By Lawrence Mills

(Honcho June 1982)

“The room was prepared for you yesterday, sir, so you should find everything satisfactory. Shall I draw your bath, sir?”

“Oh, no, no, thank you,” I re­sponded, used to ‘drawing’ my own bath. “Everything is fine, thank you.”

“Good night, Sir.”

“Good night.” I threw my ex­hausted body on the bed. Enrico, my best friend, had really rolled out the red carpet for me. First the chauf­feur, then the dinner, then hours of wonderful man-to-man conversation. But 3 a.m. was well past my bedtime, and my body and mind were drained.

The room was gigantic, yet humbly furnished. The wooden floor and overhead beams made the room very dark and heavy. The brass bed lay in a corner near a large antique chest of drawers. Across the room near the door to the bathroom was a brand new leather chair. The odors of old wood and new leather per­vaded the entire room with a hardy scent reminding me of scenes from television westerns and movies about the Wild West.

Finally, I persuaded myself to get up, strip and wash before bed. I was hardly between covers when I felt the long awaited sleep overtaking me.

“Jimmy, what do you say we rest for a spell,” Jake called out above the sound of the horses’ hooves. “It’s just too hot in this sun.”

“Alright,” I said and turned up to the Golden Eagle Tavern. We climbed down and hitched our horses in front of the Eagle. It was already high noon and that sun was a killer. Jake and I went in and had a couple of beers. All the usual boys were there: Crazy Sam, Grandpa Esposito, Mohawk Billy, and a cou­ple other guys. We were a town of only a hundred or so men, but the Eagle kept a booming business. Ac­tually, it was the only watering hole in town.

Jake my sidekick had had only seven beers when he finally felt a lit­tle loose. He started talking about the women back home and how he wished that somehow, someway, they’d all just hop in a carriage and join us. We guys knew that was im­possible. We’d only been out here in the Oklahoma prairie lands ten months. There was a lot of building to be done before the women folk and kids could come join us. And the guys had been hurtin’ badly, if you know what I mean. I was no exception.

Jake and I left the Eagle and hopped back on the horses. The manly scent of harness and horseshit had become so familiar to me, and such a part of my daily life. Riding in the saddle, the constant bobbing up and down and its heavy friction on my ass and thighs, and the front of the saddle constantly rubbing my crotch kept me hornier than hell. I hadn’t felt or even seen a woman in ten long, agonizing months, and I was ready to fuck a tree. We all were like that. There were so many times I’d jack off and think about how great it would be to fuck in the saddle, surrounded by the smell of leather and animal and of virgin wood out in the forest.

It was just about sunset when Jake and I went back to the ranch. Today, the one-day we did no work, was the day we came home the tiredest. We were riding up to the house when I caught a glimpse of Jake against the backdrop of the orange, gold and blue of the distant horizon. His profile looked slick and handsome, his slim but muscular body riding high on his horse Chariot. He had long, lean and strong legs and a crop of hair that fell forward over his forehead. Since he never wore a hat, he always looked so domestic and so young. I felt myself getting a hard-on from just looking at him.

We got to the barn and I rounded up the animals while Jake made us some dinner. By the time we’d fin­ished eating, the clock in the parlor was chiming eight o’clock. I just sat in the leather couch and looked at Jake, who looked at me, neither of us saying a word.

Finally, Jake got up and walked over to me. “Jimmy,” he began while he stood over me.

“Yeah, Jake,” I responded grasp­ing his hips with my hands.

“It’s been a long time. .. A long time … ” he said, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling in the soft candlelight.

“I know, buddy. We got to do something about it-soon.”

“I know,” he said. Then he walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

It was about a minute before I realized that perhaps I should follow him. So I walked up to the bedroom door and walked in. And there stood Jake, by the light of the window, one hand on his ass, the other on his cock. He just stood there lightly massaging both of them. He didn’t seem to have heard me come in.

I walked ever so slowly up to him. I could hear his slightly louder than normal breathing over the dead quiet of the prairie night. He had me horn­ier than ever, with his young, healthy, muscular body gleaming by the soft rays of the moon. Quickly I walked over to him and with both hands grasped his ass. He gasped, “Ahhhhh,” as if my hands had been ice cold. And they were, against his hot skin.

He turned around to face me. I moved right in on him and gave him the hottest, longest, most yearning kiss I could muster up. He loved every moment of it. I pulled and tugged on his lips with mine while I explored his hard, lean, tanned body with my palms and fingers. Jake put his hands on my shoulders, mas­saging my neck. I stopped kissing him and looked down to see his long, thick cock throbbing with ex­citement. I bent down and looked at it once more before I instantly took a wide gulp and swallowed his enor­mous tool down my throat. It was a brand new experience for me but I fell right into the swing of it. And so did Jake.

He began to sway his hips front and back, pushing and pulling his fat, long prick in and out of my watery, savoring orifice. While grasp­ing his sides and his behind I began a slippery, fast-glide over his penis, tasting the pre-cum he had begun to collect. I stood up and laid him face down on the bed.

“Jake, I gotta have you, man. I just gotta do it,” I said, stroking myself, mad with passion. Jake didn’t say a word. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a couple fingers full of lard and ran the lard over my red-hot cock. I ran back into the bedroom and saw Jake lying just as I had left him, his round, firm, hairy buns kiss­ing the moonlight, his hole summon­ing me to its call.

Wild with uncontrollable appetite I knelt over Jake, and with no time to let him prepare I rammed my long, thin pole into Jake’s bowels. Sud­denly, with no warning, he let out one single earth-quaking yell. His burst of pain only made me want to fuck him even more.

“Ohhhh, GOOOODDDDD-DAMN!!” he yelled as I began to pump away on him furiously, ramming my stub­born Frankfurt between his buns, banging away with raging abandon.

“I want you, man. I want to fuck you like you’ve never known possi­ble,” I yelled back to him, deter­mined to make him feel what I wanted to give.

“Ohhhhh, Jiiiiimmmmy, OHHHH,” he kept yelling, so loudly that the room shook. “It hurts but I want it. Ohhh, give it to me.”

“I will, man. All eight inches of it,” I managed to say, just before I felt the pressure in my balls release as I rapid-fired my sidekick’s virgin asshole with my pumping prick. Out came all the cum I’d saved up for weeks in the hopes of having a luscious cunt to fuck. Instead I ended up with an asshole, but it was every bit as good-if not better.

Jake turned over onto his left side, with my steadily shrinking prick still in him. “Keep humping me, Jimmy,” he said, while choking his garden hose, stroking it fast. Within a minute he too had shot his ocean all over the bed and himself. I put my hand down on Jake’s drenched thigh and started smoothing the semen all over on his thigh and leg, getting him all sticky and wet.

When I woke up I felt the stickiness of my hands against my prick, my fingers nearly sticking together with half-dried semen. I’d had a most delicious wet dream. My heart was still pounding-partly because of the excitement of the dream, and partly because I sensed that familiar scent of leather and wood.

Fiction by David W. Richards

In Touch For Men (1987?)

Brad had watched the construction crew building a new house across the street all summer. By August, his in­fatuation with a dark, Italian-looking construc­tion worker had grown into an obsession. Every possible moment was spent watching the man; his mind creating every imaginable situation, but never daring to put his thoughts into action.

By Labor Day, the house was nearly done. Only two men remained on the site to complete the job: the dark haired, muscular one and an older guy. On this final day, Brad had taken a seat under a tree near the new house from where he could watch everything in the building. The two men were doing more drink­ing than working, and by noon the older man was gone.

The dark haired man stepped outside and walked toward the line of trees where Brad sat. Unaware of Brad s presence, the man unzipped his pants and pulled his meaty cock free, spraying a golden stream against the tree. From where Brad sat he saw almost eight inches of fat, juicy meat, crowned by a velvet head the size of a baby’s fist.

He suddenly craved to feel that fat cock in his mouth, to suck the man s juices from his bull nuts. His mind whirled feverishly, conjur­ing all sorts of situations. Suddenly he had it all pictured, choreographed …

“Hey, mister … ?” he called.

The man looked over his shoulder, his green eyes burning holes through Brad’s tight cut offs. “What can I do for you. son?’ he asked. “Need something?”

“Yeah, I need a job.”

“Lots of people do,” the man grinned. “How can I help you?”

“My friend Steve told me to talk to you about a special job. Said only you would know what it was.”

The man stared at Brad, evaluating him. Even at eighteen. Brad had a man s physique: broad shoulders, hard pecs, mus­cular arms and legs. And the full basket be­tween his thighs bulged invitingly.

“Well, if Steve told you to talk to me about a job. I might have something for you,” the worker grinned. “Come on inside and let’s see if we can come up with something. By the way, name’s Tony,” he said, extending his hand.

Brad followed Tony into the house, to a room with covered windows.

“All right, let’s get this straight,” Tony said. “You need a job and Steve sent you here?”

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” Brad replied.

“Let s see now, which one is Steve?”

“Steve’s the star fullback on our high school team, sir. He’s about 6’2” and weighs 200 pounds of solid muscle.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember him. He did a real good job for me … real good. So, what kind of work are you looking for? I might be able to use you for a couple of things.”

“Well, what about the same job that Steve did for you? It sounded like something I could do.”

“Remind me what it was Steve did. I’m not sure I remember,” Tony said with a grin.

Brad blushed and said. “Uh… I think it was called blow jobbing … or something like that.”

“Yeah, now I remember, that’s right. Steve was a blow job trainee, a blow jobber. Right, and that kid had a lot of talent.” Tony said, smiling

“So do you think you could give me a try out?” asked Brad, rubbing his bulging crotch.

“That depends.” replied Tony. “How much experience have you got?”

“Experience? Well, none, really. I just learned about this job yesterday.”

“Good!” Tony chuckled. “I like to train my own blow jobbers my way. Of course, this is a very exclusive organization. Not just any man gets to join, understand?”

Brad nodded again, shaking his curly hair vigorously.

“I think you’ve got all the physical qualifica­tions for the job,” Tony said quietly, his big hands stroking the smooth, tanned skin of Brad’s arms and chest. Brad’s body shook beneath his touch, “But like I say — not every man can be a blow jobber. Many men fail the on the job training. If you fail, I suggest you don’t tell a soul. Save yourself the humiliation.” he said, staring hard into Brad’s cool blue eyes.

“I won’t fail,” Brad said determinedly.

“Good. Then let’s get started. Take off your clothes,” Tony ordered.

“What?” Brad asked wide eyed.

“I said this is a very exclusive organization. The local chapter requires that all training, and the job itself, be done bare ass. Of course, if you’d rather not …”

“No! It’s all right,” Brad stopped him. “I was just a little surprised.”

Tony knelt on the floor to remove Brad’s tennis shoes. Then his hands were on the boys pants, unsnapping and unzipping the cut offs. Tony inhaled the thick, musky sweatiness of the boy’s crotch as the pants slid down. Brad had on only his bikini briefs. Tony made certain they soon disappeared.

He pulled the small briefs down over the boy’s muscular ass and powerful legs. Tony sat back and whistled appreciatively. “Jeezus, that’s one of the most beautiful cocks I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, staring at the youthful four inch dick hanging softly be­tween Brad’s hairy thighs. “I knew you were perfect for this job!”

As he talked, Tony’s hands roamed over Brad’s body, down his chest, across his sensi­tive belly, through the tangled blonde hairs. Finally they converged on his cock and balls, hefting the meaty organ toward his face, one hand cupping the boy’s bloated balls.

Brad’s eyes grew wide as he saw Tony’s tongue snake out, licking across the velvet head. Blood surged from every part of his body to fill his hardening cock, driving it be­tween Tony’s sweet lips until it jutted straight out. Seven inches of hard rock cock pulsed in Tony’s grasp. Tony gave the fat head a satis­fied suck, then released the cock and stood up.

“Now it’s your turn, Brad. The training goes on.”

Brad stared at the man, uncomprehending.

“You have to undress me now,” Tony ex­plained. Seeing the boy’s hesitation, he placed Brad’s hands on his chest. “Start with my shirt.”

Brad’s hands shook with excitement as the buttons came loose one by one, baring the thickly matted jungle of hair covering the hard muscles. He dropped the shirt on the floor and moved quickly to Tony’s buckle. The man already had kicked his boots off. As the zipper separated, the tight Levis clung to his tight ass cheeks. Brad tugged the pants down … Tony was naked beneath them, seven inches of juicy man meat just inches from his face. It was a cock perfectly designed for Tony. Just as the man was stocky and well muscled, so was his cock.

“Now that were both naked,” Tony said, kneeling on the floor with Brad, “it’s time to continue your training. Lay down on your side, facing me,” he directed, doing the same thing but in the opposite direction. “This next stage is called sixty-nine, and it’s vitally im­portant that you get this correct. Follow every­thing I do, understand?”

Brad nodded silently, unable to take his eyes or hands from the strong man’s massive cock and balls. Tony took the boy’s prick in both hands, slowly stroking its full length, from the hairy base to the ultra-sensitive head. He watched Brad follow his direction, and together they milked each other’s cock into full erection.

Then Tony used his rough tongue to lick the hard poker he held, sticking it in Brad’s piss hole. The boy’s body shook in reaction, shiv­ering in delight at these new feelings. But he remembered to follow Tony’s lead. He tenta­tively tasted Tony’s cock, finding it surpris­ingly inoffensive. In fact, he delighted in the taste, and smell and the feel of it!

Tony abandoned the cock head for a mo­ment, sliding his tongue down the throbbing shaft, wetting the boy’s dick. And Brad fol­lowed suit, driven to actions he’d never done before. Now Tony’s mouth was hovering over Brad’s cock head, only this time he didn’t simply lick it … he engulfed it in his mouth!

“Holy shit!” Brad cried, bucking his hips into Tony’s face. “Fuck, man, suck my cock!”

Brad tried to stuff more of his prick into the man’s throat but Tony pulled off. “Hey, Tony, don’t stop!” Brad begged. “It feels so fucking good!”

Tony nodded in agreement. “And you’re supposed to be following everything I do,” he reminded Brad. This is part of your blow job­ber training, so let’s see you blow a tune on my flute!”

The boy eagerly dove down on Tony’s massive cock head, stretching his mouth wide to suck it all in. He exulted in feeling the velvet skin slide over his lips and tongue, smelling the sweatiness of Tony’s crotch where his nose was buried. Tony continued sucking deeply on Brad’s cock, massaging his balls. Within minutes, he could tell the boy was about to cum. He felt Brad’s prick distend to new proportions, felt the big balls lift in their hairy sack … then felt the force of the boy cumming as that hot dick exploded down his sucking throat. Brad bucked harshly against him, keeping Tony’s own hard meat imbed­ded down his throat. Brad promised himself he would take all of the man’s cum … no matter how much there was.

And there was plenty! Tony’s cock head exploded in a shower of jism, filling the boy’s mouth and throat. Brad sucked quickly, ea­gerly, tasting the richness of it. Too soon the man was spent, lying heavily against Brad. Brad licked tenderly across the quivering mass of meat, so recently spitting inside his throat.

They lay together for a few minutes, then Tony stirred and began to get up.

“That was real good, kid. You’ve got a real talent for sucking cock. But I can’t decide if you’re qualified for the job after just one try out. And this time you have to get me off alone.”

Tony got to his feet, standing in front of Brad, his thick dick swaying slowly back and forth, soft but still heavy with blood from the good cocksucking it had just had.

The man pointed at his dick and said, “Let’s see you go to work on that and get it ready for another good blow job.”

Brad felt his own cock begin to stir again — at eighteen it only took him a minute or two to be ready for more action — but he wondered if he would be able to get the older man hard again. He’d have to go by instinct since he’d never sucked cock before the last few minutes. But he knew he wanted to please Tony, so he got to his knees and grasped the man’s large, round balls in one hand while he took hold of the meaty sex organ in the other.

Brad looked at the heavy balls in his hand and felt a strong wish to lick and suck them, which he did. Tony groaned with pleasure. “That’s right kid, suck my balls!” he moaned as he twisted his hips back and forth in ecstasy.

Brad sucked Tony’s cock into his mouth and used his freed hand to grasp the muscu­lar construction worker’s round, firm ass cheeks with it. He’d never felt anything so ex­citing before he thought, as he continued to caress Tony’s ass.

With all this attention, it was not too long before Tony’s dick began to stiffen as hot blood surged into it.

As Brad looked up at Tony, he realized that Tony’s nipples had stiffened up also and were standing out like pencil erasers. The boy in­stinctively reached up and began to twist one and then the other of the two pleasure but­tons. Tony loved it!

And so did Brad! He was off in another world, one of pure pleasure and excitement. As he sucked Tony’s prick, his own was up and waving. He felt thrills of pleasure surge up and down his body and he knew that he would soon be shooting another load, even though he hadn’t touched himself.

Just as he felt he could hold off no longer, the husky man he was working on began to groan and thrust his dick deep into Brad’s throat. The kid strained to take it all the way to the balls — and just as he succeeded, he and Tony shot off at the same time.

As Brad sank down on his heels, he looked up at Tony and whispered, “I love you,” nuzzl­ing his hairy friend …

“What’d you say, kid?”

The hard, demanding voice dragged Brad back into reality. He looked up into angry, staring eyes. “What the fuck did you say, per­vert?” the man demanded. What are you doing out here — watching me piss so you can beat off?”

Brad looked down, wide eyed. His hard, drooling cock throbbed openly from his unzipped pants. “No … wait, umm … I can expla —”

“Explain hell,” the man growled, grabbing Brad by the hair and forcing his head against the rough tree. “You just like to watch people piss, don’t you? Huh? You like piss?”

The construction worker shoved Brad back further until his face was turned up.” Here you go, then, buddy. Get an eye full of this,” as he stepped forward and slapped the boy across the face with his meaty cock. “Then you can have a mouthful of this!”

Holding Brad’s head with one hand and his cock with his other, the worker grunted hard — and then a stream of warm, golden piss struck Brad full in the face, running down his heaving chest. When he was done, the man swore at the boy, zipped up his pants and staggered drunkenly toward the house. He didn’t even see the steaming puddles of white hot cum splattered on Brad’s naked belly.

Fiction by Randy Brieger

(In Touch for Men.#116.July.1986)

Only on a Sunday. These things can only happen on a Sunday.

The day after you spent six hours cruising anything in a pair of 501’s that you could spy — in fact everything that wasn’t in a pair of 501’s, OK, let’s be honest … even some things in dresses … and you still wound up at home on one side of a queen-size (!) waterbed alone.

Yes, Sunday … the one day that you decide to say “fuck it all” — not intending for it to be taken literally. Only this certain Sunday I was taken literally.

It all began when I was trying to brush the taste of Crown Royal, pot, and morning mouth out of my teeth. The doorbell rang, and I (looking like Cujo) answered the door wearing only an old bathrobe, only to wish I hadn’t. Or maybe not.

Standing behind the torn screen was the statue of David encased in a muscle T shirt and a pair of cutoffs that came close to defying the laws of gravity and stress. Swallowing what little pride and what abundant toothpaste I had in my mouth. I casually stammered out the question, “What can I do for you?” I like to think of myself as the subtle type. Apparently he hadn’t been known to be subtle, for he answered with a five minute spiel about yard work, hedge trimming, prices, how shitty my yard looked, and “had my gardener died?”

It was love at first sight.

After agreeing on a price (I would have given him my Saks credit card, my autographed Bette Midler albums, and the condo I sublet in Key West — but he settled for twenty dollars), Scott (that was his name) began the job. while I began wondering if it were possible for me to perform a wardrobe change and a complete makeover in half an hour … or less. It took an hour, and it was less—less than I would have hoped for … less than I would have dared hit the bars with … less than I would have dared hit K-mart’s spring clearance sale with.

First of all, the shower was not working right because the water pressure was low — thanks to some kid washing the Shermans’ DeLorean two houses down (I do hate a show off). Then the electricity was not on — thanks to my not paying the bill on time. I did give the power company a quick phone call explaining that my mail carrier has limped terribly ever since his accident in Nam, so my check was probably en route as we spoke, and they assured me that the power would be back on approximately at the time that my yard boy would be working on his next lawn.

To top it all off, I had nothing clean to wear except a Gucci blouse of my sister’s and an old pair of football shorts with a huge hole in the lower right cheek (sans underwear), since some stupid jerk with a hot bodied youth finishing his yard work as he spoke hadn’t done the laundry this week (sigh).

So, looking like a cross between Joan Rivers and my high school gym coach (can we choke?) I approached my little lawnmower-tugging cherub with a pitcher of lemonade, a bottle of poppers, and a Grace Jones cassette in play on my portable tape deck. He had never heard of Grace Jones, he never did poppers, he never drank any lemonade before he and I were in my bedroom (I’m such a sweet talking devil, sometimes).

Things started off very smoothly as I showed him around my large and well appointed sleeping chamber. He asked me about the many large pictures of naked and handsome young men that adorned the walls.

I explained that all the great artists over the centuries had felt that the nude body of a well developed man was one of the most artistic subjects anyone could imagine. Didn’t he agree?

He said, “Ummm.”

I think that meant that he agreed.

He asked why I had such a large bed … much too big for a single man … I was single wasn’t I?

I replied that I was a restless sleeper and moved around a lot in the bed and that I had many friends who often came to visit me to discuss artistic matters and that when we talked too late they often decided to spend the night with me. Since I had only one bedroom, they of course had to share my bed, hence I needed a really big one.

He then asked why all my bedside lights seemed to have red shades?

I explained that I had weak eyes and red was easier on them.

To show him what I meant, I pulled the blinds and turned on a few well placed lights … so he could get the full effect.

Then things got less smooth as my young conquest began fidgeting. I casually explained how overheating caused by tight sweaty clothes could lead to sterility and sexual dysfunction. Believing me, he obediently removed all of his clothes. Since I had no clean clothes for him to change into (how utterly convenient of me), I thoughtfully took off my clothes so that he would feel less embarrassed (after all. we were both guys).

And what a guy he was. Obviously yard work was good exercise because his full pecs, flat stomach, and beefy thighs were a true delight to behold. As I stood gawking, I realized that I heard no music, so I asked him to reach behind him and flip over my Grace Jones cassette. As he bent over, his sweet puckered asshole winked at me from between two round white cheeks, as hairless as the rest of his statuesque frame. He turned around and faced me, his two erect nipples reaching out, while my hard cock jutted forward as if trying to meet them.

He asked inquisitively about the reasons behind my blatant erection. I swallowed hard, trying to remain coy about the whole situation, even though my purple cockhead was dripping pre-cum all over my oriental rug. Thinking fast, I blamed my turgid state on the poppers. “It’s an ordinary side effect,” I said. Then I expressed concern over the fact that his limp cock wasn’t responding in the same manner. Perhaps he had been too late in getting his sweaty clothes off and sexual dysfunction had already set in (I’m such a suave liar, sometimes). He began to cry, and I offered to console him and try to help him out of his predicament.

“This will be just between us fellas,” I said smiling as I put his dick in my mouth.

I had him cured in thirty seconds.

He pulled me up from my knees and stood me in front of him. As his thick prong tangoed alongside my pulsing rod, I had the sad feeling that he was going to call this dance quits. To make matters worse. I accidentally glanced into my dresser mirror, and it cruelly reminded me how I looked (I would have made Lily Munster look like Miss America at that moment). My virile little gardener didn’t seem to notice, for he looked into my eyes, smiled, and I saw the Clearasil crack on his face as he said, “I’d better make sure that everything is in working order.”

And that he did.

His able hands worked gently over my body, teasing my flesh into complete submission. His mouth worked beautifully, sucking my cock, chewing my tongue, biting my nipples, and licking my quivering asshole. And speaking of assholes, his tight red rosebud was in, oh, so wonderful working order also, as it drained my dick twice like a vacuum cleaner hungry for all the man-juice it could get.

But what he tested the hardest — and I do mean hardest — was that thick veiny cock of his. He filled every inch of my insides with that huge, throbbing tool. It felt so good that I wanted his firehose everywhere, again and again and again. Somehow he managed to accommodate me, as he repeatedly shot semen in my face, on my chest, up my ass, in my mouth, and various other places on my body. That afternoon, I got to know every detail of my bedroom ceiling by heart, I exercised every adverb I could think of for how he should fuck me, and I wound up trying every sexual position that I have ever witnessed in a William Higgins film, plus a few new ones, as I gave in to three hours (seriously, no less) of unhindered, uninterrupted, unbelievable passion.

As I sit here pulling blades of grass out of my hair and wiping sperm off my neck, I know it has all been worth it. I know that next Saturday night I won’t worry about how pressed my jeans are, how much styling mousse to put in my hair, or how I should swing my hips on the dance floor. Today … Sunday … only on a Sunday … I learned that being myself is all that matters. I’m not such a bad guy … I’m OK. In fact, I’m pretty terrific! Jeez, that sounds just like Erica Jong, but that sounds pretty good. That sounds like I’m off to a great start. That sounds like … that sounds like the doorbell. My God! I look like Shit!

So much for self confidence.

Knowing that Richard Gere wouldn’t dare come by unannounced, I gather my wits, wrap a towel around my waist, run a brush through my hair, and answer the bell. Standing in the doorway is a sun tanned, half naked youth, a half-familiar face (seen in a dream, perhaps), wet from the nipples down … his white shorts (sans underwear) revealing a bulging pink hard on. I politely pick up my towel and my jaw off the floor as the boy facing me speaks.

“Hi. I’m Jeff. I was just washing cars down the street, and my brother Scott said you might have some work for me.”

I pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming. The red welt and the pain tell me I’m not. I graciously invite the lad inside to discuss his wages.

I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t own a car.

Luckily, the subject never comes up.

He wasn’t like the other tenants in my building; for one thing, he had an incredibly fuckable ass. For another, he got uncontrollably turned on by older guys like me.

By Bill Bardelli

(Honcho.May.1985.)

I hate my telephone. Why can’t I go to bed and not have it ring in the middle of the night and wake me out of a deep sleep? It happens a couple of times a week — usually right after the bars close. Guys stumble through the lobby — a couple having a slurry worded fight, or a group ready to continue the party in someone’s apartment — and without fail one of the old ladies on the first floor will call and ask why I don’t do something about all the noise. “After all, Jack,” the familiar refrain goes, “you’re the Super.”

The call came early tonight. The clock beside my bed read 12:32. I was just drifting off into a dream about fucking a delivery boy who worked at the local corner market. It surprised me when I picked up the phone and it wasn’t one of my old biddies. It was the guy in 503 — his bathroom ceiling was leaking. The sound of water running in the apartment above led him upstairs but there was no answer at the door. I promised to investigate right away, hung up, and pulled myself out of bed. I snatched my jeans from the floor and pulled them on, grabbed my key ring, and flew out the door.

503. So the problem was in 603, my still sleepy mind deduced. 603 — that meant Michael Mortenson, my resident dizzy blond. He was turning out to be one of my major lapses in the selection of tenants. In only three months, he had misplaced his keys three times, caused several complaints with his stereo, and been late with the rent every time. I hadn’t expected him to act like Mr. Upstanding Citizen at 22, but this kid wasn’t playing with anything close to a full deck. How he managed to wait on tables and serve anybody the correct order was a mystery to me.

But there were redeeming qualities in the young man. For starters, he had a bubble butt to match his bubble brain. It jutted out of his skin tight jeans like two melons — round, juicy and ripe; firm, but not unyielding. The rest of him did the melons justice. Curly blond hair, mostly natural from what I could tell; peachy blond skin with a constant flush of color across his cheeks. Juicy pink lips and sky blue eyes. Pale blond fuzz on his arms and legs, which he was always happy to display in his tank top and gym shorts. And there was no reason not to show it — it was a tight little body, all lean and angular except for the glorious curves of his ass.

The thought of his ass softened my anger and started to harden my cock as I banged on his door. It felt kind of sexy to be padding barefoot through the halls, wearing nothing but my low slung jeans. My job kept me in good shape for 38, still sinewy and lean. Too much sun had started to give my face some craggy lines but it looked good on me, went well with my graying brown blond hair that still covered my head in a thick mane. I seemed to get more reaction at 38 than I did in my twenties. And when all else failed I could always flaunt my basket. The sight of seven fat inches hanging down my right thigh could often get me what Adonis looks wouldn’t.

There was no answer at the door. I turned my pass key in the lock and walked in. A flickering light glowed from the bathroom and I heard the water running. I pushed the door open and had to pause a moment to soak in the scene — Michael lounging in a bubble bath, eyes closed, earphones on his head with the hum of music audible across the room. His head lolled back against the ledge, with a Walkman, a burning candle, a glass of wine, and a half smoked joint in an ashtray on the hamper behind him. His body was covered by the bubbles and a stream of still running hot water was spilling over onto the tile floor.

My shadow against the candlelight gave him a start and he opened his eyes. He stared a moment, the marijuana haze making him look more confused than usual, then whipped the earphones off his head.

“What are you doing?” he stuttered.

“You’re flooding the goddamn place!” I shouted as I moved to the tub and shut off the water. I reached into the bubbles and pulled the plug.

“Oh,” he mumbled, trying to get a handle on the situation as he watched the water cascading over the side of the tub. “I’m sorry.”

“Get out of the tub!” I ordered.

“Huh?”

“The water …” I started to explain, and then decided not to waste my breath. I found his arm under the suds and yanked him to his feet.

So the trip wasn’t a total loss. My eyes drank in the sight as I pulled him from the water. Most of the body I’d seen before, riding bicycle or sunning on the deck. It looked even tastier now, glowing in the dim light. He was flushed from the heat of the bath, and the peach fuzz on his arms and legs glistened with tiny bubbles that still clung to him. His pubic hairs were a pale blond brown and matted with suds, framing his succulent pink circumcised cock which jutted out over a thick sack of hairless balls. He turned to grab a towel and the back view was even prettier — those golden melons flushed with pink from the bath, shining like satin from the moisture. I caught a glimpse of the winking pink button in the hairless crack as he wrapped the towel around him. My cock started to creep down my thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated as he turned to face me. His eyes weren’t on the tub but on the development in my jeans. It only served to make me harder. “I hope I didn’t cause too much damage.”

“Yeah,” I vaguely agreed; the thought of the wet ceiling in the apartment below us was taking a back seat to my concentration on the knot of his towel. It left a thin line of bare flesh to his hip. My staring eyes made him uncomfortable, so he turned away from me to fiddle with the Walkman on the hamper.

“It was real dumb of me,” he offered.

“Yeah,” I repeated, my eyes now hypnotized by the twin globes pressing out against the thin terrycloth. “Don’t let it happen again.”

To emphasize my point I moved a step closer and swatted my open palm across his ass. The flesh under the damp towel reverberated with a solid echo. Michael gasped at the contact and jumped as if he had just gotten an electric shock. His surprised eyes turned to meet mine and his mouth parted, pink tongue showing through white teeth. His expression told me that the swat was unexpected but not unwelcome.

“You can go back to your bath now,” I grinned. My hand moved to the knot of the towel and pulled it from his hips. Michael gasped again as he stood there naked before me, too stunned to react.

It was like being let loose in a candy store; I didn’t know where to begin. I decided on the juicy pink lips, moving closer for a kiss. I pressed my mouth to his and opened to let my tongue slide inside. My hands ran down his hard back to the soft round twin protuberances. I cupped one globe in each hand and squeezed; the springy flesh was like Jello under my fingers. His arms grasped my bare back and he arched forward, his hardening dick pressing against my leg.

I left his ass cheeks to move my hands to my jeans, which were quickly undone and down my legs. I stepped out of them and kicked them across the wet tile as my throbbing cock bobbed in front of me.

“Jack,” Michael whispered, his stoned eyes trying to focus on my meat. “I always wondered what that thing would look like out of your pants.”

“Take a closer look,” I suggested. My hand on his neck gently guided him to his knees.

I could feel his hot breath escape in a gasp as his mouth neared my dick. The warmth made me shudder as I arched forward, my dick reaching just far enough to touch his fat lower lip. He opened wider and his pink tongue appeared, soft and warm as it explored the slit at the head of my dick. Suddenly, I was too horny for leisurely foreplay. I took a handful of golden curls in each hand and pulled him closer as my fat cock disappeared into his mouth.

Michael only sighed in approval; his hands grabbed my ass to keep him balanced. I could feel him relax the muscles at the back of his mouth as he gobbled down the last few inches of dick like a starving man. He buried his nose in my pubes and moved one hand to my swinging nuts, kneading them into his palm as he continued to suck me like a pneumatic pump.

My knees started to buckle and I had to brace myself against the wall behind him to keep upright. It was obvious that he’d suck me inside out if I didn’t stop him, so I summoned all my strength to pry him loose. My cock popped out of his mouth with a loud smack and bounced in front of his nose. I had to grab his golden head in both hands again as he struggled to reattach his mouth.

The kid kept nosing forward; he didn’t want no for an answer. I finally did a side step and he lost his balance, falling forward to all fours. I knelt beside him and grabbed him around the chest with one arm, the other stroking his belly underneath, trying to calm him down. His breath was coming in great heaves and he nuzzled my shoulder where it pinned his neck. My other hand continued to stroke downward and found his hard pink dick. The first squeeze brought an immediate moan. He bucked and squirmed deeper into my body grip, trying to press even closer against me.

I was afraid to unleash him, afraid to let all that youthful energy out of my control. I pressed down instead, forcing his face into the wet bathmat and spreading his arms in front of him. As my right arm pressed down across his shoulders, my left arm stroked his ass. He was still on his knees and his ass cheeks jutted into the air. My forefinger searched for the opening inside the warm crack. It quickly found its target and slipped inside without resistance.

I gasped as my finger disappeared to the second knuckle, but it was nothing compared to the kid’s reaction. He let out another moan that penetrated the steamy tiles and no doubt echoed through all the adjoining apartments.

Suddenly his squirming torso went still with a shudder, as if the finger on his prostate had cut off his ability to move. I released the pressure from his shoulders and moved behind him, my eyes feasting on the full rear view. The twin melons still glistened from the bubble bath, droplets of water beading on the blond fuzz of his upper thighs. I wiggled my finger inside the hairless pink button asshole and it produced another moan. I reached to the hamper for the body lotion with my free hand and squeezed a stream of cold liquid over my pulsating cock.

I pushed one hand into the small of his back and inched forward, my knees on the inside of his pushing them further apart. My other hand guided my slick dick to the warm pink hole. I barely had to push — the fat head was swallowed up in one gulp. The sensation made me shiver and I let go of his back. With nothing to hold him he reared back, engulfing the full length of my throbbing cock in one smooth, uninterrupted motion. It was matched by his long, low moan of contentment as he pushed himself back up to all fours. I was being eaten alive.

He continued to push back against me. Soon my entire cock was sheathed by his hot ass. I let the pressure of his body push me back until I was sitting on my feet with my balls resting on the damp tile, his ass pressing into my lap. He squeezed his sphincter muscle and moaned again, then started bouncing up and down. My balls slapped against the wet tile with each stroke.

I reached for his throbbing cock and my sudden grasp brought another moan from him, this one closer to a scream. There wasn’t much else for me to do. My fist encircled his cock but stayed motionless as he fucked into it.

Soon his quickening strokes told me he was getting ready to come, though the sound effects would have been evidence enough. The little moans lasted the length of each downward thrust, rising sharply as his ass met my pubes and the tip of his cock slid inside my slicked fist. As he quickened his pace, the moans grew closer together, finally becoming one long plaintive hum interspersed with quick gasps for breath. It grew louder and louder until it reached a crescendo as I watched a stream of cum shoot in the air before me. A hot sticky stream drizzled over my fingers.

The sound effects suddenly stopped and he slumped like a blond rag doll in my lap. I pushed him forward, back on his hands and knees. His ass was still hot and tight but now it offered no resistance. I slammed away at it, each stroke pushing us farther across the floor. His blond curls were pressed against the wall when I felt my own climax well up. I abandoned all thought of the tenant below as I filled the kid’s ass with my hot cum, letting out a loud moan of my own.

I collapsed on top of him, the steam and sweat binding us together. He continued to squeeze my cock inside the warm sheath of his ass. My hand traced patterns over his smooth slick chest.

“I’m real sorry about the bathtub,” he murmured with another squeeze of his asshole.

I could hardly believe it as I felt myself growing hard again. “All in a day’s work,” I sighed.