Author: Michael Thomas Ford
Category: LGBT
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While I ate out Hank’s ass, I fisted his big cock, pressing his balls against my face as I ran my hand over his thick piece. He was leaking steadily from the rimming he was getting, and I was determined to give him more. I slurped up some of his quicksilver and used it to grease his hole, working my tongue as deeply into his ass as I could. Every time I sucked at his tender hole more lube dripped onto my fist, and I used it to jerk him off.
I felt his hands on my head, stopping me. “I want to make love with you,” he said breathlessly.
I stopped working on his ass and he stood up. Taking my hand, he pulled me to my feet and led me to the bed, our cocks bobbing as we walked. I lay down and Hank lay on top of me, covering me with his body. The sheets of the bed were cool on my hot skin, and the combination of their touch, the warmth of the night, and the smell of Hank made me horny as hell. As we kissed, our hands traveled all over our bodies, caressing and exploring.
We were a tangle of sheets and bodies as we rolled over one another. Hank licked me all over, his mouth exploring my armpits, his tongue sinking into the valley of my ass as I sucked on his balls. He made love to me like no one else had ever done, allowing himself to do whatever brought pleasure to both of us. Every touch of his hands drew moans from my lips, every kiss drew pangs of desire from my balls until I was so worked up I thought that if he even touched me I’d spill my load.
I wanted Hank inside me, and when he was lying on top of me I brought my legs up around him, pushing his cock against my belly. There was a small bottle of hand lotion on my bedside table, and I handed it to him. Squeezing some into his hand, he rubbed it over his dick and onto my hole, pushing his finger past the tight ring of muscle and thrusting back and forth until I was loose enough. Kneeling between my thighs, he brought my legs up over his shoulders and slid his prick into my exposed butt.
His cock felt wonderful in my ass—thick and rock hard. His thrusts were easy and gentle, filling me and retreating in steady rhythm. As he made love to me, he ran his hands over my thighs and across my stomach. His chest fur brushed the undersides of my legs as he rocked in and out, my balls slapping against his stomach.
Hank began to move faster and faster as I loosened up. At the same time, I jerked on my cock, humping my fist in time with his thrusts. Hank put his hands under my knees and pushed my legs back. Pulling almost all the way out, he fucked just the first few inches of my chute, massaging my sensitive prostate with his big head.
A ripple began to fan out from my ass and cascade through my body as he deliberately brought me to the brink. I started to moan and Hank slammed into me, fucking me furiously. His balls pounded my ass, and he pulled my legs tight against him so that he could penetrate me as deeply as possible, his hands locked around my ankles.
That was all I needed. Hank pushed me over the edge and I started to fall. My cock twitched and a thick spray of spunk slathered my chest in sticky drops. I cried out, and my ass ring tensed around Hank’s piece as I emptied my load again and again into the air, his still-thrusting prick urging the last drops from my aching balls. Hank also came, great waves of sticky heat filling my chute as he shot, his mouth open in a silent roar, his breath ragged.
Hank collapsed on top of me, my cum spreading out and sticking us together. He lay there for a few minutes, his softening cock still in me, his heart thumping against my chest. Then he kissed me gently and pulled out, rolling onto his back, his prick falling over his thigh. After a quick shower together, we slid between the sheets and slept until dawn, Hank with his arm around me and his soft cock pressing against my ass.
Hank and I spent every night of the next two months together, making love in my little room. Once we even did it in the darkened balcony of the town’s one theater during a late showing of Mrs. Miniver, Hank sucking my cock while the wartime trials of Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon flickered on the screen above us.
We were separated when the war called us to duty overseas—Hank to France and I to Germany. We managed to meet once in Paris, where we made love on a snowy winter night in a drafty apartment borrowed from a friend on leave. But it was hard to keep track of each other as the war moved from front to front and we were carried with it, and eventually the letters stopped coming.
Over the years I’ve thought several times about trying to find Hank again. But those were different times, and we’re now both different people. My memories are mine and his belong to him, and I hope his are as sweet as mine. I still have a picture of Hank taken in Paris on our last day together, his laughing face captured in black and white. The edges are cracked from traveling in my rucksack from place to place as I moved across Europe, and it’s a little faded now. But when I want to remember that first night I just look at it and everything comes back to me.
Home-Court Advantage
I hate basketball. I find it totally unwatchable. But I thought trying to make it sexy would be fun. Besides, there was always a group of Latino guys playing hoops on the court near my apartment in New York, and I found them really sexy.
As I watch Ray move around the court, I am transfixed by the way the muscles flow beneath his skin. There is something painfully beautiful about a man using his body so freely, and Ray is a very beautiful young man. Tall and muscular, he has retained the body of the swimmer he once was, and is still close enough to his youth that he is unconscious of the small ways his body will begin to fail him as he grows older. His brown hair has reddened from a summer of being outdoors, and his back still has the fading remnants of a burn from a day spent too long in the sun.
He is playing smoothly, maneuvering the ball between the other men as though their lunging bodies form the walls of a maze he must get through in order to win his freedom. The ball seems connected to his hands by invisible threads, passing from one to the other seamlessly as he weaves his way between his opponents. His feet attack the asphalt in short, staccato bursts as he looks for an opening and takes it, darting past a big black man, who swears loudly when Ray lifts the ball skyward and follows it up toward the waiting net.
The ball slips from his fingertips, is on the verge of being swallowed by the steel mouth of the basket, when another hand shoots out of nowhere and crashes into it, sending it spinning away. The smile waiting to be born on Ray’s face dies just as suddenly, twisting into a frown that scars his handsome face. He looks around to see who has done this to him, ruined his perfect shot.
It is a Latino boy. He appears to be about eighteen, uneasily straddling the line between adolescence and manhood. I have not seen him here before, but now that he has caught my interest, I am surprised that I did not notice him earlier. Short and dark, he is solidly built, the thick muscles of his bare chest pumped from hours of working out. He is wearing thin white gym shorts that set off his burnished skin and cradle his cock and balls in a heavy bulge. A St. Christopher medal hangs from his neck, a spark of brilliance in the afternoon light.
He glances over at Ray briefly and grins, a reef of white teeth rising between his full lips. He is not mocking, only acknowledging their shared moment, but Ray becomes angry. I can tell by the way his hands rest on his waist, the way he lets his head hang slightly as he kicks at the asphalt with his foot. When a teammate slaps him on the back in a gesture of support, he moves away.
The ball is back in play, passing from man to man like a sun falling through the sky. Ray is on the outside, determined to make up for his loss. He tries to put his mind back on the game, to focus only on getting the ball into his hands and taking it with him into the air. But the young man is with him at every step, watching for the smallest crack in Ray’s game. The rivalry between Ray and this boy arouses something in me, the way they are simultaneously attracted to and distanced from each other, each needing the threat of the other to test his own strengths.
When Ray turns, the ball neatly pivoting with him, he comes face to face with his opponent, who grabs the ball easily, for the moment claiming it as his own. He is angry, and his anger is his downfall, his si
ngle-mindedness overtaking his every move. His normally confident steps falter as the need to win clouds his judgment and he misses several easy opportunities. When the Latino boy gets by him, neatly tucking the ball into the basket, Ray storms off the court.
He comes over to me, his eyes downcast, and stands silently as the other men continue to play. I don’t look at him; don’t say anything. But when I catch the Latino boy’s eye, I wave to him. He trots over and stands in front of me.
“That’s some really good playing you’re doing out there, uh . . .”
“Luis,” he says, and shakes his head as if to brush off my praise. “Thanks.” He motions to Ray. “This guy doesn’t make it very easy for me, though.”
Ray mutters a response, wanting to get away from the boy as quickly as possible. He senses what is about to come and thinks that maybe he can pull me away before it happens. Luis doesn’t seem to notice his agitation, his eyes back on the men as they continue to play.
“You look like you’re working up quite a sweat,” I say, and Luis nods. “Hot as hell out there today. Gonna get myself somewhere cool when I’m finished here.”
I let a suitable pause fall, waiting for the natural rhythm of the seduction to swing back. I think this is the one, and I enjoy the game. “Why don’t you come over to our place to cool off?” I ask. “We’re just around the corner here. We can have a drink.”
“Maybe,” he says quickly, and I know that he will, that something in him understands what is being offered. He returns to the game, and after a few minutes during which Ray and I say nothing to one another, he comes back over.
As we walk home, Ray is silent, and I know that he is hurt that I have asked this boy to come home with us. When we get to the apartment, Ray drops into a chair and stares sullenly at Luis as I get glasses of iced tea from the kitchen. Luis downs his drink in one long swallow, then wipes his mouth on his arm. “That was good,” he says. “I’m feeling better already.”
I smile at him. “Why don’t you take your shorts off,” I say.
It is abrupt and evokes the response that I want. Luis looks at me for a moment, surprise turning his face into a frozen mask. He does not know if I am serious, nor what to do if he decides that I am. “I’m not really into that,” he says unconvincingly. “I mean, I’ve never—”
“But you want to,” I interrupt. “Don’t you.” It is a statement, not a question, and I know it is true. It’s something behind the eyes that tells me, the same thing that told me Ray was ready when I’d seen him three years before pulling himself from the waters of a pool at the gym. The eyes are different, but the need is the same.
For a moment, anger roils behind his dark brown eyes and he looks as though he might try to leave. But I know that he won’t, that he wants what’s going to happen more than he’s ever wanted anything before. When too much time has gone by, and he realizes that the space during which he could safely leave has slipped away and he has by his inaction committed himself, he begins to take off his clothes.
Looking first at Ray and then at me, he removes his sneakers and pulls his shorts down, pausing briefly before finally dropping them to the floor and revealing his cock. His body is hairless but for the swatch of closely cropped hair surrounding his prick, which is uncut and very thick. It hangs between his legs proudly, out of proportion to the rest of him. Despite his hesitation, his nakedness has made him easy, and he rubs his balls carelessly with one hand as he waits for me to tell him what to do. I don’t look, but I know Ray is watching intently from his position behind me.
“Turn around,” I tell Luis.
He turns, and I am rewarded by the sight of the firm globes of his beautiful ass. The flesh is lighter than the surrounding skin, the color of leaves in the fall against the coppery background of his body. The muscles of his back ripple down toward the flawless twin hills, forming a clean line leading into the dark crack that halves the smooth curve of his mounds. He stands with his legs planted apart, and I can see below his sac the foreskin-shrouded head of his cock hanging like a bat wrapped in its wrinkled wings asleep.
“Bend over,” I order, the sight of his almost perfect ass pleasing me immensely.
Luis spreads his legs wider and lowers his torso so that his head is almost even with his knees. His hands are on his thighs supporting him, and his St. Christopher medal swings from his neck. As he moves his head lower, his ass spreads open and a dark pink flower blooms between the cheeks. The lips of his hole are smooth and soft, opened slightly by the stretching demanded of his muscles by the awkward pose.
I stand behind him, holding an ice cube that I have taken from my glass. Bringing it close to his skin, I move it over his back, the cold whispering above but not touching his flesh. I can sense him tensing with the anticipation of feeling the ice’s touch and tease him by bringing it close, only to pull away again. When I finally press it into a spot between his shoulder blades, I feel him flinch as the cold penetrates his flushed skin.
I slide the ice over his back and descend toward his buttocks. Melting water follows behind my hand, slipping along the hollow of his spine in a thin silver line. When I reach the cleft of his ass cheeks, I lift the sliver of dying ice and watch as the cold water trickles in a narrow thread between his mounds and rinses over his asshole, making it twitch sharply. Drops roll down the smooth flesh below his pucker and hang deliciously from his wrinkled sac before falling wetly onto the floor between his feet.
Kneeling behind him, I lick the muscular curves of his cheeks, tasting the water where it clings to his warm skin. The space between his balls and his ass is smooth, and my tongue sweeps cleanly along it until I sink into the warm fold of his hole, wet with drops of ice water. He is very tight, and I suspect from the way he resists when I press against him that he has never had anything in his ass before. But I push insistently, and my tongue slides slowly into his warm opening, creating an ever-widening passageway as I add my spit to the water. I can feel the muscles loosening as I move further inside, welcoming the pleasure I am bringing to him, and finally he relaxes.
His ass is clean and hot, and eating his virgin hole makes me want even more of him. I look out of the corner of my eye and see that Ray has taken off his clothes and has his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking off slowly. He is still wearing the leather ring he put on before going to the park, and his balls are circled tightly by its grip, pushed slightly up and away from his body. Taking my mouth away from Luis, I stand up. He is still bent over, and I reach between his legs, grasping his balls tightly. His prick is hard as a rock, and I feel it slapping against my fingers as I tug on his nuts.
Pulling his balls down, I watch his asshole stretch, lengthening into a thin line, and I want to fuck him. But that’s not what will happen, not yet anyway, and I push the thought to the back of my mind. Instead, I lick my middle finger and slide the tip into his ripe cherry. He bucks forward at my entrance, but I am still holding on to his nuts with the other hand, and he stops when he feels my fingers pull him back.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had anything up your ass before, Luis,” I say, feigning surprise. “You never lie in bed at night fingering this tight hole of yours while you think about some man fucking you? Maybe one of your basketball buddies?” I lean down and let him feel my breath on his neck. “Bet you shoot a thick load all over your belly thinking about it. Am I right?”
Luis says nothing until I push further into him, the warmth of his chute around my hand making my balls wince impatiently. Then he moans, “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes.”
I thrust into him until my palm is flat against his ass. He has loosened a little, and I am able to glide in and out of him, rotating my finger slightly so that he opens even more. The pink skin of his hole is deepening to a darker red as I finger him.
“Tell me about it,” I prod him. “Tell me what you think about while you finger this hole.”
He is groaning now and has to catch his breath before he answers. When he does, he speaks softly, paus
ing often as a low grunt interrupts his speech. “There’s this guy works in a grocery store on my street. Real big guy. Hairy chest. Sometimes I think about doing stuff to him. Him doing stuff to me.”
I am fucking him steadily now, adding another finger to the one already deep inside him. “Doing what?” I ask. “What do you want to do to him?”
“Christ,” he grunts as I stretch his hole by spreading my fingers. “I think about sucking his dick, licking his fat hairy balls. I think about him sticking it up my ass in the back room.”
I picture this in my mind, this boy being fucked from behind by another man, and the thought causes my prick to swell. “That’s very good,” I tell him, removing my finger and motioning for him to stand up straight. His cock is sticking up at an angle, and the thin skin is stretched tightly over a darkened head. While it hasn’t become much longer, it is incredibly thick.
“Into the bedroom,” I say, and Ray gets up, his prick bouncing in front of him. Luis follows him into the bedroom, and Ray lies on the big bed, his back against the pillows.
“Go over and kneel in front of Ray,” I tell Luis.
He does as I’ve told him, positioning himself between Ray’s spread thighs. Ray’s cock rises straight up at Luis’s face, and there is a skin of sticky precum slicking the head and the upper part of his shaft where he has been using it as lubricant. I slowly remove my shirt and shorts, letting Luis have a good long look at Ray’s cock, and settle into a chair positioned across from them for just this purpose. Ray is looking at Luis hungrily. I can tell that he is looking forward to this, but he doesn’t know that I have a surprise in store for him.
“Suck his cock,” I tell Ray.
Ray looks at me, bewildered. This is not usually how it works, and he is caught off guard. Still, he does as I tell him, moving so that he is on his hands and knees in front of Luis, who is also confused. He had been expecting to suck Ray’s prick, and I know that he is disappointed. It is all part of the play, making him wait.