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.

“I’ve noticed you in the shop before” he said, “and if I’m not wrong,

you’re not always just checking out the meat on the counter. Right?” My mouth was get­ting fucked by a German sausage and I couldn’t answer.”

By Geoff Ready

(Honcho.April.1984.)

“Don’t forget to bring home the bacon!”

I was backing my Toyota pickup out of the driveway and my wife was reminding me for the third time that morning that I had to stop by the market on my way home. Her shrill reminder echoed through the neighborhood as she stood on the porch in her flowered bathrobe and yelled at me as I drove off.

Her father stood beside her, his fat stomach barely contained in a dirty T-shirt, and his belt buckle lost in the folds of his bulging belly. “And a case of beer, too!” he added.

I was having enough trouble coping with being gay and married and living in a small redneck town without the addi­tion of having an unemployed — and unemployable — father-in-law coming to roost. My wife’s habit of standing on the porch and screeching orders and grocery lists at me every morning when I left for work was bad enough when we lived alone. For the past month, Jack’s been doing it too, like an echoing shadow of his bitch daughter.

Feeling rather uninspired by the pro­spect of bacon and eggs for dinner in the middle of winter, I turned onto Highway 97 and drove south through the juniper and sagebrush towards Bend. Last night’s snow had left an inch of powder that flew off in clouds as I drove along. My only consolation from the grating send off I had gotten was that the new kid would be working with my fence crew to­day, and if he was wearing the same Levis he wore yesterday, when he applied for the job. I’d have a hell of a basket to stare at until the day was over.

The horns were already growing in my crotch. I drove the fifteen miles to the ranch with my hand massaging the hot hard on between my legs. Besides my wife, besides her old man, besides being gay in a redneck desert town, it was doubly frustrating when a hot man was put to work beside me on the job. Check­ing and mending fences in this cattle country is usually a two man job, and when you’re stuck for a long day out in the sagebrush with a hunky stud, your balls — and mind — are aching by nightfall. The anticipation of having him on my crew was driving me crazy with desire that I knew couldn’t be relieved except by hand.

Just to relieve my frustrations, I’m jacking off three, four, five times a day nowadays. In the shower after work, in the john at night, in the john in the morn­ing, maybe in the sagebrush at work during the day, sometimes in the truck on the way to or from the ranch. Pumping the anger out of myself by shooting my load whenever and wherever I can — but it isn’t working. I know I’m going to have to make a change, fast. I haven’t had regular sex with a buddy since high school, and that was ten years ago. The kid that was using me as his regular pun­ching bag back then was a senior in school when I was a sophomore. We us­ed to head into the sagebrush every fuck­ing chance we got and he’d have my legs over his shoulders even before my dick got hard. Then he’d ram the biggest dick in the school into my butt and wouldn’t pull off me until he’d given it to me maybe three times. He went to Viet Nam, after graduation, and one of the best looking men I’ve ever beheld is still there. The only chance I have to make it with a guy nowadays is when I get to Portland on ranch business and spend a night at the Majestic Baths.

Maybe Redmond has ten percent gays, like the books say, but they hide in pretty big closets. There’s nobody here that I know of. There’s a small “rap group” of young kids, down in Bend, but they’re pretty political about their rights and not my cup of tea. Redmond still has painful memories of a lesbian couple who came through the area about twenty years ago. They wanted to be alone together, but one of them had two little kids, so they threw the kids off the Crooked River Canyon Bridge, a drop of about 27 stories. One of the dykes got out of prison a few years ago and the other gets out this year. And two years ago, a 17 year old kid who had been let­ting an older guy suck his cock for two years decided he wanted to go straight and get married, so he killed the guy — decided he’d rather be a murderer than gay, I guess, so he put six bullets in the older man’s head while they were parked out in the juniper trees where they’d gone for a Saturday afternoon blowjob. The kid got 20 years and I’ll bet he’s get­ting more than blowjobs nowadays — he’s a hot looking criminal.

Those are the things people in this town think of when they think of “gay.” Gay means homosexual, queer, pansy, faggot … it’s like the Fifties in Red­mond, the men are cowboys or truck drivers. And even if the highway rest stop is pretty popular with both groups, that’s not my idea of relief.

Getting married right out of high school was my way of proving I was like everyone else. Patty and I had more sex in the back seat of my Chevy while we were in school than we’ve had since we got married. After we had been married for about a year, Patty turned frigid, just like her mama. No doubt it had something to do with the old lady’s harp­ing upon the “ways” of men. She couldn’t stand them, and she taught Pat­ty the same reservations. Patty’s old lady finally went completely crazy, and drop­ped her husband on our doorstep, then took off for California. That’s why pot­bellied Jack is living with us.

Something has to break, something has to give.

The day went as I expected. The weather never got much above freezing and the snow started up in late after­noon, so we called it quits about three o’clock. Hank, the new guy, did wear yesterday’s pants, and I did get my share of looks at his fucking crotch whenever his head was turned. If he wears shorts — I’ll eat ‘em! Nobody could show a cock like that unless they were constantly hard. It rides across the front of his thigh like a saddle horn, like the knob on my gearshift, like a Budweiser long bottle. If the kid in the Soloflex ads and Robert Redford ever got married and had kids, Hank is what they’d look like. By the time we called it quits and got in my truck to head back to the main house, I had a case of blue balls that didn’t come from the freezing temperature. I was aching bad and couldn’t wait to get in my truck and jack off a load of cum all over the floorboards on my ride back to Red­mond.

But as fate would have it, Hank need­ed a ride there too, so I gave him a lift. We rode the distance without saying too much. I dropped him at the L-Rancho where he lives, and I headed to the market. My aching cock and balls would have to wait for home.

I packed my groceries from the Prairie Market into the back of the truck and limped a half block to Bob’s Central Oregon Meats. I’m usually glad to oblige when it comes to stopping at Bob’s; he’s a hunk like you wouldn’t believe! It’s his body, his imagined cock that comes into my mind when I’m blowing my load in the shower. His shop is a specialty market where the beef would make CC Slaughter sit up and smile in his grave. Dropping by to snitch a few glances at Bob’s crotch always gets me ready to get home and head for the shower.

Bob is probably in his late twenties. He has black hair parted in the middle, that just touches his collar. Black moustache, a full chest, huge, tight biceps. Always wears Levis and boots. His Levis are so bleached out that they’re almost white — especially in the crotch, where a full, solid piece of meat is more than evident across the front of his thigh. I’m sure that I’m not the only customer, male or female, who goes out of their way to buy meat here just to look at him.

This afternoon I noticed to my dismay that mirrors had been put up behind the meat display counter. Instead of being able to look into the cutting room where Bob and his hunky helpers do their but­chering, there was a sign pointing to a buzzer to push if you need help.

It was near closing time and much of the meat had already been picked over or removed to the coolers for the night. I had to ring for service.

The mirrored partition slid back im­mediately and Bob stood just a couple of feet in front of me, above a display of chops and ribs. He must have been standing there when I reached for the button, he was so quick. I forced myself to keep my eyes above crotch level as I said I couldn’t find any bacon. His eyes didn’t seem as careful as mine; while he ex­plained to me that they were cutting up tomorrow’s supply, his eyes slowly and (at least I thought!) deliberately cruised down and came to rest on my own crotch.

Then he refocused his eyes on mine and motioned to the door at the end of the counter.

“Step on back here and we’ll get you fixed up.”

I moved down the counter and stepped in just as another guy went out the back door to the truck dock. I couldn’t see a face, but his ass flashed like a strobe light in skin tight Levis. As the door swung shut behind him I wondered if his front side was as hot as his backside.

I was surprised to find you could see out into the public portion of the market — the new mirrors didn’t reflect back here. Last minute shoppers stood at the meat counter, their attention focused on the packaged meats. One or two occasionally glanced up at themselves in the mirror and brushed back their hair.

Bob stood at a large butcher block table covered with sausages. It caught me off guard to notice that he had one hand cupping his balls. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. I looked, instead, at his array of meat on the block. He was packaging tomorrow’s specials; there were different kinds of sausages including the common small breakfast sausages and a variety he told me were German sausage, beer sausage, blood sausage, Dutch, Scandinavian, and even some South American pepper sausage. As he picked up each one to explain it to me, he held it almost in front of his crotch. I couldn’t help noticing that the outline of his cock was definitely getting larger with each sausage — and instead of wiping his hands on a towel when he needed to, he slowly wiped them across the front of his Levis, across the bulging outline of his cock. It was driving me crazy.

“Well, give your wife a little surprise,” Bob was saying. “I think she’ll really go for one of these, and after she tries out something new, she won’t settle for bacon and eggs anymore.”

He was holding a thick German sausage, about ten inches long. I might be a small town boy, but the resemblance to a cock wasn’t lost on me. He held it in one hand while he stroked it with the other. I couldn’t do better in the shower! The nearness of Bob and the way he was handling the sausage, added to the outline of cock in his pants, made my own problem worse. I was getting harder than a rock and I knew it was evident.

“Take a taste,” he said. “Great either raw or fried.”

Things happened fast from that point on. He slipped the sausage through his hand and held it up to my mouth, offer­ing. As he did so, he stepped up beside me. I reached for the sausage but he took my wrist and held the sausage against my lips. His other hand moved to my waist and rested in the small of my back. He was moving the sausage against my lips and I opened my mouth and he slipped it in about an inch. Before I bit down, he slipped it slowly out. then in again.

Bob’s hand slid from my back to my ass as he slipped the sausage to me. His hand cupped the cheeks of my ass and ran down the length of the crack. His fingertips stopped at the bottom and he slowly pushed his finger in. His body was now up against my own, pressing me against the butcher block.

“I think you’ll like this.” he said. “It’s my specialty.”

If I were upstate in a steam bath, I’d have known how to react. In Redmond, Oregon, he caught me off guard.

“I’ve noticed you in the shop before,” he said, “and if I’m not wrong, you’re not always just checking out the meat on the counter. Right?”

My mouth was getting fucked by a German sausage and I couldn’t answer. But I think he got the answer when his hand moved from my ass to my crotch and he closed his fist around my hard on.

“I’ve got something you’ll like even better than the sausage.” he said.

His hand moved to his crotch and un­buttoned his pants. They slipped down on his hips and his cock sprang forth, thick and long, hard as steel. A large red head, its tip glistening with a drop of ex­pectancy, filled his hand. He stroked it slowly.

I was frozen to the spot. He took my shoulder and pressured me down.

“You’ve checked it out enough times, now you’ll try the real thing.” he said. “Suck it, baby … and use plenty of spit because I’m going to give it to you in the ass.”

“Jeeeesus!” I blurted. I turned my head to escape the cock. I wanted it, but not this way!

“I said suck it.” he repeated, both hands on my shoulders. I was on my knees now, his cock brushing my mouth.

“We can’t!” I said.

“Why not?”

“The windows,” I said, indicating the people just a few feet away from us.

“One way glass — they can’t see us.”

“What about your helper? What if he comes back?”

“He won’t. He’s gone for a pickup. Suck me.”

I was torn between my desire for his cock, and the years of shit I’ve gone through in this redneck town.

He put his hand on the back of my head and closed the gap. The head of his cock brushed my lips again and he thrust his hips forward. My mouth open­ed and he slipped it all the way in until it filled my throat. My eyes watered. He held the back of my head and moved his hips back and forth, fucking my mouth in long, slow strokes.

“That’s it, stud. Suck your daddy’s cock. Give him a good job. Suck it good, baby, suck it good.”

He moaned and his clasp on my head tightened. Each new thrust was sending his cock deeper into my mouth, farther down my throat as I began to relax and enjoy it. I moved my hands to his legs and pulled him even deeper into me.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. Just relax and enjoy it. Get it good and wet, baby, because I’m going to shove it into your asshole, fucker.”

Just when I thought he was getting ready to blow off a big load of cum. he pulled out and raised me to a standing position. He turned me to the block and reached around and unbuttoned my Levis. He slipped them to my ankles and took my swollen hard on in his hand. Again he bent me over the block, with my face just inches from the sausages. He stepped closer and his cock slipped into the crack of my ass. He guided it expert­ly to just where he wanted it, and then the head poked at my asshole.

With both hands on my hips, he gave a single hard forward thrust and I felt his cock slip into my ass. When his hand reached around to grab my cock I was ready to shoot my load into his hand. He must have felt my dick begin to throb, because he leaned back and pulled me with him, pointing the head of my dick up onto the sausages.

“Shoot, baby, shoot,” he said. “Shoot your fucking hot load all over it, baby. Get those things good and wet with your thick cum because you’re going to take them up the asshole, too.”

I shot a load bigger than I’ve ever dreamed of! His fist pumped my cock and pointed it directly onto the German sausage that I’d sampled earlier. My load shot about two feet — thick, hot, white cum made large puddles all over the fucking table and almost covered the huge sausage. He started pounding harder and deeper into my asshole as he saw my juice covering the table. As the last few shots of my cum spurted onto the meat, he gasped loudly and shoved his cock deeper. His hands moved quick­ly up under my shirt and his fingers squeezed my tits until I moaned in pain. I felt his cock throbbing in my ass and I knew I was getting his load. Just at that moment the back door opened.

“Oh. shit!’ I gasped, trying to pull away again.

“Cool it, baby, we’re not done yet,” he said, pulling me backwards against his cock as he began thrusting again, harder than before.

“Let go. Your helper’s back, for chrissake!”

“He’s not my helper. He’s my buddy. Get back down there and start eating some sausage.”

He bent me down onto the block again. My face brushed the sausage and I felt warm cum all over my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the bot­tom half of his friend approaching the block. As he approached our humping figures, he started unbuttoning his pants. I stared at the outline of cock against his thigh: huge, thick, long, in pants so tight you could even see the rim of the circumcised head.

Jesus, I thought. There couldn’t be two cocks that big in all of Deschutes Coun­try!

It was Hank’s cock — Hank — my helper!

As Bob began a new series of deep thrusts into my asshole, Hank, without a word, pulled my head towards his crotch and held his cock to my lips.

“Suck him, baby,” Bob ordered. “Suck him good. He’s been telling me since yesterday how fucking hot he was to get you into the sack.’

I opened my mouth and swallowed Hank’s cock. His hands held my head and his hips thrust in concert with Bob’s hips as he fucked my butt.

Within moments, the three of us shot our loads at the same time. When Hank’s cock started shooting its load down my throat, his hands got rougher on my head, pulling my mouth farther and farther down his shaft, filling my throat with his hot cum.

I heard the door open again.

“Oh, God.” I thought.

I couldn’t speak because my mouth was full of Hank’s cock. I couldn’t pull away because Bob’s cock was shoved up my ass.

“This one’s my helper,” Bob said.

As I sucked, Bob slowly pulled his cock out of my ass. Now I could see the same guy walking towards us that I’d seen leaving the room when I first arriv­ed — I had been right. His front side was as good as his backside. And he was unbut­toning his Levis as he came towards me, an almost sadistic smile on his face.

Bob stepped back and gave way to his helper. As Hank started shooting another load of cum down my throat, I felt new hands grasp my hips and a new cock brush my ass. I was well lubricated now, and he slipped in easily. Without seeing what he had, I could feel that it was much bigger and longer than Bob’s — and Bob’s was more than ample!

He fucked my butthole with a fury that neither Bob nor Hank had shown. I couldn’t believe the ferocity and speed of his fucking. In less than a minute he was shooting his load into my ass with a passion that brought him bending down over my back and once again my tits felt like they were being twisted off.

For a moment or two, nobody moved. Then I felt the kid pulling out of my ass. Hank relaxed his hold on my head and slipped his cock out of my mouth. He pulled me to a standing position and planted his hands on my shoulders. He looked at me and broke into a big, wide smile. I returned it in kind.

Everybody was pretty well spent — especially me. As we rebuttoned our pants and rearranged our clothing, Bob picked up the sausage that I’d shot cum all over. He tossed it to his helper and told him to wrap it up.

“I’ve been checking you out ever since you’ve been coming in here.” he said. “I’ve always thought we could have a good time. Hope we didn’t go too far?”

“A little unexpected, but I needed it bad.” I said. ‘And I wanted it”

“I think I know what you need once in a while,” Bob said. “Come on back anytime. We’ve always got something back here that we don’t put out on the counters.”

He handed me the sausage, now wrap­ped in brown butcher paper.

“I think your wife will find this as satisfying as bacon.” he said. Tell her we’re out of bacon till tomorrow.”

“Well. I’ll be back tomorrow. I guess,” I said.

Hank grabbed another lift with me and I’m going to drive him to the job tomor­row morning. He asked if I’d drop by a lit­tle earlier than necessary — just in case he wasn’t awake on time. I said it was a deal.

I drove home through snow that was now coming down pretty hard. The sausage and Jack’s beer were beside me on the seat. As I puiled into the drive Patty and Jack came out of the house and stood on the porch. Before I was even out of the truck I heard her whin­ing, shrill voice.

“I suppose you forgot to stop at the butcher’s,” she was saying. ‘If you did, you’ll just have to go right back.”

“And did you remember the beer, son?” yelled Jack. He hadn’t even shav­ed all day.

I smiled a full, open grin. I felt wonder­ful.

“Nope. I didn’t forget. But instead of bacon, I got something you’ll like even more.”

They both loved it. Jack even ate three helpings. And they’re going to use some for sandwiches tomorrow. So I told them I’d stop and get some more on the way home and we could make spaghetti with it. They’re all excited.

I even tried a couple of bites myself and it wasn’t bad at all. Tomorrow I think I’ll have a couple of servings — one at the market, and another when I get home!

“Fuckin’ hot Madison Avenue ass,” the electrician whispered in my ear. “Your ass is hotter’n my wife’s pussy.” I hadn’t guessed, when construction started on the new high rise, that I would get a regular lunch hour fuck from one of the hardhats.

By Robert Ralph

(Honcho.April.1984.)

“There he is!” squealed one of the girls in the secretarial pool.

“Where?” asked another, crowding against the others to look out the win­dow.

“On that girder. He’s the one with the open shirt and the green hardhat.”

“I see him!” said another. “Get a load of those buns!”

The shrieks of appraisal were so loud that I couldn’t help but overhear. I stuck my head out of my office and inquired, “What in the world is going on?”

“Nothing, Mr. Simms. Nothing at all!” All four of them were glued to the window and giggling uncontrollably.

“You girls are up to something suspicious.” I said, walking towards the window where they congregated. I had to strain to see over them.

“We’re just admiring the view!” said one of them, and they all burst in­to hysterical laughter.

The object of their ogling was an electrician who was stringing cable on the building under construction next door to our office.

He looked about thirty or thirty five, with a dark suntan and sunburned face. Black curly hair poked out from his green hardhat, and the brim was pulled down to his mirrored sunglasses. As he worked the cable into place, his un­buttoned shirt blew open revealing a muscular, carefully defined chest and stomach covered in a layer of wiry black hair. He had a low slung leather belt filled with a zillion screwdrivers, wrenches, and other tools hanging nearly to his knees. His faded jeans looked as if they wouldn’t survive another washing, and it was obvious to me the way his dick and balls pro­truded that he didn’t have on a stitch of underwear. Working so near our window, he couldn’t miss the fact that he had a gallery of fans looking over his merchandise. However, he went about his business, apparently unconcerned with the furor he was caus­ing. The girls scattered and left me ex­posed in the large window.

I was rooted to the spot; his hairy body, glistening with sweat, had me going wild. My wife had had a hysterectomy and I hadn’t had any for almost a month. As the electrician flashed those fuckable buns, the old itch was so strong that my dick got hard as I drank in his every move. The faded material revealed every line of his ass, making me hornier than ever.

Suddenly, he turned and faced me. It happened too fast for me to hide my hard on, which was poking out at a rakish angle. With one gloved hand he removed the mirrored sunglasses and locked eyes with me. Then his big, fleshy, sensuous lips broke into a broad smile, crinkling lines at the cor­ners of his mouth, and he nodded. A silent communication raced between us and he, unheard, mouthed the words, “All right!” I got so flustered that I jammed one hand in my pocket to hold down my dick, and turned away from the window. The secretaries were making a point of banging the hell out of their typewriters to appear busy.

I grabbed my suit coat, alerted one of the girls that I was going to lunch, and headed for the elevator. I hadn’t had sex with another man in over two years and the hunky electrician was foremost in my mind all the way to the ground floor. My head reeled from the waves of heat that rose from the burn­ing sidewalk to greet me as I burst out of the chilled air into the reality of the awful summer day. I stopped a mo­ment to regain my equilibrium, and then started along the street past the con­struction site. There was an opening in the rough board fence where a truck was depositing some lumber, and I was drawn to it. Glancing inside, I found it opened right by a construc­tion shack, and who was going up the short flight of steps? None other than the electrician. Again, our eyes locked — at least I thought they did. I couldn’t be sure, since he had those damned sunglasses on. But he hesitated at the door, looking directly at me, and then nodded towards the door, silently inviting me to follow.

The heat of the day, the construc­tion noise, the roar of the traffic all merged, and my head spun around again. Dare I take the silent offer? My dick was stiffening at the thought of a nooner under those incredible cir­cumstances.

I walked up the short flight of stairs and opened the door to the construc­tion shack. He stood at one end, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. He pointed one gloved finger and said, “Lock the door behind you.”

I slid the bolt home, my hands wet with nervous sweat. He took a step forward, the tools hanging from his belt jangling as he walked. He stood, legs slightly apart, his thick thighs straining at the faded material of his jeans. The close, hot air of the shack made the heavy smell of his perspira­tion overpowering. It was too hot to stay there very long, and I wondered why he didn’t turn on the window unit behind him instead of leaving us sweltering. He scratched his nuts with one gloved hand and then recrossed his arms. The front of his fly moved as that long cock began to thicken. I stared at it. Sweat trickled from my eyebrows and burned into my eyes. It ran from my underarms, wetting my sides. Then I moved closer to him un­til we were face to face. One gloved fist grabbed my shoulder and pushed me to my knees in front of the swell­ing bulge.

“Man — I’m not exactly into — ” I began.

His grip on my shoulder tightened. “Take it out,” he growled, “and suck it!”

“But I — “

“Do it!” he said forcefully.

I touched that hard, protruding mound and had difficulty unbuttoning the first button, the area was so taut. Then the button popped open and a musky odor rushed up my nose and intoxicated me. The second button came free and a heavier smell flowed out, encircling my face with a sweaty, male odor that really got me going. His cock stiffened as I undid the but­tons and began to point up and out. I got a third button free and was able to touch the hard, hairy base of his huge dick. It was fiery hot and the large amount of hair sandpapered my palm.

“Go on,” he ordered. “Get it out and do me.”

My shirt felt cold from the wetness as I sweated profusely. I tugged and yanked, finally exposing his ten incher. As it cleared the fly, his dick thickened its uncut length, the red tip trying to free itself from the ring of flesh. It swayed in front of my face. He milked the skin back, forcing a spurt of pre-cum to lube the tip, shak­ing it in front of me, sending out the heaviest aroma yet. It made me dizzy and excited. I freed his large, egg shaped balls, which were framed by the mass of curly hair.

“Get with it, man. Suck it!” he said, jamming the long piece of meat against my face, forcing my lips apart. I grabbed his leather belt for steadiness; the tools rattled as he thrust his hips forward. My lips parted and the thick head of his dick cleared my teeth. It tasted salty and slightly bitter, and it was so broad across that I could barely swallow the first three inches. My head bobbed up and down, licking and sucking until the head was glistening and fully up, with the skin stretched to its limit and the pisshole open a bit. Slowly, I let my lips slide down the huge shaft, but could make no more progress than on the first try.

“You can’t get any more of it down your throat than my wife.” he said. It obviously pleased him that his dick was too big for me to handle. I made another effort to go down on it further, but it widened across the middle and was too fat for my limited ability. He pulled me off it, its shiny hardness wet from my saliva and his sweat. “Guess I’ll have to do what I do with my wife!” he said quietly, lifting me to my feet. Roughly, he pulled my belt buckle loose, unzipped my trousers, and shoved them and my underwear to the floor in one move.

“And that is?” I asked.

He turned me around and shoved me across the drafting table, knock­ing blueprints all over the floor. Then he pulled my coat and dress shirt high on my back and brought his big dickhead right between the cheeks of my ass.

“And that is —? Hey, wait a minute!” I said.

He laughed again. “Why, I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

The intense heat in the construc­tion shack had me wringing wet with sweat, and my butt was slick as glass. I could feel his hairy chest along my back as he hunched close to me. His hard, pointed nipples stuck into my shoulders. “Yeah.” he said, cramming his dickhead against me, “I’m going to fuck that Madison Avenue ass of yours!”

As I backed closer to his throbbing tool, sweat lubed the purple knob as he plunged inside me. Burning pleasure sensations ran like wildfire through my butt. Then he grabbed my shoulders with one hand and forced me across the drafting table. I reeled, feeling his manmeat boring deeper, inch by thick inch, up my ass. His hairy body raked against mine as he pushed, those tools on his belt rat­tling with each lunge he made.

I grabbed the edge of the drafting table to keep my balance. His gloved hand stroked my chest, pinching my nipples until they were as hard as my cock from the sensation of his rough construction gloves. He gradually lowered his leather covered hand to my stomach and played with my navel. Then he pulled my pubic hair, teasing around my cock without ac­tually touching it. He tickled the top of my dick, but still he hadn’t really touched it. All the while, he was withdrawing his dick and then slam­ming it back inside me.

The drafting table screeched as it involuntarily moved along with us. He pulled out and shoved back in again, this time grasping the base of my dick with his leather gloved hand. Slowly, he rubbed up the back side of my titillated cock, lingering at the sen­sitive mass of flesh below my dickhead. He pinched it, pulled it, rub­bed back and forth until it was shot through with pleasure and tingled almost beyond endurance. He closed his fist over my distended cockhead and fucked me with a faster stroke. As he tightened his hold on my dickhead, he reamed his long tool to its maximum, forcing me on tiptoe.

“Fuckin’ hot Madison Avenue ass!” he whispered. “Your ass is hotter’n my wife’s pussy. This is great fuckin’ you. I needed it! I needed it real bad!”

The action of his glove on my dick brought me to the peak and I began gasping as my nuts drew close to my body. He cupped them with his other hand and continued jacking me like crazy. He jammed inside as far as he could and touched my prostate, squeezing my cock the hardest yet. A low, gurgling moan rushed from his lips and I felt him forcing my butt until I thought I couldn’t take any more.

“Oh-h-h MAN!” he shouted as he shot off. A scalding blast of white hot cum rushed from his flesh pistol and sloshed against the walls of my rec­tum.

He squeezed my balls harder and intensified his jacking along the most sensitive part of my dick. Up to the head and around my pisshole he rubb­ed those rough textured gloves. Then he lunged against my prostate again and I yelled loud enough to be heard over the droning machinery outside. I unloaded a thick string of cum, shooting it over his fingertips. He pull­ed up and down, milking wad after wad, which squirted in unrelenting puddles on to the table. He kept jack­ing until my dick was limp and it had no more to shoot. Sweat and cum were running out my ass and down my legs when suddenly his dick made a sucking noise, kind of like a heavy boot pulling out of mud, and he yank­ed it free of my butt and began tuck­ing it inside his jeans. My ass burned and hurt and felt wonderful all at the same time. My dick was still leaking when I hiked up my underwear and trousers and tried to make some order out of the shambles of my clothes. I was a mess and thankful that I was an executive and had a private shower in my office, as well as a change of clothes.

Just before he unlocked the bolt, he straightened my tie and gave me a brief salute, touching his fingers to the brim of his hardhat. “Same time tomorrow!” He said it as a command. not as a question or a request, poin­ting a gloved finger at me.

The bright sunlight outside hurt my eyes. I knew I’d have to skip lunch and get back and clean up.

The next day, I sequestered myself in my office and tried to concentrate on work. It was almost impossible. The secretaries were chattering away, and shortly before noon they were creating such a commotion that I stuck my head out to see what was going on.

“There he is again!” one said.

“The one with the hairy chest!”

“Oh” wailed another, “he’s leaving. I wonder where he goes every day for lunch?” They all giggled. I knew it was time for me to make tracks and keep a date.

As I entered the sweltering shack and locked the door, he was taking off his shirt and lowering his jeans so that he was naked to the knees. I walked up to him without a word, ran my hands through the mat of hair on his chest, and pulled his nipples. He sighed, really getting off on that. His dick got hard in one quick move.

“Today,” I said, bending him over the drafting table, “I’m going to return the favor.”

He didn’t protest, but stuck his hairy ass out so that I could make easy contact. I had trouble finding the opening, so he guided my dick in. growling low and nodding his head in agreement. It was the hottest ass I’d ever encountered. I gasped as my dick plowed in. He squatted down like he was sitting on a chair, held on to the drafting table for leverage, and moved up and down on my dick like a pro. He squeezed his sphincter with each squat, dragging me to the edge of a climax. As I slammed his muscular buns for all I was worth, fucking him silly, he kept rocking up and down in that half sitting, half standing motion.

“Christ, man,” I said, “here it comes!” I socked it to him, both of us sprawling across the table as I shot off, screaming in pleasure as I pumped a heavy load into him. All that time, he kept murmuring something over and over. When I stopped shooting, I sank to my knees and went down on the steaming cockhead. The second my mouth closed around the fat tip, he yelled and gushed a load in my mouth, so much that I gagged and some of it dribbled out.

We were both wringing wet when I stood up and wiped my chin. “What have you got against the window unit being on?” I asked.

“It’s better this way.” he said, caressing his long dick for one last lit­tle sensation.

“It’s hotter’n hell!” I said.

“Boy, it sure is!” We both grinned.

“You know,” I said joking, “we can’t go on meeting like this. My secretary is getting suspicious!”

“I’ll bet she is! But we can’t have that,” he replied, grinning.

“What do you suggest?” I asked. He scribbled a phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to me. “What’s this?’

“A number where you can reach me — any time, day or night … when you can get free.”

“What about your wife?”

“She never answers that phone.” he said and smiled. “Damn good thing, too!”

“Damn good thing!” I agreed.