They call me Matt; but it was Matthew when I was younger. It’s a good, strong, masculine name of which I have always been proud. This name, and the gift of life, were the only things my parents were allowed to give to me. Unfortunately, they both perished in a fiery automobile accident on a treacherous winter’s night when I was a mere infant. I have no distinct memory of them other than two dog-eared snapshots circa 1953: one of my then-18-year-old dad. hair slicked back, leather jacket over white tee, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and standing in his best James Dean impersonation; the other of my mom in a wrap-around plaid skirt leaning against an old Ford, looking very much like a young Natalie Wood. The photographs were taken two years before I was born, and less than a year later they were gone.
From that moment on, I was shifted from relative to relative, from coast to coast, never spending enough time in one place to grow any roots or develop any lasting relationships. Luckily, both my parents came from large families so there was no shortage of homes for me to visit. Usually, an aunt would decide that the burden of another child in the household was too much and I would be packed off to the next home.
Early on I knew that I was a good looking boy. Women loved to pat my silken hair or pinch my rosy cheeks. One particularly nasty aunt often commented on my resemblance to my deceased father, who, it seemed, was not a favorite with the family. My father seemed to have had a reputation as a ladie’s man. I knew that I failed to follow in his footsteps; the other boys in school were what interested me.
School was not a pleasant experience; when one relocates with rapidity it is difficult to become acclimated. I was an average student, only because I failed to apply myself, and had few friends. The only bright part of the day came for me after gym class. That was when I got to shower with the other guys, each of us casting furtive glances to compare each other’s equipment. It was always a bit of a disappointment for me, since none of the other boys had a bigger wiener than mine. Yet I continued to scope out my fellow classmates just as, I knew, they were checking out me.
And then came that fateful day in the eighth grade. We had finished showering and the hall bells chimed the five minute warning between classes. Midway to dreary Science with Mr. Bad Breath Collins I realized that I had left my book bag in the shower room. Turning quickly on my heel I raced back to the steamy room and located my bag. There was no class this particular period, so the room was empty. As I turned to cross the room I saw a movement in the window which separated the student’s showers to the gym instructor’s office. I peered closely through the mist, which soon parted to reveal Mr. West in all his naked glory! The teacher’s office came equipped with separate shower room (I guess the board of ed wouldn’t go for an adult man showering with the boys) and West had just emerged from that cubicle to towel himself off in what he assumed was total privacy. Little did he know that he had caught the avid attention of a young student.
My widened eyes took in the wide expanse of his shoulders, the beefy flex of his biceps, the mass of hair that covered his chest and flowed down over his protruding belly to explode in his groin, encasing his manhood. The penis was smaller than mine, although fatter and more pronounced. I was so captivated by my first sight of an adult man’s privates that I hadn’t realized there was an urgent stirring in my pants. As I became aware of the protrusion in my drawers, I became frightened. What if someone came into the shower room now and caught me looking at Mr. West? What if Mr. West looked up and saw me with my penis poking up, threatening to explode out of my zipper?
West turned his back to the window and I seized the opportunity, dashing from the room with one hand stuffed deeply in my pocket to conceal my embarrassing state. As I raced through the halls it began to deflate and by the time I reached Collins’ atom study I no longer needed hand in pocket. He looked at me over his spectacles and reminded me that I was tardy. No shit! For the remainder of the day all I could think of was the marvelous sight of Mr. West’s hairy male body. He became my favorite teacher that year and I soon excelled at gym.
A month prior to graduation from the eighth grade, we were required to attend a three-day class trip to Washington D.C. My guardians balked at coughing up the money required for the trip, but eventually gave in after a telephone call from the school administrator. It was a five hour bus trip to D.C. and alot of the students were thrilled at seeing the sights. I, however, had been many places in my young life and was less than interested. After being checked into a chain hotel, we were paired off into our foursomes. Weeks ago teams had been selected for the purpose of bunking down. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Rod Tyler had chosen me into his four-man group.
Rod was not the most popular boy in the eighth grade, nor was he disliked. He, like me, just “was”. Neither of us did anything to draw attention to ourselves, although we participated fully in any activities. He was a fairly good-looking boy although, up until he called my name, I had paid little attention to him. The other two boys had similar personalities, neither geeks nor school princes. We seemed to be a very well-matched group.
They days were spent on endless tours of the Capitol, Washington’s Monument, Arlington Cemetery, Mount Vernon, and various other historic sites in the city. We were all exhausted at the end of the day and almost immediately fell off to sleep. The second night, however, things took an interesting turn.
Rod was the last to use the bathroom that night. After his regimen of brushing, flossing, and urinating, Rod came out in his pjs, slid under the covers of the bed he shared with Jimmy 1, and flipped off the light. A strong beam from the full moon cast itself across our beds. We called Rod’s bed buddy Jimmy 1 because my partner was also named Jimmy. Hence, Jimmy 1 and Jimmy 2.
I had just started to nod off when a voice shot me back into consciousness. It was almost a whisper, closer to a sigh, and was coming from the double bed next to me. Turning my head to face that direction I could detect movement from that area. I squeezed my eyes into tiny slits, attempting to peer through the moonlit room. There most definitely was motion from Rod and Jimmy 1’s bed as the bedcovers seemed to be rising and falling rhythmically. At intervals, one or the other of the boys made a low growling sound. I had no idea what might be going on between the two and, holding my breath, attempted to focus my gaze so as to absorb more.
A sudden movement in my own bed took me momentarily away from my perplexity. Jimmy 2 had shifted in his sleep (or so I thought) and was now resting very close to my right side. I was about to turn back to the other guy’s bed when Jimmy 2’s voice whispered to my ear, “Give me your hand.”
I was taken aback, first because I thought my partner was asleep and, secondly at the odd request. My lips parted to question him when Jimmy whispered huskily (as huskily as a 13 year old can), “Just give me your hand.”
My young hand gingerly left its place from resting across my chest and reached over and grazed Jimmy 2’s left thigh. Instantly his hand came out to grasp mine in an overhand grip. I started to pull back, but Jimmy held me tight. Failing to understand what was happening, I was about to protest when my hand was pulled over and under Jimmy’s pj’s. My fingers were buried in the warm, moist recesses of Jimmy 2’s underwear.
Everything was happening far too fast for me to comprehend. Muffled cries came from the next bed while I felt Jimmy 2’s hot breath in my ear, his hand gripping mine tighter, guiding it to his rigid penis. Jimmy expertly shaped each of my five digits around his throbbing young meat and held me tight against him.
“Rub it for me, man,” he half-begged. half-ordered.
Swallowing hard, a thin coat of sweat instantly covering my body, I swiftly considered my predicament. Here I was, under the covers and body to body with one of my classmates, my hand buried in his shorts, his hard hot boy dick in my hand, while two of our other classmates were occupying the same room. And, least I fail to mention, my own wienie was up and at attention.
“W-What if they catch us?” I asked.
Jimmy 2 chuckled and a voice came from the other bed.
“Whaddya think we’re doin’!”
I froze. Luckily J2’s hand was still holding mine tightly to his hard dick, or I would have ripped my hand out of his pants. There was no mistaking Rod’s masculine voice, far too deep for his young age. He had overheard the exchange between us!
“Just jerk him, Matt,” he continued. “We figured you’d like this. Why do you think we chose you?”
Speech failed me as I absorbed his last comment. They had chosen me. Out of all the other boys in the eighth grade, they had chosen ME. Was there something they had seen which gave them a clue I might be interested in a little male bonding? Had one of them noticed my pointed glances in the shower rooms? A silent fear crept through me suddenly as I realized that this could also be some sort of trap. They might be luring me into a false sense of security only to announce to the rest of the class tomorrow that I was queer. What was I to do?
The question was answered for me almost immediately. The boy-hand grasping my own now- trembling hand began to move it up and down on his blood-engorged erection. My breath caught in my throat as I felt the hardened length of his sheath slipping along my fingers and making love to my palm. All doubts quickly escaped as I reveled in my first contact with another’s penis. As he quickly jerked my amateur wrist up and down I memorized the smooth glorious feel of the dick, the velvety softness around the rim of his mushroom, the heat radiating from J2’s groin, the rough texture of his boy- pubes, the sticky wetness which coated my hand when we reached the top….
And then my hand began to move on its own accord. On the upstroke I stopped, resisting his downward pull. Taking the head of his cock in hand, I squeezed and felt the head grow larger. Rubbing my palm over the top, I traced a fingertip over his piss-slit and was rewarded with a soft moan from J2, much like the one Rod had emitted earlier. Playing with J2’s dick was the greatest thrill I had thus far received in my young life. I never wanted to let it go.
My last ministrations had produced more goo from J2s bad-boy and I noticed that it slickened my palm and I more easily slid my fist down his piece of meat. Reaching the bottom, I dug my hand into his ball sac and squeezed those orbs. J2 writhed beside me and moaned more loudly, his lust cries almost matching the animal sounds from the Rod/J1 side of the room.
“Bet you do this to yourself all the time,” he breathed into my ear.
“Uh uh,” I replied. “Never done this before.”
“Never touched your dick before?” Rod responded incredulously from the darkness. “Teach him the ropes, Jimbo.”
J2 needed no further encouragement. His left arm crossed over my pumping right and easily slid beneath the waistband of my pajamas and into my fruit of the looms. Taking my hard virgin pecker into his experienced palm he began the five-fingered dance of love. My breath caught in my throat at the sensations J2 was bringing to my boy-meat with his fervent fisting. It felt as if every nerve ending in my body was exposed and centered in my penis, and the classmate at my side was teasing those sensitive nerves. My body thrashed under the bedcovers, yet I never lost hold of the hot dick in my hand. In fact, I jerked his johnson more furiously.
“You got an awful big one for a little guy,” he said.
I merely grunted in the affirmative. Conversation was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. Instead, I reveled in the absolute bliss of my first sexual encounter. Something about the darkened room gave an almost anonymous edge to what we were doing with each others bodies. If someone had flicked on the lights, I wonder if I would have felt as comfortable.
Massaging his rigid meat in my hot little hand, I mentally tried to size up his member. There was no doubt that I had him outdistanced by several inches; in fact, he was probably average in length, but it surely felt good nonetheless. Squeezing the hard shaft of his cock produced an almost steady flow of sticky goo from his helmet, making the path even slicker. I pumped at a furious pace as J2s breathing became more labored and his own fist worked my big fat dick simultaneously.
The mattress next to us began to squeak wildly as Rod and J1 thrashed about in their own playtime. I could detect their breathing becoming shorter, almost like deep gasps, barely muffled by the rustling sheets. Suddenly Rod emitted an animalistic growl, stifling J1’s hoarse gasps and the two seemed to convulse in the hotel bed.
Almost immediately, J2 began to moan and pant next to me, his head rolling about on my shoulder, his hand continuing to piston-fuck my dick. His tongue smacked out at his lips and, with a manly groan, his hips bucked wildly and his hard cock began to shoot liquid all over the inside of his shorts. Having never witnessed another’s orgasm before, let alone my own, I was enthralled by what had just happened. Squeezing the length of his hard shaft, I milked his cock for all it was worth. When my hand came up and brushed across the sensitive head, J2’s prone body nearly shot up off the bed.
And then something brand new and thrilling began to happen to me. My big dick twitched and throbbed between J2’s fingers as a tingling heat seemed to rise up from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. My entire body shook uncontrollably and I grasped onto the sheets with my free hand trying to steady myself. But there was no control. My head shot from side to side….my back arched skyward…..my eyes rolled back in their sockets….my teeth gnashed together….I gasped, groaned, whimpered….and suddenly my virgin balls exploded and stream upon stream of hot sticky jizz shot up and out of my prick, coating J2’s pumping hand.
Twisting in the frenzy of orgasm, I rolled about on the bed, feebly trying to escape J2’s grasp. Volleys of cum continued to erupt from my young nutsac in burst after glorious burst. J2’s hot breath panted in my ear as his talented hand furiously beat me off. After what seemed like minutes, the pace began to slow and my breathing calmed to almost normal. Perspiration bathed my body and soaked the pillowcase. My angry cock was released by J2, who wiped his hand on my pjs and returned to his side of the bed.
And then came whistles and cheers from Rod and J1, whom I had entirely forgotten. Slightly embarassed, I reached in my underwear to feel the sticky wetness and caress my still-hard pecker.
Rod spoke in an amused tone, “Never gonna forget your eighth grade trip, are ya, bud?”
No more was said and we all fell off into a deep sleep, mine filled with visions of what the future held for these new-found friendships. Fate, however, held other things in store for me. My current guardians decided they had done their good deed and, immediately after graduation, I was packed off to another home in another state. My glorious sexual awakening was shattered. Fantasies of summer camp with Rod and the Jimmys was totally dashed! I was on my own once again.
I never knew what became of the two Jimmys. Secretly, I fantasize that they hooked up and lived happily ever after in Jimmyworld. As for Rod, I met up with him unexpectedly some twenty-odd years later. He had joined the sevice after high school and commited his life to the military—-and he had become quite a hunk, as had I. But that’s another story…
New York City in the fall of 1990. There was a crisp chill in the autumn air as I strolled down Park Avenue at the brink of sundown. No matter how many places I’d been in my life, Manhattan was the one which always held my fascination as the best city in this country—-and, quite possibly, the world. Its varied boutiques, fabulous restaurants, magnificent galleries, superb Broadway productions and trendy night clubs made New York addictive, but it was the unique people of the city which gave it character. As I took my evening stroll I was privy to a host of characters on the never-uninhabited streets. From men in three-piece designer suits to homeless beggars; from the Park Avenue socialite in fur wrap to the legal secretary in skirt suit and Reebocks; from the black to the white to the red to the yellow; from punk rock to country; from the straight to the gay to the not-quite-sure-what-it-is; they all existed on the streets of the city. It was a thrill to be in their company again.
It had been several years since I last visited the Big Apple and I recalled a time long ago when I oh-so-briefly called it home. I had lived many places, but very few ever felt like home. Orphaned as an infant and tossed from one foster home to another left me feeling like a nomad. As I fleetingly glanced from one face to the other on the crowded sidewalk, I saw a host of self-sufficient people and I readily identified. A thirty-three year old man all alone in the world might look odd in some locales, but here I was the norm.
I was in the city on business, servicing Natalie, an old and trusting client. She was a handsome woman in her late forties holding down an executive position with a leading pharmaceutical company. A seminar was being held in the city which required her attendance and her single status required companionship for the after-hour dinner/theater/night-club crowd. Some women are comfortable attending these sorts of functions stag, but an emotionally insecure woman like Natalie needed the image of an attractive man at her side. And that is where I came in.
Rounding a corner of the Avenue, I wandered down a dimly lit side street and was transported back in memory to a time almost twelve years before when I first met Hannah. It was at a cocktail party being thrown in honor of my grandfather, a nasty, perverted, and wealthy old bastard. My family situation being as convoluted as it was, I had only met him a few months prior to that evening. He had taken a liking to his handsome young grandson and invited me to stay in his Hamptons home for the summer.
The party was attended by a group of his wealthy friends and business acquaintances. Hannah fell into the later category. She appeared quite popular with several of the gentlemen in the room and the subject of hushed whispers by the women. Every now and then our eyes would meet. She smiled politely and I nodded in return. Yet there was something about the woman which totally captivated my attention. She appeared to be in her late forties with teased red hair stylishly cut to accentuate her small patrician face. Flashing blue eyes were surrounded by long curling lashes and the rouge on her lips matched her perfect coiffure. She was dressed in a designer gown with a fur shawl draped around her thin shoulders. Long tapered red nails clicked on the crystal glass she held as she took an occasional sip of the bubbly, drawing attention to her huge diamond ring.
Someone else caught my eye that evening and, after the all-too-familiar seduction, the stranger followed me upstairs for a pleasant 69 session. After our libido had been satiated, I suggested the man leave first so as not to raise any suspicions. Waiting an appropriate amount of time following his departure, I left the room and bumped head-on into the captivating Hannah. Muttering my apologizes for the collision, I was about to continue on down to the main floor and the diminishing party when she handed me a business card and suggested I call.
It was nearly two weeks before I summoned up the courage to dial the digits. Hannah herself answered the telephone on the third ring and invited me to her penthouse in Central Park on the vague hint of an interesting opportunity.
The following week I made the trek to the city and easily found Hannah’s luxurious digs. All I can say is that the lady went first class all the way. Lush tapestries adorned the walls of the high-ceilinged apartment and objet d’art were scattered throughout the place. The furnishings were rich, yet comfortable and spoke of her individual taste.
She swept into the room in a pastel wrap which billowed in her wake. Hair and makeup were immaculate as usual and one of those long brown cigarettes accentuated dramatic hand gestures as she wove her yarn.
Hannah was a madame, of sorts. Her clientele was elite and solely on a referral basis. The operation was more of an escort service than an actual brothel. Dinner and a night out on the town with a lonely middle-aged wealthy divorcee was the standard order. Absolutely no sex was expected although, on a rare occasion, it occurred. Hannah strictly catered to a heterosexual crowd, although the majority of her male escorts were hopelessly gay. In me she had seen a young man with immense potential with prospects much greater than quick sex in grandpa’s upstairs bedroom.
Taking quick inventory, I realized that my existence was stagnating. Life with Grandpop, no matter how loaded he was, had grown boring. Absolutely nothing loomed ahead in the future other than this offer from the red-head Hannah. Without hesitation, I accepted her generous offer.
>From that moment on I was taken by hand and molded into the perfect male escort. A bevy of professionals educated me in personal grooming, proper speech, gentlemen’s etiquette and numerous other self-improvement exercises. For two hours a day, seven days a week, I was at the mercy of a particularly brutal personal trainer whose duty it was to add muscle mass to my already toned body. A wardrobe befitting a young handsome gigolo was hand selected for me. And then, after several months, I was released from the bull pen and placed into active duty.
For seven years I amassed an extensive clientele and became the most-requested escort in Hannah’s employ and she rewarded me accordingly. When a quick trip to Paris, or London, or any other port was required, Hannah assigned the task to her favorite stud: me. With my new found wealth, I was soon living in a modernized loft in the artsy district of SoHo.
And then the unexpected happened. Hannah fell in love with an oil-rich Texan, gave up her business, and left to be a range mama. Having developed a certain admiration for me, Hannah handed over her client book and encouraged me to continue as a “free agent.” Taking her advice, I continued to be quite successful as a global date for hire. My transition from gangly teenager to hunky escort often amazed me. None of the many relatives with which I had lived over the years could ever have predicted my unorthodox, albeit lucrative, future.
The blaring of a car horn jolted me out of my reverie. Casting a quick glance at my Rolex, a gift from a French countess, I realized time had gotten away from me. I was expected to attend a dinner function with Ms. Natalie in less than an hour. Signaling a cab, I rushed back to my room at the Waldorf and hastily prepared for the evening.
Dinner was a bore, as was the Opera afterwards, although I feigned interest. Afterwards, Natalie complained of a vicious migraine and, after giving me a peck on the cheek, retired to her room for the remainder of the evening, leaving me free to pursue my own interests. This certainly was not difficult to do in the self-titled “city that never sleeps.” Before venturing out into the cool night air, I decided to step into the hotel lounge and enjoy a quick solitary cocktail.
The dark, richly paneled room was quiet at this time of the night. A few couples were scattered at tables throughout the lushly carpeted room. I sauntered up to the heavily polished bar and placed my order. The elderly bartender went to task preparing what turned out to be a fantastic martini. Taking a seat at the bar, I sipped at the concoction and gazed at my reflection in the smoked mirror which ran the length of the bar. Damn, I was a good looking son of a bitch! What was such a hot dude doing alone at a bar in New York City on a pleasant autumn evening? I resolved to finish my drink and find a warm body to share my bed.
Nibbling on a tasty green olive, my attention was drawn back to the mirror, which now contained the image of another man entering the quiet lounge. A vague sense of recognition overwhelmed me. As he came up to stand at the bar, three stools separating us, I took a closer look at the stud. He was not particularly tall, maybe 5′8″ or 5′9″ but had the command of a much bigger man. His dark hair was buzzed close to the scalp on both sides, but grew out about an inch or so on top. Not a matinee idol, he was nonetheless a good-looking man, with full thick lips, squared jaw and dark impressive eyes. A host of fine freckles dotted his cheeks, softening his ruggedly masculine appearance. Inconspicuously, I watched as he extracted his wallet to pay for the long-neck beer the bartender had served up and observed his big working man’s hands and thick sexy fingers. a wedding band on the proper finger of his right hand. My cock jumped in the confines of my cotton underwear.
As he took a swallow from the bottle, I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his heavily corded neck and caught the sparkling of even white teeth. He wore a uniform of some military ranking. I attempted to decypher the name etched across the pin attached to his expansive chest, but to no avail. The jacket covered what appeared to be broad shoulders and a strong, proud chest. His body angled down to narrow hips and flared thighs, to which the material of his military issue slacks clung. The folds of the jacket concealed his crotch and buttocks, but I was sure they were as intoxicating as the rest of this gorgeous stud. I wanted him as badly at that moment as I have ever wanted anything.
Lifting the bottle to his sensuous lips again he tilted back his head and took another long swallow, momentarily closing his eyes. When he reopened them he looked into the mirror and spotted me gazing at his reflection. Turning his tow-head in my direction, he nodded. It was then, with him facing me head on, that my memory senses clicked in.
“R-Rod?” I stammered. “Rod Tyler?”
He appeared momentarily confused, his thick brow furrowing. “Yeah,” he responded in a deep resonating voice, “do we know each other?”
“Sure do,” I smiled. “We went to school together.”
He peered at me sharply, not making the connection. “High school?” he inquired.
I shook my head quickly. “No. Eighth grade. I never graduated from Montgomery High. After the eighth grade I moved.” Seeing that he still was not placing me, I added, “We were room-mates on the Washington D.C. field trip.”
That was all it took to unclog the memory block. His mouth opened in a gesture of astonishment and he gave me a quick once-over with those sexy brown eyes.
“No way,” he uttered. “Matt Anderson?”
Beaming, I rose off my seat and thrust out my hand to him. “One and the same, buddy.”
Taking my hand in his for a powerful handshake, he continued to stare at me incredulously.
“Holy shit, Matt! I never would have guessed! You were a skinny little tadpole in the eighth grade!”
I took that to mean he liked what he saw. “I’m all grown up now,” I replied pointedly.
He invited me over to a table in the corner where we sat, ordered more drinks, and spent the better part of an hour catching up on the past twenty years. Upon graduating from high school, Rod had begun a life long career in the marines. Now stationed in California, he was in New York on a multi-state recruiting seminar. Looking across the table at the handsome hunk, I was ready to sign up for anything he offered. Everything about him exuded raw masculinity, which was a huge aphrodisiac to me.
When questioned about my own career, I faltered. How could I tell this macho stud that I was employed as a high-priced male escort to middle-aged matrons? Instead, I opted for the safer title of public relations which, when I thought about it, wasn’t too far off the track.
The overhead lights dimmed, signaling closing time but I was not ready to part company with my former classmate just yet. Throwing caution to the wind, I invited him up to my room for a nightcap. Rod accepted.
My room, more like a mini-suite, was on a separate floor from Natalie’s and several floors from the smaller room which Rod occupied during his stay. While I uncapped some beers from a tiny fridge under the wet bar, Rod excused himself to use the bathroom. Kicking off my shoes, I settled back on a comfortable chair and propped my stockinged feet up on the edge of the table, waiting for the hot marine’s return.
He came out of the bathroom carrying his blue regulation blazer. The cuffs on his starched dress shirt were rolled to the elbow, exposing well-muscled hairy forearms. Tossing the jacket across the other chair, Rod retrieved his beer from the bar and then, to my surprise, slipped out of his patent dress shoes and stretched out on the big king-sized bed. Positioning pillows against the headboard, he sat back and took a long pull of his beer. Wiping the froth from his lips, he said:
“You don’t mind, do ya? It’s been a long day.”
Fuck, no. This hot man was exactly where I wanted him to be. Now if only I could figure out how I would maneuver myself to join him.
We chatted about a host of inconsequential subjects, discovering a mutual interest in football. I confessed I had attended every Super Bowl for the past ten years, failing to mention it was a running date with a wealthy closeted lesbian client whose family honestly believed was my fiance. One would think that after ten years some suspicion had been aroused. Personally, I didn’t care. I got to see the game in style and was well paid for the weekend.
Rod quickly downed his beer and I served him another….then another….and yet another. He was quite the parched man, as I was still nursing my first. He told me of his marriage seven years ago to a civilian girl and boasted of his five year old son, whom he already had decided would join in papa’s footsteps serving our country. Reaching into his pocket, he rummaged through a leather wallet and extracted a snapshot which he extended in my direction.
Thankfully he was way out of reach, requiring me to rise from my chair and walk over to where he lounged. And, while I was there taking a look at the happy family, I tossed a pillow up against the headboard and made myself comfortable next to him. The kid was cute, resembling the young Rod I knew from school, but the wife needed serious help. She was overweight, wore those funky granny glasses on the edge of her nose, and had brutally brittle peroxide-colored teased hair. I wisely refrained from sharing my thoughts with this man, but wondered what a hot hunk like him was doing with such a mousey broad.
Rod got up to help himself to another brew. His unsteady saunter clued me in to the fact that he was getting a little stewed. Twisting the cap off the bottle, he set it down on the counter and reached to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. I watched, careful to avoid drooling, while he removed the shirt, picked up his beer and returned to my bed.
Casting me a crooked smile, he said, “Getting a little hot in here.”
Boy, he wasn’t shitting! My trained meat was doing a dance inside my pants and I was praying that he would notice. He wore one of those Fruit of the Loom T-shirts with short sleeves, unlike me in my Calvin Klein tank top. The material clung to his manly body, revealing the rise of twin pecs, the points of jutting nipples and the flatness of his belly. Big, muscled smooth biceps bulged out of the sleeves of his T-shirt—muscles developed from years of basic training. I longed to trace the thick vein which ran down over his heavy biceps with my eager fingers. As he once again put the bottle to his mouth I observed how his thick, full lips circled the bottle to lustily partake of the intoxicating liquor, and I feverishly desired those lips to do the same to my aching cock.
After finishing his beer and some more converation, which was getting difficult for me at this point with the beefy distraction at my side, Rod decided to call it a night. Slightly disappointed, I watched as tried to get up but the beers and fatigue of the day had caught up with the guy and he sat back down on the edge of the bed. Rubbing his big hands through the bristle on his head, he laughed nervously and cast me a sideways glance.
“Don’t think I’m gonna make it to the elevator. What was in them beers?”
“Dude,” I responded, “the way you were downing them it was bound to sneak up on you.”
Shaking his head as if to revive himself, he gave me a sheepish look. “Mind if I camp out here tonight?”
Did I fucking mind?!?! Fuck no, I didn’t fucking mind. A hot fucking straight marine ex-school chum whose defenses were left weakened by too many brewskies sharing my bed was absolutely no problem! The fucker would probably pass out in no time, leaving me to take a peek at what those pleated trousers held in storage. And, if he was really out cold, I might engage in a little playtime.
The big hunk slowly bent down and removed his socks, one by one, casually dropping them to the floor at his bedside. With his wide back to me, I watched as his hands fumbled with the front of his pants, obviously attempting to undo the fly. I considered offering my assistance but opted to curb my eagerness. Eventually I heard the zipper release and salivated as he lifted his tight butt slighly to ease out of his slacks. True to his profession, Rod wore khaki-colored boxer shorts. As he hoisted his legs up and under the covers, I had a brief glimpse of beefy, muscular thighs.
Swallowing hard, I watched as the gorgeous stud let his jarhead rest back on my fluffy white pillows. Flitting his big brown eyes over towards my sexually energized self, he practically whispered in his deep, husky tone.
“Aren’t you gonna shut off the lights?”
“Sure, buddy, anything you want,” I said as suggestively as I dared. Reaching out, I flicked the main switch above the headrest which extinguished the light bulbs. Having failed to draw the heavy blinds over the tall glass-paned windows, the moonglow cast its romantic beams across the room. In the semi-light I could easily make out Rod’s prone form as his breathing grew heavier, signaling his descent into sleep.
As quietly as possible I removed my outer clothing and tank top and then, on impulse, hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and pulled them off. Stark naked, I slid my sculpted body under the covers and situated myself as close to the sleeping marine as I dared. My thigh made contact with his and I froze, fearful that he might awaken, but he remained still. I inhaled deeply and allowed the musky scent of his masculine form to permeate my senses. How I longed to reach out and run a hand under his T-shirt, to tease his fleshy nipples, to cuddle up close to the macho stud and share the warmth of his hunky body.
“Remember that night in DC,” he said into the darkness, startling me. Having assumed Rod was asleep, I jumped reflexively. He appeared not to have noticed. Hell, with all the booze in him the whole room must have felt like it was moving. “You and me and the Jimmys,” he continued.
“Yeah,” I managed. “How could I forget? My first time.”
“Yeah,” he sounded as though he were smiling. “Sure would like to relive that time.”
He was referring, of course, to the nocturnal masturbatory session to which I had been introduced during our eighth-grade Washington field trip—me in bed with one of the Jimmys; Rod in bed with the other—young hands flailing up and down on each other’s meat until we eruped in orgasm (me for my first time). We had carefully avoided this subject all evening. Now, lying shoulder to shoulder beside me in my hotel bed, the desirable hunk chose to reminisce on that before-forbidden topic.
His last statement certainly seemed like an invitation to me. Resting on one elbow, I rose and turned to face him. My other arm lifted the bed covers away from our bodies and reached down to touch the fabric of his boxers. Finding the bulge buried under his drawers, I grasped it in the palm of my hand and lightly squeezed his cock and balls through the starchy material.
“Oh, yeah, Matt,” he moaned huskily. “I’ve been away from home for too long. Help me out, old buddy. Jerk me off.” His hips were grinding against the matress and the bulge was beginning to harden in my grasp.
Rising, I reached over with both hands, took hold of the elastic band on his boxers, and pulled them down his thick, hairy thighs, tossing them over my shoulder into the darkness. Placing a hand on each of his legs, I caressed the outside of his muscular calves, working my way up past his kneecaps and then kneaded those strong man-thighs. I fanned my talented hands out around his pelvis, digging my long fingers into his thick pubic bush. Grasping the base of his now-hard penis, I traveled up the length of him.
The marine was writhing on the bed, his hips doing a wild salsa, arms back behind his hand, hands frantically grasping at the pillows. I squeezed his man-cock, feeling the loose velvety skin stretch along the blood-engorged rod as I inspected him. His penis was no more than six inches long, but what he lacked in length was more than made up for in girth. My hand could not wrap around the width of his stalk and the fat bulbous cockhead must have been at least seven inches in diameter!
With my free hand I reached down and took hold of his big bull’s balls, pulling them down between his spread thighs. This caused his cock to stand up straight and proud. I spat a healthy glob down onto his meat and began to frig him in a constant up and down motion. The way he reacted led me to believe it had been more than a while since he’d last had any attention. He thrust his hips upwards, trying to fuck my jerking hand, all the while moaning encouraging words.
“That’s the way, Matt. Just like that. Jerk my beefstick. Come on, man. Make me feel good. Don’t stop. I want ya to make me cum. Wanna cum all over. Don’t let a buddy down. Stroke that fat cock.”
He was all mine, I knew. Like putty in my hands. There was nothing I couldn’t do with him now. All my years of experience had taught me when the ultimate power was mine, and this was that moment with Rod. The only remaining question was how I would use him to my personal sexual gratification.
Kneeling between his spread thighs, I moved forward until my hard cock was against his and, wrapping both hands around them, I jerked both our rods together. Rod’s bucking hips caused his leaking dick to rub up and down the length of my bigger shaft, sending volts of pleasure through my organ. Thick pre-cum flowed from my cockhead combining with Rod’s abundant flow to create a slick dick-fuck.
“Damn, Jimmy was right,” he panted. “You have a big fuckin cock!”
Leaning over until my face was within inches of his, I boasted, “Eight and a half, Stud!” With that I flicked out my tongue and touched it to his puffy lips. His head rolled from side to side, attempting to avoid me. Straight men don’t kiss, your ass! I pursued, finally trapping his mouth and diving my tongue into his hot oral cavity. At first unreceptive, he quickly warmed to the kiss. As our tongues sloshed around in each other’s mouths I felt, rather than heard, the low roaring groan of ecstasy which started deep in his chest and reverberated through his vocal chords. His fingers ran through my silky hair, holding my face closer and we sucked face like men possessed. I would swear that the man had never been french kissed before and was totally enjoying his first outing.
His hips grinded madly, forcing our cocks to ride together in my pre-cum-drenched hands. The fat knob of his shorter prick rubbed along the length of my stiff meat. The guy had me lust crazed! I went into overdrive, devouring his lower lip and then sucking his chin into my mouth. I dove for his bobbing Adam’s apple and planted wet, sloppy kisses along his strong neck. I rubbed the side of my face against his, the bristle of our day’s growth of beard a reminder that man was pleasuring man, and then I attacked his exposed ear. Sucking on the fleshy ear lobe, I darted my tongue in the canal, breathing heavily all the while. This seemed to drive him over the edge. His body squirmed so frantically beneath mine that I feared he might buck me off.
Releasing my grasp on our cocks, I leaned heavily into his groin, continually mashing our pricks together. Placing one hand on each side of him, I looked down into Rod’s handsome face. Even through the moonlight I could see the look of unbridled lust in his eyes. Smiling lopsidedly, I zeroed in on the thin piece of material which separated our bodies—the T-shirt which clung to his sweaty chest. My hungry mouth found his hard nipple as I sucked on it through the cotton material. Moaning more wildly now and mashing his fat prick against mine, Rod arched his back as I chewed on his swollen nub.
Wanting him totally nude, I slid my hands under the T-shirt, pulled it from his writhing body, and rubbed the palms of my hands over his hard, strong hairless chest. Taking hold of his pecs I leaned in close and whispered into his face:
“I want to suck your cock. Can I suck your cock, baby?”
“FUCK YEAH!” he roared.
Without a moment’s hesitation I was down between his thighs, the musky scent of his sweaty crotch filling my nostrils. Spreading my jaws as far as possible, I took the huge head of his hot cock into my mouth and licked my tongue all over the crown, tasting his free-flowing pre-cum. He was moaning so fucking loud, his hips shoving more cock into my already stuffed mouth, that I thought hotel security would soon be banging down our door. I swallowed the entire length of his wide prick and began a feverish cock sucking. Rod’s rod seemed to expand even larger and his leaking faucet threatened to drown me.
And then, just when I thought this hot marine stud was under my command, events took a sudden turn. He ripped his slugger from my slurper, rose up on the bed and, flipping me over, pinned his hard body on top of mine.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted huskily. “I’ve gotta fuck some pussy!”
My answer was to raise my legs and plant them up over his wide shoulders. He was totally gone now, acting on impulse rather than logic. Spitting down into his palm, he rubbed it over his wide girth and then positioned that big cockhead at the doorway of my smooth asshole.
This certainly was not my first time being fucked—he was not getting a man-cherry—but the thought of that huge thing piercing my hole caused me to take pause. It was a pause one beat too many. Before having a chance to utter a word of caution, he had slammed his meat into my shitter. I do believe that is when I first comprehended the expression “seeing stars.”
“OH, MAN!” he bellowed. “TIGHT FUCKIN’ PUSSY!” And he began slamming his entire length in and out of my manhole. In his state of enraged libido i honestly don’t think he knew (or cared) what (or who) he was fucking. He was all cock now.
I considered reminding him that his big boy was ramming an asshole, not a pussy, and perhaps he should take it a little easier, but decided that I liked being battered by this stud. It was obvious he hadn’t had any sexual release in quite some time and all that pent-up frustration was being released on lucky me.
Gyrating my hips in small deliberate circular motions, I met his hard and swift thrusts. He was stretching my hole as few men before him had ever done. The tortured sphincter muscles relinquished their battle as my asshole relaxed and allowed him to piledrive me to his heart’s (or perhaps I should say dick’s) content. His big hands began massaging the insides of my raised thighs as he fucked my gaping hole, grunting like a sex-pig the whole while. His fucking was so fevered that drolpets of sweat flicked over my prone torso as they fell from his heaving marine’s body.
Lifting my shoulders from the mattress, I slapped my hands against the twin slabs of muscle that were his pecs and took hold of the painfully erect nipples. Twisting, turning and pulling on those nubs resulted in that wide slice of beef jackhammering into my hungry hole wtih renewed frenzy. The huge head plunged into my man’s channel again and again, each thrust rougher than the last. I could swear the hot Lieutenant was trying to fuck me to death!
And then, all too quickly, his entire body tensed and his breathing came in short, heavy gasps. That fantastic fat cock withdrew from my bunghole and began spraying massive ropes of man-cum across my body. Load after load shot from his weapon, wetting my sweat-soaked body and even reaching so far as to coat my face. With one hand I scooped his hot cum from my torso and sucked it from my fingers. His jizz was thick, rich and tasty—as I knew it would be.
While my hot friend went through the contortions of orgasm, I found myself losing control. With a few short strokes on my own meat, I came like Old Faithful. My load shot straight up, striking Rod’s massive chest and raining down to merge with his own cum on my jerking body. I beat my meat until the last drop of semen was spent.
Rod fell to my side and rested one big arm across his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling.
“That was fantastic, Matt,” he finally said. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
Chuckling inwardly, I replied, “The only importance is that twenty years ago you and the Jimmys’ taught me something brand new, and tonight was my chance to return the favor.”
He whistled, “Boy, did you ever!”
We fell off to sleep shortly thereafter. I woke late the next day to an empty bed and dried cum caked over my nude body. Rising to go wash up, I spied the note attached to the mirror. Gingerly, I reached out and pulled the small piece of paper down. It read:
“Matt, old buddy -
Was great seeing you again. You made my visit to New York extra special and a time I won’t soon forget. It’s great to know that while men like me are serving their country, there are men like you to serve us. Maybe we’ll meet again in some other port. Sure hope so.
R”
There was no need to seek him out in the hotel. His letter spelled out the finality of our reunion, at least for now. I, Matt, slipped into the shower stall to wash the scent of yet another man from my body, having known from the beginning that Rod would not be mine for keeps, but comforted by the thought that perhaps one day our paths would cross again.
* * * * * * * * * *
Copyright by Jon Royale