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To Die in Madeira

by Habu


I closed my lips over Sir Guy’s cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.

We were half way through his massage, and I was on my knees and elbows straddled above him on the massage table in the sixty-nine position, careful not to burden his frail, tortured body with the weight of my hard-muscled 190 pounds. He was moaning softly and making feeble attempts to slowly pump his engorging cock up into the warmth of my mouth. I moved my forearms so that I could palm the flaps of his withered buttocks in my hands and both cushion his brittle skin from rubbing against the vinyl of the massage table top and help strengthen his attempts to pump up into me. I was careful not to thrust with my own cock, letting him do whatever he could with it with his teeth and lips. This wasn’t for me; it was for him. I was just here to serve.

We continued in this position until he gave a little jerk and semen dribbled out of his cock at the back of my throat as he gave a little sigh and then settled down.

He thanked me in a faraway voice from some fantasy land or poignant remembrance of his past as I climbed back off the table and carefully turned him on his belly and resumed the regular part of the massage on his backside, ever so gently working what was left of his muscles and exercising his creaking joints.

“The ass, work the ass,” he murmured. “And don’t neglect the inside, please. Fuck me, please.”

“Are you sure, Sir Guy?” I asked. “I fear I’m too big and heavy for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You always say that,” Sir Guy responded. “And you’re always wrong. You’re never too big for me. You’re big, of course. But just right. Indulge me, please.” And then he laughed. “I think my ass canal is the last youthful part of me. Still flexible after all these years. Still able to take the big boys.”

“I don’t know, Sir Guy. I don’t know if it’s wise.” But I had already placed the pillow under his hips, raising his withered flanks, and I was gently massaging his buttocks in circles, ever widening circles that increasingly opened his crease, revealing a puckered hole. I let a thumb strum across the hole and leaned down and blew on it, and Sir Guy gave a little gasp and then a long sigh.

“What’s wise?” Sir Guy asked “You afraid I’ll die on your table? That you’ll fuck me to death?”

“Umm, Something like that, I guess,” I replied. It had taken several months for my massage appointments with Sir Guy to reach this point. He was living in one of England’s most exclusive rest homes, tucked away riverside at Henley-on-Thames. I had signed on as a physical therapist there. I really fancied myself as a writer, but I couldn’t see enough money in that for years to come and the middle-aged men who picked me up in the men’s bars for my main source of income and who I had gotten into a routine of massaging as foreplay remarked so favorably on the massages I gave—even what went before the massaging of their cocks—that I took a course of study in massage to add some legitimate income to my upkeep.

I had taken to the old folks homes, as the clients were of the gentle sort. But Sir Guy—I had no idea if he was really a knight, only that everyone called him Sir Guy, and I knew he must be loaded to be living where he was—had recognized what I was immediately. And he had slowly cajoled me into helping him be what he was. But I remained skittish of giving him what he always wanted, as he was so fragile and seemed close to a wasting-away death from the moment I met him.

“I’m not afraid of death,” Sir guy continued, as I continued massaging his buttocks in circles and running my thumbs over his opening hole as they passed by. I thumped the hole with the pad of a finger and it blinked at me and puckered up. Sir Guy groaned a “Yes, like that,” and I pressed a thumb into the opening, which yielded to me and clutched at the invading digit. “And there is a certain kind of death I welcome and that there’s no use living without.”

“Oh, what’s that?” I asked. I extracted the thumb and thumped it against the hole again, rubbed it across the hole three, four times, and then pushed it back in. His rim grabbed my thumb and pulled it in to the knuckle, and he moved his ass in little circles and moaned deeply.

“Le petite mort,” he murmured through his sighs.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Le petite mort, the little death. Did you not read John Rhy’s Wide Sargasso Sea?” He asked in a little gaspy voice. “Paraphrasing poets, he presented each ejaculation, each orgasm as the point of a little death. A death to be welcomed, wouldn’t you say, Keith? And did you not know that the word for “orgasm” and “death” is the same in Olde English? I prefer that form of death. And when I no longer can die in that way, I welcome the death of the other kind; the final death. And you are helping me in maintaining the edge of life in these little deaths, Keith. Never forget that. Never think you are bringing harm to me in our massage sessions.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. For indeed there seemed nothing else I could answer. I had grown fond of Sir Guy—to the point of becoming detached when I was wedged between the spread thighs of those middle-aged men from the bars and listening to them grunting and groaning as I split them with my thick cock and wondering if Sir Guy would still be there for our next massage session, if he had survived the week. But so far he always had been.

“Now the ultimate kiss, if you please, Keith, with plenty of tongue. I grow weary but I must finish. I must have my little death again and pull one from you as well.”

I lowered my face to his crease and blew on his hole again, which puckered nicely for me again. I brushed his rim with my lips and he sighed and trembled for me. As I invaded him with my tongue, he gasped and cried out weakly in passion. His hole spread wide. He started to squirm and his knees scrabbled against the surface of the massage table, but I held him firm with my hands on his hips, not wanting him to rub his thin-skinned knees raw.

“Deeper, deeper,” he cried out, and then “Ahh, yes, yes, yes,” as I pushed my tongue far inside him and moved it about. I could feel him opening up more. I feared what came next, but he seemed to be opening enough to take me.

“Now, now,” He cried out. “Fuck me.”

We’d been here before. There was no talking him out of it. I mounted the table and then crouched down over him from behind on the balls of my feet, suspended my pelvis over his hips. He was scrabbling back at my dick with his long, thin, age-mottled fingers, managing only to grab onto my ball sack and squeezing, which brought forth a long, low moan of my own.

I placed the bulb of my cock at his hole and let his rim muscles pull that inside.

Weak as he was, he was able to arch his back and gasp his appreciation of being invaded. I fisted the root of my cock and moved the bulb around in circles just inside his hole, which opened even more. His fingernails were now scrabbling at my thighs, and he was yipping his little “yes, yes, yeses” and begging me to get on with the fuck.

I let my cock sinking in about four inches and I started a shallow, slow pumping, which I hoped would satisfy him. But, as always, it didn’t. He urged me on.

I got a hand under his belly and fisted his cock, putting a thumb over his piss slit, so I’d know when he came again. He’d never let me stop until he came again.

And then, as slowly and gently as I possibly could, I sank my thick seven-and-a-half inches inside him, being as careful as I could not to put any weight on his body. When I bottomed, he jerked, and I felt the wetness of his ejaculation burbling around my thumb.

“Now you,” he murmured through a gasp and a groan, and he took my balls his fingers and squeezed and pulled on them, as I started a pumping action in as slow and controlled a manner as I could. Again, he insisted on long, deep strokes. I lost control, as I always did, however, much to his delight and he cried out for me to ride him hard and deep, as I started doing just that, ejaculating strongly up into him in three spoutings just before my leg muscles gave out and I had to roll off of the table and onto the floor.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I live yet again.”

I returned to gently messaging his muscles and working his joints, which had now become knotted again at the limited, but unusual exercise they had gotten during the fuck.

“It wouldn’t bother me, of course, to die on this table with your cock churning inside me,” Sir guy murmured as I worked his muscles. His eyes were closing, and I could feel his thin body relaxing, and I knew he was close to the restful sleep that concluded all of our sessions and that, alone, justified what we had done. “But where I would really like to die would be to die in Madeira. Ah, to die in Madeira,” he whispered, nearly gone now. “Would you like to see Madeira, Keith. You know, that lovely island in the Atlantic off Portugal?” he asked in his last waking breath. He was asleep and didn’t hear my “yes.”

* * * *

I had assumed it was just the ruminations of an old and wasting-away man, but, much to my surprise, Sir Guy actually did own a villa high on a hill overlooking a yacht harbor in Madeira, just to the west of Funchal. And when he asked me if I would take him there and stay with him and massage and otherwise service him until the end came, I didn’t think very long and hard before saying yes.

I’d grown weary of making a living of fucking middle-aged businessmen sneaking down from London, Sir Guy had offered me more than that and the sporadic physical therapy appointments combined, and I could do my writing in Madeira as well as anywhere else—perhaps better, as new experiences would be all around me. Who wanted to read about pounding between the thighs of middle-aged men in the rooms above a Reading gay bar anyway? In any event, I didn’t think Sir Guy would be long for this world now, and I was fond of him and thought he deserved to go where he wanted to go to die. It wouldn’t be much of a demand on my time.

It turned out to be a bit more demanding of my time and of my hard cock than I had thought it would be. The breezes wafting through Sir Guy’s open-walled villa hovering above the Atlantic restored his stamina considerably. I did think in the first week or two that this was just one of those fake flame-ups of vitality that often happened just before someone died, but it went on for months rather than weeks.

We were isolated up in the villa, just Sir Guy and me, other than the servants, who were not often seen and who spoke little English even when I encountered them. They all seem to glance down and away toward the marble-tiled floors whenever we passed in the hall. They surely knew why I was there and what I was to Sir Guy, but they chose to act as if I wasn’t present at all. I began to feel stifled and trapped, but Sir Guy, sensing that I had become tense, alleviated my fears by giving me a tidy enough sum to return to England on my own any time I wished and to reestablish myself.

I did find more time to write than I had in Reading, but Sir Guy’s sexual demands on me increased. As frail as he was, he always wanted me to take him hard and deep at the finish. Each time we enacted that little death he increasingly sought. And he always managed to maneuver me so that I gave him what he wanted. We normally had two massage and suck and fuck sessions a day on the terrace overlooking the small yacht basin, and after the first couple of nights, he also insisted on taking me into his bed at night and wouldn’t release me until I had side-split him deep until he had achieved that little rejuvenating ejaculation of his and had felt me cream his insides. Then he would sleep the sleep of the dead. But, miraculously, each morning he would be alive—feeble and thin and living the on-the-edge life of translucent skin and bruising wherever I had gripped him harder than I should in the depths of our passionate fucking—but very much alive.

And each morning over breakfast on the terrace, I would suggest that perhaps we should take a day of abstinence, that the rest would do him good, and each morning he would demur and point to the massage table and say, “That . . . that and your magnificent hard cock, of course . . . are what keep me alive. When you deny me that, I will surely shrivel and die.”

It took no more than that to hold me there with him, as the weeks turned into months and approached three-quarters of a year. Surely, I thought, it can’t go on longer than this. And then I’d always reproach myself. I didn’t want Sir Guy to die—not really. He was a good conversationalist and had a sharp, quick wit. And he had been very good to me. My cock was for sale. If not him, it would be someone else—at least until I started to grow old as well and dry out and wither and blow away as it seemed Sir Guy would do on any given afternoon.

Still, I felt isolated and trapped, and after six months of waiting for what surely would happen before the next dawn—but that never did—I started to take long walks by myself. And in search of company, I started to walk down to the harbor village at the foot of the cliff. There was a small open-air café there on the harbor wall that I began to frequent. And I was not the only one frequenting it.

One such regular was another Englishman by the name of Reginald. He was perhaps five years older than I was, close to thirty surely. A fine figure of a man, his muscle tone enhanced, I’m sure, because he was a part-time fisherman. I understood that he also was an artist and had come here a few years earlier. He’d just appeared in the village, looking for work, and an old fisherman had taken him on. One of the café’s patrons had whispered between his fingers to me of a probable relationship between the young Englishman and the old fisherman and had given as proof positive the fact that Reginald had inherited the old man’s boat, preferred fishing spot, and two-room flat above the small sundries shop across the cobble-stoned alley from the café.

Some afternoons I could hear the Englishman humming and singing softly to himself in his rooms above my head. One of his rooms was all windows, and I could tell that he was using it as his artist’s studio. And I could tell by his humming that he was in his element when he was painting. I knew exactly how that felt. That’s how I felt about my writing as well.

After I had been coming to the café for a month or more, he took notice of me, and if I was there when he came in from his brief fishing excursion of that day, he would come sit at the café. In time, there was a day when the café tables were all occupied and he asked if he could sit at mine.

We talked briefly of England and were both surprised that we had come from essentially the same area. I was from Reading and he had come down from London to a cottage outside of Caversham Park to paint. And for extra money, he’d worked a stint as an orderly in the same expensive rest home in Henley-on-Thames where I had done my physical therapy.

Then one day, abruptly, while we were drinking glasses of amber ale, he said, “I suppose the locals have told you how I came to have that fishing boat out there and the flat above.”

“Ummm, yes,” I said, “There was something about an old fisherman who had befriended you and who you assisted.”

“They put it that way, did they?” He had a little sort of grin on his face.

“Well, no, not exactly that way,” I answered, a bit nonplused.

“I’m sure they told you that I fucked my way to my small inheritance. Isn’t that the exact way they put it?” The grin held on his face but was a little tighter now.

“Well, ummm, yes, that’s what they said. But, you know . . .”

“They have that right. Exactly right. I’ve been watching you, you know,” he interjected. “Could it be that you fancy me too?”

I paused, wondering where to take this, deciding that honesty was the best route. I hadn’t had any variety in my sex life for months, and as generous as Sir Guy was, he wasn’t exactly fully satisfying for a young, vigorous, highly sexed lad like me.

“Yes, I guess I could say that I fancy you,” I answered.

* * * *

We fucked in the sun-drenched studio room looking down onto the canvas umbrella tops of the harbor side café. I gasped when I entered the room. A single, narrow, cot-like bed occupied the center of the room, and facing that, in a great circle all around the bed, were oil paintings. All were of young, well-hung naked men. Some of single men in erotic poses. Others of couples or threesomes in various sexual positions. The paintings were very well done and very arousing, highly erotic.

We stripped and wrestled on the bed for some minutes, both tops, both fighting for control. But fishing was hard, muscle-building work, and Reginald eventually wore me down; got behind me, trapping my arms over my head in a strong arm lock, and working his knees between my thighs. When he had worked his hard cock four inches inside me, I gave up the fight and started working with him. I’d been fucked before, mostly when I was younger and was being introduced to the life by my father’s best friend. But it had been a couple of years since I’d last been taken, and so it took Reginald some effort and considerable groaning and grunting on both of our parts for him to bottom inside me, and then to hold while my panting and heaving subsided. And then he ran a strong arm around under my belly and raised my buttocks to where he could rise to his knees and get firm leverage. That accomplished, he began stroke me hard and fast. His thumb came up over my chin and I took it inside my mouth and sucked hard on it to keep myself from crying out at the mixed pain and pleasure of his throbbing plumbing deep in my channel.

He came quickly in a flood of semen inside me, giving me the impression that it had been some time since he’d had a man. I thought that this might be so—that he walked a thin edge in this small village considering how he had come to be one of the village residents himself. I supposed that the villagers kept a close eye on all of their young men, even without having ever said anything to each other about it. He must have been looking for someone such as me to come along for some time. All of his sexual energy must have been projected into these paintings of his. But now, for this moment, all of the sexual strength of him was concentrated on that hard cock working inside my ass canal.

After coming in several jerks, Reginald let me free of his tight hold and rolled me over onto my back, He sank down on the floor at the foot of the bed and pulled me down to him, his hands gripping my thighs. And I felt the warmth of his mouth come down over my cock, and he sucked me expertly to ejaculation, with his tongue fucking my piss slit as deeply as he could penetrate me there.

When I had released my seed, he came back up on his feet and pulled my body back up the bed, turning me on my side, and stretching down along my back, the two of us plastered close together on the narrow bed. He lifted my leg, and I groaned and grunted as he ran his cock back up inside me, the entry this time more of a glide, aided by the cream of his earlier coming inside me.

The urgency and lusting of our first fuck behind us now, Reginald took me again with more care and more deference, asking me what I liked and what I liked better. My cries of passion and the involuntary churning of my hips told him what I liked best. I arched my back and turned my face to him and we kissed, his tongue caressing the insides of my mouth and flicking back toward my tonsils, while he kneaded and pinched at my nipples.

Spent, at least momentarily, his dick softening but still inside me, he asked me what had brought me to Madeira. I told him of Sir Guy and my service to him and that I was only here until Sir Guy passed on.

Reginald suddenly laughed and raised up on an elbow and looked down into my face.

“Why that old fucker. He bamboozled you too?”

“Excuse me?” I answered. Studying his face, looking for clues of what he might be talking about.

“Sir Guy is why I’m here too. He brought me out here five years ago. He said he wanted to die in Madeira. He had sweet talked me to be fucking him in that old geezer’s home of his in Henley. Said he wanted to die in Madeira and would I bring him here to do so. Made it sound like death was imminent. I’ll bet the old fucker will survive us all.”

I started to say something, but Reginald stopped tweaking my nipple and raised a finger to my mouth, silencing me. I sucked the finger and then another two into my mouth. I felt his cock stirring again, rising again inside me. I reached back and palmed one of his bulbous buttocks cheeks and held him close against me.

“Five years ago,” and he laughed again. “Well, we got out here and he came to life again and wanted to be fucked hard three and four times a day. I did that for months, waiting for him to die. But all he’d talk about were these little deaths of his—le petite mort he called it—and how they brought him life. And then I started coming down here and found this guy who appeared to be in a lot better shape than Sir Guy was and who was satisfied with a weekly fuck. One day I just didn’t climb the hill again and I heard that Sir Guy had flown back to England. So he’s still alive, is he? And still getting away with this trick of his. I guess now you’ll leave him too.”

Reginald was fully hard again now. He plopped his cock out of me, though, and stood up behind my butt beside the narrow bed. I didn’t quite know what he was doing—at least until I looked out at his paintings and saw in one a couple in a position that Reginald was maneuvering me into. My left leg was stretched out flat on the bed, and Reginald grabbed under my hip with his left hand and lifted my pelvis, while his right hand pulled up my right leg and propped it up along his chest. Then he swung his right leg over through my spread legs and to the other side the bed where he dug in his heel where that mattress met the box springs. As he was swinging, I was crying out and grunting, because this maneuver brought his hard, long cock to my entrance at a side angle, and he thrust inside me and started caressing my channel walls with his cock bulb in places and ways it had never been made love to before.

He was stroking me hard and fast, and I was letting him know that I loved what he was doing to me. But at the same time my mind was processing what he had said.

No, I didn’t think I’d be abandoning Sir Guy any time soon. I was fond of him, and I didn’t begrudge him his little subterfuge in his clutching at whatever life and loving that was left to him. No, as long as I could occasionally break away to be mastered like this by Reginald, I believed I would be happy and content on Madeira—and in Sir Guy’s bed—for some time to come.


###

146 Gay Erotic Stories from Habu

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When I had cleaned up and returned, I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on full the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most

Director's Couch

I often did things backwards in life. The old Hollywood adage goes that many a starlet—and we can add many a leading man, now that the cat is out of the closet on that—got their film career break by the audition they did on the director's or producer's couch. In my case, however, I got the part before the director had me taking direction under him on his couch. I had been a child actor on

Do You Trust Me?

Angelo had been so tense through his set at the café this evening, that he was afraid that it could be heard in his voice or in a change in how he coaxed the music out of the strings of his guitar. But those sitting around a smoking and drinking long after the food service had been shut down didn’t seem to have reacted any differently than before, with just those exceptions. Although all of the

Doubling Bets

(Suckered into betting against the double penetration myth) I should have known the sneaky Dutchman had all the angles figured when he suckered us into betting against a myth in the Men Only back room at Cowboy's Bar in Bangkok's Patpong district. He waited until the third revolution of the happy hour clock—when we were all soused and sluggish—and entered with a boy-built Thai. I recognized

Dueling Regeneration

[Author’s Note: This story completes the Philippe LeCroix series, which is best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment.” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe LeCroix, with his new chauffeur,

Egyptian Ram

I was nearing the end of the fourth group lesson on self-defense techniques at the store-front gym under the instruction of a heavily muscled Egyptian wrestler named Anwar, when he took me aside and, after telling me he thought I’d make a natural wrestler, asked me if I’d like to stay after class and have him demonstrate some holds to me. I had admired his massive build—a bodybuilder’s barrel

Eight- and Nine-Inch Drills

Ad placed by Andre (9 slender inches) and Mike (8 thick inches) in the local weekly newspaper: - - - - Power Drills: GBM’s, Strong, hard, silent eight- and nine-inch power drills seek tight BWM or SWM who seeks filled fantasy experience for multiple drill role play says-no-but-wants-yes bottom. Call Mike at 945-6036. - - - - Ad Rob saw instead in the local weekly newspaper and decided

Elementary, Snidely

“But I don’t understand how you can just stand here, out on this beach, and declare that Jason Dunn has run away with his college football offensive team coach and lost his virginity, Doctor Klein. The Dunn’s paid us to find their son, and I very much doubt they will be amused with the elaborate and very offensive story you’ve come up with by way of explanation.” “It’s elementary, Snidely. And

Elusive

I waited until we'd almost reached Miami's airport, but I couldn't leave it here.

Emmet

We live in a university town, my wife and I, and we live in a neighborhood within five blocks of the edge of that university. It’s an affluent neighborhood, built on heavily wooded, well-manicured lots on the side of a ridge, with narrow streets running up and down and twisting here and there. Almost like the country, but a wealthy enclave right in the small city. Quite staid we are. Not ones for

Enticingly Unnaked

“How about I treat you to a drink? You must be thirsty from all that naked time on the platform.”I had just climbed down from the velvet-covered bench on the platform where I’d been posing, in the nude, for the past hour for Chad Simmons’s Savannah College of Art and Design night school art class. I’d barely had time to shrug my white cotton dress shirt over my shoulders. That didn’t stop the

Ernestine

I’m not sure why I went to Club 216 that night. I’d joined months before but had gone only rarely. Joining put me on their e-mail list, though, and I kept seeing announcements go by of their semiannual beauty contest. It didn’t pay much attention to it—or at least I didn’t think I had—but that Saturday night found me there, just a couple of table rows away from the stage. I was by myself at the

Ethiopian Cabin Boy

When I left Bangkok, Thailand, the first time, I originally thought I'd be returning to a world that was almost completely straight and that my days of enjoying a rich and active bi lifestyle were over. My work with the government, with its strong homophobic policies, just didn't seem to leave that avenue safely open to me. And for a couple of years, when I was assigned to Washington, D.C., and

Family Day on the Pool Table

I had always thought that about the only thing you could do on a pool table was play pool, but the Taylor brothers went to great length and depth to teach me otherwise. I’d met the three brothers on the beach at Pataya, Thailand. Their family owned a hotel construction company and was making money hand over fist in throwing up fancy hotels in downtown Bangkok and at the Pataya and Hua Hin

First Threesome

My first, memorable threesome was in that fancy gym in Bangkok where I had recently met who I called my Indian magician, who had seduced and initiated me. And the threesome was orchestrated by that Indian diplomat as well. He had been eyeing a military attaché from the Israeli embassy on the exercise floor—a man pushing his forties, built close to the ground but with long arms, almost simian in

Firsts With An Indian Magician

My first time for a lot of things came within a three-week period. I was a young Air Force pilot, living in Bangkok, Thailand, and flying the SR71 photoreconnaissance airplane. I was as virginal as they came before arriving in Bangkok. Sports through school and Air Force training and heavy workouts pretty much had taken all of my time and energy. I was about as Mom, apple pie, and country first

Friday Nights with Lenny

I stepped back from the sidewalk, hugging my arms close to my sides, and leaned back on the wall at the corner into the alley, raising one leg, knee bent, and my cowboy booted foot flat against the wall. The hole in the sole of that boot was worn clean through and the cold of the wall wasn’t as cold as that of the sidewalk pavement. Besides, it was a good pose for the purpose. While still

Garden District Plunge

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment,” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe watched them from the shadows in

Getting . . . Educated, Conclusion

The next day was my next tennis date with Ben. As I had thought and hoped for, after we’d played and I’d beaten him for the first time, I learned that he was in bad condition again and needed help. We both took showers, and he started back for the massage room, but I stopped him, telling him I had found a better place for him to get relief. We hurriedly both put gym shorts and T-shirts on, and I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 1

It was the first month of my graduate school, and it was my turn for the “introductory” evening with my Logic professor, Paul Hollings. When I’d asked someone who’d taken his class the previous year what the proper attire for such an event was, he had just given me a lopsided grin and said, “For a handsome guy like you? I’d suggest very bulky clothes.” He hadn’t elaborated, but I probably

Getting . . . Educated, Part 10

Although I had several white bandana encounters that week in which all a stranger needed to do to get submissive sex from me was to ask for my bandana, none were as strange as the one I had while I was on my way to play tennis with Ben the first time. I was strolling along, racket case under my arm, when a big black limousine, with smoked windows rolled up beside me, the driver’s window rolled

Getting . . . Educated, Part 12

My next team punch event day was more memorable for being the day of the double massage than for my losing a wrestling match and getting fucked. I lost the match, of course. This time to Greg, who was perverse enough to make me swing both my arms and legs over the parallel bars and then got on a bench under me and fucked me first from the front, my ass tipped up and then from the back, my ass

Getting . . . Educated, Part 13

I still felt better about the possibilities of taking control the next evening, which may be why I took that ticket the doped up rocker had given me and attended his concert. His band really was quite good. He had a large crowd in the university’s soccer stadium and it was even filmed for national sale as a video. The rocker who had fucked me had a great, raspy, character-laden voice and he

Getting . . . Educated, Part 14

At my next tennis match with Ben, he allowed as how he wasn’t in nearly the same painfully hard condition that he had been when we’d done the prostate procedure, but he did show a bit too much eagerness to repeat the massage that day if I thought it was advisable. I wanted him at full staff for presentation to the coach, so I asked him if he could hold off until our next practice match, to which

Getting . . . Educated, Part 15

Coach Seeman had told all of the wrestlers that they could come over and use his swimming pool at any time, and I was so sore and strung out later that afternoon that I took him up on the offer. I knew there was a wrestling meet during that time and figured that Seeman and the real wrestlers would be busy with that and that I’d have the pool to myself. I did, in fact, have the pool to myself

Getting . . . Educated, Part 2

I trudged back to the dorm from having been raped by my Logic professor, feeling very down and very sore, hoping that no one would ever learn about my humiliation; angry at the professor, not knowing how I was going to be able to sit in his class in front of him now. Worried about whether and what demands he might make on me for the rest of the semester. I wasn’t that way. I didn’t want to be

Getting . . . Educated, Part 3

I had been sexually assaulted by three men within my first week at school. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I let it go for several days and then, when I was on my way to throw some hoops at the gym, I just snapped and found myself seeking out the dean of men students. I didn’t know if I could get a walk-in appointment with him, but I felt like I needed to talk to someone about

Getting . . . Educated, Part 4

It had been three days since I had been raped four times within two days, and I was hiding out. I had taken a by-week apartment made over from a motel not too far from the campus, dropped the logic class, and kept as low a profile as I could. I’d found the former motel too noisy to study in, so I was camped out in a small overgrown park nearby, where I was studying on an old picnic table. I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 5

I’d had enough of these repeated sexual assaults; being used like this. The next day, I packed my car and headed for home. No more than three miles beyond the campus gate, though, I heard a police siren and was pulled over to the side of the road. I sat in the car, wondering what I had done wrong, as a policeman strutted around and took a look at both license plates, all the time swishing a

Getting . . . Educated, Part 6

Coach Seeman delivered me to Nate’s door, ravished and still in handcuffs, which had been moved so that my arms were in front of me, and with my jeans barely covering me. When Nate answered the door, he was wearing only his briefs. As the dorm counselor, he had an actual one-bedroom apartment, including separate bedroom, a kitchenette, and a bath—which made me wonder why he showered in the common

Getting . . . Educated, Part 7

I stayed with Nate for the next two weeks, taking in my regular classes in the afternoon and spending most of the mornings learning the fundamentals of wrestling from Nate and Greg in a small room off the main wrestling gym while the coach’s regular “Greek Wrestling” class went on in the main wrestling gym. I thought I was getting the hang of it until I was called in for what coach termed one of

Getting . . . Educated, Part 8

Later that afternoon I got my first glimpse of my possible ticket out of this “team punch” hell. I went to class and the professor, who was also my faculty advisor, asked me to come see her in her office after her next class. When I appeared there, she wasn’t alone. A young student was sitting and chatting with her. I took to him immediately. He was perhaps the most handsome youth I’d ever seen;

Getting . . . Educated, Part 9

My next team punch event defeat wasn’t too taxing. I was getting steeled to these attacks on my body. The winner was one of those lean, mean Marines, without an ounce of fat on a very efficient body and a shaved haircut. Not much to brag about in the below-the-belt category, which probably is why I’d seen him hang out with one of the bantam-weight wrestlers, a willowy, but obviously strong,

Getting. . . Educated, Part 11

The exhaustion of and loss of strength from the previous day’s unexpected sex encounters may have accounted for my tennis match the next day, but it’s just as likely that Ben was just a much better tennis player than I was. He agreed to let me try to recoup the loss and set up another match for two days hence. As I had hoped, we were the only ones in the graduate gym shower room when we went in

Gotta Keep This Job

I had been summoned to the medical suite at my office at the end of the Friday dayshift of my second week on the job, and I showed up with a great sense of trepidation. It had been hard finding this job, and I just had to keep it. But I’d scored drugs for a short time when I’d been in college, and I knew this company had a strict drug policy. I hoped that they hadn’t found out about that—or that

Handed On

“I really do worry about you. When did you eat last?”“Please, please, don’t stop,” Marc whimpered between pants. “Finish me, please. Don’t make me wait.”“Now you want it,” the dance master laughed. “We’ll see how badly you want it.”The two young men were lying on a pile of old costumes in the dark corner of the back of the stage behind the wings. The dance master, Patrick Moran, only

Harmony and Dissonance

“Are you sure this is the address?” Lars Krieger asked, as the hotel car stopped in front of a massive, carved-wood, two-panel door in an otherwise blank concrete wall on Bangkok’s Soi 51 Sukhumvit. The road was narrow, almost an alley, it seemed, to the young German engineer, with one, long stuccoed wall running down its full length on each side with doors like this and wider garage doors at

Harvesting In The Park

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had found this one particularly

Highballing

If the CEO of my company hadn’t seen me recently in that gay bar over on 12th and Madison, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get invited to the executive floor. But Pete Peterson had seen me, and there I was, in his conference room, sitting in a second-row position in the weekly executive meeting. I’d been surprised, but pleasantly so, to see Peterson in the bar. He was one of

Iced

If I didn’t get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We’d come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we’d attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we’d been at Skate Canada a couple of

Iced Flip Side

I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands

Into the Dark

Momma, please. I won’t talk back anymore. Let me out of the closet, Momma. Or turn on a light. You know how scared I am of the dark. Don’t leave me here in the dark, Momma. Please. Please Momma. Momma? Momma?* * * *Brandon leaned over the low, padded cubicle wall and winked at Colleen and told her she was looking mighty fine today. Then, as he turned and moved down the corridor between

Israeli Assault

I'll always remember the Israeli by the image of him standing there at the window of the Oriental Hotel room, the strong Bangkok sun bathing his body in afternoon light—that and by the cockiness with which he took control. The Israeli army officer, a military attaché at his country's embassy in Thailand, had just two weeks earlier been part of my first threesome. He had seen me working out in

Joggered

“Open to me. Open to daddy.” And I spread my legs for him. Before he pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen, he had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over ten inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the jogger emitting little sighs and moans of

Kasem's Kitchen

If the kitchen of Kasem’s family in the upcountry jungle of Thailand hadn’t burnt to the ground, I possibly never would have found out what the special Bangkok sports massage was all about. Kasem was my masseur at a fancy Bangkok gym, which was open for “men only” a couple of nights a week and which was a major pickup place for prime cuts of male meat. Of course, when I’d started going to the

Last Rodeo

Lattimore stopped at corner of the cookhouse as he was crossing from the main house of his ranch outside Laramie, Wyoming, to the corral to train the quarter horse he’d bought on the last cattle drive to Omaha. He leaned on a fence and watched young Kit chopping wood. The young man was stripped to the waist while he chopped.Bulking up real good, Lattimore thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad

Late Night Workout

I had been going to Gabe and Steve’s Gym for a couple of months, and I was quite pleased with the results. I could tell that Gabe and Steve were pleased too, as they’d both been giving me the eye when I was in the shower. I didn’t mind all that much; it was a free world and looks didn’t cost me anything—or so I thought at the time. I knew that Gabe and Steve were a couple, but that didn’t mean

Legend of Cowboy

All sorts of expatriate “characters” gravitated to Bangkok, Thailand, in the seventies and eighties, and none were more colorful than the man known simply as Cowboy. Cowboy was a six-and-a-half foot black American stud, who was said to have been a pro basketball player of some note who had retreated to Bangkok in the face of possible charges for point shaving and racketeering. In Bangkok, Cowboy

Like Father Like Son

As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg. I had thought of this possibility on and off for the whole cruise down

Locker Room Revelation

It wasn’t a regular day of practice; only Hank and I had come in, and we’d worked out in the gym after we’d done laps on the field. I could tell he was steamed about something, but I didn’t ask about what. He had finished first, and it looked like I had the locker room to myself when I came in from the gym. I took a quick shower and pulled on my briefs and some baggy shorts and an athletic T, and

Loving Wife

“What’s for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well.”“Of course, if that’s what you want, Ely. If that’s what you want, than that’s what we’ll have.”He’s got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it’s lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don’t have any lamb chops in

Master of the Boardroom

The reports of the week were winding down, and I looked around the table, only half conscious of what was being reported. The three older guys at the table would take care of all that for me. I was sizing up all of the young and beautiful people I’d stocked the board with. The power to do this was the joy of heading a robust family business; I could stock the board with the pick of the crop, and

Mentoring

Is this the very café table where we sat? Yes, I think it is. In fact, I’m sure it is. It’s as if time has stood still. The café is just as it was nearly thirty years ago—or at least I don’t remember anything as different. It’s hard to believe that as much as London has changed over the last twenty years, Norwich might not have changed at all. Or so it seems. And so I want it to be. I don’t want

Nailed By Obsession

He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous and our eyes had met across the room and he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he’d sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and had put his hand on my thigh and had given me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not

Natchez Refreshment

The cyclist was racing along the top of the Mississippi levee, anxious to get back into Natchez before the rains hit. Sweating profusely in the humidity and under the blazing sun, he had stripped his jersey off and wrapped it around the handlebars of the bike. It was almost dusk now, however, and the storm clouds were rumbling in. He felt chilled and tried to free the jersey from the handlebars

Naval Dilemma

Dutch came first. It was a particularly busy and boisterous night in the Dick Hut, tucked in the back shadows of an alley off the Nuuanu Stream in the heart of Honolulu's red light district. The sign over the door actually said

Neighbor's Hot Tub

My wife was off to see her mother, and for the first time since he’d gotten it, my neighbor, Marty, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. His house backed onto my side yard, and he’d done a whole lot of nice renovation on his property since he had moved in. Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite

New Master at Riverbend

Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn’t ready to go yet. That’s all Thomas, Master John’s carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he’d found when he’d entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall

New Orleans Rejuvenation

I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his chest,

No More Evening Shifts

There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and gave me a air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

Norwegian Stallion

One of the saddest—and most ironic—casualties of the internecine Greek-Turkish war on Cyprus that divided the island into warring camps three decades ago was the once-famous and elegant Ledra Palace Hotel. The Treaty Room of the Ledra Palace, a hulking stone edifice in the Moorish style, had been the venue where the British secretly committed the crime of slicing up the Arabian Peninsula and

Nuclear Meltdown

It was all happening so fast. I didn’t even have time to feel panic. I just felt a dullness and a foreboding—and a creeping sense of being trapped in a web of some sort. No, more like a cocoon, the sticky thread winding around and around me. Smothering me.“Just a few minutes, Dr. Winthrop, and you can go back to your room. I know this has been a shock to you. We have just a few more questions

On a String in Bangkok

In more recent years I look back on my mid-1970s (and then again early 1980s) Bangkok adventure and just shake my head, wondering what we were thinking we were doing then and how shallow we must have been to be so totally focused on beautiful bodies and the striving for perpetual orgasm.I think that for most of those I played with for two-and-a-half years in the 1970s, the hedonist urges

On The Roof

It was a hot day, and I was out doing my laps in the pool when the roofers arrived. They had started the previous afternoon, just diddling around and getting their supplies where they wanted them. The older of the two was a well-turned-out, chiseled-featured, and solidly built dude, probably in his early forties, with prematurely graying dark hair. He looked like he’d taken real good care of

On The Trail

I had never tried to seduce another guy before, but Dale was just there at the right time and place. We were both runners—he because he was on the college football team and running up and down the Pine Mountain trail helped keep him in shape and I because I wasn’t that long out of college myself and I was doing the best I could to keep my fine form in shape. We had passed each other a couple

Only a Custodian

“And a ten-inch cock.”“You’re shitting us now,” Oliver said.“Yes, I’m shitting you,” Porter answered. “But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him.”“Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to,” Adrian interjected.“And put the toilet seat down too?” someone asked. They all laughed.“No, thank god,” Adrian answered

Pay-as-You-Go Hitching

I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a hitchhiker on the

Pianoman

“First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . .”Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like “Ebb Tide,” when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.It wasn’t a question of being a prima donna and

Picking the First Fruit

I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn’t just me boasting. That’s what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I’ve heard both men say that, in the peach business, it’s getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does

Pirated

I was just about home free with the tasty wench the lads had brought on board for me from Kingston when the attack started. After some mouth play, she hadn’t objected in the least when I’d unlaced her bodice and started giving her ripe melons the attention they deserved. We were entwined together in the window seat of my vessel’s fantail, and, forward lass that she was, she had unbuttoned my

Porn War

The song “Kisses Sweeter than Wine” sprang to my mind, because that was what his kisses were. As far as I could tell in the dimly lit Blue Moon resort hotel room in Las Vegas, he was a young hunk, no older than I was. Most of the men in the room were older, a few probably twice or more my age. None were complete throwaways, but he was prime among them. And he had latched on to me as soon as I’d

Reconnected Recovery

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The young, drunk construction worker

Remembering Miles

I hadn’t seen Cousin Miles for nearly twenty years, and he looked more like it had been thirty. He looked so defeated and withdrawn into himself. And my memories were of a vibrant athlete. He wasn’t really a cousin in the blood-relative sense. Uncle John and Aunt Frieda had adopted both him and his sister, Mandy, because they couldn’t have any of their own. You could have told he wasn’t really

Renewal of Passion

I had been down and just marking time ever since I'd left Beirut three years earlier. I hadn't really been able to write that whole time either; I was just floating on the royalties from my earlier novels, written in the passion of my youth—passion that I just couldn't find in me anymore. Perhaps it was having hit that deadly age of fifty; perhaps passion naturally dissipated from that point.

Rest Stop

We were tooling down the highway in the early evening at a pretty good clip in my BMW Z4 Roadster when Perry started to get frisky. Perry was this hulking blond roommate of mine who also was on the football team, but who was a couple of years older than I was and played first-string tailback. I’d just started college this year and was still warming the bench, although I’d impressed the coach

Resting a Demon

I thought I was going to be sick. His mother asked him to entertain us, to play something for us on the piano, and the pert-butt blond tossed the curl out of his face and flowed over to the piano and started to fill the room with Chopin. I’d had this kid in my craw for a good fifteen years, and all I wanted to do was to slam him to the floor and fuck the stuffing out of him. And that was when he

Ride Em Cowboy

Since the 1930s my extended family has had a remote ranch in a hidden Colorado Rockies valley abutting Medicine Bow National Park south from Laramie, Wyoming. The mountain fasts there—almost alpine in environment—are majestic, but they can be raw and cruel as well. Our family raised cattle there and took timber off the mountainsides in a planned "thinning" harvest pattern that supported a

Rude Awakening

The most wonderful thing a lover has ever done for me was to give me my life. I didn’t understand it at the time, but if he had loved me as I wanted him to—as I begged him to—I would be long dead today. The days of my sexual coming of age in Bangkok, Thailand, during the early eighties were paradise followed by a rude awakening, a realization of how life can come back at you hard that I didn’t

Sacrificed by Curiosity

Doug had been conditioning me for months. We had met at the gym, and several weeks after we’d become regular spotting partners, he revealed to me, almost in an off-hand manner, that he was bisexual and that he actually preferred gay sex. He didn’t come on to me—at least not directly—and I consider myself fairly open-minded, so I continued with our informal spotting arrangements. I also had an

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 1

* * * The coven was good enough to dump Doug on the steps of an ER in a cross-town hospital and to drop me off at home with one of the younger men from the group there with me to clean me and the damage to our bedroom up and to provide an alibi for me when the police arrived later that evening. After the police left, I went into the bathroom and ran a steaming bath. I stretched out in the

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 2

I had been playing with the brunette’s tits, just as she was playing with mine, and I just got my hands away in time for Doug to take over. He must have been rougher on her tits than I was, because she was yipping and moaning and groaning and bouncing a bit on my skewer, which went to twelve inches under her attention. After a few minutes, he wish boned my legs again so that he could bury meat

Sailing Back into Life

Sailing Back into Life [Author’s Note: When the Philippe Lecroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” "Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Alphonse waved

Sailors and Flyboys

FlyboysPete swung into the gym with a big grin on his face. “Fleet’s in and I’ve already talked with Javier. His ship will be in early, on Thursday. Says he can get a three-day shore pass. Time for a special weekend.”“I’m game,” Todd answered, but he was looking up at the man spotting him on the bench press and asked, “How about you, Dan?”“Every weekend’s special with you, babe,” Dan

Satin Circus

(Written by request for a satin fetish story by James A.)The music swells and the lights dim under the big tent, as the excitement builds in the audience and the buzzing conversations subside with the rising expectation that something—something special—is about to happen. Strobing lights and laser beams come up, gyrating around on the floor below and under the canopy of the tent above,

Satin Sleigh Ride

Count Gregor Arninov towered over his elegantly dressed host and hostess in the foyer of their winter dacha as his sleigh was being brought around. He was leaning over them and holding the admiral’s wife’s small silk-gloved hand in his appreciably larger satin-clad one while he murmured how wonderful their ball had been and that, yes, he had enjoyed dancing with their daughter immensely. The

Satisfaction Ashram

As I stood outside the entrance to the old British colonial-style Windsor Hotel in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka, in the shadow of Mount Pidurutagala, waiting for someone to take me up to the ashram, I couldn’t believe how far—and how far back in time—I had moved from Teddy’s cabin in the Catskills. From the moment Teddy’s business partner, Mort Whitley, had driven up to the cabin and told me how

Searching for It

Searching for It(Corbin and Ethan both go looking for it on the New York docks)(sounding, fetish, docks, gay male clubs, domination, gay anal, rough sex, daddies, obsession, collections)“Yo, there, buddy. Lookin’ for somethin’? Cause I got somethin’ for you.”Corbin took a good look at the burly man who had materialized from behind a stack of metal barrels beyond where the light

Snaked on Anjajavy Beach

I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I’d better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth.The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on

Snow Trap

Boyd had been leery of the arrangement from the very beginning, but he hadn’t said anything to his father about it. His father seemed so happy about having found Vic, one of Boyd’s college prep school coaches, two years after Aaron, his former lover, had died. Boyd would much rather it had been anyone other than Vic, someone who Boyd hadn’t known before Aaron died. But, when he was being honest

Snowy, Snowy Nights

In most senses Bran had been invisible at the Hayden saloon the couple of months he’d been there. But as he came out of the back room into the main saloon hall, carrying the bucket of water Levi Yost, the saloon keeper, had told him to use to freshen the bowls in the rooms upstairs, he looked at the tall Christmas tree in the corner. Sadie, Katie, and Faye were busy happily decorating the tree

Solicitous Service

Goran saw the young man standing nervously at the reservations desk and liked what he saw. He was even happy that Serge, the maître d, was pretending not to see the young man, because that meant that Goran, the waiter, could see him to the table—and could make contact of some sort with him on the way there. Goran was one to make an immediate assessment of the playing field and pick out who he

Someday My Prince Will . . .

Last night I dreamt I went to paradise again. I believe we can credit the encounter to Daphne du Maurier. My tour in Cyprus was at an end, but I had hung on for a month, sending my wife back to Washington, D.C., to get the house open up again and everything there back in working order and to guide one of our children into a new university year. I had stayed past my assignment rotation date to

Sweet Sanjay

I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said “Clifford Jenkins” with “New York” written under it. That was me. But I wasn’t being met by anyone that I knew of. The

Swimming Lessons

“I’d like to make an Australian Crawl.” Stan gave a hearty laugh and acknowledged an empty glass up the bar. While he was gone, Keith, in turn, acknowledged that his own beer glass had miraculously filled on its own. He didn’t have much doubt that Stan was trying to get him drunk so that Keith would go in the back room with him. The burly barkeep had been putting the moves on him for some time

Ten Slash Two

I had been jittery and conflicted for the entire two weeks since I’d seen that big black topping a guy at a pool party in Bangkok. I had been bottoming for a Swede in a nearby patio lounge when I looked over and saw this monster cock jack-hammering in out of the other guy—who clearly was in seventh heaven—and I almost melted on the spot. I was conflict, though. Obsessed with desire because the

That One Exception

I have always managed to keep my bisexual world in check and separate from my public straight world by always putting my wife and children first and by committing only to them—that is, possibly, with one notable exception. I had an atypical long-term relationship with an Australian colleague that seemed innocuous at least at the beginning but that has grown stronger over the years—possibly beyond

The Awakening

I guess it may have been because of my mother—and of the strange beliefs my grandmother formed around her. Up until the time my grandmother’s ill health coincided with me being old enough to go to college, I’d been kept in the dark about so many things. I knew that my mother must have done some really, really bad things from the way that my grandmother just tightened up, crossing her arms under

The Caregiver

Perhaps I gave in so easily because Lenny embodied the best of two worlds. First, he was a wonderful, gentle caregiver. He had been coming to my house twice a day for several weeks to take care of my bed-bound grandmother, who was recovering from a broken hip. Second, he was drop-dead gorgeous. All blond Swedish muscle with a shy smile to accompany his sensuous mouth. I’d had a rough week

The Celtic Sonata of Life

I was sitting outside the cottage door, just in my shorts, wondering if the farmer who had rented the rustic Cotswold cottage with the thatched roof and the rose trellis beside the door to me for two weeks had misinterpreted my offer. It hadn’t been in so many words, but I think I had been clear enough in my nonverbal delivery. But maybe not. Maybe signaling here in England was much different

The Clothes Horse

“You’d get half of the bid, plus you’d get to keep the clothes.”I didn’t know that I was all that wild about being auctioned off, but I had to admit that I liked—no, I loved—Zhao Zeng’s clothes. That was what had attracted me to him in the first place. His black satin shirt and trousers were cut so well—and so provocatively—on him that I could hardly keep my eyes off him, even though I’d come

The Commander

“Ahhh, that were very nice,” I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des’s chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we’d have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.“Cig?”

The Compassionate Reporter

“Lou is chasing another story down, Gavin, and this one doesn’t look like more than a short paragraph in the local news section. So if you’ve got an hour or two, could you check this out? And if you don’t have an hour or two, I’d like to know what you’re doing; what you’re working on now was due on my desk an hour ago.”The city editor handed Gavin a telephone message form.“OK, boss. I’ll

The Cure

I came to slowly, the flashing colored lights taking their time to form in my consciousness and whatever Tony had spiked my drink with slow to let loose of me. I was lying on a bed. I tried to rise, but my hands were cuffed together above me and my legs were cuffed as well to the lower corners of the bed. But the bounds were loose there. I could raise my legs as I wanted, but I couldn’t rise from

The Darling

“I’m going to take you to the Darling tonight.”I froze. I’d been chatting with three other guys on the sectional sofa in the conversation pit, not even aware that the major had reentered the house. I was studiously avoiding thinking of where he was. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in this conversation group at all. I normally tried to stay well away from these three. The three pansies we had

The Day the Earth Moved

The two construction workers worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning up for the evening around the construction site on the new house on the steep hillside overlooking the pounding surf on the rugged coast below. The two moved together, in fluid motion. They were having a boisterous and obscene conversation of what the two horny hunks planned to do to their girl friends that evening after a

The Netotiator

I wondered what he could tell about me that no one at home or the office—at least I hoped and always had thought—knew. He had introduced himself as Hal when he’d appeared beside me in Business Class and I’d stood from my aisle seat so that he could get over to the window. He’d had a friendly smile, and if I hadn’t been busy during the first two hours over the Atlantic from New York going over the

The Thunderstorm

I fully acknowledge my weakness, but I think Janine has a share in the shattering of my vows to her. I’d only had that one fling back in college—with Phil. But Chet and Phil had had an affair after college, and now Chet was living in the next acreage to ours. Obviously Phil and Chet had talked about me, and Chet knew all about me before he moved here, because he had made quite clear to me that he

The Video List

“It sounds too complicated for you, Matt,” Jason had said. “Getting a list would be the hardest part—impossible, I think. This is a small potatoes town. I think you should just keep it to the street and be happy when it works out. And get a job.”I’ll admit that getting a job was what got the plan rolling. Then getting a list turned out to be one of the easiest parts. The roughest part,

Theatrical Revival

Theatrical Revival [Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The bodybuilder

To Die in Madeira

I closed my lips over Sir Guy’s cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.We were half way

Training Asu

“You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu’s. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny.”“I know that, Sargon, it is just so hard . . .”Baltasar, the wood merchant, was sitting at a table outside of the tea shop in the bazaar, sipping

Trip Money

I had become a regular at the gym on Tuesday nights, and this 40-something businessman named Clint, who was also a regular on that night, and I had gotten to where we regularly spotted each other through our bar bell work. He was in great shape for his age, leaner than I was, but with well-defined, ropy muscles and chiseled square-cut features. I’d been trying to save the money for some time to

Trucker Bait

As I came up from the beach, I saw Carl and Angela on the deck, He had her top off and was stroking her breasts, and she was sitting astride his lap, having made who knows what connection. I knew what they’d be doing for the next couple of hours, which would leave me at loose ends again. I decided to take the initiative. “Hey, Carl,” I yelled out from below the deck sight line. “Would now be

Trunk Of The Car, 1

Trunk of the Car, Part 1 I found I had a carefree weekend on my hands, so I had driven into the small town to answer an ad for a classic Triumph convertible that I might want to add to my collection. But I had been up and down the street several times without finding the address I was looking for. So, I just parked my car and started hunting on foot. I did find the address, but no one seemed

Trunk Of The Car, Part 2

Eric must have enjoyed the polishing job we’d done on the trunk of his Tempest, because when I’d finished shooting off into him, he said, “Well, Peter if you’ll get this beautiful body off mine and stop entertaining the neighbors, perhaps we should go in and shower.” “I want to fuck again. I want you to fuck me,” I said, without moving. “That’s not out of the equation,” Eric said, with a

Trunk Of The Car, Part 3

As we were leaving the shower, Eric took the tube of mentholated lubricant, squeezed out a large glob, and asked Claude to apply it, which Claude was more than happy to do, pushing his hand deep down the back of Eric’s silk shorts and massaging the gel into Eric’s ass as Eric grunted and twitched his butt. “As soon as this does it’s magic,” Eric said. “I want you to have another go at me, Claude.

Trunk Of The Car, Part 4

Sometime later, I was awakened by Eric pressing on my shoulder. I raised my arms to bring him into bed with me, but he shushed me and said in a low voice, “No, not that. We hear something downstairs. Claude’s gone ahead to check it out. He wants us to follow him down. When we got to the first floor, we could see Claude at the back of the house, near a door that went into a workout room. Claude

Trunk Of The Car, Part 5

After hosing ourselves off again and getting back into those silk shorts, Claude suggested we go down to the living room and drink beer and watch a football game on TV. So, down we went. After I tossed off my first beer, I began to feel a little sorry for the dude hanging up in the gym and asked if it would be okay if I went in there and cleaned him up a bit and put some salve on the new hole

Trunk Of The Car, Part 6

When I awoke, the room was dim, and the house seemed very quiet. It had been a great day, but it was time to shower off one last time and hit the road. But first I’d find the guys and see what they were up to. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard some noises from the back of the house and padded into the gym. The pizza guy was still on delivery, I could see. They’d pulled out the

Turkish Delight Times Six

While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't

Two Men in a Dungeon

The Hulk crouched near the bolted heavy oak door, eyeing Rab, ready to pounce, trying to anticipate where Rab might try to scurry next. The stone-walled chamber wasn’t small, but it wasn’t so large that Rab had much of a chance evading the Hulk much longer. Both men were panting, having played this cat-and-mouse game for several minutes, but Rab was more winded than the Hulk was. No one in his

Wrong Choice

It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn’t brought my suit. I had assumed this

Zonked

I had literally creamed myself almost nightly for Phil’s body, but Phil was about as straight as they come--and getting all the female tail he could handle if all the talk around campus was true. We were both attending the university on athletic scholarships--Phil on a football and baseball scholarship and me on a wrestling scholarship, wrestling being a good way for me to get down and dirty with

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