.

"Right outside the gates in the parking lot. You can ditch your rig over there." I pointed to
a long row of eighteen-wheelers on the far side of the warehouses. "I'll drive over and pick
you up." He gave me the thumbs-up and started working the gears.

Eli was leaning against the running board when I drove up. He opened the door and climbed in,
his broad shoulders brushing mine as he got settled. I had come up with a scheme while I
walked to get my car, and I was all ready to try it out on him. If he went for it, great.
If not, what the hell? I wasn't gonna be out anything either way.

"I was thinking, Eli. The taverns are all gonna be packed and hotter than hell to boot. I
got a couple of six packs back at my place. Wanna come over to the house?"

He looked over at me, his eyes zeroing in on my pecs. I had stripped off my shirt when I
got into the car because it was too damned hot to wear clothes. "Sounds good to me. Stop off
at a store along the way, and I'll spring for some junk food. Fair?"

"Fair." I pulled out of the lot and headed home, Eli Rock sitting right beside me. We hit
the store, then I hightailed it out Route 71, hell-bent to get out to the little place I
owned just outside the city limits. I was getting vibes from this dude, and I was anxious
to get a couple of beers under his belt, then sit back and see what developed.

"Make yourself comfortable, Eli." I nodded in the direction of a cluster of lawn chairs pulled
up under a huge oak tree at the back of my property. "I'll grab a couple of brews and be right
back."

"Shit, it's hot!" Eli grumbled when I returned, downing about half of the beer I handed him in
one long swallow. I watched his Adam's apple working as the beer trickled down his gullet.
Coarse black hairs curled damply in the hollow of his throat, giving rise to hopes about a
hairy chest under his T-shirt. He was one sexy stud.

"Hey, man, don't stand on ceremony around here. I got no neighbors for two miles in any
direction, and nobody ever drops by without calling first. If you want to strip down to your
briefs, go right ahead. That's what I usually do." I usually got buck naked and whacked off
about this time every day, but I didn't tell Eli that. Not yet, anyway.

"You sure?" He looked at me doubtfully. I nodded. He stood up and took off his shirt first,
his pecs flexing as he pulled it over his head. His body was a perfect foil for his arms—
every muscle etched tightly, dusted with dark fuzz. I felt a little jolt in my nuts as our
eyes locked.

The pants came down next, slowly shucked down his hairy legs. The pouch of his jock was
soaked with sweat, hugging his cock and balls nice and tight. Almost as an afterthought,
he remembered his shoes. He turned around and flashed me a view of his hairy crack as he
bent to untie them. His hole was puckered up, pulsing as he flexed the muscles in his ass.
I was mesmerized by the dude.

After Eli got himself untangled from his pants, he sat down abruptly, like he hadn't really
just been flashing me a shot of his rear entry. He settled back and stretched out his long
legs, the lump in his jock stirring slightly. He took another long pull on his beer, but
showed no signs of making another move.

Well, I figured that meant it was my turn. I stood up and dropped my pants. I wasn't wearing
under-wear— stupidest expense in the world, I say—and my equipment bounced between my legs.
I scratched my balls and stretched, popping the muscles in my arms out full and tight. I
saved my shoes for last, too. I liked the way he had worked it into his act—if it was an act.

I turned my back to him and bent over, stealing a glance at him down between my legs. His
eyes were glued to my butt. His left hand slipped down inside the waistband of his jock.
I took a long time getting my shoes untied, letting him get as worked up as he wanted to.

When I finally turned back around, Eli had pulled his hand out of his jock, but it was too
late. His prick was waking up, hanging out of the pouch, stretching halfway down to his knees.
His balls were hanging out the other side, and I was having trouble deciding where to look
first.

Finally I zeroed in on his cockskin. It covered the fat head and drooped a good half-inch
beyond the end. Dark and crinkly, you could tell it was soft and silky. I approached him
slowly, giving him plenty of time to change his stance. He didn't, so I walked up between his
legs and dropped to my knees. I leaned forward and lapped at his big balls, pressing them
against his hard thigh.

He didn't say a word, but his big, hooded whanger bounced up and hit my shoulder. I figured
I'd better take the situation in hand, so I got him by the skin, pulling it out taut. His
thighs tensed and his meat bobbed up and down excitedly. I kept on working his balls, too,
sucking them into my mouth one at a time, rolling them over on my tongue and mashing them
up against the roof of my mouth.

After I had them all pulled up in a tight knot, I turned my attention to his big dick. That
fuckin' skin was still just hanging there, little drops of slime starting to leak out of it.
I raked my teeth along the side of the shaft till I got to the end. I touched it with the
tip of my tongue for the first time, and my cock snapped up hard. I sucked his cowl till it
started getting swollen and puffy, then worked my tongue up the center to get my first taste
of bare knob.

It was pungent with stale piss and old come, cheesing up behind the rim of the crown. I licked
it clean, digging in his comehole for fresh juice. He supplied that liberally, spouting out
a big glob every time I thumped his nuts with my thumb.

From where I was kneeling, it was a long way from where I was to where I wanted to be, so
I got on it. I raked his skin back from his knob, exposing it in all its dark crimson splendor.
Blunt and broad, the piss-slit cut deep, his knob was a mouthful. I slipped my lips around it,
tickling the trigger on the underside. The muscles in his belly tightened, but his belly still
curved out slightly, making an inviting place to rest my head.

As his root slid past the back of the throat and deep into my gullet, I grabbed his ass and
pulled hard. I didn't stop straining forward till my forehead bounced off his gut. My throat
was working convulsively and I had my tongue and teeth in the act, giving him a demonstration
of the joys of having another man work his big dick.

After I had blown him for five minutes, Eli still wasn't moving, but he did start to talk.
It started off as a low rumble, deep in his chest. Then the words gradually got distinct.
"Lick it. That's right. Suck on that big dick. Chew that skin. That's it, pull back nice and
slow. Oh, yeah. Pull on it. Bite it. Oh, shit!"

I did my best to follow instructions. I shucked his skin up so tight it dragged his balls
out on the shaft, then slipped a finger up into it. The fat head throbbed against my fingertip.
I rubbed all over the head, keeping my finger firmly buried in the skin bag covering it. He
reached down and wriggled his finger in beside mine, stretching the skin taut, leaving a gap
between them just big enough for my tongue. I slipped it in and got squirted with honey for
my reward.

"Oh, man!" he moaned. "That feels so fucking good. Tongue that slit. Oh, man, you know how to
do it! Ohhh." I nipped gently at the end of his meat one last time. Then the skin slipped
back, and his meat swung up toward his belly.

"Come on and climb up on it buddy," he begged, grabbing it around the base and pointing it
straight up in the air. From where I was, down between his thick legs, Eli's whanger looked
like a radio tower. "Let me stir it around in your hot butt. Please! I wanna fuck you till
your head caves in, buddy. Come on." I stood up and straddled him, my stiff dick bouncing
about two inches from his mouth. He still didn't move, so I thrust my hips forward and parted
his sensual lips with it, bouncing off his clenched teeth.

He looked up at me in surprise, as if he had never considered sucking a guy's cock. If he
hadn't, I figured it was about time he gave it a try. I butted his mouth again. This time
his teeth weren't clenched. Using my knob as a wedge, I pushed against him till my dick was
resting on his tongue. When I looked down at him, the look of surprise on the dude's face
was too much.

"Ain't you never done this before?" I asked, looking down at him curiously. "I figured you
for a guy who's been around."

"I been around plenty of guys," he corrected me with a hoarse drawl. "I just never found
one whose cock I wanted to suck."

"And now?" The question hung in the air while he considered it.

"Come here." He put a hand between my legs and pulled me forward. He was all teeth at first,
but he responded real quick to coaching. Soon I had him doing a pretty fair job of cocksucking.

He kept his hands busy as well, slipping first one, then two stiff fingers up my bull's-eye.
I squirmed around his long digits as they punched up into me as far as he could ram them.
His dick was right below me, still aimed right on target. I lowered my ass, slowly-losing
contact with his mouth as I got ready to kiss the head of his cock.

His fingers came out, the hole quickly filled by the snout of his pecker nudging my bung.
I flexed my thighs just a little and bounced tentatively. His dick almost got in that time,
but not quite. I repeated the motion a couple of times, finally popping my asslips around
the head. I grunted and stood real still, steadying myself with a hand on his broad chest.
I could feel myself start to sweat, little trickles of salty water running down my sides
out of my pits.

Eli started jacking my cock, bouncing my balls off the end of his fist. Pretty soon my
ring adjusted, and I started bouncing up and down as well, my toes curling as inch after
fat inch slipped up my chute. When I finally felt his bush tickling my crack, I opened my
eyes and winked at him. He was wide-eyed with astonishment.

"Damn, you feel good!" he mouthed soundlessly. I flexed the muscles of my ass, grabbing his
dick. His pecs flexed, so I did it again. I got the same response the second time, so I
reached out and pinched his nipples, catching them firmly between thumb and forefinger.
At the same time, I rose up off his lap about seven inches, then sat back down—fast.

It was like I kick-started the dude. He put his hands under my thighs and started bouncing
me up and down, bucking up off the chair every time I slammed down the entire length of
his bulging hard-on. The sweat was pouring off me as he continued pounding my ass. It
dripped down onto his chest and belly, hanging in his fur like crystals. My prick was so
pumped it was damn near purple it—the big veins on the shaft swollen up tight.

One thing about riding a man's hooded cock: it cuts the friction in half. His bone pumps
up and down in the little extra sleeve of skin, and there's nothing to distract from the
incredible feeling of having that spike of flesh churning your guts to jelly.

"I'm gonna come." Eli groaned, bringing me up to date, as if I couldn't tell from the way
his prick was flexing around in my manhole. I threw myself forward, grabbing his huge
biceps and humping his belly frantically. His big, hairy arms slipped around my middle
and his hands locked behind me. I could feel his hot come pumping into my butt, the
head of his prick puffing out to signal every spout. I blew on his belly, making a
creamy puddle that pooled in his navel.

After we finished coming, I figured Eli would be up and dressed, but I figured wrong.
When he was done, he kept his arms around me and he kept his hard cock up my butthole.
His arms were sweaty and heavy against my back, but I wasn't complaining. I was in the
arms of Eli Rock, and old Eli was already starting to rock me again.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



7. BETWEEN HELL AND EL PASO

I'd been working the club circuit down here in the Lone Star State for almost two years.
Kinda like the rest of my life, I'd just sort of drifted into doing this and hadn't gotten
around to doing nothing else. I'd never been much for reading or math, and I called it
quits at school when I got tired of being laughed at behind my back by kids about half
my size. Besides, the friends I started out with had all gone on and graduated, leaving
me in the dust. Bottom line, my choices had been pretty limited, and wiggling my ass for
cash paid a hell of a lot better than pumping gas or flipping burgers. Only trouble was,
after all that time of doing what I did, I was totally burned out—y'know, running on empty?

I was lucky, or so I figured when I started out. I knew I didn't have much going for me in
the brains department, but I wasn't bad looking, I packed a pretty fair basket, and I had
me a hot bod. I got me a build that don't take much pumping to bring out the definition,
and with a little concentrated effort, I managed to sculpt my chest and arms into real
showstoppers. The clincher, though, was my ass. Unlike your pecs or your biceps, you either
got a good ass or you don't—no amount of hard work and sweat is gonna turn a flat ass into
a bubble-butt. Call it lucky or otherwise, I had a tight, fully rounded backside that grown
men would line up and pay money to play with.

Money ain't a bad thing, but a man can only hang himself out like a slab of meat for so long
before it starts getting to him. Well, I'd been pawed, propositioned, mauled, and hired out
to take on all comers just about once too often. I'd ended up by starting a brawl and cold-
cocking the last dude who went after me, even though he'd paid his money right up front.

He was a loudmouth kind of dude, not bad looking, although the booze was starting to put a
belly on him. He marched up to where I was dancing, flashed a crisp new C-spot in my face,
then stuffed it in my jock. When I crouched down to thank him and maybe set up a time to show
my appreciation, he told me he wanted it right here and now. Well, I'd had a couple of puffs
with the boys earlier, and I was feeling no pain, so I strutted on out to the parking lot
with him, naked except for boots, a jockstrap, and my black cowboy hat.

Dude took me over to this big old black Cadillac with bull horns mounted on the front bumper
and hubcaps that would've cost me a year's wages. I started to climb in, but the dude jerked
his thumb at me and told me I was supposed to bend over the hood of the car and take it right
there in the lot. Like I said, I wasn't feeling no pain, and a hundred bucks is good money.

I flexed and preened a little for the crowd of onlookers that was starting to gather, then
braced my hands on the hood of the big car and wiggled my ass at the man who'd just bought
himself a piece of it.

The deal stunk right from the get-go, first off, the fucker swatted me—not a sexy smack,
but a mean pop on the butt, just to show me he owned my ass for the next hour, or some damned
thing. I looked back over my shoulder at him, ready to say something. He was grinning real
smirky-like, but he put another C-spot in the waistband of my jock so I flashed him a glimpse
of my teeth and just hoped he'd get his rocks off in a hurry.

While he was undoing his pants, I glanced around the car. Quite a little crowd was starting
to gather, and a couple of the guys was already popping the buttons on their flies, getting
ready to skin some dick while they took it all in for free. They was laughing with each other,
making cracks about the big stud from the club who wasn't nothing but a back-alley whore. I
didn't like that much, but it was money, so I tried not to listen.

Then the loudmouth dude with the cash stepped up and started putting it to me. From the way
he jammed it in me and started prodding at me, it was like he wasn't fucking for fun—he was
trying to hurt me with his cock. It wasn't like I'd never been done rough—I'd been with dudes
who liked a little fight in their fuck, and I could handle that. It was just that with this
asshole, I could tell that there wasn't supposed to be no pleasure in it—not for me, at least.
I pressed my forehead against the hood of the car and hoped it would be over soon so I could
go on back to my place and be alone.

Then some asswipe started throwing pennies at me and I totally lost my cool. I jumped up and
punched the man doing me, flattening his nose. He fell on his ass and folded up like a cheap
card table. Then I took out after the fucker who'd been throwing the change. I just tore into
him, pounding him even after he crumpled up and begged me to stop. It took three guys to pull
me off him and get me calmed down a little.

That had been the end of my dancing career. The owner of the club didn't like the commotion
in his parking lot and had threatened to call the cops. Since both dudes I had punched out
were hollering for the law as well, I was probably lucky not to get arrested. Hell, I didn't
have a clue what to do next. I'd spent the last couple of years figuring I'd use my body to
get by, but that night I finally tumbled to the fact that I had to live with myself and this
wasn't the way to do it. I went back to my apartment, packed my bags, took my small bankroll,
and got out of town, hoping to cut my losses.

Didn't know where I was going. Didn't much matter—leastwise, long as I stayed where the sun
was warm and the skies didn't crowd in on a fella. I was sick to death of cities and city
dudes and all the bullshit that went along with it.

I was beating it down the highway, somewhere between hell and El Paso when one of the dash
lights started winking at me like the devil's red eye. Figured. I picked up this piece-of-
shit car a while back from a guy who couldn't hardly keep his eyes off my crotch or his hands
off my butt long enough to fill out the papers to transfer the fucking title to me. Okay, so
I'd got a deal letting him blow me. After I shot off in his mouth, the fucker wanted to turn
me around and plug me, but I just laughed at him, grabbed the keys and took off. Shit—probably
served me right that the frigging bucket of bolts hadn't even held together for a thousand
miles.

I cut off the air conditioner and rolled down the windows, letting the hot Texas night blast
up in my face. Even now, long after it was pitch-black outside, the heat still felt like a
big old ornery bronco, puffing its hot breath in my face. It made the moisture bead up in my
pits and run down my sides, pretty soon leaving me sitting in a puddle of my own sweat.

I braced my knee against the wheel and peeled off my T-shirt, balled it up, and tossed it
over onto the backseat. I looked down at my torso. It was all wet and shiny, gleaming in the
lights from the dash. A bead of sweat was quivering on the point of my left tit. I flicked it
off with my fingernail and settled back against the seat, wishing like hell I had me a good,
cold beer.

After a few more minutes, the damned car was starting to make some pretty scary knocking
noises, so I slowed down to forty-five, figuring I'd try to nurse it into the next town.
Trouble was, I could see for miles around and it didn't look too promising as far as coming
up to a town. No lights off to either side and nothing gleaming off in the distance. I knew
for a fact that there was nothing behind me for over sixty miles. Shit. Looked like I might
be spending me a night out under the stars.

I would've missed the place if it hadn't been for the fact that my car farted a big old
cloud of black smoke and cut out completely. As I was drifting along the highway, looking
for a place to pull over, I caught a glimpse of a yard light off to the left. I took a
chance and pulled off onto a dirt road that led up to what could have been a store or a
garage—or maybe just somebody's private spread. I turned the key and managed to get the
engine going long enough to drive up under the canopy that sheltered the front door when
the damned car shook and clattered—then just up and died. Hell, even the frigging lights
went out.

Once the noise of the car had cleared out of my ears, the silence was absolute. Not even
a cricket or a barking dog broke the quiet. I got out of the car to stretch my legs and
get my bearings. The light I'd seen was burning out behind the building, throwing no light
out around the front. I was staring up at the blank wall in front of me when I heard the
creak of a door opening.

"Howdy," I called out hopefully to the darkness. I kept both hands in clear view, not
wanting to spook some cautious property owner who happened to be packing a gun. "This
here a gas station?"

"Yup. I figure I got some gas." The light over the door flickered to life, dazzling me
momentarily. "Fill 'er up?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I got me a little problem." I stared at the shadowy form in
the doorway and shrugged my shoulders. "Sort of a big problem."

"Out of money?" The dude was still standing in the shadows, but his voice sounded friendly
enough.

"That's not it. More like my rig's out of steam. As in dead. Think the old bitch may have
breathed her last."

"Better take a look, I guess." The man stepped out into the light, opened her up and
stared under the hood. He was a big guy—about my height, but he probably outweighed me
by thirty pounds. He was kinda shaggy looking all around. His hair curled down against
his neck and covered the tops of his ears. He hadn't shaved for several days, and his
face was smudged with the start of a thick, dark beard. You couldn't exactly call him
handsome—nose a little too big and his ears sorta stuck out—but he wasn't so hard to
look at.

I sorta got the feeling that maybe he'd been having some tough times and that life was
starting to get to him. Don't get me wrong—it wasn't like there was nothin' wrong with
his bod. Shit, I mean the old sweat-stained undershirt he was wearing showed him off
well enough to see that. His shoulders was wide, sagging slightly under the weight of
all the heavy muscles packed on them. Even with his arms hanging down by his sides, his
biceps curved out full and hard, thick veins pulsing over the swollen surface. There
was a big rip in his shirt, baring a furry patch of his chest and a good part of his
left side. In the light from the bug-encrusted bulb, you could see the ridge of his
lats and the outline of the big nipple crowning the solid-looking mound of his pec.

He was getting just a hint of a paunch, but on him. it looked kinda good. It was the
kind of curve that would fit real nice against the small of a man's back if the dude
happened to sidle up close behind him. His meaty forearms were matted with long silky
hairs that were about the same shade of brown as the hair on his head. More of the
same growth feathered up over his collarbones and curled in the hollow of his throat.
The dude's hands were huge—all gnarled and callused and permanently stained with grease—
a real mechanic's hands.

"Huh?" Suddenly I realized that he was talking to me. Hell, I'd been looking right at
him and hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"Just said there's nothin' I can do tonight. Mebbe I can fix it, mebbe not. We'll have
to wait till morning so's I can give it a real going-over. Tell the truth, it don't
look too good."

"Figures." I shook my head in disgust. "Mind if I camp out in her overnight? Don't
look like there's any hotels around hereabouts."

The dude laughed and shook his head. "No need to do that. You can bunk inside. It
ain't much, but you're welcome to it." I followed him into what looked like it had
once been a store, but now seemed to be serving as his living room.

"Name's Roy," he said, sticking out his hand. "Long as you're stayin' I figure we oughta
at least know each other's names."

"Denver." I returned the pressure of his grip. The dude had power in his hands. Real
power. "Denver Gates."

"Pleased to meetcha, Denver. I was just fixin' to grill up a steak. You hungry?"

"Always!" I said. "Eatin' kinda late, ain't you?

"Livin' out here all alone, I sorta lose track of the time." He looked across at me
briefly, then turned to the refrigerator that stood over in a corner of the big room
and started tossing bags out onto the counter beside the sink. "Had me a business
partner for a while, but we had a partin' of the ways. Partner took off with the cash—
but I got the building." He looked around the shabby room and shrugged his powerful
shoulders.

"Too bad," I commented.

"Happens," he replied.

I sat at the kitchen table while Roy fried the steaks and heated up a can of beans.
We ate our meal in silence. Then he helped me unfold the old sofa bed up near the front
door. "Makes a fair bed if we slip this piece of plywood under the mattress. Helps
protect your backbone from them bars and springs." I helped him position the wood,
then stood back to watch as he spread the sheets out on the bed.

"Thanks," I said when he had finished.

"Sure. It's kinda nice havin' another body around. Gets lonely out here." I nodded. I
knew all about lonely. Hell it could be lonely in a big city, dancing naked in a room
full of horny men. Sometimes that was the worst kind of lonely there was.

I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard footsteps padding down the narrow hall that
led to his room at the back of the building. I opened my eyes and saw Roy standing under
the bare bulb hanging in the center of the room. He had stripped down to his shorts. The
hair on his chest was so thick it looked like fur, except for where his big brown tits
poked out. What I'd figured for a paunch was really just a relaxed wall of solid muscle,
split right down the middle with another stripe of fur. My eyes were drawn to the heavy
bulge packed into the crotch of his skivvies. It was pulling the elastic down low, and
his pubes were spilling out in a dark cloud. I felt the old familiar craving tickling
at my balls just looking at him. Roy was a real man.


"Just checkin' to make sure everything was okay for you. Denver."

"Thanks, Roy. This is great, man. I really appreciate it."

"'Night, then." He stood there a moment longer, then turned and walked slowly back to
his room. I took a couple of pokes at my pillow, trying to set the old feathers into the
right form, then burrowed down into it.

I hadn't laid there more'n twenty minutes till I had to take a piss. Always happened like
that. Didn't need to go, then—bingo. I got up and tiptoed down the hallway, not wanting
to disturb Roy. The door to his room was open and the TV screen was flickering at the foot
of his bed, but the sound was turned off. I was about to step into the can when I happened
to glance over at the bed and saw Roy, sprawled out on his back, using both hands to skin
a pole of awesome proportions. It was already slick with spit and dickjuice, gleaming in
the flickering light of the TV.

He was working it slow and easy, pumping his hips slightly, working the shaft up through
the tight collar of his clenched fingers. One of the first things I noticed was that it
had a hood on it that bunched up over the swollen knob on the upstroke. I'd been clipped
as a baby and hadn't ever had the pleasure of feeling skin rubbing on my snout, except for
a couple of generous dudes who had docked me a few times. Maybe you always want what you
ain't got, I don't know. I do know-that I thought a man's dickskin was a major turn-on.

Roy was obviously getting into it. His eyes were closed tight and his whole big body was
all knotted up with the pleasurable tension of a good long solo ride on the rod. One of
his fingers crooked out and teased his trigger. His toes curled and a little spout of clear
juice splashed out onto his hairy belly.

Now you'd think that after all those years of wiggling my ass in public and turning tricks,
I'd be so jaded that nothing could get to me. Well, maybe so—mostly. Still, there was
something about this big shaggy guy sprawled out on a tangle of sheets, playin' with
himself, that really got me revved.

Revved enough to put a bone in my horn, arcing the thick shaft up tight against my gut.
I fingered my knob and my balls tingled, the old heat racing to the pit of my gut. I
fisted my meat and started pounding it, doing my best to match Roy stroke for stroke,
imagining that we were feeling the same feelings at the same time.

I fished my nuts out of my shorts and began squeezing the big orbs, tugging down on them
till the cords were stretched out to the max. Damn, the harder I pulled, the better it
felt. I zeroed in on Roy's overhang, wishing like hell that I could feel it slide over
the end of my piece, all hot and tight and slippery.

I closed my eyes, an image of Roy still etched clearly in my mind. I've always liked
watching another dude do himself. Some guys get off on seeing themselves reflected in
a mirror, but for me, it's always been better to see another guy. I wondered how those
rough, callused fingers must feel on the tender, silky skin of his big cock. Hell, I was
wondering how they'd feel pawing me all over, rubbing my belly and grabbing at my ass.

Roy groaned out loud and I guess I did, too. the feelings were so good. I was falling
into the rhythm of doing myself: slow down, then quick back up, stopping long enough to
rub the thick rim flared out around the snout and tease my comehole, searching for juice.
I heard the bedsprings creak noisily and squeezed down hard on my nuts, figuring old Roy
was fixing to get off and hurrying up to join him.

First I knew that he was on to me was when I felt his hand, heavy on my shoulder. I
gasped and my eyes flew open. Damn, I was caught fair and square. Shit, man, this wasn't
cool. I didn't figure Roy was gonna be too happy to think he was giving shelter to a
pervert, and there wasn't no other explanation for what I was doing. There wasn't any
point in balling up my fists and trying to defend myself. For all my size and definition,
I didn't doubt for a second that Roy could beat the shit out of me if he wanted to. I
just stood there with this shit-eating grin on my face, painfully aware that I could
feel his cockhead grazing my rippled gut. he was standing so close.

"I'm sorry," I gulped, "I'm feelin' dumber'n shit round about now."

"Don't worry about it none, buddy." I was surprised to see the big grin that spread out
across his face. Hell, he wasn't mad at all! "This'd be a hell of a lot more fun if we
climbed in that bed together and worked something out. At least it would be for me. I
figure you're sorta interested; otherwise you'd a been a whackin' it back up in the
front room, instead of down here peekin' in at me."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I chuckled.

"You ever done it with a dude before?"

"Oh, yeah." My smile faded. "Plenty of times."

Roy looked at me like he was trying to decide whether or not he believed me. "Well,
maybe nobody's ever done right by you before. Man-oh-man, Denver, buddy," he sighed.
"I'd sure as hell like to try to do right by you." He traced a line from my throat to
my navel with his knuckle, barely grazing my skin. I shuddered like somebody'd just stuck
an ice cube on the base of my spine.

Roy leaned toward me and kissed me on the mouth, a slow, gentle kiss that moved real
gradual from lips to tongues. It was the first time in a long time that a man had bothered
to kiss me and it was real sexy, especially when his furry chest brushed against my smooth,
hard pecs, tickling like crazy.

Roy had real gentle hands, the cracked calluses on his fingertips making me tingle all
over as he slowly traced the contours of my back, down to my ass, then wandering into
my sweaty crack. I tensed up, expecting the inevitable finger crammed up into me, but
when Roy felt the tension, he just rubbed against the tingling pucker gently, then moved
his hands back up to my waist.

My hands weren't idle, either. His meat was pressed up against my gut, and I reached
down and started playing with that tempting skin hooding his knob. I tugged it up over
the tip of his snout, working my fingers down into the silky sleeve, feeling his stickiness
ooze out onto my fingertips. I let my free hand slip even lower, cupping the heavy globes
hanging between his legs. The fur on his bag was coarse and stiff, spiked into little
points by his dried honey. I caressed them, feeling them jerk and twitch as the cords
they hung on started to shorten.

"Come with me, buddy," Roy whispered, backing up slowly toward his bed. I followed, not
letting go of his cock or breaking the sexy contact between our bodies. I'd only had the
pelt on Roy's chest rubbing on me for about a minute, and already I felt naked without it.

When he got to the edge of the bed, he fell backward, pulling me along on top of him. I
quickly straddled his hips, feeling the bulge of his prick against my asshole and my balls.
Moving fast, before he could take charge, I gripped his wrists and pulled his arms up
above his head. Leaning forward and down, I took a playful lick at his chin, then buried
my face in his left pit, chewing the tufts of hair that curled against the pale skin till
Roy groaned with pleasure and his meat bulged and throbbed against me.

I groomed his pit, then licked lazily across his big chest, gnawing his swollen tits till
he heaved and bucked under me. "Damn, you're sexy!" I gasped, looking down at him, surprised
I'd spoken. I wasn't in the habit of passing out compliments to the men whose beds I shared.

"Well, buddy, if I'm sexy, you're the hottest damn thing that's ever scorched the earth
around these parts. I'm not sure I believe this is happening. You tell me what'd pleasure
you most, and I'll do it till daybreak."

"You let me put your dickskin up over the head of my cock for a little bit, then you can
do anything you want with me, Roy. That's all I ask for." Roy grinned up at me and nodded.
Then he jerked his hands free, grabbed me by the waist, and spun me around, dropping my ass
down on his chest. His hips shot up off the bed, and the tips of our pricks touched. While
I was working his hood up over my tingling knob, I felt his bristly chin nudging my crack.
Then his hot tongue lapped against my butthole, and he started jamming it up my tight sluice.

Hell, I didn't know whether to buck back or forward—either way I went felt so damned good.
His skin was full of lube, all hot and squishy as I plunged in and out of it, butting snouts
with him on every stroke. When I slid my ass back, his tongue would plug me deeper, but
when I humped forward, he'd pull on his dick, straining to cover more and more of my meat
with his foreskin, not stopping till his balls were pulled up midway on the shaft of his
big dick. I finally had to put a restraining hand on his, partly because I was getting so
close to coming, partly because I was afraid he was gonna hurt himself.

"What now, pardner?" he sighed, when I flopped back on the bed beside him.

"Your turn to choose," I teased, tweaking the big, hard nipple crowning his left pec.

"Well, I'm mighty partial to butt-fucking," he grinned, licking his chops lustily. "I
promise I'll treat you real nice. You can believe I wouldn't do nothin' to hurt you none."

"I'll believe that," I replied. "How do you want me? Back or belly?"

"On your back, dude. I wanna look at that pretty mug of your while I'm hornin' in on
you." I laid flat on my back and spread my legs wide for him. "That's real nice," he
grinned, scooting in between my legs and resting my calves on his broad shoulders. "You
feel anything you don't like, you just holler." He looked down at me solemnly. His cock
was so hard it had pulled up against his hairy gut, a position I'd never seen a cock that
size take.

I grunted with pleasure when I first felt the silky tip of his prick come into contact
with my quivering asshole. Looking down, I could see the silhouette of what appeared to
be a thick club poised to plunge into my body. There was a little pressure as he pumped
tentatively. Then he breached me and began slowly sinking into my manhole.

I gotta confess, any time before this when I took it up the butt, I had to be pretty high
on booze or smoke to do it. Only now, I was high on nothing except the excitement that
this man was generating in my gut. Instead of the twinge of discomfort I'd expected,
the pressure of his dick driving into the center of my body was like a caress, raising
my temperature and prickling up the fine down on my muscle-bound bod. I didn't lose my
hard-on—another first—and when his balls smacked against my ass, I bellowed and blew a
thick shot of jizz up over my torso and onto the bed.

"Hot damn!" Roy hollered. "You sure as hell was ready."

"That never happened before," I gasped, slightly dazed by it. Come was splattered all
over my belly, but I felt like I was still teetering on the edge. Roy pulled his cock
out of me and plunged it in again—and I blasted out another shot.

"Man!" Roy shook his head. "You wouldn't believe what that feels like from the inside."
He pumped me again, and it was like I came all over again. I'd never done anything remotely
like this, and it was the most incredible thing I'd ever felt. By the time he'd driven in
and out a couple of dozen times, I was covered in jizz and still leaking, panting hard
and tossing my head from side to side. Shit, man, I felt like I was gonna explode.

"Am I hurtin' you, dude?" Roy had stopped again and was smearing jizz up over my ripped
abs with his fingertips.

"I don't know what you're doin'," I moaned. "All I know is that it sure ain't hurtin' me.
It's the wildest thing I've ever felt. Don't stop." He smacked my belly soundly, planted
his hands on either side of my head, and tore into me with fierce abandon. His hips pumped
and his balls crashed against my ass again and again as he worked himself up to the edge.
I lifted my head off the bed and sucked his tits, going from one to the other as he
battered my ass faster and harder.

"I'm comin' dude!" he cried out at last, his pounding becoming spasmodic as his prick
thrashed and jerked in my asschannel. "Jesus! Here it comes. Aaargh!" I felt a trickle of
heat—then my bowels were filled with liquid fire. Roy moaned and his body shook as his
jism pumped into me, spraying the walls of my spasming fuckhole. I wrapped my arms around
his neck and pulled his head down against my chest, covering the top of his shaggy head
with passionate kisses. It was weird as hell, but I was scared to death he was gonna climb
off of me and just walk away like all the others. I wasn't ready to deal with that. Not
this time.

"That was fine, buddy," Roy sighed, slipping his thick arms around me and cradling me
against his heaving chest. "Real fine. I could stay just like this for the rest of the
night." He flexed his dick, and his knob bulged deep inside of me.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Me, too."

Well, we did stay that way all night—leastwise we slept together, arms wrapped around
each other. When I woke up, his arm and leg were draped over me protectively and his
grip tightened instinctively when I tried to get up to go pee. We fucked twice before we
managed to get coffee made, then did it again a couple more times before fixing breakfast.
By the time noon rolled around, I'd been fucked raw, but if Roy had wanted another piece
of my ass, I would've spread my legs and begged him to stick it in me.

When he finally got around to checking my car, he announced that it was a total loss. "I
got me a truck, though," he said, slamming the hood on my old beater, sorta like an
undertaker putting down the lid on a coffin. "I could take you someplace."

"How far'd you be willin' to take me?" I knew what I wanted to hear and was afraid I wouldn't
hear it.

"Damn near as far as you want to go." His heavy arm draped over my shoulder.

"You serious?"

"I got nothing holdin' me here," he snorted, gesturing at the sand and sagebrush all around
us. "Where you want to go?"

"Well, I was thinking about spending time down on the Gulf Coast, maybe out on South Padre.
After that, who knows? Maybe up to Austin, maybe San Antonio. I figure if you're traveling
with a good buddy, the trip's the thing. Don't matter none where you end up at the end of
the day. You know what I'm drivin' at?"

"Yeah, Denver, old buddy," Roy chuckled, giving me a squeeze. "Yeah, I think I do. For what
it's worth, I'm game."

"It's worth a lot, Roy," I grinned, leaning over and planting a big sloppy kiss on the strong
line of his jaw. "It's worth one hell of a lot."

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



HEART'S DESIRE

I sat on the front porch, drinking a beer after work and contemplating for about the
millionth time the shitty state of my life. Things had gone to hell early and stayed
that way. The first time I was called a queer, I had no idea what the word meant. I
was five years old at the time, prancing up and down along the creek that ran beside
the old house where I grew up. I was wrapped in an old quilt that my mother had banished
to the attic, waving a stick—or was it a scepter?—at passing cars, then curtsying if
they honked or waved. I have the vague memory that I believed I was the queen of some
mythical realm where people like me fit in.

"You're a queer, Eddie Wickham, aren't you?" Tommy Marks and Bobby Joe Purdy had been
standing on the opposite bank of the creek, pointing at me, when they first broke the
news. I dropped my stick and fled into the shrubbery, where I stayed till Tommy and
Bobby Joe were well out of sight.

Even though I didn't know what the word "queer" meant, I knew enough not to ask my father
about it. He was already distant and disapproving, and I didn't want to add any ammunition
to his arsenal. I found out what a queer was soon enough—other kids in the neighborhood
took up the cry, and I was branded before I entered the first grade.

I endured the name-calling, bullying, and social ostracism by retreating even farther
into my fantasy realm. I only surfaced on those frequent occasions when the bullying
escalated to beating and I got my skinny ass smeared all over the playground. I finally
got fed up with that when I turned sixteen and sent off for a bodybuilding course that
was advertised in a Superman comic book. I admired Superman more for his physique than
for his commitment to fighting crime and figured that if Clark Kent could do it, then
so could I.

Much to my surprise, the program worked. I developed muscles where there had been nothing
but skin and bones a few months earlier. When the inevitable encounter with the local
Neanderthals took place at the beginning of the next school year, nobody was more surprised
than I when I creamed Ken Loggins in the hallway outside the junior English class. I didn't
gain any friends from this display of physical prowess, but I never had another black eye,
either.

I thought I had a ticket out of Harmonville when I graduated from high school, but disaster
struck again. My grades were good—hell, I had nothing to distract me from my studies—and
I was favored to win a scholarship to State University. I was elated at the prospect of
beginning life anew in a place where nobody knew me—someplace where I'd no longer be called
a queer.

As it turned out, Tommy and Bobby Joe had been absolutely correct in their assessment of my
sexual profile. Up until the end of my senior year, I had never even so much as considered
the idea of having sex with anyone other than my own right hand. I knew the rumors about who
was sleeping with whom in my peer group—I was unpopular, but I wasn't deaf—but I had never
been foolhardy enough to entertain a grand passion for anyone at school, male or female.
Then, in a weak moment the week before graduation, I accepted an invitation to go to a party.
Actually, I was so shocked at having been asked that I failed to heed the many warning
signals that anyone in my situation should have noticed.

The party was a "boys-only" bash thrown by one of the most popular guys in the senior class.
I arrived, got real nervous, drank too much beer way too fast, and got talked into smoking
some pot. It all got a little fuzzy after that, but I have vague recollections of rolling
around naked with an unknown number of drunken, horny guys on an old mattress down in the
furnace room. The next morning, my mouth tasted terrible, and my asshole ached something
fierce. I gathered up what clothing I could find, climbed over the snoring bodies littering
the house, and made my way home.

Naturally, word got out about the party. Every day brought new horrors to light. Evidently,
I had taken on damn near the whole gang that night, sucking any cock that got shoved my way
and wiggling my ass around like a two-bit whore in a lumber camp on payday. My scholarship
was canceled, my father died of a heart attack soon thereafter, and my dreams of starting
a new life withered.

Now here I sat, my twenty-fourth birthday looming on the horizon, still stuck in Harmonville,
still an outcast, with no one to talk to and no place to go. My world pretty much consisted
of television, beer, and my low-wage job in a local factory that produced ball bearings for
precision machinery. My mother never missed a chance to tell me that supporting her was the
least I could do, since I had killed my father and made her a candidate for welfare. She
grumbled that the money I brought home wasn't enough, but anytime I offered to quit and
look for work in another city, she threatened to have a stroke. Life was a bitch.

I drained my beer and was going in to fix some supper when I saw Charlie Ferrin walking
along the street in front of the house. Charlie was my age, but we'd never been in class
together because Charlie had always lagged a couple of grades behind. He'd quit school as
soon as he turned sixteen, but if he had ever wanted to leave Harmonville, he hadn't made
much more progress than I had.

Charlie had never been a friend, but he had saved me from serious injury on more than one
occasion when I was the school punching bag. I suspect that he intervened more for the
joy of a fistfight than from any feelings toward me, but he had enabled me to escape
from my tormentors a number of times, so I had a soft spot for him in my memory.

I had always thought Charlie Ferrin was the sexiest man I'd ever laid eyes on. Charlie
actually had biceps when he was ten and hair on his chest at an age when the rest of us
were searching fruitlessly for pubic hairs. Time had done nothing but make his body bigger
and harder. Nature had also given him chiseled good looks and thick raven hair that he
wore so long it almost brushed his broad shoulders. I swear he turned my crank every time
I saw him.

Poor Charlie had also had his share of tough luck. After countless juvenile scrapes, he
had beaten the living shit out of some guy in a nearby town during an argument. Nobody
ever found out what the argument was about, but it didn't matter for Charlie—he was sent
up for assault and battery. After he'd got out of prison and started doing odd jobs to
keep his parole officer happy, old Mrs. Staley who lived next door to us had been one
of the few people in the town who had actually hired him. I guess everyone else was
afraid of him.

I prayed for Mrs. Staley to have him come around on weekends so I could be there to enjoy
the show. Charlie always wore baggy old overalls when he came to cut the brush out back
or to paint her front porch, and anybody who cared to look could catch glimpses of Charlie's
splendid physical assets. There were buttons on the sides of his overalls, but Charlie never
bothered with them, an oversight that bared his silken flanks and exposed a fair portion of
his tight, furry ass. His impressive chest and incredible arms were also much in evidence,
making Charlie a sight to behold.

The afternoon was humid and so Charlie had his shirt stuffed into the back pocket of a pair
of tight, faded Levi's. Just seeing the sunlight glinting off the long, silky hairs that
dusted his massive chest made my heart beat faster. While I was focusing in on the little
tattoo emblazoned above one of the big, dusky brown nipples that crowned those spectacular
pecs of his. Charlie looked my way, I smiled and waved jauntily. He saw me and he may or may
not have nodded. I wasn't able to decipher the tattoo, but I did have the distinct satisfaction
of seeing the ridges in his washboard belly tighten when he turned my way briefly. I went
inside the house, feeling uplifted.

I fried some chicken and steamed some vegetables, then sat in the dining room and ate while
my mother complained about the reception on the television in her bedroom. I wasn't listening
too closely, but I got the general idea that she wanted me to work enough overtime to be able
to afford a new set for her. I said something noncommittal and hustled her back to her room
so I could clean the kitchen.

It was Wednesday night, and that meant Cal Purdy. Now, Cal wasn't the most exciting man who
ever walked the streets of Harmonville, but he did have his good points. He was a few years
older than me and his gut was starting to grow a little, but he was still pretty easy on the
eye and he had a nice pair of arms. He also had the biggest dick I'd ever seen or heard tell
about.

Cal's cock was a subject of considerable interest to the women of Harmonville. Cal had never
married, and the women he had dated over the years all seemed to have a couple of things in
common: admiration of Cal's equipment, and a great deal of difficulty in getting it geared
up to go where they most wanted to put it. I'd heard tell that some gals had spent the better
part of the evening trying to wake up his old one-eyed buddy, only to have Cal pass out on
them. People were beginning to whisper that Cal was impotent—and wasn't that a hell of a
shame for a man endowed like he was.

Well, I knew for a fact that there was nothing wrong with Cal's prick. Given the proper
encouragement, it would get hard and stay hard for hours at a time. The truth was, those
gals were at a distinct disadvantage. Cal played the ladies' man, but the dude was as queer
as I was. The only difference between us was that Cal was in the closet—way deep in, like
where you keep the suit you wear only to funerals.

I heard his truck pull up just a few minutes after ten. I turned out the lights in the living
room, tiptoed down the back steps and slipped into the tumbledown garage at the back of the
property. I saw the burning ember of Cal's cigarette before my eyes adjusted to the gloom and
I used it to guide me
.
"Eddie," he muttered gruffly, dropping his smoke and grinding it out under his heel.

"Cal." I dropped to my knees and got down to business. Cal had already popped the buttons on
his fly and shucked his pants down around his hairy thighs. I stroked the thick pendulum
between his legs, amazed, as always, by the sheer size of it. Cal had a dick that measured
thirteen-and-a-half inches long—yes, I checked it out myself—and the sucker was as thick as
my wrist. The knob on the end was the size of a crab apple and when he was getting close to
coming, I swear it swelled up to the size of a bowling ball.

Cal got stiff quicker than you could say "hard-on," and stood there, whimpering softly as I
began licking his stick, savoring every fat, veiny inch of him. I hung off the end of it and
sucked for a while, till he started getting juicy, then leaned back and jacked him, letting
his hot lube drizzle down on my bare chest. When I finally let go of the big, fleshy stalk,
it swung up majestically, pointing high in the air. Impotence was definitely not a problem
I ever had with Cal.

Cal pulled me to my feet and his huge log of a prick throbbed against my belly, getting harder
and leakier by the second. My dick was plenty hard, too, and when I hunched my hips, my meat
rubbed up and down alongside of CaPs huge hog. I kept my hands planted on his bulging biceps,
feeling the big muscles twitch and flex as he worked his thick fingers up into my hungry hole.

When the critical moment came, Cal spun me around, forced my legs apart and drove his mighty
spike deep into me. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out, jarred, as usual, by the sheer
immensity of what he was forcing up my fuckchute. He packed me full and I started doing a slow
dance on his rigid dick, bumping and grinding and squeezing my ring down tight as he braced
his hands on my shoulders and started to fuck.

Regardless of what Cal told himself or anybody else, he definitely got off on fucking guys. I
knew for a fact that he had nothing against grabbing another man's stiff cock and pumping it.
Right now he had a firm grip on mine, his fist flying up and down the shaft, making me twitch
and squirm. He was also rubbing my belly and playing with my tits and balls till I was damn
near banging my head against the top of the old workbench as I savored some of the hottest
butt-humping I'd ever experienced.

Cal loved getting me to shoot while he was porking me, When I blow, I contract long and hard,
and when he played it right, old Cal could make me spasm for a good five minutes, keeping my
assring battened down nice and tight on his pistoning lovemuscle.

"Unh!" I leaned back against Cal's shaggy torso and let fly. My first thick blast of jizz
hit the wall. Cal grunted excitedly. He really got off on the volume of spunk I shot—something
else those gals couldn't give him. He drove deep and squeezed my nuts hard, making me shoot
off another gusher of goo. Once I'd stopped pumping, Cal pushed me back onto the bench and
kept on driving. After a couple of minutes, his cock jerked, his knob blew up big, and he
blasted my shitter full of juice.

When I staggered out into the warm night air, my balls were hollow and my ass had been fucked
raw, but I was content, at least for the moment. I watched as Cal's truck pulled out of the
drive and turned right, taking the road back into town.


The thing with Charlie Ferrin would probably never even have come to a head if I hadn't
decided to go out to Josie's Place, a honky-tonk joint about halfway between Harmonville
and Vidalia. The place was straight and redneck, but the music was good, and a man can
watch only so much television before he starts to believe the commercials.

Anyhow, I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, when some drunk asshole swaggered
over to where I was sitting at the bar. "Faggot!" he slurred, trying unsuccessfully to knock
me off my stool. I was ready to ignore that, but then he went and spit in my beer. "Drink
that, cocksucker," he bellowed, shoving me again.

"Knock it off!" I barked, hoping to bluster my way out of the situation. But my tormentor
was too drunk to be intimidated. Before I could move out of the way, he made a fist and
planted it in the middle of my chest, sending me sprawling. The place got real quiet. Then
three more drunks came over and started egging the guy on.

Needless to say, nobody was coming to my rescue, and I was beginning to think I was going
to experience a repeat of one of my childhood playground experiences when suddenly a man
came between me and the drunks. One look at the man's long black hair and the full, rounded
ass packed into the faded Levi's towering over me, and I knew it was Charlie. I couldn't
quite figure why he was willing to intervene, but I didn't lose any time worrying about
it. I scrambled to my feet and stood beside him, proud to claim him for an ally, at least
temporarily.

"Well, well, looks like we got us two faggots to whip," the man who had pushed me said,
taking a step forward. I glanced over at Charlie. The veins in his neck were standing
out like cords, and his face was scarlet. When his hands balled into fists and his shoulders
hunched forward, I leaned over and put a restraining hand on his arm. His biceps was hard
as a rock—a big, warm rock.

"Don't get in a brawl over me," I whispered. "You'll break your parole and get your ass
thrown back into the
jug."

"Don't care," Charlie growled, his voice harsh and raspy.

"Well, I care, dammit!" I snapped. It was true—the idea of Charlie going back to jail
where I couldn't see him for a stretch of three to five years struck me suddenly as
unbearable.

"Don't care," he repeated sullenly. I knew that I had to take action immediately. There
was no way in hell that I could stop Charlie Ferrin physically, but maybe—just maybe—I
could stop the situation. With that in mind, I doubled up my fist, and, putting my entire
weight behind it, smashed my tormentor in the jaw. The man's eyes rolled back and he hit
the barroom floor like a ton of shit. His buddies muttered curses and glared at me balefully,
but melted back into the crowd that had gathered around, unwilling to risk getting decked
by a pervert.

I turned around, ready to buy Charlie a beer, but he had already disappeared. It occurred
to me that wasn't such a bad idea, so I stalked out of the place, staring down any man
who dared to look my way.

The friends of the guy I had decked hadn't wasted any time. All four tires on my old Chevy
were flat, and the windshield had been bashed in. There was no way in hell that I was going
to go back into the bar, especially now that Charlie was gone. I stomped out of the gravel
parking lot and headed back to Harmonville, cursing a blue streak all the way.

When the pickup pulled up alongside me about a half mile down the highway, I figured I was
a dead man. I started breathing again only when I recognized the sound of Charlie's voice.
"Get in," he said, scooting over on the seat and throwing open the passenger door. I climbed
in and leaned back, watching the scenery glide by in the glare of Charlie's headlights.

The truck was permeated with his acrid, musky scent, a smell that was distinctly masculine
and very comforting. Neither of us spoke during the ride. When he pulled up in front of my
house, shut off the engine, opened the driver's door, and got out, I got too nervous to say
anything. Charlie followed me up the walk and into the house. My heart was pounding so hard
my rib cage hurt, and my damned tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Charlie wasn't being
much help, either. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he stared sullenly at the floor.
Whatever it was he wanted, he obviously wasn't going to ask for it verbally.

"Come on," I croaked finally, motioning for him to follow me. My bedroom was at the back of
the house, as far from my mother's room as possible. It had once served as a storeroom, but
I had converted it after I tumbled to the fact that I wasn't leaving Harmonville anytime soon.
You had to go out the kitchen door and across the side porch to get to it, and my mother never
came near it. I wasn't sure what was going to happen with Charlie, but I didn't want it to
take place in the garage. That was fine for Cal, but it didn't seem right for Charlie Ferrin.

Charlie stood by the door as I lowered the shades and turned on the light. I closed the gap
between us and locked eyes with him. One look into his large, dark brown eyes and I realized
that Charlie Ferrin was scared shitless. The poor fucker looked like a deer caught in the
headlights of an oncoming truck.

As I stared at his handsome face, his full red lips suddenly seemed irresistible. Hell, I'd
never kissed a man before in my life. None of the men I'd ever been with saw me as anything
more than a couple of holes with a dick attached, so kissing had been out of the question.
Now, though, it seemed right. I leaned forward slowly. Charlie didn't jerk his head away,
and our lips met.

An incredible surge of feelings jolted me at that first kiss. The sex heat was there, sure,
but there was also this feeling of tenderness and protectiveness that damn near made me feel
like crying. Charlie didn't resist when my tongue slipped into his mouth. He tasted like beer
and cigarettes, and the inside of his mouth was all wet and warm. I traced the tip of my
tongue around the roof of his mouth and Charlie moaned softly.

We stood there for the longest time, no point of contact between us except for lips and
writhing tongues. Oh, yes, Charlie's tongue started squirming around after a bit, rubbing
against mine and flickering delicately against my teeth. But it was mostly me, probing and
thrusting, penetrating his body, desiring to be inside of his warmth, his strength.

When I finally broke the kiss, my knees were weak. Charlie's eyes were shut tight, his checks
flushed. He looked like a little boy in that instant—well, like a big boy, anyway. He just
stood there, not moving, lips parted slightly, a bead of sweat trailing slowly down his neck.

"Can I touch you, Charlie?" I asked finally, my voice shaky. The kiss had been electric,
erotic beyond anything I had ever felt, complete in and of itself. To go further without
his permission seemed like a violation of his privacy. Besides, the asking carried its
own special magic.

"Don't care," Charlie murmured breathlessly, not moving when I pressed my hand against
the bare skin in the V of his faded shirt. The long hairs on his chest twined around my
fingers and I could feel his heart, slamming against his sternum. The heat of his body
shot up my arm and right down to my groin.

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it down over his shoulders. His skin was like
warm silk, stretched over the unyielding muscles beneath. I traced the veins that curved
over his swollen biceps, down his thick forearms to his wrists. His pulse was racing and
his breath sounded harsh in his throat.

Charlie stood passively as I knelt to unlace his dirt-caked boots. I pulled them off and
tucked his white socks inside, delighted by the little patch of dark hairs growing on the
tops of his feet. I unbuckled his belt and popped the buttons on his fly, then peeled him
out of his faded jeans. His muscular legs were pale in the lamplight, more hair feathering
over the bulge of his calves and down the insides of his thighs.

Charlie may have been scared, but his body was definitely interested. His prick was pointed
right between my eyes like a loaded gun, the crown flared, the pisshole gaping. I leaned
forward and nuzzled his crotch, sniffing his spicy musk. As I started licking his furry
balls, my hands wandered up the backs of his legs to his ass. It was covered with a soft
down that tickled against my palms and sent the blood surging to my cock.

He remained motionless, uttering only a soft moan when I swallowed his piece to the root.
He groaned a second time when my fingers wedged into the cleft between his asscheeks,
seeking out the tight little pucker hidden there.

I reached my goal and rubbed my finger across the moist, tender flesh. Much to my
surprise, Charlie shifted his feet, spreading his legs enough to give me access. I
continued sucking him, running my tongue up and down along the tender underbelly of
his prong. His asshole spasmed and throbbed, nibbling greedily at my fingertips.

I tensed my arm and pushed my hand up until my middle finger sank into Charlie, right
up to the webbing. For just a moment, I thought that maybe I had gone too far,
exploring Charlie's body in a way he wouldn't appreciate. His thighs tensed, he
sucked his belly back toward his spine, and his hole clamped down on my digit like
a vise, but he didn't smash my face in with one of his huge fists. Instead, I felt
one of those big hands flutter against my shoulder before coming to rest there. When
I looked up, his eyes were shut tight, but there was a faint smile playing around
the corners of his mouth.

Honey was bubbling out of Charlie by the time I stopped giving him head and stood up
to get naked myself. In the few seconds it took me to tear my clothes off, Charlie
stepped over to the bed and sprawled across it, face down. I asked no questions,
just knelt between his outspread legs and buried my face in his crack.

He tasted of salt. I licked the short hairs away from his asshole, then crammed my
tongue deep up inside of him. The walls of his funky little manhole were soft and
smooth, making my prick thump against my belly in anticipation. I slipped my hands
under Charlie's torso. He rose on his elbows. I tweaked his tits, popping them up
into points, then rubbed the balls of my thumbs against them till he was vibrating
like a harp string.

After kissing Charlie's asshole one last time, I braced myself above his passive
form and dragged my cock up and down along his crack. He quivered and bucked, his
ass flexing, grabbing at my tingling shaft. I held my breath as my knob finally
made contact with the pulsing mouth of his rear entry. There was a moment of
resistance. Then I breached his defenses and sank slowly into his clutching
manchannel, our bodies joining in a union of perfect pleasure.

"Oh, Eddie!" Charlie groaned, the muscles along his spine knotting as I probed his
steamy depths.

"Am I hurting you?" I whispered, stroking his muscled sides and kissing the throbbing
veins in his strong neck.

"Don't care," he gasped, shaking his head from side to side. His ass bumped back
against my pelvis, a sign I took to mean he wanted me to continue. I fell on top
of him, wrapped my arms around his thick chest, and started to fuck. Charlie twisted
his head around, lips parted, his mouth seeking mine blindly. Our tongues touched,
and I realized with a pleasurable jolt that that portion of my anatomy was every
bit as sensitive as my pistoning dick.

Topping a man like Charlie damn near shorted all my circuits. He was so hot and
tender and defenseless inside, sort of like finding a soft spot in a rock wall.
I hunched my hips, driving in deep, then drew out slowly, not stopping till his
sphincter caught the flaring rim of my crown. Charlie was cooing now, his big
body twisting under me as he writhed around the spike of flesh crammed up his
asshole. When I started pounding his prostate with my cockknob, Charlie squealed
and bucked up under me. I reached between his legs and groped him. His prick was
like a steel bar, and his balls were drawn up so tight on either side of the shaft,
I couldn't even get a grip on them.

My urgency increased with every pile-driving stroke I made. I was on the verge of
losing control anyway, and when Charlie's asshole started spasming around my aching
cock, I lost it. I reared back, braced my hands on his shoulders, and rode him as
hard and as fast as I could. Our moans rose to two cries of ecstatic pleasure as
we both started coming together. I could feel the strong contractions racking his
frame as he started pumping jizz out onto the bed just as I began pumping it up
his chute. Spunk gushed out of me as if it would never stop, blasting deep up
into Charlie's asshole. He obviously felt my spouting heat, whimpering as each
shot seared his bowels. When I had finished, I collapsed on top of him, totally
wrung out.

"Eddie," Charlie whispered, his hands closing over mine. It soon became clear that
he had no plans of letting my hands go, so I pressed my face against his neck and
fell asleep on top of him, my dick still poked up his hole.


When I woke up the next morning, I was on my back and Charlie was squatting over me,
pumping my prick to get it hard enough to sit on. Needless to say, it didn't take
him long to make me stiff, and we greeted the day with an exuberant fuck. He was
smiling as my cock drove up into him—a big. goofy grin that made him look like
an overgrown kid. He was handsome and sexy as hell, crouched over me, with his
long dark hair all mussed from sleep and last night's jizz still crusted on his
ridged gut. I reached up and pressed my hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat,
strong and steady. Then I remembered the tattoo. I brushed away the wisps of chest
hair until I could read the crude block lettering.

I read, then looked up at Charlie inquisitively. "Heart's Desire?"

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, then squeezed his asshole down nice and tight around
my throbbing dick. "Got it in the joint. Never knew why. Till now, I guess."

"Heart's Desire, Charlie." I tugged the lock of hair on his chest over the tattoo.
He leaned down and his hair brushed against my lips, and then his warm, soft mouth.


After we finally managed to get out of bed and into our clothes, I walked Charlie
out to his truck. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me tight. Our crotches
ground together. I could feel his prick stiffening against me.

"You're a horny bastard, Charlie Ferrin," I laughed, planting my hands on his hard
ass, not giving a damn about any of the scandalized faces appearing in the surrounding
windows. Hell, the neighbors needed some new gossip to keep things interesting.

"I'll come back tonight, Eddie," he said softly, his face suddenly serious. "If you'll
let me."

"Sure." For the first time I noticed that his eyes had little gold flecks in the irises.
Just before I let him go, I ducked my head and kissed the little marked spot on his
pec one last time.

Maybe it was real sudden, but it felt right. Being with Charlie, I didn't feel like
such an outcast for the first time in my life. You're an outcast only if you have
no friends, and now I had a buddy.

"Who was that?" I started and turned around. My mother was standing at the kitchen
door, her hair in big, unattractive pink rollers.

"Charlie Ferrin, Mother," I said, wishing she would go away.

"That criminal?" Mother wrapped her old robe tighter around her lumpy body. "What's
he doing here?"

"He's a friend, Mother," I said patiently.

"I don't want him hanging around here," she snapped, her face turning scarlet. "What
will the neighbors say?"

"Don't know, Mother," I said, shrugging my shoulders and turning away from her. "Don't care."

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995


TEXAS LONGHORN

"Damn! That is one fucking gorgeous hunk of meat," he groaned, stroking the
underside of my hard dick with his forefinger.

"Uh, thanks, Mr. Ferguson," I replied nervously. It was a little strange
hearing my English history professor talk that way, but then again, I'd never
been hunkered down between his outspread thighs, fingering his hairy asshole
before. I rubbed my finger over the greased-up brown pucker again, and the
muscles in his thighs bulged.

"Fuck my ass, Max," he snorted, reaching down and palming my balls. "Stick it
in me and do me dirty."

"Sure thing, Mr. Ferguson."

"Call me Paul, Max." He gripped my cock and squeezed till my knob glowed
crimson and a big dollop of goo oozed out the slit in the tip. "Under the
cirstances, that seems more appropriate."

"Yeah," I moaned, running my fingers through the mat of hair on his flat gut.
I had come over to his house to consult on sources for a history paper I was
writing. This had definitely been an unexpected bonus. Paul Ferguson was the
head of the history department, a foxy stud in his late thirties with bushy
dark hair, movie-star looks, and a surprisingly hot body under his professorial
tweeds. I'd lusted after him in a vague way since I saw him on campus during my
freshman year, but had never expected to be in the sack with him, listening to
him beg me to fuck him.

"Put it in me, Max. I want it bad." I shifted my hips back, pointed my prong at
the target and started moving in. His assring fluttered against my knob; then
the ruddy crown disappeared up into him. He groaned softly and reached up to
grab the rungs of the old brass bedstead we were sprawled out on with both
hands. I leaned forward to lap the sweat out of his furry pits, forcing my way
a couple of inches deeper into his steamy asshole.

"How big is that thing?" he asked, licking his full lips wolfishly.

"Ten inches." I tried to sound modest. I had been asked that question so many
times that it almost didn't embarrass me anymore. It used to bug the hell out of
me when I was in high school and got teased in the showers. Then, I went to college
and came out and discovered that a big dick was an asset, not a liability.

"Hung like a horse and smart, too." Paul locked his legs around my waist and pulled
me deep into him. "Give me all of it, right up to the hairy hilt. That's it. Jesus!"

My dick slid into him till my belly was pressed tight against his furry ass. He was
gasping and groaning and the veins in his arms were standing out like cables but he
didn't release the leglock, so I started humping him. I pulled it out slowly, teasing
him, then crammed it back in deep, making him squeal. At first I was thinking I must
be hurting him, but when I glanced down at his prick, it was flopping around on his
gut like a hard red fish out of water, so I just let loose and started to drive.

While I was tunneling into him, he just lay there, his eyes closed, lips drawn back
from his teeth, moaning incoherently. Man, he was one hot-looking guy. I reached up
and gripped his biceps, squeezing them tight. They were like rocks. I worked my way
down his sculpted lats to his narrow hips, then up over his belly to his pecs. They
were furred luxuriantly, capped with huge meaty nipples. The points were all swollen,
looking like they were in need of a good twisting. When I pinched the tender flesh,
his hips arched up off the bed and his slippery channel clamped down on my prick like
a wet fist.

"Work those fucking tits!" he roared, his eyes flashing with lust as he looked up at
me. "Fuck my hungry hole!" I clamped my fingers down tight and pulled hard. His muscles
tensed and his pecs swelled dramatically. Hell, even the hairs on his chest stood up
on end, covering the muscled surface like a dark cloud. I leaned into him and fucked
him till his head was bouncing against the rungs of the headboard.

After slipping it to him for about ten minutes, I was getting real close. My balls
had rolled up on top of my cockshaft, and I was starting to sweat. From the looks of
Paul's bloated piece, it was either going to shoot soon or explode from the pressure.
I did about a dozen more strokes, then groaned out a warning.

"I'm coming!" I shouted, my body starting to shiver and shake.

"Pull out! I want to see you shoot!" I jerked my dick out of his slew just in time to
lay a thick line of come on him from navel to neck. He fisted his own meat and started
pumping, quickly joining me in crisscrossing his torso with pungent ropes of creamy
white jizz. When I was drained, I slumped forward on top of him.

"Oh, man!" I moaned softly.

"Jesus!" he sighed, panting raggedly.

"What the hell?" My head jerked over toward the door of the bedroom. A tall brunette
stood in the doorway, her face a mask of horrified surprise.

"Marilyn! What the hell are you doing here?" Paul gasped, a note of fear creeping
into his tone.

"Me! What the hell are you doing here, you pervert?"

"I can explain," he yelped desperately, pushing me off him. Needless to say, at that
point I didn't care much about his explanations—I just wanted to get the hell out
of there. I grabbed my pants off the floor beside the bed, eyed the woman, then
checked out the bedroom window. The window looked safer, so I climbed out on the
roof of the porch and jumped to the ground. As I ran down the driveway, pulling up
my pants, I heard angry voices cutting through the night.

Even after feeling him up, licking him, sucking his cock and fucking his tight ass
for a whole evening, it turned out that there were several things I didn't know
about Paul Ferguson. That he was married to the daughter of the president of the
college, for example. Within forty-eight hours, my full scholarship had been with-
drawn and I had been asked to leave school quietly. Maybe I could have fought it
with the help of a good lawyer, but I was scared and humiliated, so I just packed
up my car and started to drive.

I didn't dare to tell my parents, so there was no going home. My bankroll and my
car both gave out when I got to Dallas, so I abandoned the car, grabbed my suitcase,
and started looking for work. As I soon found out, there isn't much demand for
expelled homewreckers without a degree. I couldn't even find a job flipping burgers
and was soon faced with the prospect of sleeping on the street.

That was when I found The Silver Bullet and began my new career. The Bullet was
in a run-down part of town, tucked in under a viaduct. It was a private club that
offered the patrons booze and male dancers. By stretching all the regulations and
posting a big bruiser at the front door, the owner also dared to offer several
little extras that kept the public coming back for more.

I saw the "help wanted" sign in the window and stepped into the place, hoping for
the best. "How big is it?" the guy behind the bar asked, ignoring my greeting and
my outstretched hand. Hell, I was desperate and hungry, so I dropped my pants and
showed him. He just nodded and told me I started in an hour.

The Silver Bullet was a J.O. club. Only the dancers did most of the J.O. while the
guys who had paid their ten bucks sat around drinking beer and watching. I'd never
been an exhibitionist, but when I found out how much money a guy could make by
pumping it in public, I became one quickly. All I had to do was come out onstage,
do a slow strip, then whack off. At the end of a set, the stage would be covered
with come and cash. It wasn't much to write home about, but it beat sleeping under
a bridge and scavenging in garbage cans for my meals.



My first Saturday night turned out to be a big surprise. When I got in to the club,
one of my co-workers told me that it was audience participation night. "What the
hell's that supposed to mean?" I challenged, not liking the sound of it.

"You'll see." He grinned slyly. "Lets just say you'll get a big hand from everybody."
I stepped out of my street clothes and into the jock, boots, and Stetson that
comprised my dancing costume. Since I had the biggest dick of all the dancers,
the manager had dubbed me "The Texas Longhorn." Well, this was the first time I'd
ever been in Texas, but the name stuck. I adjusted the angle of my hat, settled
my cock and balls in the pouch of the jock, and walked out onto the stage with the
other guys.

The music started blasting and we all did a few bumps and grinds, but it was clear
we weren't following the usual pattern and doing a solo J.O. turn. For one thing,
the crowd was more restless than usual, and about twenty guys were lining up off
on one side of the stage. I was still trying to figure what was going down when
the music stopped and the manager strode out to center stage.

"Evening, gents," he drawled, holding up his hands for silence. "I guess we all
know why we're here tonight."

"I wish I did," I groused, turning to the dude next to me. He just shook his head
and chuckled.

"Which one of these hot studs do you want to get your hands on tonight?"

"Give us the blond," one drunken voice bellowed.

"I want the Indian chief," someone else called out, indicating the guy next to me.

"Texas Longhorn," a third man called out. A big roar of approval rang out, drowning
out any further suggestions. Once the manager had everyone quieted down, the other
dancers filed offstage and I was left there alone under the bright lights.

"Show the guys your stuff," the manager demanded. I pulled my jock down slowly and
hooked it behind my cock and balls, letting my jewels dangle out for everyone to see.
I licked my forefinger and started rubbing my piss-slit, but the manager's arm shot
out and pulled my hand away. "You got help tonight, dude," he said, shaking his head
at me. "You don't have to do a damned thing but stand there and look hot. Isn't that
right, men?" The crowd roared again and the men who had been lining up began filing
out onstage.

"These here dudes will be your hand tonight," he explained, clapping a heavy paw on
my shoulder. "The longer it lasts, the more money you'll make," he hissed as he moved
off to the side. "Two bucks a stroke, gents." He raised his voice so the crowd could
hear him. "Just two bucks to take a pull on this Texas longhorn's big, fat root. Hell
of a bargain, gents. Hell of a bargain."

The first guy stepped up to me and licked his lips. He laid a twenty down on the stool
beside me and flexed his hands. I winced when he grabbed my pecker, but he had talented
fingers and my dick was getting hard after five long, slow pulls. By the time he had
stroked me ten times, I had a raging stiffer.

"Step aside or lay down more of the green," the manager warned, putting a hand on the
guy's shoulder. He shrugged and walked to the back of the line. The next man took his
place, laying a ten on top of the twenty.

This went on till my balls were drawing up and sweat was starting to trickle down my
sides. Everybody had a different technique—squeezing, jerking, stroking, slow, fast,
you name it—and every one felt damn good on my meat, especially after I focused on a
point up near the ceiling so I didn't have to look too closely at some of them.

Suddenly, my field of vision was filled with something I couldn't ignore. I hadn't
noticed the dude standing in line before this little contest started, so he must have
joined in late. Believe me, if he had been there, I would have seen him. He towered
over me—a good 6'6" at least— with huge shoulders. He had his shirtsleeves rolled
way up high, displaying massive forearms and biceps that bulged like veiny grapefruits.
His shirt was open, revealing a muscled stretch of torso, glossy with black hair.
The view down was equally impressive—faded denim stretched across narrow hips, thick
thighs and calves and a basket that was putting a serious strain on the buttons of his
fly.

As my gaze rose to his face, my heart jolted against my rib cage and my prick slapped
stickily against my belly. The guy had blue eyes, arched by bushy black brows, a
heavy mustache drooping around the corners of his mouth and a two days' growth of
beard on his squared jaw. When he smiled at me and winked, I almost climbed his
frame, right then and there.

"Save it for me, buddy," he said, laying two bucks on the growing pile. "I'm depending
on you." I looked down as his huge hand enveloped my aching stiffer. Nestled there in
his palm, my prick looked positively small. When he wrapped his long, thick fingers
around the shaft, the whole thing disappeared except for the knob that was nuzzling
against his wrist. He pulled up real slow, massaging my tingling cock with callused
fingertips. When he had done his single stroke, he pulled his hand away, sniffed it,
then touched it to the brim of his sweat-stained gray Stetson. He winked again, then
sauntered to the back of the line.

"Look at him leak, gents," the manager called out. "I think he's getting close to the
end of the line." I looked down and saw a long string of clear goo linking my knob to
the stage floor. It hung there till I flexed, and my cock jerked. "Seems to me it's
time to up the ante. The price of love just went up to ten bucks a pull. Still a bargain,
considering what you'll be pulling on. Not to mention the winner's pot for the dude who
makes him spew. Two hundred dollars—and all the sticky stuff the longhorn here can pump."

There was some grumbling in the line, and a couple of guys stalked back to their seats.
Then the money started piling up again. As the first guy stroked my dick, I looked along
the line. My tall cowboy was about fifteen places back. He saw me looking his way and
winked again. I winked back and concentrated all my efforts on not popping my load before
his next turn.

He was still five back when I started biting my tongue. My toes were curling in my boots
and my balls were bouncing, but I was determined to save it for my cowboy. Two more
men groped at me, and I managed to hold back. The third took a pull, and my comehole
started to gape. I almost lost it when the fourth man squeezed my cock hard and tickled
my balls, but somehow kept the flood from spewing out. The man scowled with disappointment
and reached for me a second time but the manager pushed him aside.

"Ready, pardner?" the big man drawled, taking his place in front of me.

"Touch me quick!" I moaned, my whole body on fire. He reached out and tickled my trigger
and I blew a shot up his massive forearm and up over the curve of his biceps. At that
point, he latched on and started pumping, claiming his prize. My balljuice gushed up
along his arm a second time. Then he pointed my cock slightly to the right, and I frosted
the hairs on his chest with strings of white stuff. He jacked my prick till I was drained,
then turned to the crowd and raised his jizz-streaked arm in triumph.

The manager handed him a fistful of bills and the cowboy jammed them into his pocket.
Then he turned around, grabbed me, flung me over his shoulder, and strode off the stage.
I was still weak from coming, but I couldn't have resisted him even if I had wanted to.
He was twice my size and solid muscle. He carried me back to the dressing rooms behind
the stage and slammed the door behind us.

"You got me all hot and bothered, pardner," he said, peeling out of his shirt. "How'd
you like to tangle with a real Texas longhorn?" Without waiting for my answer, he
started popping the buttons on his fly. He pushed his Levi's down over his thighs,
freeing up the biggest damned dick I'd ever seen. It was already rockhard —long and
thick and straight, the shaft gnarled with purplish veins. He was uncut, and his knob
bulged inside its cover, stretching the foreskin tight.

I dropped to my knees and gripped his hairy thighs. From this angle, his cock looked
even more massive, the juicetube running along the underside bulging out bigger than
my forefinger. I licked his hairy nuts, then lapped hungrily along the shaft till I
got out to the end. It had to be half again as long as my own dick, which put him well
over the twelve-inch mark. No doubt about it, he was a true Texas longhorn!

I nipped at his knob, pulling away the skin and shaking my head from side to side. His
thighs tensed and his big hands clamped behind my head. As I opened my mouth wide, he
started feeding me meat as fast as I could swallow. I took it to within about five
inches of his bush, then started choking, overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. He let
me pull back and concentrate on the head, slowly peeling it bare and probing his
comehole for honey.

"Get on up here, buddy," he growled after I had polished his big knob till it glistened.
He picked me up and put me on an old table on my hands and knees. He buried his face
in my crack, scratching me with his stubbled chin as he reamed out my asshole with
his tongue. My own prick had gone stiff again the minute he had carried me offstage,
so it didn't take him many pulls until he had a palmful of juice to use for lube. He
stood up, crammed a couple of slippery fingers up my chute and swabbed them around
inside of me. Then, while I watched him over my shoulder, he shucked his foreskin back,
took aim, and drove into me like a pile driver.

"Yee-ha!" he shouted, slapping me soundly on the ass with one of his enormous hands.
My butt twitched and I pushed back, transported by a wave of brain-numbing horniness.
My asshole burned like fire. I felt I was going to split wide open—but what a way to
go! He kept packing my ass, punching inch after inch of his throbbing bone up my butt
till his bush was tickling my crack. It felt as if I could have stuck my finger down
my throat and touched his knob, but my own cock was poking me in the belly, so I
figured I'd live.

I wiggled my hips, grinding my butt back against him. He swatted me again, then clamped
his hands on my waist and proceeded to ride me as if he were breaking a wild mustang.
He dragged it out real nice and slow, then fucked me with just his knob in my butt
till I was begging for it. When he had me hot enough, he pounded it deep, sending
shock waves through my frame that exploded in my aching balls. Once he was in to the
hilt, he rotated his hips, stirring his cock around and making me gasp for air and
pound my fists on the tabletop.

Suddenly he picked me up off the table and wrapped his big arms around my chest, then
turned around so we could both watch in the mirror on the back of the door as he pumped
his big cock in and out of my ass. His shaft slid out, inch after vein-bloated inch.
Then he pumped it till all you could see was an extra pair of bull-sized balls dangling
beneath my own. I slipped my hands around his thick neck and twisted my head so I could
kiss him.

The sensation of his tongue snaking into my mouth was incredibly intense. I sucked on
it while I writhed against his hairy frame in a frenzy of lust. He squeezed me tighter
and tighter, making it hard to breathe, but I didn't care. All I cared about was that
massive hard-on churning my guts to jelly.

The big horny cowboy riding my ass went rigid, and I felt his knob swell up like a
baseball deep inside of me. Suddenly his schlong slid out of my asshole and curved
up between my legs. He bellowed and a blast of jism hit the mirror and dripped down
the smudged surface of the glass. I reached down quickly and fisted both our cocks,
pumping frantically until I joined him in a five-star, ball-jiggling orgasm that left
me weak.

When he finally let me go, I turned around to look at him. His pants were around his
knees, and his hat was still on. A lot of guys would've looked pretty dumb like that,
but my cowboy didn't look dumb at all. As a matter of fact, he was the sexiest thing
I'd ever seen.

"Randy Travers is the name." He held his hand out solemnly. "Pleased to meet you."

I shook his hand, doing my best not to laugh. "Max Anders," I replied, fighting the
urge to drop down and start swinging on his pecker again.

"Buy you a beer?" he asked, pulling up his pants and tucking his cock inside. "I
usually like to buy a dude a beer first, but you got me all worked up out there."

"Yeah, I noticed," I chuckled, stumbling across the room in search of my own pants.
"I could use a beer about now."

"Great. Maybe after I'll drive you out to my spread. I raise horses." He grinned at
me as he tucked in his shirt. "Who knows, we might even saddle up and go for a ride.
A long, slow easy ride this time. Out in the country under the stars. What do ya say,
pardner?"

Hell, what could I say? After all, a man doesn't meet an authentic Texas longhorn
every day of the week.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



HUGGING THE MOSSY TREE

The first time I laid eyes on Ben was in the lumber camp's communal showers.
I was standing under one of the powerful jets, washing off the dirt and sweat
of a day spent topping some old giants back in the deep woods, just enjoying
the hot water and the feeling of being alive. My eyes were closed and my mind
was a million miles away when I heard a moan of pain. Opening my eyes, I found
myself staring into a pair of big, deep-blue eyes, brimming with tears. A
gorgeous guy was standing in front of me, his left arm raised, as if he was
reaching around to scratch between his shoulder blades.

"Help me!" he yelped. "Cramp." A glance at his biceps clued me in—it was bulging
unnaturally, the muscle clenched like a fist. I reached out and gripped his arm,
squeezing firmly, working to get the blood flowing in the strained tissue again.
The guy quickly relaxed and within a couple of minutes, he was practically purring.

"That ought to take care of it." I gave his arm a final squeeze, then let go. It
was starting to feel too good for comfort, and my fingers were tempted to stray
beyond the arm to the tight curve of the pec and on down over the sharply etched
ridges of his abs.

"Thanks, mister. My name's Ben."

"Rick," I replied, shaking hands with him.

"Today's my first day," he announced, maybe just so I wouldn't mistake him for
an old hand..

"So I figured." I looked pointedly at his sore arm. "Maybe you should take it a
little bit easy at first. When I started out, I'll bet every muscle in my body
cramped up at one time or another."

"I'll tell you, Rick, it'll be worth it if I end up with a build like yours."
He stood looking at me for a minute, then stepped back under the shower jet. I
grabbed the soap and started washing myself again, just so I'd have an excuse to
stick around and watch him. He was hairless from the waist up, but his legs and
ass were sprinkled with silky ringlets of dark brown fur. Curls clustered densely
around the base of his fat prick and almost obscured his high-riding balls. When
he bent down to wash his feet, the cleft between his tight cheeks spread apart
and I caught a flash of a tender pink pucker, ringed by more tightly clustered
curls. By the time he turned off the water and walked out of the showers, I was
so horny that my balls hurt.

What I needed to do was to go out in the forest and climb a mossy tree. With all
the rain we get over here on the Olympic Peninsula, moss grows on anything that
doesn't keep moving. Hell, some people claim that the moss grows on the folks who
live around here. It's smooth and cool and soft, and a hell of a lot more comfort-
ing on a man's tender dickskin than a callused palm.

I walked over to an isolated spot, stripped out of my jeans, and knelt down to
retie my boots. I buckled on my climbing cleats, strapped my safety belt around
my waist and shinnied up one of the old trees till I felt the rays of the late-
afternoon sun on my bare shoulders. My knees tightened against the soft, springy
moss as I rubbed my hands up slowly from my crotch, over my belly and chest. The
new guy had been right: I kept myself in real good shape. I tensed my pecs and
lowered my hands very slowly till my fingers were hovering just above the meaty
points of my tits.

I waited, anticipating the pleasure I knew would go shooting from the sensitive
flesh, ripping through my frame and finally registering in my big balls and the
bloated tube of flesh that was already curving up against my furry gut. I did it
finally, and the jolt of pleasure that rocked me was so intense that I groaned.

I played my nips till juice was starting to ooze out of the slit in the tip of my
prick. Then I reached up and latched on to a couple of the limbs growing just above
my head. Once I was anchored securely, I hunched my hips slowly into the tree,
pressing my prick tight against the springy moss. The coolness against my cockshaft
and along the inside of my thighs was a delicious contrast to the heat that was
rapidly building up in my belly. I tightened my grip. Now my whole horny body
rubbed up against the moss.

Humping the thick strong trunk of a mossy tree is the next best thing to rubbing
your meat against the cool, hard flank of a hot young stud you've managed to pin
to the floor. I pumped my hips and groaned, feeling the moss catch at the spiky
hairs on my ballbag as I dragged it up and down the trunk. I tensed my body and
thrust my pelvis against the trunk of the tree, then began humping hard and fast
as the slippery juice poured out of me, slicking the shaft of my meat till it
gleamed like glass.

I finally pumped it that final time that snaps a man's nuts up tight and bristles
the hairs on his ass, making his breath catch in his throat. I leaned back and
looked down along my body, following the line of fur splitting me in half. My
dick head was swollen to twice its usual size, gleaming a dusky purple. My come-
hole gaped wide, gradually filling with a quivering drop of white. I grunted and
shot a thick line of white stuff up along my torso. The hot juice splattered
against my chin and dripped down onto my pecs, catching in the spiky hairs.

I savored this first wave of coming for as long as I could, then hugged the tree
and started pumping it with all my strength. More jism squirted out of me, warming
my belly briefly, then soaking into the absorbent moss. When my balls were finally
drained dry, I hung against the tree, panting raggedly. As I slowly climbed back
down to the ground, the last rays of the sun illuminated the massive trunk. The
spot of moss I had just been fucking looked more lush than ever, glowing a rich,
fertile green before fading into the shadows.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I hugged that mossy tree a lot. Ben was
assigned to my crew, and the more I was around him, the more I fell under his
spell. He had been studying forestry management at the university in Seattle
till his old man died, and Ben had been pegged to come home and work to take
care of his family. His enthusiasm was impossible to ignore. When one of the
other toppers quit, Ben wanted the job. The foreman consulted with me and told
me that he was willing to give Ben a chance if I would agree to train him.

You gotta start young to do a job like tree topping; otherwise a man gets too
fond of his own neck to risk it. I had been doing it for almost twenty years,
and I loved working way up in the trees above everyone else. I also liked the
pay, and I probably even got off a little bit on the danger. In any case, I was
the only man who knew the job inside and out, so suddenly I had a pupil. It put
Ben in my face—literally.

"Fart in his face, kid. It'll sweeten his breath." This jibe came from one of
my buddies on the crew the first day I got the climbing cleats and safety belt
on Ben and started to follow him up a tree. Climbing isn't as easy as it looks,
and I really did damn near have my nose jammed into his hot little crack as he
worked his way up along the trunk. If he started to fall, I wanted to be close
enough to catch him before he scraped all the hide off his body by sliding down
on the rough bark. I had seen it happen to other dudes. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Screw you, Sims," I hollered back cheerfully. "I'm just glad I'm not training
you. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to see the sky above me, staring at your
flabby ass.

"This is great, man," Ben said when we were about thirty feet off the ground.
He looked down over his shoulder at me and flashed me a heart-stopping grin.
His handsome young face was flushed with his efforts, and his cheeks were
glowing a ruddy pink. "Quite a view from up here. I—oh, shit!" His grin froze
and he started to come down at me.

One of his cleats had caught only in the bark, which gave way without warning.
His foot flailed in the empty air, then his other spike came loose because of
the angle of his body. My reflexes kicked in, and instinctively I gripped the
trunk with all the strength in my legs. I stuck my arms straight up in the air,
and my hands clamped down right around his rib cage. His body was rigid, and I
could feel his heart fluttering against my fingertips.

"You wanna go back down?" I grunted.

"Not a chance!" he retorted between clenched teeth. "Let's go on up to the top."

"Dig in, then, and try not to spike me. Okay?" I held him until he got his
cleats back in the trunk and began his ascent without any further difficulties.

From that day forward, Ben learned very quickly. He was about forty pounds lighter
than me, and he could go up a tree fast as a damned monkey. He didn't have my upper-
body strength, so he couldn't handle the big saws all day long, but he was hell
with the branch loppers and could get a tree prepped for me to top like nobody's
business.

What with Ben in my sights day after day, my old mossy tree was getting a hell
of a workout every evening. The patch of moss I fertilized with my balljuice had
turned a more brilliant green than the surrounding area. The other night, when
I began shinnying up the familiar old trunk, I didn't realize I wasn't alone
until I glanced up and saw a boot, not more than two feet above my head. I
skidded to a stop and craned my head. I followed the line of the bare leg up
to the tantalizing rise of the pale, fuzzy ass, then on to a well-muscled back.
Then I recognized the man who was trespassing in my tree. Ben was peering down
at me over his shoulder, a smile on his handsome face, his full lips parted
slightly.

"What the hell!" I snapped testily. "What're you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he gulped. His voice was shaky.

"How'd you know I might be coming this way?" I figured the little bastard had
been spying on me—and me thinking I was so goddamned secretive!

"I—I've been watching," he admitted. His face was scarlet. "I'm sorry, Rick. I
couldn't help it. I followed you the first time—I was going to ask you a question.
Only you were already up the tree when I got here. Then, I probably should've
left, but..." He grinned in spite of himself. "Do you have any idea how hot you
looked from down on the ground, humping this big old tree? The muscles in your
ass, and the way your big, fat balls hung down so low...well, I'm sorry, but it
was more than this horny dude could resist. So I watched."

"So," I began, "I guess you want me to watch you this time. Is that it?"

"Not exactly." Ben thrust out his ass, putting his weight on his safety belt.
The movement spread his cheeks wide apart, and his pretty little pucker winked
teasingly at me. Then he flexed his thighs. His ass swung down closer to my
face. "I was thinking that maybe I could join you up here. I figured that maybe
two horny guys could have more fun than just one."

There's a time for talk and a time for action—this was the latter. I hiked my
safety belt up a couple of feet and climbed till my face smacked against his
ass. I drove my tongue up into his tight, quivering chute as far as I could,
then slowly drew it back out. Ben groaned and his springy assring opened up
to me.

His hole was hot and silky, the tangy spice of his musky little bung quickly
popping a long, hard bone into my buttbuster, making it curve up eagerly against
my washboard gut. I tipped my head back farther and Ben's silky-haired ballbag
rolled against the bristles on my chin. I reached up and grabbed his taut thighs
to hold him down, even though I had a strong feeling that he wasn't planning to
go anywhere.

Abandoning his succulent hole for a moment, I opened wide and swallowed both his
nuts. Ben wiggled and squealed. The muscles in his lean thighs went rigid. I
traced the little seam down the middle of the bag from the base of his cock,
right back over his eggs and up to his crack, spearing him on the point of my
tongue again without releasing his balls from the confines of my mouth. Finally
my greed overtook me. I hooked a finger around the base of his rigid prick and
forced it back and down. I kissed the delicate pink tip, then lunged up, taking
him down to the root. He let out a high-pitched squeal, then got real still as
I began lapping along the veiny shaft.

I could hear his breath, shallow, ragged and irregular as I alternated sucking
his cock and rimming his tender butthole. My meat was throbbing and I had begun
humping my old spot on the tree, content to get him off with my mouth. I wouldn't
have asked for anything more, but Ben let me know exactly what he wanted without
speaking a word.

Ben reached down between his legs, his fingers grazing my straining torso. I felt
his fingers on my belly. Then they closed over the swollen knob of my cock, milking
out juice till the big glans gleamed in the evening light. I felt him grip the shaft,
squeezing tight in a failed attempt to make his fingers meet on the other side. I
humped the tight collar a few times, my tingling dick thrilling to the touch of a
man's horny-hand. I thought he was going to get me off manually, but his hand
reached lower still and suddenly gripped my tender nuts.

When a man's balls are being pulled up, a man generally tends to follow. I sure
did, digging in my climbing spikes and inching up under Ben until my hips smacked
against his hard backside. My prick was jutting up between his thighs and he was
spitting on the head and getting it all nice and slippery. Then he pushed it down
and back, guiding the sticky snout into the furry crevasse between his cheeks. I
felt the sweaty warmth, the tickle of fuzz on tender tissue, then the fluttering
kiss of his springy assring against my knob. I slowly straightened my legs and
rose up under him, driving deep into the yielding warmth of his strong body.

"Start humping the mossy tree, old buddy," I growled, jabbing my tongue into his
ear. Ben wriggled his shoulders against my pecs and began tentatively rubbing his
dick against the cool moss.

"No wonder you like this," he sighed, his asschannel tightening on my prong as his
hips thrust forward. I followed the motion, keeping my cock wedged firmly in his
steamy heat. We were pressed together damn near from head to toe. His long legs
curved against the tops of my thighs, and his thick calves brushed against my
shins. My hips were glued to his ass, and his backbone curved back into the hollow
of my belly, barely grazing the line of hair on my gut, heightening the sensations
shooting through me just one more notch. The leather of his safety belt cut in just
below my pecs, the rough edge brushing occasionally against the tight points of my
tits and blasting sparks straight down to my asshole. All in all, I was in paradise.

Once Ben started humping the moss, he couldn't bring himself to stop. I don't know
if it was the feel of what was going on inside or outside of his body, but I do know
that he just kept on squirming and bucking. I buried my face against his neck and
whimpered as the friction of his slippery gut took me right up to the edge. My whole
body tensed and I rammed forward, pinning Ben motionless against the trunk of the
tree.

"I'm coming, Rick, I'm coming!" he sobbed, his chute clutching at me frantically.
I smelled him blow rather than saw his juice. The spicy scent was the last straw.
I couldn't put off the moment a second longer. I pulled my cock out of its sheath.
The jizz gushed up against his spine like a fountain. It ran down into his crack
and dripped off his balls onto the ground far below. When the last jolting waves
of my ball-draining orgasm had faded away, I kissed his neck and we climbed down.

We got back to camp and slipped into the showers to wash away the traces of our
little romp in the trees. I figured the place would be empty so late in the evening,
but Pete Phelps, one of the old-timers was there, taking his weekly bath. He nodded
when we walked in, then stared at Ben, a puzzled look on his grizzled old face.

"I'll be damned!" he said. "I ain't seen a case of moss belly that bad in years.
Folks try to tell you it's nothing but an old wives' tale, but I know better. Yes
sir. You might oughta see a doc about that, young fella."

I looked over at Ben and had to laugh. He had bits of moss clinging to the silky
hairs on the insides of his thighs and tangling in his curly bush, giving his lower
body a decidedly greenish cast. Ben looked down at himself and blushed furiously.

"Moss belly for sure," Pete muttered, shaking his head as he shuffled out of the
showers. "I'll be damned." Once Pete was out of sight, I smacked Ben on the ass
and pushed him under a shower jet. I had a strong feeling that after tonight he
would have a new nickname to contend with. For my part, I sure as hell was
planning to help him live up to it.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



OBSESSION

"Your Honor, I would like to request that my client be allowed to..." The
attorney's voice droned on in the heat of the afternoon. I fought to concen-
trate, but the scene in front of me with its defenders and prosecutors and
the dozen bored, drowsy jurors kept fading to a vision of the pale, silky
down that curled against the inside of his thighs. The sounds of judicial
argument around me faded to a whisper like the sound that issued from him
when my tongue made contact with his succulent nipples. I shook myself and
cleared my throat noisily, struggling to focus on the here and now, but it
was hard.

So hard. His young prick, pressed against my leg or back or cheek, drizzling
honey. He was full of it, slippery with it, ready in a heartbeat to roll on
his belly and offer me his ass, or straddle my broad chest so that I could
worship his jutting manhood with my mouth. A lick, a gentle stroke, a casual
raking of fingertips against his concave gut—that was all it took to spring
his cock to rigid attention, aimed and set to fire. And all for me this vision
of male perfection—offering all, denying nothing, conquering all with his
yielding passion.

My docket had been full to overflowing when I arrived at the courthouse early
in the morning, and it was 5:15 when I finally escaped to my chambers to enjoy
a few moments of solitude. I loosened my tie and propped my feet up on the
corner of my desk. That done, I reached for the stack of messages that were
piled neatly beside the telephone.

I divided the slips of paper into three piles: one requiring my personal response,
one for my assistants to field, the third to be filed in the wastepaper basket
beside my desk. The personal calls—four of them—were from my wife, reminding
me to pick up our son at the airport later that evening. She always became
frantic when Robert, Jr. was on an airplane, evidently convinced that it would
crash and destroy one of the few remaining ties which bound our shaky domesticity
together. These messages, like all things related to my lady wife, required
immediate response. As I reached for the telephone to assure her that I had
not forgot about our son, my namesake, sole issue of our conjugal loins, I saw
the flashing light that indicated an incoming call on my private line. My
secretary had already gone home for the day, so I picked up the receiver myself.
"Judge Fenwick," I barked, my tone still that of the authority who dispensed
justice from his perch high above all the lesser mortals who entered the realm
of my court.

"I want you, Robbie. I can practically feel your big, hard cock up inside me,
twitching and throbbing as it slides in and out of my ass. I want to feel the
hairs on your chest tickling me when they rub against my shoulders. I need you,
Robbie. I want you. Now. Tonight." The voice was urgent, breathy, unmistakable.

"Jamie, I asked you not to call me here."

"I'm sorry, Robbie. It's just that you haven't called me for days now. I'm so
horny it hurts. Jerking off doesn't help—you should know that. I think about
you all the time, Robbie. I close my eyes and all I can see is your big, strong
body, hovering over me, keeping me safe. I'm aching for your touch, Robbie. And
your big, hard dick. Come to me tonight. Please!"

"Jamie, I—" At the first sound of his voice, my blood pressure had begun to rise.
Now, staring at the rows of legal texts that lined the shelves of my office, I
could see Jamie's taut body, could trace the swell of muscle at shoulder and
thigh, could smell the musky scent of his silky ballsac. My cock surged to
throbbing life at the thought, as randy and uncontrolled as though it grew
between the legs of a horny young man.

But I wasn't the teenager Jamie was. All nineteen years of him. I was a forty-
four year old attorney, twice elected judge. I was a family man, a pillar of
the community and member in good standing of almost every prestigious club in
the city. I was also obsessed with the luminous depths of Jamie's blue eyes. I
was carried away by the perfection of the firm, milky white, hairless globes of
his gorgeous ass and the delicate quivering pink rosebud tucked into the cleft
between them. I lived for the feel of his long, catlike tongue as he lapped my
armpits or groomed the mat of hairs on my thick chest. I knew how Jamie felt—I
was so horny it hurt.

Jamie had awakened a part of me that I had spent a lifetime trying to ignore.
I had played around as a young man, but the knowledge of how much I liked sex
with other men had terrified me. Fantasies of being a sexual outlaw had not
squared with my plans for a brilliant career. And so I had married young,
concentrated on my career, and kept the closet door firmly locked and barred.
Once I hit forty, I believed that I was finally safe. After all, I had lost
interest in sex—my wife and I had maintained separate bedrooms for years—and
I had banished any lingering thoughts of passion by long, grueling hours spent
on the running track and in the gym. No, carnal lusts were behind me and I was
free to pursue my passion for the law.

Then Jamie came to me and blew my well-ordered, monkish life to smithereens. I
was driving home one steamy afternoon in mid-August and saw him standing beside
a stalled car on a deserted stretch of highway. I didn't make it a practice to
stop for motorists in distress, but there was something about him that caused
me to brake to a halt and back up to where he stood. In retrospect, I realize
that the "something" I responded to was his tight, lean, perfectly proportioned
body, clad only in a pair of baggy white shorts, and his angelic face, framed
by thick blond curls. He was perfect, the last vestiges of his boyhood fading
as he stood poised on the verge of his manhood.

I was all seriousness—the competent adult, bound to help a feckless youth. As
a boy, my first love had been cars, and I could still repair almost anything
under the hood of an automobile unless the damaged part was totally beyond
saving. I only glanced at the young man beside the fender of his car before
turning my attention to the engine well. The problem was an easy one—a loose
hose to reattach and a coupling to tighten. As a precaution to avoid ruining
my five-hundred-dollar suit and custom-tailored shirt, I stripped to the waist,
then set about my work.

Twenty minutes sufficed to put the car back into working condition. When I stood
up and slammed down the car's hood, I was filthy—arms and hands caked with dirt,
my torso smeared with grease and oil. The young man saw my dilemma and suggested
that we walk over to a small lake near the highway that was screened from view
by a grove of trees.

We talked of sports and the weather as he led me through the woods to this
private swimming hole. When we got to the water's edge, I stood there, helpless
as a child, filthy hands hanging at my sides. He dropped to his knees and un-
laced my shoes, then stood and began unbuckling my belt. His knuckles brushed
against my flat gut making the skin tingle as though with mild electric shock.
I should have realized my danger, but I stood there passively as he helped me
out of my trousers.

When we were both stripped naked, we walked out into the water. I waded out until
the water was waist deep, then I stopped and began washing myself. I lost track
of the handsome young man until suddenly he shot up from beneath the surface of
the water, directly in front of me. He shook himself vigorously, throwing off
water droplets in shimmering arcs that glimmered in the afternoon sun. He laughed
and lunged at me unexpectedly. His left shoulder connected with my gut, overbalancing
me, sending me sprawling on my butt in the cool mud. I stood up, ready to make
some pompous protest, but before any words could form, the handsome young man
smiled angelically and smacked his hands against the surface, splashing water
up into my face.

The water fight was on. I hadn't played—really played—since puberty, but play I
did. We laughed and shouted, splashed and wrestled till we both were gasping for
air. My first realization that there was something out of the ordinary was when
he fell against me. His arms slipped around my waist, and he pressed his face
tight against my chest. It was then that I felt his cock, hard and hot, crushed
against my hip. I stiffened, shocked by this blatant display of his unbridled
sex. I began to say something, but the young man's hands slipped down and wrapped
around my own towering erection. It jutted up between us like a heavily veined
club, the bloated knob on the end glowing a dusky crimson.

I was terrified by the implications of my body's response to the young man's
tight, smooth flesh, but he seemed fearless enough. He looked at me and smiled,
then strained up towards me and kissed my throat. The rigidly conventional mind-
set that had guided all my life, screamed that it was absolutely wrong, that I
should push him away, make my escape; but his touch so pleasured me that my
rebellious body kept me rooted to the spot.

Soon sensing that I was incapable of initiating action, the young man began
making love to my paralyzed body with his tongue and lips and hands.

Unaccustomed to have my body treated as an object of desire, I nearly swooned
as feelings only imagined, conjured from hidden fantasies long suppressed,
racked my body with a pleasure as intense as pain. As he stroked my chest,
licking the long, dark hairs away from the swollen points of my dusky nipples,
sinking his teeth into my tingling flesh, I groaned. My muscles knotted.

He paused from time to time, watching my body's responses to his touch—my
muscles knotted, rigid prick spouting clear honey, my torso sheened in lustful
sweat—then chuckled softly as he again began to work the magic of his hands.
He traced the planes and angles of my frame, following the prominent veins
that pulsed below the surface of my skin on belly, thigh, and forearm. When
his fingers curved under my fat balls and began caressing them, I shuddered
and groaned softly as my aching prick jerked up and smacked noisily against
my abs.

At last I forced myself to movement and gathered him in my arms, crushing him
against my chest and forcing his mouth open with my tongue. He responded
eagerly, his legs wrapping around my hips, his arms snaking around my neck.
I stumbled over to the shore and fell forward onto him in the tall grasses,
frantic with the wild impulses brought about by this unaccustomed lust.

We grappled in the cool mud at the water's edge, the young man's supple
strength no match for mine. Grunting lustfully, I rolled him over onto his
belly, scissored his legs apart and humped my prick against his crack. I
was jolted by the incredible sensations that shot up along the shaft and
to my gut, dissipating through my frame in bolts of heat. He squirmed beneath
me, pressing his hard butt up against me, wriggling his shoulders against
my furry chest. Instinctively, I thrust my ass high in the air, guided my
dick to the quivering pucker between his legs, and fell heavily against him.
There was an instant of resistance, then a wavering. Then I was in him. My
cockknob burned with the unaccustomed warmth of him as I breached his last
defense, then my spike drove deep into his yielding, tender chute.

His lithe frame went rigid. A high-pitched squeal escaped his lips, like the
cry of a wounded animal. Then he was silent, except for his ragged breathing.
I wrapped my arms around his chest and began pummeling him, fucking him with
the whole brutal length of my prick. I drove relentlessly, savoring his
incredible heat and the tightness of the ring of muscle that had guarded
his moist little treasures. I withdrew till the tingling spike of flesh was
cooled by the summer breeze, his sphincter nibbling at the spongy crown,
then thrust forward with all my great strength, my body crashing down
against him, jolting him, crushing him deep into the mud.

So overwhelmed was I by the sensations that were coursing through my body
that I gave no thought at all to the young man's pleasure. After all, he
had enticed me, brought me here, stripped me naked, and roused me to the
deed. He was most likely the type of wanton young man who did this regularly,
taking his anonymous pleasure rough and ready in the quiet woods. I buried my
face in his neck, sinking my teeth into his shoulder as I breathed in the
acrid sweet smell of his sweat. When I opened my eyes, I could see along the
line of his right arm, the triceps knotted, his hand clenched, white-knuckled,
as he grasped a clump of the long grass that grew around us.

I kept pounding into his solid young flesh until my hairy nuts snapped up
in a knot and the tingling in my gut became unbearable. Then, with a muffled
shout, my body spasmed. Years of pent-up desire came gushing forth, filling
the burning channel of the young man's ass. My muscles knotted, arching my
back, driving my cock into him to the balls. My big hands clamped down on
his hips, pulling him up tight against me as I bucked and rocked in the
throes of ecstasy.

Once the final spasms had shaken me, I rolled off of him and lay sprawled
on my back, my bloated prick still leaking, pulsing against my gut. I was
smugly pleased with myself, buoyed by the knowledge that my manhood hadn't
totally atrophied. Then I looked over at the young man, expecting to see
his lustful, knowing smile.

"I didn't think it would hurt so much," he whispered, his face muddy, pale
and streaked with tears. That was all he said. Far from experienced, he had
been virgin and I had deflowered him, plowing ruthlessly into him, thinking
of nothing but my own rough needs.

I opened my arms to him and he pressed himself tight, even though I had
caused him so much pain. I held him till long after dark that day, stroking
his neck, shuddering with pleasure at the feel of his young body pressed
against me. His hunger revived quickly and he left my chest and belly
sticky with his pungent come. I had followed him home because I could
not bear to lose sight of him. He lived with his parents in a neighbor-
hood near my own—solid, respectable, gated—a neighborhood safe from
robbers and other, older men who might corrupt their youth.



"Rob, are you still there?"

"Sorry," I muttered, jolted back to the present.

"I have to see you. I miss you so much. I bought something today. Something
just for you. Something that you can peel off me with your teeth. Oh, Rob,
I need to see you and touch your hard body. My cock aches just thinking
about it. I'm slipping my hand down between my legs, back behind my balls.
Ooh, Robbie, I'm rubbing that little pucker you like so much. Unh! I've
slipped my finger up inside now. It's so hot and moist, waiting for you
to penetrate it, stretch it wide and fill it with your sticky seed. Please,
Robbie. Please come."

"I—I can't talk now, Jamie. I have to pick my son up tonight. It'll be just
a family affair. I won't be able to see you."

"But Rob, I worked out all afternoon. I'm hard as a rock all over. I did it
just for you. I know how much you like it when I'm solid. The harder I am,
the harder you are. I notice those things." He chuckled softly. I could
almost feel the solidity of his pecs under his silken skin. My prick jerked
painfully in my trousers, and I groaned softly as the wet trailed down my
thigh. "I've got our room reserved. I'll be there, Robbie, waiting for you."

"I—I'll try." I hung up the phone, unable to bear the sound of his voice a
moment longer. After that first day, I had thought it was just a fluke, a
momentary madness that wouldn't be repeated. Then, the next afternoon, his
car was behind me when I stepped into the parking lot at the courthouse. I
walked back, ready with a dozen reasons why we could never meet another time.
Then I looked through the window at his angel face. He pulled a tagged key
from the waistband of his shorts and handed it to me. It was still warm from
his flesh, sending sparks along my fingers to my gut. "Follow me," he had
whispered, and I did.

We went to a small motel in a part of town where no one flinched to see two
men arriving separately to share a single bed on a lazy afternoon. The young
man—his name was Jamie—unbuttoned my shirt and pressed his cheek against my
chest. My resolve to resist temptation crumbled at his touch. I wrestled him
to the floor, stripped him, and then spent hours exploring his body, intent
to memorize him with hand and tongue and eye.

Since that day, we had been totally absorbed by one another, spending every
hour together that I could steal from the court and he from his college
studies. For me the obsession had become such that to be apart from him,
not to touch his honey gold body or hear the deepening baritone of his
voice, was a physical pain. It took all of my restraint not to abandon my
own son at the airport so that I could fly to Jamie, my young, illicit love.

My son was polite but distant—he had become so like his mother. We spoke
of his classes and of football, careful to keep the conversation neutral.
When we arrived at the house, his mother embraced the boy, giving me only
the slightest nod. Perhaps she suspected that something other than work was
filling my evenings away from home. I really couldn't imagine why she cared.
I provided her with house, position, status, money, and my name. To my
knowledge, she had never wanted more.

Dinner was a quiet affair, except for the clank of silver against porcelain
and the occasional murmured compliment about the food. When the telephone
rang, I jumped in my chair, almost knocking over my glass of wine. "I'll
get it," I said, my voice cracking with my nervousness. No one ever called
us at the dinner hour.

"I've got it," my son announced, slipping out into the hallway. "I'm
expecting a call from Jennifer." He left and my wife glanced up at me, her
expression quizzical. I heard a brief, muttered conversation; then Robert,
Jr. reappeared, a puzzled expression on his bland face. "It's for you," he
said, looking at me strangely. "Rob."

"Thank you," I said stiffly. No one ever called me Rob—no one except Jamie.
I wasn't the type. It had always been Robert, even as a child. I had always
been too intense and stiff to be called by any nickname. Perhaps only the
man who brought me literally to my knees by suggesting that I lick his
asshole, the man whose soft whistle could make me roll over on my back like
a dog while he rubbed my belly, could devise a nickname for me. It was only
one of many forms of address that Jamie used with me, and I adored them all.

"Rob, I'm so lonely." His voice was tight, unsteady, as if he had been crying.
"I'm afraid I'm going to lose it if you don't come. I can't think, can't
concentrate. Please, Rob, I need you."

"I'm involved with family tonight," I hissed, trying to sound angry, fighting
to keep the heat out of my voice. "Please don't do this to me."

"My nipples are hard, Robbie. They're thick and swollen. Every slight touch and
the knob on my dick bulges out like a plum. Juice is leaking out of me, Robbie.
It's dripping in a puddle on the floor. My asshole's all slick and moist,
waiting for you, Rob. Please, come to me. I want you. I need you. Please!"
The last was almost a sob, a plea that I felt deep in my groin. I hung up
the phone and turned back to the dining room. It was lucky that I had my suit
jacket to hide the hard-on that bulged out under the fabric of my trousers,
pointing across to my right hip.

"I have to meet a client," I said firmly, improvising as I spoke. "An unexpected
complication in a case I've agreed to handle."

"Must you, dear?" My wife, resigned—relieved?

"I'm afraid so. We'll talk tomorrow, son," I said, touching his thin shoulder.

"I'll be visiting Jennifer's parents tomorrow," he replied, shifting his body
to avoid contact with me. "I leave early the next morning for a ski trip."

I looked at him for a moment. "I'm sorry, then." I shrugged. "This can't wait."
I drained my wine glass and almost ran from the house. I was trembling with
excitement and any feelings of guilt were quickly swept away by my need to
see Jamie, to touch him, to devour him with my eyes and worship him with my
body.

I pulled into the parking lot of our hideaway and rushed up to the room at the
far end of the corridor on the second floor. Jamie had stolen a key after our
first visit and had had a copy made for me. I pushed the door open and walked
in. The candles Jamie had lighted everywhere flooded the tawdry room with a
shimmering, golden light. I locked the door with trembling fingers, stripped
myself naked, and walked over to him slowly. My big cock grew harder with every
step I took, straining up and reaching out, drawn to him like an iron bar to a
magnet.

Jamie was standing motionless in the center of the room, his tight body gleaming
in the flickering light of the candles. His body did look hard—every muscle
stood out, sculpted cleanly. A thick vein stretched along the tender skin of
his inner arm, throbbing out his pulse.

He had also been correct when he told me there would be something for me to peel
him out of. I had never thought of myself as a fetishist, but I liked—at least
to begin with—to see Jamie not-quite-naked. This night, he wore a pair of ribbed
cotton briefs, cut high on the sides, barely covering his sleek ass. His balls
were tucked snugly in the pouch, but his cock had been too hard to bend. It
jutted up over the waistband, pumping a steady stream of clear honey that
glistened in the flickering light of the candles.

I knelt at his feet, kissing them tenderly, then slowly licked up along his instep,
his ankle, along the curve of his calf till I reached his crotch. Now, he was no
longer able to stand mute and immobile—he groaned with pleasure and his fingers
grazed my cheeks, following the line of my neck down to my broad shoulders.

I looked up at him and winked, then began licking the sticky mess away from his
cockknob, ending by making it leak even more. Abandoning this futile task, I
caught the band of his briefs between my teeth and tugged them down an inch,
licking all the newly exposed skin lazily. I worked my way around to the back,
kissing his cotton-covered cheeks, then slowly-exposing them to the soft light
of the candles and my hungry gaze.

Once I had him peeled bare, he kicked the scrap of cloth aside and braced his
left foot up on the edge of the bed. I kissed his asscheeks again, then let
my tongue slip down to my heart's delight. He tasted sweet and musky, the
heat of the tightly puckered ring of flesh burning my tongue, sending sparks
of incredible pleasure through my trembling frame. I poked the tip up into
him and he moaned, his silky balls swinging back and bouncing against my
chin. I thrust my tongue again. He reached back to grip my shoulder, steady-
ing himself as I continued probing his sweet warmth.

As I worked to open him, I stroked his body, grazing his hard tits with my
nails, rubbing my hands over every inch of him till he trembled against me,
lost in the throes of passion. Juice was still spouting out of him, splatter-
ing on the floor and making crystal cobwebs in the hairs on my thighs as I
knelt between his legs. I scooped some of the precious goo off his cocksnout
and sucked my finger, savoring the spice and musk of his vital juices. I
wrapped my fingers around his pulsing prong and pulled it back between his
legs, doubling him in half.

Jamie grasped his ankles and pressed his head back between his legs, mouth
gaping as he sought out my own dripping prick. I thrust my hips forward, and
he began lapping at the knob on the end of my cock, his hot tongue smearing
my lube across the swollen surface. I swallowed him up to the balls and began
to suck him off, wanting to drain the come out of him, which I would then use
as lubricant for the deep, slow fucking I ached to give him. I sucked greedily,
probing his springy sphincter with a stiff finger. I hit his prostate and he
clamped down at both ends, trapping finger and prick in a delicious vise. A
few more well-aimed jabs and he was mine, pouring out his frothy cream in a
hot, copious stream. I swallowed some, unable to resist, but saved enough to
fill my palm.

Jamie kept licking the drizzle from my knob while I smeared his jizz along
the veiny shaft of my cock. I let him kiss the tingling glans one last time,
then yanked it out of his mouth with a little pop as I stood up. Jamie stood
up as well, pushing back against me, his muscular cheeks grabbing at the shaft
of my rod, squeezing it as he humped against me.

I backed off just enough to let my mantool seek out the target, aided by
Jamie's guiding hand. He kissed the spongy head with his wanton little ass-
hole, then fell back against me, swallowing over half my length on the first
thrust. I nuzzled his neck, rubbing his sweat and come-sticky belly as he
sank back on me to the hilt.

"Fuck me, Robbie!" he groaned, rolling his blond head against my chest. "I
love having you in me. Use me. Fuck me! I need it so bad. Oh, Robbie, fill
me with your come. Fuck me. Fuck me!" His chant rose to a crescendo as I
began pumping, slowly at first, then faster and deeper as he opened up to
me.

"Jesus!" I murmured as his fingers raked along my straining flanks.

"Kiss me, Daddy," he sighed, craning his neck and throwing the full force
of his blue eyes at me. I bent my head and our lips touched, increasing
the heat I was feeling by a factor of ten. My prick bulged and jerked inside
of him and he whimpered as his body spasmed against me. I felt the first
jet of his spicy cream scorch across my forearm, catching in the long hairs
that curled there. The next blast got me on the cheek, dripping down and
blending with our kiss.

"Come in me," Jamie moaned, his body quaking with the force of his orgasm.
I put my hands on his narrow hips and began rocking, drawing out till only
the tip of my dick was inside of him, then sliding back till my balls were
in danger of following as well. Without breaking the connection, Jamie
torqued his upper body and got his mouth on the nipple crowning my right
pec. He latched onto the swollen knot and began chewing, galvanizing me
like an electric current. My nuts rolled up onto the top of my cockshaft
and I stood stock still, savoring the moment as my come began pumping up
the length of my prick. I held back for as long as possible, then began
plunging in and out of Jamie's sweet ass as my jism began spilling out,
filling him and leaking out to drip down the insides of his thighs.

I held him tightly as we both sank to the floor, panting raggedly, our
bodies glued together with sweat and spit and our mingled sperm. "Don't
leave me tonight, Robbie," he whispered, snuggling closer. "Please stay
with me."

I started to give my usual excuse—that I would return later, that I couldn't
stay the night—then held my tongue. All that loomed outside this room—my
home, my reputation, my family—seemed cold and distant, faintly meaningless.
In my madness—if it is madness for a man such as me to love a man such as
Jamie—none of that seemed to be worth as much as even one moment in Jamie's
sweet sensual company. My wife could do quite well without me; the courts
would continue to limp along without my expert help. Jamie, on the other
hand, made me feel as I had never felt before. At least for now, he seemed
to need me. And so I made my choice.

"I'll stay, Jamie," I whispered, gently beginning to stir my randy prick
around in his jizz-filled channel. "There's no place in the world I'd
rather be." His hole clenched down, gripping me like a velvet vise. "No
place at all."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



THE PASSION OF DIEGO HERNANDEZ

Midsummer time. Mid-afternoon time. Too-hot-for-life time. Oppressive,
wet, choking heat and stray tentacles of harsh, glaring light oozing in
around the edges of the ragged shades. The room, Snake's room, cheap-by-
the-week, squalid room, looking worse in daylight than in nightlight.
Dirty laundry creeping out from one corner, TV in another, picture flip-
ping, talking to nobody. Chair, brown, sprung, sagging, where Snake sits
and watches, set dead center in the room, positioned under the bare bulb
hanging from the frayed cord in the ceiling. Flies buzzing around cans,
drunk on stale beer. Water dripping in the cracked, rust-stained sink by
the door. Paco muttering in his sleep, Maso tossing cards into an empty
can at his feet.

Me? I don't look at any of it—seen it all, memorized it all. Me? I'm kneel-
ing on the floor, naked, sweat trickling down my spine, kneeling between
Snake's outspread thighs, kneeling in silent, tongue-involved worship.
Snake sprawls back on the unmade sex-and-sweat-sweet bed, legs over the
edge, toes grazing my calves as I kneel there, breathing him in, his
incense, his musk, his powerful, jizz-reeking essence. He's a big man,
Snake is, tall, strong, long, thick—impressive in repose, monumental
when aroused, standing, bulging, pointing, threatening, prodding, probing,
pounding my flesh. Still, he needs me, wants me, feels me like something
electric when I get close. I feel it, need it, too—animal, aching, burning
my flesh like a fever for him. And so I'm here, here by choice—by compulsion?—
kneeling between Snake's mighty hair-spiked thighs, watching, mesmerized,
tongue poised, ready to strike.

I strike—hot, moist tongue against hot, sticky cock-knob. Snake groans,
eyes roll back, his concave belly ripples as his dick begins twitching
to stiff life. I strike again and again, cover the tip of his cock with
spit-slick kisses, coaxing, teasing, working the helmet-shaped glans out
of its snug hood. It grows toward me, jerking and swelling, the veins on
the shaft thickening as his manhood bloats awake. Dizzy with horniness,
I lunge forward, nip his tender skin between my teeth and pull, shaking
my head, growling like a junkyard dog. The skin separates from the pale
pink knob, leaving an irresistible opening for my probing, rambunctious
tongue.

Snake's eyes snap open, lips curl back, reveal a missing tooth, relic of a
time before his muscles grew so big. I tug harder. His balls bounce, his
pectorals swell, popping his nipples into thick knots, meaty, dark brown,
succulent. One big paw grabs a tit, twists it roughly; the other slips
around my neck, forcing me in closer. My lips part, my tongue curls around
the throbbing shaft of flesh, teeth raking his skin back, baring his knob,
caressing it as it slides deep into my throat, impaling me, helpless, on
his throbbing manhood.

I watch him take his pleasure, my eyes as wide as my mouth is wide on his
hardness. Watching his dark face, the oily lock of hair falling on his
forehead, the shadow of beard on cheek and chin. Watching his big chest
rise and fall, his belly muscles tighten and relax, a vein puffs across
the thickness of his forearm. All the while, he goes harder and thicker,
his balls crowding up against my chin, his breathing heavy, desperate,
thunderous in the airless afternoon.

Then suddenly, he is ready, pushes my head away. His prick rises through
the air, red and glistening, then crashes heavy against his belly like a
felled tree. Snake stands, lifts me, tosses me, facedown, on the bed,
mounts me, thrusts my legs apart. I open my mouth to plead, cry out,
protest, but his thick fingers fill my mouth as his thick cock fills my
ass, spiking me front and rear. Caught, I groan, buck, squirm, surprised
how fast the pain gives way to unbearable waves of thought-crowding,
mind-numbing pleasure.

Snake on top of me, snorting in my ear, teeth sinking in my shoulder,
rocking heavy on top of me, fucking me with his whole muscled weight.
His hips rise and fall, crashing against me, shaking me, each mighty
stroke pumping my own cock harder, making it tingle and ache there,
trapped there, between my belly and the bed. I suck his fingers,
slipping my tongue across the callused digits, slurping noisily,
twitching and writhing under my man of men. So big, so hard, so male—
Snake possesses me, sexes me, uses me, takes me away from me. I
surrender, eager, ready and willing to be made one.

He's there. I know the signs, the soft, helpless moans, the spasm
shaking his big frame, the swelling of his cock—thick, huge, majestic—
deep inside of me. I tense, pushing up, all my strength lifting him
off the bed, waiting for the final mighty thrust that pins me to the
earth. It comes, the twitch, the snorted breath, the scorching flood
of him. He fills me, pumps me full of him, juice of his big balls, come-
gooey manstuff, squirting, pumping, pouring into me, filling me, making
me whole.

"Now?" I croak, when he rocks to stillness. "Is it now? Am I in now?"

"Diego." Snake whispers softly, nuzzling my neck, all the tension flowing
out of him as he drifts back, comes back to the heat, this breathless
heat, and the distant roar of freeways. "Always the same question. Isn't
this enough?" He reaches under me, grabs me, squeezes me, flexes over
me, envelops me. His cock throbs up inside of me, sending a shock through
me, exploding me, making me at last.

"I want to be here with you," I moan when I can speak. "I want to be a man
with you."

"You are a man with me."

"I want to be in with you, man—in like these others." I jerk my head around
to Paco and Maso, the one still sleeping, the other blindly tossing cards.

"You're not like these others." The voice quiet, tight, pained.

"But I want to be in." I am insistent, demanding, adamant. "Give me some
test to pass so I can be in with you."

"Yes, man, make him pass a test." This from Paco, rising from uneasy sleep.

"Yeah," pipes Maso's idiot echo. "A test, man. A test."

"What fucking test?" Snake, distracted, angry, not welcoming this challenge.

"Any test," I boast. My ass twitches, clenching his bloated prong. He groans
softly and his hips jerk, but he doesn't speak. He rolls off of me, leaves me
empty—gropes for cigarettes in the pile of clothes beside the bed. He lights
one, leans up on an elbow, blows smoke towards the water-stained ceiling of
the room. I roll over onto my back, my right hand slipping down between his
legs, fingers tangling in his sweat and come-gummed pubes.

"Very well." An ember off Snake's cigarette falls down onto my belly, singes
the flesh. I blink but do not move. Snake's fingers brush my gut. Then he
looks down at me. "The Angel, Diego, my man. That's what I want. Bring me
the cockhairs from the Angel. The Angel, Diego. Just think of that."



Sunday. Time for mass. Me, standing in the kitchen with a clean shirt, my hair
combed. My mother, wide-eyed, on her knees at the Virgin's shrine in the
living room, offering up a special prayer for this very special day. My
sister Rosa, looking at me unconvinced over the rim of her coffee cup,
shaking her head before going back to painting her nails.

Diego Hernandez going to mass! A miracle! I haven't stepped into a church for
over three years, not since I was sixteen and my older brother got gunned
down in the street outside our front door. "I don't pray to no fucking God
that lets my brother die like a dog!" I had screamed. My mother slapped my
mouth hard enough to draw blood, but I hadn't gone—not even to the funeral of
my brother. Now, though, I was by my mother's side, walking tall, leading my
women into the Church of Our Lady of Good Hope.

We sat and I checked the place out—watching, waiting for the Angel to appear.
I'd heard of this Angel, this Anglo who had come down off his hill to help us
save ourselves from each other. My mother loved him—but she loved any man who
spoke the Bible and wore his collars turned back against the world. I knew
nothing about him, only that Snake told me that if anyone could have him, I
was the one.

So I sit and watch, waiting for this Angel to descend. Then the organ starts,
and the hymns and the incense. And then I see him, this Angel, leading the
procession down the central aisle. He is all that Snake has said—and more. A
vision, like an alien glowing gold above all those dark heads; only he makes
those dark ones look alien, not him. Golden curls, bronzed cheeks, lashes
sweeping down from on high to brush his cheeks every time he blinks those
sky blue eyes. Standing tall, solid, even under cassock, surplice, collar.
Looking serene, untroubled, untouched—like an angel.

Yeah. Like an angel. Angel. Snake had it right. Only an angel all grown up.
A man—no boy—a man, full-grown, fleshed out, complete. Thick-necked, powerful,
tall—that much clear even now. How much more, later? I shudder, shocked to
lust at the prospect. Angel, looking side to side, smiling, bestowing benediction.

Our eyes lock. His smile warm, heating me, burning my eyes, then down my face
to flutter briefly across my body. Was he seeing me, or gauging another lost
soul to win? Me, I think. I smile back, his cheeks burnish crimson, eyes lock
again, nostrils quiver, warnings flash across his face—don't touch for I am
holy, set apart, forbidden.

Sermon droned out by gray-haired priest, but I spend all my effort on Angel,
watching him, studying him, memorizing, imagining, fantasizing. He stands back,
quiet, attentive, big hands folded, cupping protectively over his groin. Light
gleams on pale gold hairs on the broad, tendoned backs of those hands, the
blunt, long fingers. Cassock sleeve pushed up on one side, baring enough of
wrist and forearm to show this angel as a brawny one. Thick wrist, slightly
bronzed—no stranger to the light—more silvery hairs bristling on the solid flesh.


Imagining....Him, alone, late at night, naked, sprawled across a narrow celibate
bed. Those big hands still cupped, now holding back his squirming cock. A twitch,
a groan, eyes averted so as not to know what those hands are doing. One of them,
reluctant, tentative, creeps up across a flat belly, dusted maybe with gold fur.
That's it, yes, a slender, silken trickle of gold splitting him in half from his
thick bull neck to the golden fleece curling around the base of his juicy virgin
cock....

The sermon ends, the congregation slides to its knees for silent prayer. The
Angel moves forward, preparing for the ritual of communion—the ritualized slaughter
and consumption of his god.

....The straying hand reaches the rise of his hard chest, climbs the sharp curve,
brushes the fat, aching point of his tit, making his whole big frame knot. This
Angel shudders, his toes curl, thighs tense, calves and biceps knot, prick springs
to puking life against his palm. Eyes still averted—I'm not doing this—the lower
hand begins to move, fingers curl, grasp the veiny stalk, pump it roughly, bringing
up the first clear, sticky juice. It drizzles out the tip, drools down to his
trembling gut, catching like jewels in the pale silk around his navel, glistening
bright....

The organ swells, choir raises its voice in song. The Angel kneels, head bowed,
elevating the silver monstrance.

....The upper hand caresses the full hard curve of his torso, crossing to the other
side, that other pinky brown tit, pushing aside the pale golden fleece curling
around it, pinching, tugging, finding roots of it buried deep in his sweat-damp
groin. The narrow hips jerk on the bed, collar of fingers tightens, squeezes,
milks the stalk, smearing honey on the trigger and the crown. The big man writhing
on his bed, sheets tangling, asscheeks flexing, whole body arched in the rhythms
of his solitary fuck....

The congregation rising, filing to the altar, kneeling, ready to receive the body
and the blood. My mother tugs my hand, draws me out into the aisle—will the dome
split, the ceiling fall?—and up to meet the Angel face to face.

....The Angel is watching now, eyes glued on his amazing body, watching muscles twitch,
veins bulge, his abs rise in ripples like the sea. Both hands in his groin now,
one pumps madly, knuckles a blur, the other grasps jiggling balls, pulling till
the dull ache of pleasure makes him groan aloud. His cockknob swelling, growing,
glowing dusky red. The deep-gashed slit gaping, spurting honey, juicetube puffing
up, ready to deliver his precious life force, dump it out, unshared upon his heaving
gut....

"Take this, eat, for this is my body." Angel approaching, leaning down, offering
the bread—his body?—to upturned faces, near, nearer, one from me, then me. I look
up, lock eyes with him. A tightening of the jaw, recognition, fleeting glimmer of
a smile—for me. for everyone? Then the hand cuts through the air, offering Christ's
body.

....His body heaves, all motion stops except the pounding of his heart, his rasping
breath, the flexing of his prick against his hand. Comehole gapes, fills with
quivering pearl, then it explodes, arcing his life out of him, high through the
incense-laden air.....

"Take this." The Angel repeats his plea, pushing his fingers close, closer, closest,
brushing my lips. My mouth opens, tongue curls out...host, this body, his body, the
Angel's fingers in my mouth, my tongue flickering, barely grazing the tips. My eyes
fly open, meet the Angel's transfixed gaze. He groans, his hand trembles slightly,
then pulls away, leaving me kneeling, belly burning with the heat of his pure love.

...lunging forward I thrust myself into his solitude, mouth gaping, greedy for
his heat, his juice, his life. My tongue touches the tender crown of his cock,
swabbing up the drizzle. Then my mouth closes, lips tighten, sucking gently,
waiting for more of this pure white...



"You dick the Angel yet?" Paco, slouching in a chair, swilling beer, scratching
his balls as he looks me up and down. I ignore him, step across the dirty room
to the bed—Snake's bed, where he lies sprawled across the sheets, right leg
propped up, left hand curled around his cock and balls. He sees me, grins,
raises hand in greeting, exposing a pale armpit, his acrid scent, dark tendrils
plastered flat against the skin.

"Diego. Man, it's been too long." He lifts that lower hand, flashes glimpse of
a cock bigger than when soft, peels back skin to show a glimpse of pale pink
snout. A cock entirely unlike the Angel's—in my mind's eye, at least. His clipped,
pale, shy. Nothing shy about Snake's monster, always hanging heavy, ready to rise
to hardness in an instant, dark and hot and oozing with the stickiness of perpetual
desire. "You get to the Angel yet, man? Make your part of the bargain? I'm ready
to keep my half"—he flexed his cock, making it rise, then flop back heavily
against his sagging balls— "more than ready, man."

"Seen him," I grunt. More than that, of course. Easy to get close to him. Easier
than I'd hoped. More pleasant, too. Directing parish youth—a natural for that in
a parish where all the other priests were bent, dried, dusty, shriveled from lives
of bleak denial—I, still a youth, became his shadow. Played basketball, volleyball,
every fucking ball but balling. Not that yet, but maybe, soon, maybe. The Angel
took to me, noticed me, talked to me, smiled at me—maybe he didn't even understand
why, but I could tell, could almost taste the flavor of his desire.

"Seen him," I repeat, closing my eyes, seeing him again. Better even than the
image in my mind—harder, tighter, better honed, a fine machine. Legs, arms, belly,
chest, shoulders—all good, better than good, the best. Still, no better than my
own—like mine, maybe heavier, but tight, honed, hard. On field, in lockers, showers,
I followed, waited, stripped with him, bathed with him, shutting out all others
but only him. Watching him watching me, not letting him know that he was caught.
Making myself demure, not too horny, not too raunchy, more like him, the vestal
virgin, the god—the Angel.

"Diego!" I jerk back to the present. Snake, eyes narrowed, looking at me, a line
drawn—pain?—deep between his soft brown eyes. "Too long, man. Away too long. You
miss your Snake? Working hard to get back to him, man?" I nod, take a step toward
the bed. Look. Compare.

The arm stretched out to me—a little vulgar? The biceps a little heavy, the tattooed
skull inside the forearm, crossed by veins—a little cheap? The scar—old knife wound
on the massive shoulder, tracking crazily across the swell of pec and down along
the concave gut—mark of the street fighter, the punk, the thug. No mark of any
kind on the Angel's silken skin, just a fine dusting of hairs like gold dust over
marble.

I stand beside the bed now, let Snake unbuckle belt, slide shirt up, pants down,
press his face against my belly. Rough stubble on his chin, scratching, smell of
sweat, tobacco and cheap after-shave mingling in the heat that rises from him.
Makes my cock throb till I focus on the Angel. No stubble there, clean face,
clean shaven, smelling of sun and soap. Snake's big hand on my ass, prying cheeks
apart, digging in my crack, finding, probing, penetrating my ass. I groan, tumble
on top of him, lowering myself to him, to straddle his chest, dangle my cock and
balls in his face, rubbing the fuzzy orbs against his sensual lips.

"Your Snake's been missing you," he groans, gripping my wrist, pulling my hand back
and down to his jutting prong. Hard, rockhard, thrusting up, angling up from his
belly, dripping hard, no sucking needed now.

"You got others," I shrug, nodding behind us to Paco, Maso, others brought with a
nod, a single call.

"No, man. Only you. This only points for you." Grinning, groaning, wanting me to
wiggle back and mount, hide him, take him in, give him relief.

"Suck me," I growl instead, pulling my hand away from his aching need, pressing
my cock against his mouth. Snake groans. Then his lips part and his tongue curls
hot around my root, stroking, wetting, sucking to life. His mouth is warm—soft,
unlike his callused, clumsy hands. The Angel's hands are smooth, refined, no doubt
like satin sheets against the skin. Still, Snake's hands are here, groping,
searching, touching all the spots.

I clasp my hands behind my head, stretching like a cat, willing Snake to touch
me everywhere with his hands. He begins, stroking my thighs, kneading the firm
curves of my ass, rubbing my belly, his thick fingers curling over the hard rise
of my chest. I pull my hips back, making him raise his shaggy head off the bed,
spit dribbling down his chin, his tongue reaching frantically for my cock. Then
I thrust forward, cramming my hard dick into his mouth, punching my knob down
his throat, choking him, bringing tears to his eyes.

I imagine the Angel sucking me, his shell pink lips curling around the shaft of
my uncut cock, his nose buried in my crisply curling black pubes, his hands pawing
my body, frantic, desperate for a taste of me, a chance to probe my asshole with
his dripping prick. The thought heats me, brings me to the brink. I howl my lust,
doubling over, fists pounding the bed, spasming out my pent-up jizz into the Angel's
eager mouth.

"Diego!" A gasped cry, Snake's cry. My eyes fly open, gaze locking with the Snake.
No Angel in this scene before me, on this wrinkled, sweated bed. Frothing jism
streaks his chin, his neck, his stubbled cheek. I pull my cock out of his mouth,
watch him lick his lips, then flick the last drops off my prick and stand.

"Diego!" I pick up my pants, step into them, pull on my shirt, my shoes and move
away, leaving him there hard, hurting, solitary on the sex-streaked bed. That
same hand reaches out, the skull tattoo, the too-big muscles, the fingers trembling
slightly. A sigh—a groan?—that clublike cock pointing to his heart. I open the
door and slip out to the hall.

"Diego!"



Waiting time is over. No more polite afternoons in the parish offices, sitting,
planning for a playing field for Saturday afternoon. I must act, on my own now,
for myself. This Angel's body a symbol for me, my own trophy, end in itself, not
the means for other now-forgotten goals.

I wait, calm, letting all the others drift away, leaving at last only the Angel-—
the Angel and myself. Autumn rains have wet the field, our frantic soccer churned
it into mud. Both are caked—the Angel and I—covered with dark, rich earth from
head to toe. Tonight no excuse to avoid the steam-world of the showers, all alone
with me. I watch him strip, dart into the white tiled room, then follow, tense,
tight, ready to strike.

The steam swirls around him like a fog. His broad back is turned, spine indented
in a valley of knotted muscle, tapering to his melon ass. I walk to him, touch
him, press against him. He gasps, shudders, but doesn't move. My hands slip from
his shoulders, down slow over his front, grazing tits, belly flesh, to the soft-
ness of his groin—silk of pubes, curling tight around my fingers.

The Angel is a man after all. Cock hard, jutting, pointed to the ceiling, his balls
drawn up at my first touch. My fingers brush along the length, base to tip, gauging,
measuring, judging length and breadth, density and weight. I grip his manhood, spin
him around, push him up against the wall. He groans, shakes his head, put his hands
against my chest, but doesn't thrust, push, order me away.

His cock, hard next to mine, trapped between our bellies, begins pumping, asserting
its own life after so many empty years. I tighten my arms around his neck, plunge my
tongue into his mouth, raise my left leg, spreading asscheeks wide. His prick arcs
up into my crack, his knob touching my asshole. I wiggle and squirm, waiting, patient,
for the man to emerge from the Angel's perfect shell—to take me, ravage me, draw me
from the darkness to the light.

No motion. I slide my mouth down over his body, his neck, his chest, the concave gut,
down to his prick. Leaking, dripping on the floor—honey, sweat, and water beading
on the shaft, the rosy tip. I lap greedily, senses reeling, shivering in the tropic
heat to have my Angel on my tongue. He stands statuelike, not moving, barely breath-
ing, his rigid cock the only signpost to his life.

I suck him, kiss his balls, lick the insides of his brawny legs, swallow him again,
coaxing, always coaxing with my tongue. His fingers curl to fists, his balls draw
up to nestle on the veined sides of the shaft. My head flies, pumping him with my
mouth, groaning, panting, frantic to have him, taste him, swallow him whole. My
hands rest on his ass, marble-hard but warm, cheeks knotting, flexing as his lust
grinds to its inevitable conclusion in my willing, hungry mouth.

A scream—of pain? of lust?—cuts the air, shocks my ears. My eyes fly open, look up
along his sculpted form, to his handsome face. His mouth, lips drawn back from
teeth; his eyes blind, lids clenched tight—shutting me out? Still denying the
reality of me? I gulp and swallow, taking his hot life into my gut, drinking him
in. After, standing before him, my hands caress, touch his, try to unclench his
iron fists, draw him down to kneel in front of me, take me, accept me, suck me.

Nothing. The Angel will not yield. A plaster saint, cold and unresponsive. His eyes
wide now, cold blue, widening in horror at the violation forced upon him. A brutal
shove, a balled fist, a glancing blow. My footing gone, I stumble to my knees. A
foot strikes out, thuds sickening against my balls. I crumble to the floor amid a
rain of blows and curses, wishing me to hell for all my evil wiles.

The blows stop, a deep laugh—a growl? Then a rough hand tangles in my hair, drags
me out into the locker room, drapes me over a splintered bench, head down, ass
high, mounts me, probes me, fucks me, riding deeply, brutally, viciously to his
goal. I feel the fire of him, then the emptiness, total, stunning, absolute.

A claw on my neck, my head raised, face to face. Angel no more, foam flecking his
cracked lips, a vein throbbing dangerously across his temple. "And the wicked shall
be cast unto hell!" he snarls, spitting his contempt of me—of him?—in my face,
hot, acid, humiliating. And then, in an instant, he is gone, swallowed into the
void of his own punctured purity.


Nighttime. Rain time. Chill wind whipping around brick corners, taking form in
churning papers that rise like ghosts from clogged gutters. Battered, bruised,
I creep through the city, back to a certain street, a humble street, garbage-
littered, dangerous, dark. Above a boarded storefront, light in a third-floor
window, behind a ragged shade, yellowed, pulled down tight. A shape, a silhouette,
a man, propped on one elbow, stroking himself, alone.

"Snake!" I stand there shivering, clutching myself, fearful that another shape
will rise up next to his, making alone a lie. His head goes back. No other head
appears.

"Snake!" His hips thrust off the bed, his cock grows, mighty on the yellowed
shade. My bruised lips tingle at the thought, the memory. The taste, the texture,
the sheer maleness of him rouses my aching body to fever pitch. His big hand
grasps that key to pleasure, squeezes it, puffs the knob to bursting—and still
he is alone.

"Snake!" Nothing visible now but his cock, jutting to the ceiling, his hands
wrapped around it, collaring the throbbing bulk of it, stroking it, caressing
it, struggling to bring himself some sort of solitary relief. I wonder if this
is the same hard-on I left him with, still throbbing, still aching, still hurting
him there, all alone on his sex-and-sweat-sweet bed.

"Snake!" My cry echoes off the brick, glass, and concrete all around. The yellowed
shade flies up. A man appears, golden light pouring all around him, gleaming off
the glossy curls of his black hair. I see the sculpted bulk of his shoulders, his
strong arms, his hands gripping the windowsill as he peers into the darkness.

"Diego?" I step into the pool of light on the sidewalk and he stretches out his
hands to me, beckoning to me. My heart beats faster, cock tingles, stiffening as
I push the street door open, climb the garbage-littered stairs, moving surely
now toward him—towards the dark, true angel of my passion, my desire.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



THE PHOTO SHOOT

The shutdown had been quick. I went to work this morning, prepared to put
in a full day, then by noon I was out on the streets. I stopped off at the
unemployment office on my way home from the job site. I was a mess, what
with my ripped Levi's and mud-caked boots, but what the hell? I wasn't
trying out for no beauty contests.

The place was full—looked like I wasn't the only guy getting bad news these
days. I grabbed a place in one of the lines and waited patiently for my turn.
I noticed lots of construction types in the crowd. Some were guys I recognized
from jobs I'd been on. Others were dressed for the life—wearing worn-out jeans
and sweatshirts with the sleeves ripped out, just like me. This fucking
recession was hittin' the industry real hard, which didn't make me feel too
good about the prospects of getting another job anytime soon. It was too bad—
I was only two payments short of owning my truck, and now it was gonna be tough
to make ends meet.

After about an hour of cooling my heels, I noticed this dude standing off to
the side, eyeing me real close. He wasn't in line, and I wondered what the hell
he was doing there. He was a good-looking guy, kinda slender with his dark hair
all slicked back from his high forehead. He had on these clothes that looked
like the stuff you see in the magazines and know you could never afford—crap
with fancy labels that didn't cover you up no better than my torn jeans did.

For the next hour, every time I looked up, the guy seemed to be standing at
some other angle, always watching me. I made eye contact a couple of times and
he flashed a quick smile, but he never came over or really acted like he knew
who the hell I was. After I got my forms all filled out and was leaving the
place, the dude in the fancy threads came out to the parking lot behind me. I
was almost at my pickup when he finally said something.

"Excuse me, sir. Could I talk to you for a minute?" I turned around and folded
my arms across my chest, wondering what the hell he wanted.

"What's the problem, mister?" I pushed my hard hat back with my thumb. "I saw
you staring at me for the last hour and a half. What am I, your long-lost twin
or something?"

"Hardly," he laughed. "My name's Pat Jarret."

"Carl Sager."

"Good to meet you Carl." He stuck out his hand and we shook. "I'm a photographer.
I'd like to feature you in a shoot."

"What kind of photos?" I asked suspiciously.

"Art," he replied, sounding kinda vague. "I pay double the going rate."

"Oh, yeah? What's the going rate?"

"Three hundred dollars. I pay six. Cash. No withholding, no taxes to worry about.
What do you say?"

"I say, what the hell? Where's your studio? I'll just go get cleaned up and be
there within the hour."

"Don't do that, Carl. I want you exactly the way you are. It'll be more authentic
that way. My car's over here. Just follow me." I got into my truck and pulled out
of the parking lot. We drove to a ritzy area of town and Pat pulled into the
driveway of a huge brick number that was big enough to house a small town. I
parked my truck behind his Jaguar and followed him inside.

"Some dump!" I commented as we walked through a huge room with nothing in it but
a staircase and a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs.

"Yeah," Pat shrugged. "Somebody's got to live in these old monsters, right?" I
looked around again and shook my head. "Come on back here to my studio." We walked
down a long hallway and into a big room at the back of the house. There was a
blue cloth hanging from the ceiling that covered all of one wall and draped over
this raised platform in front of it. There were also a couple of broken columns
and some pillows off to one side, but that was it. The rest of the space was
pretty much taken up with photographer's lights and reflectors, that sort of
shit. The dude might have been nuts, out looking for models at the unemployment
office, but at least his equipment looked legit. I wasn't too worried in any case—
I was a hell of a lot bigger than he was and figured I could easily punch him out
if he tried anything funny.

"Stand up there on the platform, Carl. I want to check the light setting. That's
it—stop right there." I stuffed my hands in my back pockets and watched him
fiddling around with one of his cameras. When he had it all adjusted to his
liking, he gave me the high sign. "Look at me, Carl. Good. Now give me some
attitude."

"Huh?"

"You know, pretend I'm your boss telling you you're laid off. Scowl at me, dude."
I gave him a mean look and the lights flashed all around me, blinding me
temporarily. "Good, guy. Again. Look mean." Another scowl, another flash. Shit,
this was easy.

"Carl, buddy, you're looking real good. Now take off your shirt. Unbutton it real
slow."

"I don't know about this, man," I protested, suddenly feeling sort of nervous. I
got a good bod, but I don't usually go showing it off to complete strangers—
especially when they're holding a camera.

"Six hundred bucks, Carl. Think about it."

"Right." I thought while I was unbuttoning my shirt. What the fuck if somebody
wanted to photograph my bare chest. I shed my shirt and flexed, bulging my pecs
and rippling my gut.

"Perfect. Now flex your arms. Hold 'em up high. Good. Pop me some veins in those
arms, dude. Got it!" The light kept flashing and I kept flexing. Shit, man, he
had me turning front, back, and center. The guy kept telling me how hot I looked.
I was starting to believe him.

"You're really a good model, Carl. The camera's loving you. Now pop the top
button on your pants."

"I ain't taking my fucking pants off, man."

"Six big ones, Carl. That's about two-and-a-half weeks' worth of unemployment
benefits, isn't it?" Shit, he had me there. I reached down and popped a button.
"Beautiful. Got it. Now the next one."


Well, to make a long story short, Pat talked me out of my pants and my briefs,
leaving me standing there with nothing on but a hard hat and my dirty white
socks. Good thing the room was well heated, or I'd have caught pneumonia! He
must've liked the way I looked naked, because the camera kept on clicking.

"Carl, turn around. Good. Great ass, guy. Nice and tight. Okay. Back around
front. There we go. Now, Carl, I want you to finger the head of your dick."

"You want me to fuckin' play with myself? Here? In front of you?"

"That's right. Put your hand down along your thigh. Don't hide your meat, man.
Show it to me. Good. Now, finger that big old piss slit for me. That's right.
Keep doing it. Carl."

"I'm getting a frigging hard-on, man," I wailed, cupping my hands over my groin.
"I got a real sensitive cock. I touch it, it gets all puffed up and hard."

"Perfect, Carl. Get it hard for me, guy. Show your big dick off to the camera.
You must be proud of that big piece, guy. You know how hot it looks when it's
all stiff and throbbing. I bet the juicetube on the underside of that thing
gets as big as your finger. Right?"

"Maybe," I said sulkily. I didn't want to admit it, but I really was starting
to get off on having my picture taken.

"Do it for me, guy. Play with it. Frig it, man. Get it real hard so every vein
on the shaft bulges out nice and fat. You're a hot man, Carl. Get that cock
hard. That's it. Perfect!" I sorta jumped when the lights flashed at me again.
He picked up another camera off the floor and moved in closer.

"Okay, Carl. Turn sideways. Now, flex and hold it till that prick points straight
up at the ceiling. Good. Real good. Flare that head out for me. Hot. Super hot,
guy." The camera was clicking madly. "Now, go over to that pillar and lean back
against it. Good. Spread your legs. Can you pull your balls down for me? Get 'em
to hang for a minute."

"They usually climb up here between my legs when I'm hard," I said.

"Just try, guy. You've got real pretty balls. All smooth and hairless. That's good.
Pull 'em down as low as you can, then move your hand away so I can snap 'em before
they climb back up those cords." I fisted my eggs and stretched my bag down as far
as I could. The second my hand was back on my thigh, the lights flashed. "Got it,
Carl. Thanks."

Old Pat was down on the floor by this time, shooting straight up to my crotch. "You
a leaker, Carl?"

"What?"

"Can you milk me some juice out of that big old lovemuscle? I'd like to see a drop
of clear stuff on the end of that snout, guy." I put my thumb against the base of
my prick and squeezed, like I was working toothpaste out of the tube. Clear cockhoney
gushed out, drooled down the shaft and onto my balls.

"Fucking outrageous, man. Move your hand. Great! Let it drool, guy. That's it. Man,
that's hot." I watched as the clear string stretched all the way down beyond my
knees before it broke, making a dark spot on the cloth under me. "Now, smear it
around so the whole shaft glistens. Good. Got it. Okay, Carl. Turn around, buddy.
Bend down and touch the floor. Good. Now spread your legs."

"Why?" I looked around at him.

"I wanna take a picture of your ass, man. Remember all that hard cash. Spread your
legs, bend over, and show me your hole." I really thought he was out of his fucking
mind now, but I did it anyway. After all, money is money.

"Beautiful, Carl. All clean and pink, just like your tits. Flex it for me, Carl.
Wink at me."

"You're fucking nuts, man. I can't do that. I don't know how to flex my fucking
shithole."

"Just bend over and tickle your balls, Carl. That's it. It's winking at me now.
Good. Now put your hand on the base of your dick—not the head, Carl! Good. Now
push it back so I can see that fat cock and balls right back there between those
big thighs of yours. Perfect!"

"Oh, man, I can't believe I'm doing this!" I was sorta freakin' about how turned
on I was getting.

"Shake your ass, Carl. Wiggle it. That's right." The guy took off his tie and
unbuttoned his shirt. "Perfect, Carl. You're so damned hot you're glowing. Attaboy!
Yeah, man, shake it! Squat down now, real slow. Good. Keep going till your ass
touches your heels. Good." He was down on the floor, shooting straight up at my
butt. I tickled my balls and winked my hole at him without waiting to be asked.
"Damn, you're a fox, Carl. You starting to feel hot?"

"Yeah," I panted, flexing my ass while I humped at the air. "Get down on your back,
buddy."

"Huh?"

"Come on Carl. Lay down. Go ahead. Stretch out, guy. Good." He was standing right
over me now and I could see the outline of his cock, jutting down his right pants
leg. I reached down and grabbed my hard dick, slowly milking the shaft till honey
spouted out onto my abs.

"Oh, man, Carl! You leak great, guy. I got that, just as it pumped. Great. Pull on
your balls, buddy. That's it. Hard as you can stand it. Yeah. Great." My balls were
tingling, and the knob on the end of my cock was looking so big I thought it might
explode.

"Good. That's it. Now, squeeze around the base. Tighter. Clamp it off. Pump that
shaft full. Oh, yeah. That looks real good. Real good." My whole body was tingling
as the cap of my cock doubled in size and glowed an angry crimson.

"This doin' it for you?" I gasped, watching the veins on the fat shaft bulge. I
yanked down on my balls again, and more lube squirted out of me.

"Real good, Carl. Now start pumping it. Easy, Carl. Nice and easy. Yeah. Damn,
that feels good, doesn't it?"

"Shit, yeah. Oh, man!" I let go of my balls and clamped a double-fisted grip on
my meat.

"Slow and easy, man. Roll back on your shoulders, Carl. That's right. Stick your
butt in the air. Tuck the old pelvis in. That's it. Nice and limber, Carl. How
much farther can you go?"

"So what do ya want me to do? Suck my own cock?"

"Exactly, Carl. Lick your dick for me."

"No fuckin' way, man. I ain't suckin' my own dick."

"Two hundred extra for trying," Pat teased. This guy was very persuasive.

"What the fuck?" I figured I'd never be able to do it anyway, so I grabbed my
hips and pulled them down. Next thing I knew, my prick was leaking on my tongue.

"Outrageous! Fucking fantastic! Yeah, Carl. Suck on it. Lick it. Dig in that big
gaping peehole for some tasty balljuice. Can you take it deeper, Carl? How far
can you go?" I pulled down tighter, the smell and taste of my own precome making
me shiver.

"Good. Keep it up, buddy. Suck it! That's it. Beautiful!" I was slurping on my
own friggin' hog and loving the sensations. "Jack it, Carl. Yeah, guy. Grab the
shaft and frig it. Good. Perfect!" Shit, this Pat dude seemed to be gettin' off
as much as I was.

"Okay, Carl. Back it out of your mouth real slow. Good. Yeah, now play the knob
with your tongue. That's it!" I dug into my comehole, and my asshole spasmed down
tight. "That's good buddy. Beautiful. Lick around the crown. Good, good."

He crawled around on his knees till he was kneeling at my head. "Play with your
asshole, Carl. Rub it. Tickle it. There you go. Yeah. Now stick your finger up
your butt."

"Gimme another hundred," I bargained.

"Okay, Carl. Another hundred. Push it in real nice and slow. Yeah. Good. Real
good. Stir it around, Carl. Pump it in and out. Good boy. You're looking so
fucking hot, you'll burn up the paper when I print these, Carl. Keep jacking.
Keep pumping that big, beautiful rod of yours. That's real nice."

I felt a twinge in the nerve trigger on the end of my dick. "I'm gonna come." I
shouted, my toes curling back tight. "Oh, fuck, man, I'm gonna blow my wad all
over the place."

"Come on your mouth, Carl. Pucker up those pretty lips and kiss that jizzball
hello! Yeah." I shuddered and shook as I took that final, magic pull on my poker.
My asshole clenched like a fist and I blasted the first hot gob of out all
over my own face. It was hot on my lips, tickling my cheeks as it ran down out
of the corners of my mouth.

"Open up, guy. Take the next blast on your tongue. All right! Good, buddy. Looking
hot. Yeah, let it drool down your tongue to your throat. Swallow it, Carl." I
snorted and blew again. "Another good one! Careful you don't drown yourself,
buddy. Oh, yeah. Let it ooze out on your chin. Milk it. Shake off those last
drops. Good. Oh, shit!" Pat dropped his camera and grabbed his crotch. I heard
him whimper and saw a dark circle forming on the leg of his pants. Looked like
the guy finally got what he wanted out of the session.

"I feel like a pretzel," I groused, rubbing my lower back.

"A pretzel with a bankroll. Carl. You were really good. I got off some hot shots."

"Who you gonna sell 'em to?" I asked.

"Nobody, Carl. This is strictly for my own private collection. I'd like to have
you back next week, if you're interested."

"You wanna watch me suck myself off again? I ain't sure I wanna make a habit of it."

"This would be different, Carl. There's this other guy, Vic Bonnelli. He's your
age, dark, built, looks as Italian as his name. Nice guy. I thought that maybe
you might be willing to do a little wrestling shoot with him."

"No way, man. No fucking way."

"Triple today's fee."

"Shit, man. That's not fair. Triple, huh?"

"Say a week from today. Two o'clock? Sound good?"

"I'll be here." I left the joint with nine hundred bucks and a smile on my face.
I don't know about this Bonnelli dude. Pat sure got a gleam in his eye when he
mentioned him. Hell, maybe we'll just do a few wrestling holds, then go out and
have a beer—maybe. Italian, huh?

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

My Double Life
by Derek Adams, 1995



THE PHYSICAL

I hauled my ass out of bed an hour earlier than usual this morning, stumbled
into the kitchen, took a big swig out of the bottle of juice I keep tucked in
the refrigerator, and was out on the front porch stretching my legs before the
sun came up. I always try to get in a good run before hitting the office, and
today was one of those days when I wanted to be pumped up just that extra notch.
With that in mind, I had strapped on wrist and ankle weights and shouldered an
old pack with sixty more pounds tucked inside. As a result, my heart was pumping
at the target rate within ten minutes, and my lean, hard physique was sheened
with sweat quickly.

Just thinking about today's duties was teasing a bone down into my thick prick,
puffing out the front of my running shorts like a little tent. I'm a physician's
assistant, and today was the day we began doing the annual physicals down at
Allied Equipment International. Three hundred seventy-five men who assembled
heavy equipment—and at least one in five was a real stud. I was gonna be in hog
heaven, taking on these dudes one at a time, telling them to strip and bend over,
then just taking my time and checking them out.

The more I thought about it, the stiffer my prick got. I finally got to where I
could hardly run, so I veered off into the bushes, dropped my shorts, and took
the matter in hand. My eight-inch tube flexed and jerked against my palm as I
slowly peeled back the cover and exposed the crimson head. My first stroke was
greeted with a big old drop of homemade lube juice which I smeared ail over my
knob and down under the crown rim, getting my trigger primed as well. Once that
was taken care of, I leaned back against a tree, closed my eyes and started
pumping.

During the course of the next few days, I'd be looking at asses of all shapes,
colors, and sizes. I'd also be dealing with an equal number of cocks and twice
the number of balls. See, I was the man in charge of the genital/rectal exams
for the company physical. The Doc I worked for was too busy to bother with this
aspect of the exam unless I came up with something unusual that required his
attention. Most of the dudes at Allied were healthy and in their prime, but I
made it a point to be thorough with all of them. Better safe than sorry.

With visions of buttocks, assholes, and dangling cocks dancing in my head, my
balls snapped up tight between my legs. I picked up the pace, flogging my hog
so fast you could hear my foreskin snapping in the early-morning stillness. I
looked down, amazed as usual to see how fucking huge my dick gets just before
blast-off. Every vein was swollen out along the bloated shaft and my knob was
puffed up as big as a ripe plum. I tensed, flicked the trigger a couple more
times and then stood stock-still, letting the feelings build and build until
they exploded in my gut like an M-80 firecracker on the Fourth of July.

My comehole gaped. Then the first few drops of my load went spitting out into
space. The sensation of orgasm intensified, and my breath caught in my throat
as I let fly. The first blast arced high in the air like white lightning,
splattering onto the leaves of a shrub ten feet away. I started flogging it
then, laying three more big lines of mans on the grass in front of me. From
there it was all downhill—just a few thick drops oozing out as I pumped it
slower and slower till the show was over and my satisfied dick was ready to
shrink up and go back to sleep—for a little while, at least.


I hadn't processed any more than twenty men when he came in. I glanced at him,
then at the form he handed to me. "You can step in there and strip, Dave. I'll
be with you in a minute."

"Strip?" he gulped, his voice wavering uncertainly.

"You heard me," I barked, trying not to drool all over his paperwork. Dave
Preston was nineteen, according to the information on his medical form, which
meant he'd done a hell of a lot of growing in a very short time. He was 6'3"
at least, and a quick look at his form told me he weighed in at 226—every ounce
obviously solid muscle. He had curlv black hair, brown eyes, and thick, sooty
eyelashes that went from here to there and back again. He was doing an old pair
of Levi's a real favor by wearing them, and his sweat-stained T-shirt was doing
nothing to disguise the sculpted power of his muscle-slabbed torso.

"Just get naked for me, Dave, so we can get this exam over with." I smiled
encouragingly as I hustled him into the private exam room. "It won't take long."

He looked at me doubtfully, but started to disrobe. As I closed the door, he was
bending over to unlace his work shoes, giving me a great glimpse of his tight
little butt. My dick tingled and I felt my blood pressure go up a couple of
points as I thought about doing this young stud's physical exam.

I gave Dave about five minutes, then opened the door to the little cubicle and
stepped inside. He was sitting on the edge of the examining table, his hands
folded modestly over his crotch. His bod was perfect: creamy skin, barely
fluffed with a faint down across his collarbones and in the valley between his
squared pecs. Other than a repeat of the same downy growth on his bulging calves,
Dave was hairless, which suited me just fine. There was no reason in the world
to cover up his eye-popping musculature with fur.

"On your feet!" I snapped gruffly. Dave jumped to attention, hands still cupping
his jewels. I, however, wasn't having any of that. "Hands to your sides." His
big hands fluttered away reluctantly, revealing a tightly clipped pecker nestled
in front of a big pair of pinky brown balls, drawn up into a tight knot despite
the heat in the room. I pulled up a low stool and sat down, bringing my face
within licking range of Dave's equipment.

His cock was a beaut—about five inches soft, the wrinkled shaft looking like it
could grow by leaps and bounds if given the right encouragement. A tiny jewel of
piss glistened in the slit cut in the center of his knob, quivering slightly as
his cock stirred slightly. The scar of his circision glowed a little bit pinker
than the rest of the shaft, I noted approvingly. It would be a perfect milestone,
a place for a man to curl his lips around while draining all the jizz out of Dave's
pumped-up body.

"You ever had any sexually transmitted diseases?" I asked, catching him totally
off guard. He blushed scarlet and shook his head negatively. "You ever have any
sex?" I pressed on, focusing on the almost-invisible line of hair that ran from
his bush up to his navel. Damn, I could feel the heat radiating off him. It was
making me very horny.

"Not yet," he muttered, his pretty pecker twitching nervously. I could hardly
imagine that he hadn't had his frame climbed by some horny soul—male or female—
but my interest level increased greatly. There's nothing quite like treating a
virgin to a rectal exam. And sometimes my buddies wonder why I like my job so
much!

"Turn your head and cough," I ordered, nudging his left ball with my fingertips.
He shuddered slightly, but did as I asked. "Again." I pressed my fingers to the
other side. That taken care of, I grasped his balls and began tugging gently on
them. Dave whimpered and looked down at me wide-eyed.

"What're you doing?" he gulped, his deep voice suddenly a good octave higher.

"I'm just checking for any irregularities," I assured him, gently prodding the
two fat globes that had popped out, pink and shiny at the end of my clenched
fist. The dude had big nuts, tucked into a bag that felt like silk. I rubbed
the ball of my thumb over the surface, prodding them, squeezing gently until
Dave moaned and his belly muscles flexed out into ridges.

"Good," I muttered. "Very good." I was still holding his balls, but I was watching
his cock. The five flaccid inches had turned to seven in the past couple of minutes,
and there were still plenty of tight little wrinkles in the skin on his shaft. It
was beginning to look like Dave was one of those fortunate boys whose pricks jumped
from moderate to monstrous during the course of getting a hard-on. I sure as hell
hoped so.

"Turn around and lean forward till your upper body is on the table," I ordered,
barely suppressing the urge to lean forward myself and gobble his dick right down
to the root.

"Pardon?" Dave whispered, swallowing noisily.

"Rectal exam," I replied.

"What?" The guy was gorgeous, but no rocket scientist.

"I want to see your asshole," I barked. Boy, did I ever!

"I'm not sure about this," Dave began, shaking his head from side to side.

"You want me to report you to your boss? Maybe lose out on your insurance? You want
that to happen, Dave?"

"No. I just—"

"Turn around, then. I'm not going to bite you." Not yet, anyway.

He turned around, bringing his perfect asscakes into view. Tightly muscled and totally
hairless, they hovered in front of my face, two perfectly rounded orbs of lust-
inducing flesh. I cupped them in my hands and they tensed, popping two little
dimples at the base of his spine.

"Spread your legs please. That's right." His thighs parted slightly, giving me a
glimpse of his balls and the tip of his prick. "Now, just lay your upper body on
the examining table and relax. This won't hurt a bit." He did as I asked, gradually
spreading his cheeks till I got my first tantalizing glimpse of his tightly puckered
hole.

I'm quite a connoisseur of assholes, and I'm here to tell you that Dave's was a
real beaut. It was one of the pouty variety—you know, one of those holes with full,
voluptuous lips surrounding the dude's tunnel of love—tight, but promising a warm
welcome once you had worked your way inside. It was the same rosy pink as the lips
on his face, gleaming moist and tender in the harsh overhead light. You could see
that the little raised line that split his ballbag in half began at the edge of
this musky wonderland. Damn but I like symmetry!

"Now, I'm going to examine your prostate, Dave, so don't be alarmed." He was so
damned skittish that I figured I'd better warn him or risk getting kicked in the
head. "If you let your body relax and don't fight it, there won't be much discomfort
at all. You with me?"

"Uh-huh." He sounded nervous as hell, and his bung fluttered tantalizingly as his
whole body tensed up. So much for relaxing. Oh, well, I'd just have to work around
it. I squeezed a generous glob of K-Y out onto the middle finger of my right hand
and smeared the cool jelly from the callused tip down to the webbing.

Then I raised my hand and reached forward until I made contact. Shit, it was like
I had just stuck my finger into a live light socket. My bony digit tingled and my
prick sprang to throbbing life, quickly stretching down my pants leg, straining to
get closer to Dave and his incredibly sexy bod.

"Jesus!" he groaned, his thigh muscles flexing in an eye-popping display as my
finger breached his rear defenses.

"Hurt?" I asked, driving a little deeper, savoring the intense heat of his insides.

"Sort of," he groaned. I wiggled my finger, grazing the walnut-sized lump of his
prostate. "I mean, I"—I wiggled my finger a little bit more—"well, I guess not too
much. Not really." By this time my finger was in him up to the webbing and his
assring squeezed tight every time I moved it.

I love finger-fucking damn near more than I like coming. I don't know what it is,
but having a finger—or two or three—up a man's beautiful butthole gives me a
feeling like no other. Maybe it's because I can work his hole and watch it at
the same time. I don't know for sure. All I know is that I could work a man's
hole like this all day long. To tell you the truth, when the dude was young,
hunky, and straight, and horny—well, you get the picture.

While I plunged my finger in and out of Dave, I became aware of a new level of
activity in his crotch. The head of his cock was now sticking farther down in
the gap between his outspread legs—a lot farther. It was starting to become
obvious that Dave had a really big piece of meat. It was a bonus that made me
very happy indeed.

"Is this...uh, working?" Dave moaned, his asscakes flexing as he gave my finger
a friendly little squeeze.

"Sure it is, Dave," I reassured him, clearing my throat and trying to sound
professional and detached—no mean feat when you're so horny you're damn near
cross-eyed. "You doing okay?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess so." He whimpered when I fluttered my fingertip across the
little swelling inside of him. "I just feel sorta funny all over. You know, kind
of hot and tingly."

"There's nothing to worry about, Dave. I'm ready to take the samples I need.
Just be patient, and I'm sure we'll be able to finish up in just a few minutes."

"Samples?" His handsome face appeared briefly, looking over his shoulder. His
cheeks were flushed. Little beads of sweat were starting to appear on his
forehead and upper lip. "What kind of samples?"

I eased a second finger up into his slippery channel and began cranking my hand
around like the agitator of a washing machine. Dave's lips pursed and his big
brown eyes fluttered shut. "I have to get a sperm sample from you, Dave. Strictly
routine." I wiggled my fingers around in his slippery slew. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"Uh...sure. Uh-huh. Ooooh!" His whimper trailed off into a breathless sigh, and his
curly head hit the padded table with a soft thud. I poked and Dave's succulent buns
quivered. I poked again and his muscled legs tensed, popping out knots and ridges
at thigh and calf. About the only soft thing about this dude was the snug harbor
where my twitching digits had taken refuge.

By now Dave's cockknob had stretched down to within about three inches of his knee-
caps. The shaft was long, thick and straight as an arrow, and the head tapered from
a tightly swollen ring to mark the demarcation between stalk and glans down to a
blunted point at the tip—all in all, it was one of the prettiest pricks I had seen
in many a day. All the prostate massage had got him good and leaky, making quite a
puddle on the floor between his legs. I wiped up the tiny lake with a towel so the
poor guy wouldn't slip and fall and maybe hurt himself, then got right down to the
business at hand.

First I released my own throbbing stiffer from the confines of my trousers. Then I
reached out and wrapped my hand around Dave's magnificent hard-on. I pulled it back,
tilting Dave's ass a little higher in the air. He groaned and his assring flexed,
but he made no other protest as I cranked his cock back till I was looking at it,
eye to comehole. I ran my thumb down along his juicetube. Honey squirted out of
him like a mountain stream. I sensed it coming and stuck out my tongue, catching
most of the musky, slightly salty goo. I swirled it around in my mouth, then bent
my head and drizzled it down on the bulging purple knob capping my own meat.

My next step was all a simple matter of logistics. I had one hand wedged up his
butt—which I wouldn't have moved for the world. That left me with a choice: get
myself off with a hand job or bend down and suck my own cock. Since I'm no contor-
tionist, there was really only one solution. Besides, there was a perfectly splendid
example of the male sexual organ in a state of full arousal within licking distance
at that very moment, so the choice was simple.

"Jesus! Oh, man! Oooooh!" Dave registered an initial reaction of extreme surprise
when his prick slid into the moist, tight tunnel of my throat, but the guy made no
effort to get away—unless, of course, the shiver that shook his heroic frame from
head to toe fell in the "trying-to-get-away" category. If that was the case, one
good flexing motion of my experienced and rather talented throat stopped him dead.
Being a bit of a show-off, I took him right down to the balls on the first thrust
and shook my head from side to side, nuzzling his balls with my nose. Then I slowly
backed off and proceeded to give him a first-class blowjob.

Every time I touched his velvety cocksnout, it swelled up to alarming proportions,
the delicate shell pink darkening to crimson. His comehole was dilated, gaping at
me like a hungry little mouth. I plunged the tip of my tongue into the tiny opening,
gratified by the deep-chested snort and the bucking of narrow hips which followed.
I swirled my tongue all around his tender glans, tickled his trigger, then deep-
throated him again.

While I worked on sucking his brains out through his prick, I began plunging my
fingers in and out of his clutching manhole. By this time, I had three thick ones
up in him. When I slipped in a fourth and rammed his tight ass till my thumb
stopped my progress, the deal was done, the line was crossed, the rocket was
launched. In short, Dave bellowed and started to come.

I was torn between a desire to taste and to watch. As it turned out, I had plenty
of time to do both. Maybe it was because I was finger-fucking him, or maybe it
was because he was a nineteen-year-old virgin, I don't know. All I can really
attest to is the fact that he single-handedly blew more spunk than a circle jerk
that seated twelve.

I unhooked my lips from around the end of his meat just in time for the first of
his hot jizz to dribble out. The thick stuff splattered down onto my own cock-snout,
scorching the tender skin and sending a shiver right up my spine to the top of my
head. A split second later, Dave's whole body flexed, knotting his gorgeous asscheeks
like a perfectly matched pair of silk-covered boulders.

"Unhhhh!" Dave grunted as if someone had planted a fist in the middle of his tightly
muscled gut. His prong turned bright red, his cometube bulged out to frightening
proportions, and he erupted with a blast of jism that puddled on the floor at my
feet like a steaming lake. After the pressure had been relieved, his prick faded
back to pink and a long string of creamy white hung off the tip like candle wax.

Dave was gasping for breath and my fingers were getting the massage of their lives,
so I figured he wasn't even close to being through. A quick glance at his balls
seemed to confirm this—they were still pulled up against his cockshaft, throbbing
and jiggling. As I watched his prick swell and darken again, I thrust my hips up,
slipped my skin over his rapidly swelling knob and docked him.

"Aaargh!" Dave bellowed again and I damn near got circised by the force of his
next blast. My cockskin bulged out to the max. Then white cream began oozing out
all around the point of connection between us. I let go, and his jizz gushed down
the shaft of my spike, covering me in sticky stuff all the way down to my balls.
I started jacking myself, using this musky treasure as lubricant. A few strokes
sufficed to knot my balls and trip my trigger. I let fly with two strong blasts
of balljuice, adding to the rapidly growing mess on the floor.

I had figured Dave was done, but then he got my attention when he damn near snapped
the fingers packing his butt off at the second joint. I glanced up. Damned if his
nuts weren't still jiggling while his enormous cock had begun swelling up to the
bursting point again. I swear it must have grown a good inch in length and twice
that much in cirference. Believe me, I didn't plan to miss out, so I ducked
down and hooked my lips over the sticky snout. Dave bucked his hips and skewered
me, driving his dick in right up to the balls.

"Aieeee!" he squealed hoarsely. I made it just in time. Dave rocked and quaked as
he let loose with yet another generous gusher of hot mancream. It went down nice
and easy, filling my gut with his spicy, virgin warmth. I milked the stalk with
my lips until Dave finally went limp and collapsed on top of the examining table.
If I hadn't had him thoroughly propped up, the poor bastard would've fallen off
onto the floor. I kept his meat warm until it went all soft and began shrinking
back up to its pre-erection size. Afterward, I tucked my own boytoy back in my
trousers, slipped my fingers out of his clinging channel, and went back out to
my office to do a little paperwork.

"Did you get what you needed?" Dave asked when he stepped out of the examination
room. His cheeks were still flushed and rosy, and his nipples were poking up
perkily against the fabric of his T-shirt. Getting laid had enhanced his masculine
charms—hard as that was for me to comprehend.

"Pretty much," I said, covering my mouth as I let fly with a belch redolent of
fresh come. "Unfortunately, I spilled that damned sperm sample all over the floor."
I shrugged my shoulders and started to go back to my work.

"I could come in again after work," he offered—rather eagerly, I thought. I looked
up at him and he blushed scarlet. "I mean, if you really need it." He smiled shyly
and blushed again. "I don't want to cause you any trouble or anything. It wouldn't
be any trouble for me to stay late." From the way the knot packed into the crotch
of his jeans jerked and twitched, I had no reason to doubt him.

"Suit yourself, Dave," I replied, hardly able to control my voice. "It's up to you."

"Ah...well, then. I'm off about five o'clock. I'll just come on back and wait till
you can fit me in."

"Great, guy. I'd appreciate it." I watched his ass as he crossed the room and trooped
out into the hall. Fit him in! Damned straight about that! I had absolutely no doubt
that between the two of us, we could make something fit—at least for a little while.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!

And that's the end of that one, 14 chapters or short-stories.

Much thanks to JayCee in the in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!

monshanjik said:

My Double Life

Click to expand...

i like such stories very much. thanx