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The Celtic Sonata of Life

by Habu


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 from how it was in the States.

I had been antsy with my writing, not being able to make much progress. Back in New York, I would have known what I needed to break the blockage: attention from one of the muscle men in the gym down on the first floor of my building. I would go downstairs and stand in the doorway. They would see and understand what I needed, and one of the hunks would put his bar bells down, climb the stairs with me, and fuck the stuffing out of me. Then I would give him the proverbial pat on the head and send him back to the gym. After that I could and would write all night. I never had a problem finding someone down there who wanted me. I always was in control.

The Gloucestershire farmer had reminded me of the men in the gym, but more honestly built, less malleable perhaps, and a man of determination. A bit of danger for someone like me, who wanted to call all of the shots. He was a man of the fields, big and bulky, but built like a bodybuilder. His muscles were, I’m sure, the result of hard work on the land rather than the artifice of the gym. His cottage had been listed on a gay-friendly Web site, and it had rather explicitly indicated that single, young, gay men were preferred. So I had hope that there would be something to be had from him while I hid away in the Cotswolds and tried to make progress on my book. A bit of dalliance when it pleased me. When I saw him, standing by the cottage door this morning, when I drove up, I almost melted. He was big and beautiful in a brutish, stubbornly arrogant way. I had occasion to hope there would be something from him for me, and even more reason to hope that when he told me that he was single, that he lived alone, and that he worked the farm himself.

I told him I was gay and a writer, and that I had come to write, not to sightsee. I asked him if he was a reader, but he said he was more of a music listener—and a dancer. I had visions of him clogging away at a village fair and regretted that he wasn’t a reader. If he had read my books, he would have known what I wanted from a man like him, what I expected from a man who wanted to go with me. I told him, still hopeful, that I worked mainly at night at the computer and that my mornings, such as they were, were spent spinning the stories in my mind. But the evenings, I said, I usually liked to be away from the writing. I often read in the evening, or talked with someone, if someone was there to talk to.

“I dance in the evenings,” he said, simply. From the first moment, he was direct, straightforward, with me, not the least anxious to fit in with my plans.

I thought then that he hadn’t taken the hint—or, worse, had caught the invitation and had rejected it. I was a bit miffed. I wasn’t used to being rejected. But then, this was England, not the United States. I recognized that tastes could be different by differing location. He looked like he probably fancied someone rougher, less complex, less sophisticated than I was. I had visions that while I was reading in the evening, he would be in the village dancing, probably clogging. I don’t know why I thought they clogged in this region, but it seemed to go with the atmospherics here. Everything was rural. Beautiful, but rural. The farmer seemed rural too. Very basic, probably his whole life devoted to his farm. Rural but beautiful. But seeing him in my mind dancing some silly village dance lessened his appeal to me. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have given up earlier in the day before he set off for his fields; I’d have been at his door asking for a cup of whiskey or something—with the emphasis on the “something.”

The twilight was so inviting that I was sitting at the cottage door next to the rose trellis, using the light streaming through the doorway of the essentially one-room cottage to light my page. I had only read a few pages when I saw him approaching.

He was all cleaned up, a bottle of some liquor—probably a local brew—in his hand. He was stripped to the waist, wearing baggy farmer’s trousers below, which only accentuated the hard, barrel chest and tapering down the torso to flat abs telling the tale of what a serious six pack meant. I gasped at the sight of him, not only the massive musculature of his torso, magnificently cut, but because he had tattooing of roses running down his chest—roses that matched the color of those on the rose trellis next to where I sat.

“I thought you danced in the evenings,” I said in a low, wanting voice as he approached me.

“I do. I think you should dance tonight rather than read. I have come to dance.”

He had also brought CDs. They surprised me. No clogging music here—whatever that was. Not even any fast music. All slow, sensuous, strangely unfamiliar music to me. Sounds of haunting instruments I could not identify and what were either other instrumental sounds or voices in the background, I could not tell which, as well blended in the rest of the music as it was. Behind it all, a good beat. Not a beat that I heard from the beginning, but a beat that became stronger as the evening unraveled.

“The music. Very strange,” I said. “Almost primeval.”

“It’s Celtic music. It’s what I dance to. It is music we use to make love to, out here on the farms.”

Visions of fertility dances in the fields zipped through my brain. How could I use this image in my novels?

We were inside at that point, him standing by the CD player and me sitting on the edge of the bed. There were straight chairs in the room, and a small table near the kitchen bar, but not room for much else. Just a square of space in the center of the room. While standing at the CD player, he undid his belt buckle, unbuttoned his fly, and let his farmer’s wide-legged trousers sink to the floor.

Just like that. Straightforward, direct. Sure of himself. Knowing that what he had gave him entry where he wanted to go. Arrogance unbounded.

I moaned. He was in half erection, already magnificent. His thighs were beefy, but all muscle, strong as oaks. The vining from the rose trellis tattoo continued down across his smooth-shaved groin, and wrapped around the base of his cock. He had taken a handful of small packets and a tube of something out of the pocket of his trousers before they fell to the floor, and as I watched, he placed the tube and some of the packets on the table, opened the packet he still was holding, and rolled the condom on his cock. There was no question what he wanted—or that he had plans to get it more than once, if he fancied doing so. For the first time I felt that decisions, control were not mine here. We clearly were on his turf.

No courting here. This was the farm. Do your business and get back to work. I was the business that he would do this evening. Lonely on the farm? Invite a young man to use your cottage and get your rocks off covering him, again and again, if you wanted to. Leave him moaning on his back, unable to close his legs, and go back to the fields whistling.

I shuddered, conflicted by both desire and fear.

He walked to the center of the room. “Come, dance with me.” He was holding an arm out, in invitation.

“I don’t dance. Well, not well,” I answered, my voice more of a croak than as I would have him hear it.

“You can dance with me. I will lead. I will control.”

I bet you will was my thought. I was trembling. I barely could make it up to my feet. I took one step.

“No, take the shorts off first. I want to see you.” and when I had fumbled my way out of the shorts, “Ah, you are a right sexy piece, you are. Turn around. Nice arse that. Plump. Should hole straight and true, and something to grab onto during the slide. I am glad you have booked for two weeks. And you are showing me that you want to dance with me. We will be good dance partners together.”

Just a sexy piece with a nice, plump “arse” to slide into. Just verbal running of the farmer’s hands down the flanks of the livestock. Good breeding stock. The dance crap just so much subterfuge. Not that that mattered, he was such a prime example of manhood. But that cock . . . the size of that.

“I admit I want to . . . but I am frightened. You are so large . . . I’m not accustomed . . .”

“You will love the dance. Come. You answered the advert. We both know what you wanted when you came here. We will both be happy, I’m sure. This is why I make the effort to have this cottage to rent. I make it sound like I prefer single-tenant gay men. If I like the look of them, I cock them. They never complain that I have.”

“That’s rather forward. I—”

“You want me to put you on the cock, don’t you? You nearly ate me up showing that want earlier today.”

I shimmered with uncontrollable arousal at the image of that—made more graphically fascinating by the size of him. It was the writer in me. Too much imagination. “Yes,” I answered in a small voice. I couldn’t lie. And I was already naked before him, my need and want obvious.

“We dance the Dance of the Fuck, then. Now.”

I shuddered when he took me into his arms. He was taller, bulkier, more powerfully built than I was. I had to stand on my tiptoes as, in a close embrace, we moved, back and forth, and against each other. His cock pressed into the center of my chest, into the base of my rib cage. He was gripping my wrists and moved my arms behind me, holding them together at the base of the small of my back. I felt the index finger of one of his hands move down into the upper crack of my buttocks.

The finger was not reaching the rim of my hole, but I found myself wanting it to, rising as much as I could to give it access. It was rubbing inside my cleft, though, and I was opening just at the sensation of him being so close to the quick of me.

I knew I was going to be fucked. I wanted it. He was making me ache for it. All self-assurance, no doubt he knew that. He had made clear he had caught my signaling from that morning. We both knew what he was here to do, what I was here to give him, to take from him.

His lips went to the hollow of my throat. We had moved close to the table where the CD player was resting in the undulation of our bodies in the slow, sensuous dance. I realized only now that this table had been a goal of his. He released my hands, and I sensed him handling something on the table top. As we moved away from the table again, toward the center of the room, I realized what it was he was doing. His hands were wet and slick now.

We stood, in the center of the room, just rocking back and forth with, against each other. His cock was rock hard against my rib cage. I knew mine was too. It was throbbing.

“Yes, yes, yesss,” I murmured as I felt his large hands spanning my buttocks cheeks, squeezing and separating them.

“Oh, god, yesss,” I whimpered, as I felt a finger from each hand, wet and slippery, circling my rim. And then slowly entering me, and pressing on my rim, opening me up.

“Loose. Used. But not loose enough yet for the likes of me.”

Do you have to say every thought out loud? I screamed in my mind. Must you be so casual and coldblooded about it? But then I realized that his language, his actions, the matter-of-fact way he was going about it was much of what was making me melt to him, what was putting me under his power.

Standing and rocking against each other. Aware more now of the music. We were moving to the beat of the music. Or rather, the beautiful farmer was moving us to the rhythm of the music. Controlling, just as he had said he would. And the beat. Becoming more aware that there was a beat at the base of the music, coming more to the foreground.

More fingers, deeper, Spreading me open. I had never felt so open, so slack. I buried my face in his shoulder and panted hard. Roses. My eyes were fixated on the roses, curving with the curve of his hard pecs. A nipple in the center of one rose. This. I would write about this.

“A nice arse. A good hole for it. Tight enough to give me a good feel of it, but open enough for the deep slide and the working of it.”

To me, the beating of my heart, more aware to me now too, was matching the beat of the music.

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t wait. I ejaculated between his thighs. I was mortified, and buried my face harder into his shoulder, voicing a shuddered, “Sorry.”

He gave a low laugh. “No worry. I will make you come again . . . and again. A good hole for it, for a good poke, time and again.”

I moaned in anticipation. His lips found mine, and a third finger on each hand invaded my ass, pressing at the rim, coaxing me more open. Pushing my butt cheeks apart with the broad, calloused palms of his hands.

His lips disengaged from mine and went to my ear. “I am putting you to the cock now. You are open enough, I think. If not, I have something that will stretch you to fit soon enough. Maybe not the first time, but afterwards. The dick is wanting its hole something fierce.”

“Yes, oh, god, yes,” I moaned. Such bald language, arousing now that I was being worked—like the matter-of-fact way he had declared he was going to fuck me. Probably straightforward because of the nearness of a farmer to the basic functions and realities of life. Also because he was fully aware of who he was, what he had, what men like me wanted from him, whether we ourselves fully understood that or not. Intoxicating. Enough so that I didn’t consider the ominous “I have something that will stretch you.”

“Raise your right leg to my hip,” he whispered. “You’ll ride the cock with me standing the first time, I think. You’ll enjoy it; it gives a good angle. Not a full slide, but we can get to that in time. A right good ass; I’ll want to use it more.”

Shaking almost uncontrollably, I raised my calf to his hip. Still clutching, spreading, my buttocks with his hands, fingers still inside my entrance, rubbing and coaxing the rim to expand, he lifted me and crouched a bit, with a thigh pressing into me under the leg I had lifted.

I felt the bulb of his cock at my entrance. It was massive. I whimpered. “You are too big.”

“We will manage. You are used regular, I can get the feel of that. You will take it. Your body will open right up to it. It wants the cock. The gut knows what it wants and will do what is needed. We were meant to dance this dance.”

His fingers were still stretching me open as much as they could as, grunting, he moved his bulb inside me. I was panting heavily, and groaning and close to tears. It had been nothing like this with the men in the gym. None of them were built like this English farmer. None of them were as forceful or determined. None of them had the gall to tell me what I wanted. I had told him he was too big. He hadn’t seen it as a problem.

But, he was right. I wanted it so much. “Ahhhhhhhhh.”

“Arch back from me,” he commanded. His voice was demanding, like he was trying to override my approach toward hyperventilating. “Don’t worry; I will hold you.”

He was so powerful and his rough hands were so broad and strong, that I believed him.

“It will roll your pelvis up to me. The angle will be better, the channel straighter for the cock.” He crouched a bit again, ready to maintain our balance by offsetting the arching of my torso. Again, the straightforward, confident, bald talk of the rudimentary elements of the fuck. Again, too, the understanding of the basic mechanics of it. Almost clinical. He just wanted to get deep inside me, to come inside me. Get his rocks off and get back to the fields. A barnyard breeding. The farm stud.

But he was a stud.

I wanted him inside me as much as he wanted to be there. I was crazy to be doing this. I couldn’t take a cock this big—and wouldn’t enjoy it if I did. But, god, I wanted him deep inside me. None of what I wanted mattered now, though, he was going to fuck me. He was exuding no doubt. To him it was all mechanics; just a day on the farm, studding the livestock. A bit of pleasure in the process. His pleasure.

I arched back, afraid that I might fall back, but he smoothly counterbalanced with his crouch and I managed to grip his upper arms—massively muscular, making me melt to him even in the heat of trying to sheath his cock, and he was still holding my lower body close to his with the strength of his hands gripping my buttocks.

“I can support you. The cock wants this angle.”

“Please, please, pleaseplease,” I chanted in a faraway voice as, my prayer being answered, I felt his cock sliding slowly inside me, stretching and filling me. Knowing every inch of me inside as it sank into me; knowing too that the channel would expand to accommodate, to welcome the long slide. Making me pant and groan and moan. He was inside me. He was inside me! I wanted to shout for joy. I was taking him. It was throbbing inside me. Waiting, poised.

“There, the gut knows what it will take. A good angle and straight channel. Fully saddled. We can dance the fuck now.” Like he was talking to some vet inseminating his prize brood mare.

I felt the fingers sliding out of me, their work finished. His hands went to my waist.

“Lift the other leg. Lock your ankles behind my back.”

“Please. Please.”

“What?”

“Please be patient with me. Please don’t ruin me. It . . . is . .. so . . .big.”

It was idiotic. I didn’t know what I wanted by saying this at this point. I already was holed. But, yes, yes, I did. I wanted some sign from him before he started what came next that this was lovemaking, not just breeding, not just the primeval need to ejaculate. That he wanted me because he was attracted to me, not just because I had a channel and he wanted his huge cock sheathed tonight, just wanted a vessel to spill his seed in, had to get his rocks off. Throwing in my face that I had come onto him. Leaving me no shred of belief that I controlled . . . anything.

But then, what if he did? What if he only wanted his pleasure? The offer of the cottage had been clear enough. He was being completely honest. And I couldn’t deny that he was giving me what I hoped to find here.

Thoughts of my own behavior, back in New York, floated through my brain. Isn’t the way he was treating me no more impersonal than I treated those men in the gym? Letting them fuck me just to help push me beyond a blockage in my writing. I told them what they could do, how they could do it. Using them just like this self-confident farmer was going to use me, was already using me. Was I any more thoughtful of their needs than he was of mine?

“You came to me for the hard cocking. I see nothing innocent in you. Your gut speaks for what you want. The looseness of the gut tells me what you’ll take.”

No mercy to be had. What could I say to that? He was absolutely right.

He laughed a low laugh. “We will dance well together. Before the night is through, we will fit perfectly. Raise your other leg, or I will raise it for you. The cock wants it.”

I let out a low sob and raised my leg. I also started to raise my torso to him.

“No, stay arched back. The angle is good. The angle is good for you, is it not? I am in deep, no? You feel me deep inside? It will be a long, straight stroke. The cock wants a long stroke.”

The cock wants this; the cock wants that. What about what I want? But I knew what I wanted. I wanted the cock.

“You’re so big, so deep,” I murmured. It came out with another low sob, but also with a sense that he was concerned for my pleasure after all, if only a little. I needed more from him. “No man has ever been that deep. You are magnificent.”

Pimping for some sign of passion for me.

Nothing. But perhaps the intensity with which he was concentrating on the fuck should give me an indication how much he wanted it.

“Good. It’s a good angle for me. I can stroke deep, long. Listen to the music. Feel the beat. This is the Dance of Life sonata. This movement is the primeval Dance of the Fuck.” He laughed and I didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. His terminology was idiotic. It was just a fuck. But this was not a moment to give it any thought. “We will dance now, you and I. The Dance of the Fuck.”

And then he began to pump me, pulling me back and forth on his cock, leveraging me with those beefy hands on my waist. He must have timed this with the music he knew was coming, because as the beat increased in the music and became louder and louder, his pumping kept up with the beat, fucking faster and deeper and harder. Pulling me further out now. Slamming me back down on the cock harder each time. He was shuffling his feet too, dancing in place, groaning and grunting now. Getting his rocks off. I was crying out with each deep thrust. He didn’t care. Eventually I was crying out for each deep thrust. He laughed.

“It is good for you. I knew you wanted it hard. Keep the angle. The deep stroke is good.”

I was lost to him and the music. Writhing under his power, begging him to slow down, to stop for a rest, to speed up, to never stop. No indication he even was listening to me. Babbling and digging my fingernails into his upper arms, unable even to break the skin as thick and tightly stretched as the skin was over his muscles. He was indestructible, unstoppable, unflappable, Supercocker; I was whatever he wanted me to be. Just a tight sheath for his cock, a vessel for his primeval need to fuck. And overwhelmed by the beat of the music, the pumping of the cock.

He fucked me for an eternity. Long, hard, deep. The thought racing across my mind: just like the cock wanted it.

Just like I was loving it, like never before. He had known what I wanted after all.

I ejaculated again, and he laughed. Then he slowed down the pumping to where he was just standing there, rocking back and forth on his feet. The CD was changing to different music. Softer, less primeval.

“Oh, god . . . that . . . was . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s not finished yet. I haven’t come.”

Oh, shit.

He revolved me on his cock, instructing me what to do with my legs and arms, so that, still plastered to his pelvis, I was hanging off the front of him, facing away from him, my ankles hooked on the tops of his calves and my fists locked behind his neck, him half crouching to make my smallness accommodate to his height. The beat of the music started going faster again and pushing into the foreground, and, holding my waist in his hands, he was pumping me again . . . slamming my channel up and down on his cock, all glorious primeval brutality now . . . eventually to his own ejaculation.

We held there for the longest minute, both panting hard, both animals of the farm, having expended the red-hot, uncontrollable heat of doing what nature told us we must do.

“That was a good one.”

Simply that. Good? That was stupendous. I had never been so fully fucked before.

I had visions of me on all fours, like a farmyard animal, and him covering me and fucking me like a dog or a sheep. A horse. Yes, a horse, with that horse cock of his. A stud bull. Treating me just like any other animal he possessed. No condom in this vision. Strongly shooting off inside me, flooding me with semen. Breeding me, seeding me. Drowning in his hot cum. Just another day on the farm. But me loving every thrust of him. My eyes darting around the farmyard, looking for, yearning for his approach. Going down on all fours for him. Raising my “arse” for the long, thick slide of him.

“We will dance on the bed.”

“Oh, god. I don’t know if I—”

“Not right away. But later. Now we both rest.”

“I can’t, again, tonight,” I murmured as he let me down and helped me to hobble to the bed and lay down. He sat on the bed beside me, moving a hand over my chest and belly, going to my nipples to tweak them.

“You were good,” he said. “The best in some time. We dance well together. You are well used. The gut opens as needed.”

I melted. Despite the bald, rude language, he wanted me. Me. Not just my ass. He was still here. Why was I trying to send him away?

“Anyone ever compare you to a stud bull?” I asked. I think I meant that as an admonishment, a jab at his self-possessed doggedness, a teasing of how much he obviously thought of himself. The basic animalism of him was flooding my brain. A character was forming to intrude himself into my current book. Primitive, powerful, a stud bull, one who took what he wanted, when he wanted it. A prime breeder.

I wanted to get at the computer keyboard. And yet that was just my brain. That’s not what my body was telling me I wanted.

“Yes, often,” he said, with a smile, the possible criticism of it flying right over his head. “I am the best you will have here. We start again soon. I think I cock you better than you have had. I think you don’t have a stud bull in America like me.”

As arrogant as he was about it, I could not naysay him.

“I can’t anymore tonight. It was . . . terrific. Well, more than terrific. Beyond my wildest dreams of what I could have here. But I work at night. I fuck for inspiration. I have inspiration for two novels after that . . . remarkable fuck.”

“You are here for two weeks. You don’t have to write on the first night. We will dance on the bed tonight—and maybe in the morning too, before I go to the fields, before dawn. You are one sexy piece.”

“I . . .” He was stroking my cock. And my cock was appreciating the attention. I looked and saw that his cock was already engorging again as well. Magnificent. A horse. A stud bull. And he had been inside me—to the root. And I had taken it all.

“We will take this night for cocking.” It wasn’t a question.

I moaned and stretched out on the bed, turning on my back and flexing my muscles, working the kinks out from the demanding positions already taken. I almost felt like I was purring. I wondered if he could hear me purring. My pelvis was moving with his stroking of my cock. I willed it to stop, but it wouldn’t. He made a circle of his fingers, and my cock was slowly, sensuously stroking in the sheath it provided—on its own accord.

“You want me again. Now. You ache to have my cock inside you again.”

Had I, in fact, been purring and he had heard it? Why couldn’t I control my cock?

The music on the CD that had been muted in the interim was growing noticeably in volume and beat.

“I really can’t.” Fighting for some shred of control—over myself as much as over him.

He came up on the bed, stretching himself beside me. The beat of the music was picking up. He managed to trap my wrists in the powerful grip of one hand and pulled them over my head. The other hand, palm up, was pressing between my thighs. My body lost all loyalty to my intentions. My legs, on their own, spread, my knees went up, my heels dug into the bedspread, and my pelvis rolled up to him as two beefy fingers entered my ass, found my prostate, started to rub.

“I think I could get the whole fist up here now.”

I froze, panicked.

“But such a sweet arse is for the cock.”

I relaxed, but only a bit. The rubbing of the fingers was sending me over the moon.

Yes, fuck me again. Deep and hard. You know what I like. Better than I do.

I hadn’t said it out loud, had I? No, I don’t think so. He hadn’t responded.

I looked wildly up into his eyes. His face was smiling, his eyes were flashing the totality of his control, his intention. His assurance that it was what I wanted. Looking away, my gaze went down the length of his achingly beautiful muscular chest.

How had he managed to get another condom on? I had seen him take the other one off and toss it on the floor, mesmerized by how bloated it was with creamy cum. Remembering shivering at the thought of him barebacking me, breeding me, the explosive ejaculation deep inside me and the lathering of my channel with all that cum. Aching for his cum, his total possession of me. Oh, shit. There were two more packets on the bedspread.

My eyes went back to his face.

“The Dance of the Bed,” he murmured.

I started to weakly, unconvincingly object again, but his lips were covering mine, his tongue pushing them apart and invading. The music was getting louder, the beat more demanding.

He was turning me on my side, his fingers out of my channel now. He was raising my leg with a firm grip. The bulb of his cock at my entrance.

YES!

Again, I hadn’t actually screamed that, had I?

I broke from the kiss, arched my back, and howled to the thatched ceiling above our heads, as he slid into me again. “Oh, god, you are so big. Oh shit. So deep so fast.”

This time, though, I found it wasn’t an objection. It was glorious. He had been right. We were ideal dancing partners. Now he fit me perfectly. Reamed to fit him.

“See,” he said, full of his rightness, “the gut has its measure now. You want it. You want it big. You don’t have a stud bull in America. You came here for this cock. You came to my farm looking for a stud bull. And you found one. It’s all good for you.”

God knows he was right. For two weeks he’d be going to his fields, whistling, and I’d be laying here, moaning, and not being able to close my legs. And loving every thrust of it.

He began to rock against me, moving his cock inside me, not pumping yet. I moved my hips too, realizing that it was to the beat of the music.

The beginning of the Dance of the Bed.

“Open your gut to me,” he growled. I grabbed my butt cheeks and spread them as much as I could, doing everything I could to respond to his demands.


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146 Gay Erotic Stories from Habu

Angled Entries 1: Big Balling

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Angled Entries: Painted Laddie

When Ms. Elisha came off the stage at the Bourbon Street female impersonators’ club and swished into her dressing room, Chas Angle was waiting for her. The meta hunk had worn a muscle shirt barely covering the superhuman bulges of his torso and a silky pair of shorts that barely held the bulge of his twelve thick inches. So, when he asked her if she’d come pose for him for photos, her quick

Angled Entries: Hard Decisions

Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Philippe LeCroix's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Chas Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only when Chas brought him young men to

At the Reservoir

I take three- to five-mile hikes about twice weekly. I have five nearby nature trails I rotate through (in addition to a few more urban walks). The park I went to recently—at the town's reservoir—has been on the Internet for years as a male pickup spot, although the police seemed to have stopped that a few years ago, I thought—and the pickup spots (the restrooms and an old barn) aren't near where

Azores Assignation

Edgar steadied himself against the bulkhead as the wake of a passing yacht sent his own ship to wallowing and scraping against the dock. He was hunched over the sink in the closely confined space, space being at a premium even in a Latitude 44 such as he’d sailed from Marseilles to the harbor town of Horta on Azores’ Faial Island. He believed that he could find exactly what he wanted here, and

Back Where . . .

I rolled over in the bed, reaching for Esteban, but he wasn’t there, setting off in me a mild zing of irritation. He’d gone to sleep last night while I was fucking him and now he wasn’t there at all in the morning. This brought the decision I had to make back to mind and was, perhaps, yet another nail in the decision—two decisions actually. I had an opportunity to head up the Radio y Televisión

Beautiful Bondage

I had been told that the assignment was a bit kinky, but a weekend stopover in Hawaii and three days on my own in Tokyo, paid for by the generous fee addition, were enough for me not to care. My pimp, Leon, told me to make myself blond all over, which I had grown used to in any assignment sending me to the Orient. And I was a bit intrigued because I was told up front that the client was Matsu

Being Fussy

I was going back from throwing some hoops with the guys one afternoon when I decided to drop in on Charlie and see how he was doing. He was a little high strung and had been having trouble with his latest live in of late. Denny was a real cocky asshole, so sure of himself and going directly for what he wanted—and usually getting it—and taking advantage of everyone along the way. And he was messy.

Bermuda Triangle

“A candidate for the Bermuda Triangle, might you say?” Dean said to Penn across the cocktail table. They were sitting at a window of the Splendor Lounge on the Champion of the Sea mega tourist ship on the first full night of its sail from Baltimore to Bermuda.The two, both members of the ship’s dance troupe were looking over a thirtiesh blond, well-formed, and obviously well-heeled hunk

Beyond the Beaded Curtain

I had been holding up the bar in the smoky lounge for more than a half hour, and Nick hadn’t shown. Felt pretty sorry for myself. That had been my story with my encounters with Nick: fuck ’em and leave ’em. I didn’t really want to play that game anymore, but here I sat, waiting for Nick. I had waved off several guys in obvious search of a pickup when the mystery man appeared at my elbow. As time

Biloxi Renewal

\Ham couldn’t sleep, and he thought he heard a noise from downstairs. Probably only one of the many ghosts haunting this old, rotting mansion, he thought. But, still, he was fully awake now. He rose off the cot he’d set up in his room until after everything was packed out and padded down the stairs into the music room. He was barefoot, only wearing his muslin sleeper pants. In twenty-four hours

Bite of the Schlange

Jacques, the young comte de la Arbois, nearly fell off his horse, both steed and rider trembling from exhaustion, into the arms of the innkeeper of the small village of Saint-Avold, a hard half-day's ride west of Metz. "A fresh horse," Jacques muttered feverishly through swollen lips. "We have such a horse for you," the innkeeper exclaimed. "But you are in no condition to ride on, young

Cast Party

I could not have been in any steamier place or time for my sexual awakening. Bangkok, Thailand, in the eighties was sin city extraordinaire. Anything went there; everything was tolerated. It was a mai bin rai (“nevermind; whatever, it’s OK”) place and everything was not only tolerated, but it also was on offer—and almost always for free or at a very good price. And it was an innocent time. The

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chaz's Choice

“Are you sure? You don’t have to go through with this.”But, who was I kidding. Julio’s choices had been shut down that first night—the night I’d found him supposedly by chance, but with chance having nothing to do about it. He’d been had even before I approached him at the Noobai Café, the discreet little gay hookup bar in the Restele district of Lisbon, not far from the Cuban consulate.

Cockpitting

After two years in the male-male paradise of Bangkok, a short assignment to Okinawa, Japan, seemed, for most of my tour, like entering a monastery. I was supposed to rotate directly back to the States with my SR71 supersonic photoreconnaissance unit, but the North Koreans were acting up on the DMZ, and the government wanted an intense look-see at whether or not they were building their troop

Congo Drums

The riverboat hit a log, or something, on the hull right at my head, and I woke with a start. The first sensation in the soft, wavering light of a single lantern hung by the doorway was the sound of the drums and low chanting from somewhere above. The driver and cook at it again. The sound was monotonous and comforting all at the same time. It also seemed to be richer than before, almost

Creamy Thighs

Tight, hard and hairless bodies with creamy thighs, resilient flesh on muscles of steel; and flexibility; flexibility is a must. I insist on that; and obedience and total subservience. And I possess them all. I fuck them all, women and men alike. I fuck them all regularly, without showing favor. That’s the only way to keep order. And they stand in line, audition for the privilege of being

Dagger Through the Moon

I am Darien, magician to the D’Ibelins; son of Jared, magician to the D’Ibelins before me; and grandson of Deter, magician to the kings of the Aquitaine. Can anyone deny my powers after the Horns of Hattin? But, no, no one but me knows of what really happened there in miracle of the stronghold of Belvoir. And that, perhaps, is as it should be. But as I glide across the sky, I look at that brand

Dangerous Experiment

[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 just been renewed, and he was

Deal Closer, Part 1

As we strapped ourselves in across from each other, knee to knee in the sleek corporate jet, I was wondering why CJ had picked me to fly out to the coast to try to close this business deal. I was pretty new to the company and no where near to having the seniority to be included on this trip. But I wasn’t complaining. A week in California and time to get to know the vice president of sales better

Deal Closer, Part 2

We got into L.A. that night and CJ and I went straight to the hotel. I was exhausted after my in-flight service training. CJ had booked a suite with two separate bedrooms, so I went to my room after dinner, showered, and went straight to bed. I was laying there on the wide bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling and just about asleep, when CJ crept into the room, came up on the bed and sat on my

Deal Closer, Part 3

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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