All Male True Experience: Blown Away

By: Antonio C.

 

 

I regularly go jogging down by a river that borders some woods, always commando and in wide-leg soccer shorts. The feel of the fabric rubbing on my jiggling cock as I jog always makes me semi-hard. This usually results in my making a detour into the woods for a quick jack-off session.

Recently, I found a small clearing near the river's edge, which was hidden from view by some bushes. The grass was untouched and hadn't been trampled, which indicated that this clearing wasn't really used by anyone. It was a great private and secluded spot for some unhurried dick stroking. Being that it was also open to the sky, it made for a good place to sunbathe naked as well.

One hot afternoon, I stopped at my spot and was soon naked and enjoying a nice, slow jack-off session. Since I knew I didn't have to rush, and not wanting to cum just yet, I took a break, closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth of the hot sun on my naked body.

Bisexual True Experience: If the Van's a Rockin'...

By: Unknown Author

 

 

 

I found out that I was more or less bisexual some time ago, when my friend Steve and I went to the beach for the weekend. I had a very well equipped van that had lots of home comforts in the back. We would drive to the beach most Saturday mornings and spend the weekend chasing pussy and having fun. We'd sleep in the van, clothing was our swim trunks, and food was basically beer.

Although we always tried to find some girls who were willing to give it up every weekend that we were there, most weekends we didn't get lucky. Of course, that isn't to say that we never did, just not every single weekend. There were a few times that Steve and I managed to both pick up girls and we fucked in the back of the van, side by side. The last time either of us had gotten lucky, at the beach or otherwise, was over a month ago. That was a particularly long dry spell for both of us!

On this particular weekend, while we were sitting on the sand scoping out girls, this really hot girl, about twenty-four years old, walked up to us and said hi. After we returned her greeting, she pointed at the van and asked if it belonged to one of us. I told her it was mine, and then she leaned in and asked in a whisper if I had any beer in the van.

Before I could answer, Steve spoke up and said, "Yeah, we got beer, you want some?" She said she'd love one… or two… or three, so Steve and I stood and all three of us headed to the van.

Once in the van, Steve handed out a round of beer, and we sat and talked as we worked on our drinks. It was just small talk, but soon the conversation took a turn.

"So, do you guys have girlfriends?"

We both shook our heads.

"Oh, well, then you must bring girls in your van and make out with them I bet. You do don't you?" she asked grinning at us.

We both nodded.

"So… would you two like to make out, now?"

"Fuck Yes!" Steve said excitedly and I nodded my head with the same excitement. As I said, Steve and I had fucked girls together in the van before, but we had never taken turns fucking one girl, never had a threesome together.

"Good, so do I," she said.

Steve lurched forward to kiss her, but she put her hand out. "Not so fast" she said, "First take your shorts off, both of you."

Fuck, Steve and I had been naked together in the van before and had even seen each other with boners, fucking, so taking off our shorts while we were side by side was no big deal for either of us. So right away Steve and I stood as much as we could in the back of the van and shed our trunks.

She just sat there looking at our dicks, smiling, but made no attempt to reach out and play with them or suck them.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Steve asked, "You gonna suck and fuck us or not?"

"Oh don't worry, I'm gonna fuck you guys, but you gotta do something for me first."

"What?" Steve asked.

"I really get off on seeing two guys get it on with each other before I fuck."

Steve all but came un-glued and practically shouted, "What do you think we are, queers or something?"

She laughed and said, "I really don't care if you are or not, but I want to see you two getting into some action with each other, then, I promise I'll fuck you both."

"You mean you want us to butt-fuck each other?" I asked, not believing what she was saying.

"No, well, yes, but I don't think I would be able to get you guys to do that, but I at least want to see you two play with each other's dicks."

Steve started a rant about not being a fag and how there was no way in hell he was going to play with another dude's dick. But, as he was ranting, I was thinking, What the fuck, it's just a hard dick like my own and if it will get me some pussy, why not?

All Male Fiction: The Wrestler

By: MrCreamJeans & Ryan Michaels

 

Rich was at that age. His biological clock had reached the time in a guy's life when his cock stands to attention at the least provocation. He had never paid much attention to his cock before, except to notice in the school locker room that the other guys had all sprouted hair long before he finally did. His health class textbooks called him a "late bloomer" and tried to reassure him on things about which no boy his age is ever sure.

But one thing he was sure of, his cock had a mind of its own when it came to getting hard. All his life he had dressed UP, that is, he wore his cock pointing up inside his briefs. It never bothered him before, but now, with his prick's newfound sensitivity, it was a cause of some real problems. It was a vicious cycle - His cock would get hard, swelling his fly and poking against his underwear, then as it would (finally!) go soft, its extra weight would cause it to fall off to one side as he walked. It would get caught in his shorts, and he would reach down and give it the quick tug it needed to bring it upright.

But even that little extra stimulation would make it get hard again. As a result, he spent a lot of time adjusting his crotch and walking around school with a tent in his pants. And what a tent! His hard-on was exceptionally large for a guy his age, and made quite a bulge.

His buddies, most of who had already outgrown this stage, took the opportunity to poke fun at Rich quite frequently. They eventually came to know that even if Rich didn't have a boner, if they started talking to him about it, he would soon get one. Then they could laugh and point at the embarrassed Rich as he tried (usually in vain) to conceal his big, throbbing hard-on from their gaze. Of course, some of them would occasionally "lose control" and get hard, too, despite themselves. They were usually the ones making the most noise about Rich. Only one, Johnny, was ever caught, much to Rich's relief at the time.

But there didn't seem to be any long-term relief in sight for Rich. Part of the problem was his parents - strict religious types who warned him about the dangers of "touching yourself down there," and who forced him to sleep with his bedroom door open. Frightened by their tales of what happened to wicked boys, Rich had never jacked off, and his only relief was through wet dreams. Rich loved the feeling of waking up with his hips grinding into the bed and feeling his hot semen running and gushing into his briefs. He would always clean up very thoroughly afterward and hope his mom didn't spot the stains on his briefs. However, he always relished the relief he felt afterward, even if he wasn't fully sure why.

Rich had joined the wrestling team before this problem started. Several of the guys on the team were now his chief tormentors, and among them was Johnny.

Johnny wasn't particularly large or strong, but he was very good-looking and was known for his pranks and his way with the girls. It was Johnny who once announced to the other team members in the locker room that Rich had worn his jock all day in an attempt to restrain his boner. (Johnny had also done that but would never admit it, of course.) It was the last time Rich would try that.

And on this day, it was Johnny that the coach picked to wrestle against Rich in practice. The other boys on the team were paired off and the coach signaled them to take their positions. Rich went down on all fours at once, tacitly recognizing Johnny's dominant role, knowing it would end up this way even if he protested.

Johnny reached around Rich's waist and asked him, in a mocking tone, "You gonna pop a rod while we're wrestling, Richie?"

Rich's only response was, "Shut up," but just the question began his heart thumping. A tremor of near panic swept through him - wrestling class was the one place he had never gotten hard. Now that the thought had been planted, would he be able to restrain himself? He winced as, seconds before the coach blew his whistle for them to begin wrestling, his cock began to tingle. No, not NOW! he thought. He knew his wrestling tights would conceal nothing if he lost control.

"Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeee," the coach's whistle blew.

Before Rich knew what hit him, Johnny had flipped him over on his back. But rather than trying to pin his shoulders, which he should have been doing, Johnny had one leg planted between Rich's legs with his thigh pressing right into his dick.

"Ummmph," Rich grunted as he wriggled out of the ineffective hold. It may have been ineffective as a wrestling hold, but it was having another kind of effect that Rich definitely wanted to avoid. Seconds later, however, Johnny had him in another hold, this one a bit trickier to get out of, and one which allowed Johnny to grab Rich's balls from behind. Rich realized that Johnny was being very careful not to hurt him, and also suddenly realized that his cock was undeniably growing hard in his jock!

Rich quickly broke free and managed to flip Johnny over and loop one arm behind Johnny's knee. The position had Rich laying with his pelvis on the mat, and as Johnny struggled, the shifting weight of Rich's body massaged his rapidly stiffening prick into the mat. Johnny broke free, and during the ensuing struggles, he managed to plant a hand firmly in Rich's crotch. His hard-on had been discovered!

Both boys froze. Rich looked into Johnny's face and saw a smirk of recognition. Johnny wrapped his hand around Rich's boner and gave it a squeeze. Rich's heart sank, expecting his partner to stand up and announce his condition. Instead, Johnny went back to wrestling. Rich, not knowing what to expect anymore, followed suit.

Johnny's strategy soon became clear, however. He was rubbing Rich's cock at every opportunity. His holds always seemed to include some sort of pressure against the trapped, throbbing boner Rich so fervently wished would subside.

But soon, Rich was wishing for even more self-control as a certain tingle warned him of something potentially more embarrassing than just getting a hard-on. That feeling he got when he was lucky enough to wake up from a wet dream just before he began to shoot, that feeling of his balls contracting, his prick jumping, the tightness in his lower abdomen, all that was starting to happen.

Now Rich was wrestling with a new strategy, to keep his cock out of the reach of Johnny. He flipped over on his stomach but immediately regretted the move. Johnny pounced on him, looping one arm under his, and the other in between his legs. Rich expected to be flipped over from this hold, but instead, Johnny was holding him on his stomach and grabbing his balls.

Rich was in a panic. He didn't want to have an accident right there on the mat, but his ability to hold back his semen was weakening. He suddenly remembered that his last wet dream had been several weeks ago.

He managed to grunt through clenched teeth, "Cut it out!"

Johnny paid no attention. Rich held himself stock-still, realizing that it would only take one move to trigger the explosion waiting to take place in his balls.

Just then, the coach blew his whistle, yelled, "Hit the showers!" and walked out of the gym.

Rich breathed a sigh of relief as he felt Johnny remove his hand and start to rise. His first priority was to get the pressure off his bucking hard-on. He tentatively lifted his body onto all fours, as in the original wrestling position. He was keenly aware of the feeling of his jock pouch straining to hold back his throbbing hard-on. While he debated with himself about standing up with a terribly obvious lump in his wrestling tights, suddenly Johnny was back on top of him, assuming the referee's wrestling position! But there was a difference. The arm wrapped around Rich's waist reached all the way around to his cock!

Johnny stroked the boner a couple of times and breathed in Rich's ear, "Ready to go again, Richie?" Then he laughed and stood up.

For Rich, it was all over. When Johnny stroked his cock, the first squirt of sperm came shooting out of his cockhead, right into his jock and tight wrestling gear. Unable to restrain himself, he emitted soft sobbing noises as his overheated rod released huge globs of jism. The hot white goo was shooting out in such copious amounts that it was soaking through the pouch of Rich's jock, through the spandex of his wrestling tights, and was dripping down onto the mat, making a milky puddle.

Johnny watched in amazement. He shouted, "Hey guys! Check this out! Rich is creaming in his gear!"

Soon he was surrounded by the whole team. They taunted Rich as they watched him, down on all fours, with cum dripping on the mat underneath him.

Straight Fiction: Park Patrol

By: blvlcop

 

 

 

It was a beautiful summer night, and I was on patrol on the waterfront with my new partner, Reg, a 6' 6" all-muscle black guy who had just gotten home from the Marines.

We were checking out the big park on the river, which was closed at dusk, and I noticed a white minivan parked in one of the parking areas by the water. I've found hundreds of cars parked there at night and it was always a couple of kids fooling around, and we normally just scared them and sent them on their way.

I shut the lights off in the patrol car and quietly pulled up behind the van. My partner and I got out and slowly walked up on each side. The windows were down, but the front of the minivan was empty.

As I moved to the side of the vehicle to look through the open window of the sliding side door, I saw a blonde woman going to town on some guy's cock while he lay on his back, the back seats having been removed. She was around forty years old with a smoking body. I shone my light across the other side and noticed another boy banging the blonde doggy style. Both boys looked to be eighteen or nineteen, and became startled by the flashlight and jumped up with worried looks on their faces.

All Male Fiction: Prime Aussie Dick

By: Unknown Author

 

 

 

Like everyone else in the Navy, I've always heard what a good time Australia was. Unlike a lot of guys, though, I didn't hanker for bars filled with the randy "sheilas" that were supposed to be sure things. When we pulled into Freemantle, I didn't even stop by the local pubs: I headed straight into Perth to see whether I could come up with anything interesting.

I'd gotten to talking with one of my random fucks, before the ship left San Diego, and he suggested I stop by the Dangerous Dingo for the best possible time Down Under. I was a very cocky 19-year-old seaman apprentice with the body of a god and a dick out of legend, or so I told folks whenever I got the chance.

I'd seen enough places like the Dingo in the US to know I wouldn't have trouble finding a good time. I was a young slut who'd do anything that popped into my nasty little mind. I once bet another guy I could swallow more loads inside three hours than he could. I won.

Most of the time, I was more interested in quality action though, whether one-on-one or in very select groups. Being in the Navy, I had a built-in source of buttholes to fuck when I was in the US. Once we deployed, though, I was sensible enough to know that I had to keep my dick dry aboard ship.

I blew plenty of loads into a hunky young marine when we spent two days in the Philippines, but except for those thirty-eight hours of satisfaction, the previous two months had been a long, slow cruise down the palm-drive expressway. I needed the Dangerous Dingo in a very big way and saw the moment I walked through its teak doors and into the locker room that I'd come to the right place.

Perth is the city of Western Australia. Every kind of dick swings through it at one time or another. You can find stockmen from the Outback, prospectors from Alice Springs, Navy dick from countries around the world, and every other stiff sort of one-eyed man-meat you could hope for. The Dingo that night had its share of variety, and I reamed butt for about an hour before I decided that I needed something more. The "mates" I'd juiced were hunky enough and took my nine-plus inches like men, but once I'd drained my sap down to acceptable levels, I grew selective. These guys were ok, but I was out for the best.

I ambled around, peering into darkened rooms the size of closets, hung out in the sauna and steam room, and even popped into the private viewing booths to see what was up. Plenty was up, but it wasn't what I was looking for.

Then I ambled through the locker room and saw him, the one I had been looking for. He wasn't in uniform, but I knew he was a squid of some sort. The close-cropped hair and race-tracks around the ears guaranteed he was military, but something about the glint in his cat-green eyes told me he was Navy. I just prayed he wasn't one of ours. I'm as patriotic as the next guy, but I wanted Aussie dick that night. I hadn't come all the way to Oz to fuck some kid from Kansas.

I lounged for a minute against a scuttlebutt, watching carefully, and obviously, as he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and draped a towel around his hips. His uncut dick whispered that he was fresh local meat. I read somewhere that fifteen percent of American men are uncut, but just try finding one when you have to. In Oz, you can't swing a kangaroo without bumping into a guy with all-natural meat.

All that being said, though, it wasn't only that uncut cock or the fact he had a store of seaman semen up his bilges, or even that he was Aussie that yanked my chain hard and got my attention. His combination of randy stud-hood and innocence yanked my crank like nothing in my young life.

I'd like to say it was the eyes that won me over for keeps, but the truth is it was his butt. I'd seen butts. If the Nobel folks gave a prize for delving into butts instead of physics or chemistry, I'd have won it years ago.

Although I didn't know it at the time, he also had one other thing going for him: the crack in his ass was soft and completely hairless. I could see that his muscles were ok. He wasn't going to be that year's Mr. Universe, but his pecs and arms were good, his belly was flat, and with that butt, I had seen enough to convince me he was the man for me.

I stood watching and wondering for several moments as he fiddled with his lock and I tried to decide how to get me up his butt. I figured another surface warrior would respond to the direct approach, so I padded up beside him, gave his butt an unsolicited, but fraternal pat, and asked, "How'd you like to show a fellow sailor far from home a little fine Australian hospitality?''

His eyes lit up the second I opened my mouth. He said he'd heard there was a fresh lot of Yanks in town, but he hadn't expected to have the pleasure of ramming his hard Aussie dick up any Yank ass.

 

I smiled back at his accent and said I figured since I was the guest in his fine country, he'd want me on top while he stayed down under, but that we could let nature take its course.

Since neither of us had reserved a room, we decided to start off with a good wash. He'd no sooner dropped his towel as we stepped into the huge tiled shower than my hand was on his ass, cupping his cheeks and sliding my fingers between those delicious mounds.

All Male Fiction: The Other Football

By: Tommyhawk1

 

 

 

I was with a classmate in the front yard of the frat house, the two of us doing one of our practice exercises. Our footballs (soccer balls that is) were stationary between our feet, and he and I were hopping, alternating our feet on the top of the football, and trying not to move it in the process. It's a very necessary practice in controlling the ball, but of course, Cody and his buddies thought it was hilarious when they came running out of the house tossing their American football back and forth.

Cody was big, blond-haired, and was wearing some of his old high-school American football clothes, the jersey and pants without padding, perfect for a friendly game of football with the guys. Not that he needed the padding; he had muscles enough to fill out that jersey all by himself.

"Hey, Perry!" he called out. "What is this shit?"

"Just practicing football," I said. I was used to Cody.

"You look like a couple of marionettes dancing on strings," he chortled. His buddies laughed.

"You think it's easy, you come try it," I challenged.

"Nah, my sport is football," he said.

"This is football," I pointed out.

We weren't talking at cross-purposes here; it was more like a running gag. His sport was American football, and I played what was called "football" everywhere in the world except North America. I was born in the USA, but had grown up with my mother's family in Italy, so a football - okay, I'll call it "soccer" from here on out - had been under my feet almost from the day I was born. When I had first met Cody and he asked me, naturally enough, what my sport was - it was a sports fraternity after all - I had absent-mindedly said, "Football."

"Great, me too!" he said. "What position do you play?"

"I'm a halfback," I said, still not spotting my error in terminology.

"Me, too!" he said. "Left or right?"

"Left or right what?" I asked.

"Halfback!" he said. "Do you usually play left or right?"

"Center, usually," I said, mystified.

"Center?" Now he was puzzled.

I'll spare you the rest, but it gradually dawned on me. "Oh!" I said when I realized. "You're talking about American football! I was talking about regular football!" I think you can see how saying this to an American football player was a mistake. A bit of his all-American pride got injured, though you can see I was innocent of intending to offend him.

"I play regular football!" he declared.

"You play American-style football," I pointed out. "I play what you call soccer, but the rest of the world calls it football."

"Well, you're in America, so you'll have to call it soccer!" he announced.

I don't want you to think we were becoming blood enemies with all of this, we were actually laughing and having fun at this point; we liked each other right off.

"I don't have to do any such thing!" I said. "I grew up calling it football. I'll just call what you do American football."

"And I'll call what you play shit!" he said.

"It's pronounced soccer," I mock-clarified. "Can't you even get that right?"

"Shit soccer!" he declared. "A sissy game... real men play football."

"That they do!" I affirmed. "I'm just glad that you can admit it."

This went on for quite a long time more, both of us scoring pretty good points in the conversation and becoming friends in the process, and it had continued more-or-less right through to the present day.

When in our sophomore year, the seniors of the frat house had graduated and moved out and it was time to upgrade our accommodations. Cody and I ended up sharing one of the newly-available bigger rooms, which was only natural; we were pals by then. Except for this little mock disagreement on what the game of "football" was!

"Hey, Perry, can we play here?" one of the other guys asked.

"Sure!" I said. "We'll go around to the side." It was a reasonable request; the front yard was big and flat, the side yard was only some ten feet wide, but plenty big enough for our practice.

"Ah, just stay where you are," Cody declared. "You two can be one of our goalposts."

I have to admit, we were situated for it, right near one side of the yard as we were. "Alright," I said. "I can give you all a good look at how to play football."

The guys just laughed; our mock-feud was well-known by all.

I should have realized I had set myself up when he didn't respond, for my friend and I continued our exercises, me feeling that the background noise would help us work on our concentration when Cody came chasing a friend of his my way and timed it so that when he tackled him, he rammed the guy right into me. I was off-balance (of course) and went over with an "oof!"

"You bastard!" I said, getting up and dusting at my shorts. I had landed on my ass, only my pride was injured.

"Hey, watch our goalposts!" Cody said to his friend. "The score is now six to nothing, our favor."

"We'd better go around to the side," my teammate said.

"I think you're right!" I said, glaring at Cody. I wasn't really mad, but I was pretending to be. Well, maybe I was a little mad, at that.

"Aw, come on," Cody said. "I'm sorry. You guys go ahead. We'll be more careful."

"You fouled me," I said. "You can't tackle in football, you know!"

"Says you. Okay, so what's the penalty in that sissy sport of yours?" he said, standing there arrogant and proud-looking.

"I get a free kick at the goal," I said.

He looked surprised and then laughed. "Okay, I'll be the goal for you. You go downfield and we'll see how good you are!"

I went across the yard ("downfield") with my soccer ball and turned, and Cody was standing there with his arms up, making a goal... American-football-style goal, of course.

"Okay, let's see you put it between the bars," he said. "Only way to score a goal in football."

Now, in soccer, the goal is down on the ground, but I had done enough high kicks to figure I could make this "goal" at such a short-range, especially with no goalie trying to block my kick. So I just sized him up, made a run, and kicked the ball, but I wasn't used to trying for altitude, not with a ball on the ground, anyway. So I muffed it, and instead of it going between his arms, I got him right where it hurts. Unintentionally, honest!

"Hey, you got your goal!" my teammate said. "Right down the middle!"

But Cody was dropped to the ground and yowling.

"Damn, man, I'm sorry!" I said as I ran up. "Did you get hit that hard?"

"Yeah! Ow!" he groaned. "Help me back up to the room, okay?"

I took his arm around my shoulders, smelling the powerful raunch of his body and clothes. He kept his body clean, but he'd been sweating today and he smelled pretty rich. He limped back up the front stairs into the house. We lived on the third floor, but there was an elevator mostly used for hauling big stuff or by jocks injured in play, and we took that.

I got him back to the room and he said, "Man, it feels like I'm bleeding."

"Bleeding?" I was surprised. A soccer ball isn't that hard, but I didn't see any reason to disbelieve Cody.

"Yeah, man," he groaned. "Can you check it out and see if I'm bleeding anywhere?"

"Check you out?" I asked.

"Come on, man!" he begged. "I can't put a mirror on the floor and squat over it. Take a look and see if I'm broken open anywhere."

Only a roommate you'd had for a while could be asked to do that. "Well, okay," I said. "But you tell the guys and I'll give you a real sock-er in the balls."

"I'm not going to tell them anything," he said. "Come on, man, take a look, quick."

"Unfasten yourself," I said.

I watched him fight the tie he had at the fly, a ridiculous amount of lacing up the front of those pants, and he was wincing. "Ah fuck," he groaned as he winced some more, "can you do it?"

I nodded and reached my hand for the laces. He stood a little straighter, holding onto the desktop with one hand, while I fumbled the laces open, pulling at the strings to get them loose.

"Don't you wear a cup with these things?"

"On the field, yeah," he said. "Ow! Not for a friendly game."

"Well, you'll remember it next time," I said. I had the fly unlaced. "Now what, do I yank them down?"

"Please," he said. "Every move I make hurts."

Boy, I thought, I had messed him up! I grasped his pants around the waist and tugged them down. No underwear. He didn't have even a jock on, just the pants down and suddenly he was wagging free.

"Damn!" I said. "I don't see any blood. Maybe you felt some sweat dripping."

"Lift it up," he said. "I think it's underneath."

I didn't really think about it. Although no one knew, I was gay, so touching his cock didn't bother me in the least. Plus, his prick was so long that it did obscure his balls entirely. I grabbed it and lifted his balls up and free of his body.

"Ow, ow!" he said as they moved.

I knelt down, leaned under, and peered at the scrotum, the balls were large nuts dangling down, but the scrotum itself began to tighten up as I looked at it.

"I don't see any blood. Nor any bruises," I said, shifting my hand on his cock to get a better grip. It was moving on me, too.

I was concentrating on looking for injuries, so this went pretty far before I realized what was happening. I looked up and found that I had a hold of my roommate's rampant erection, standing fully out from his body, seven uncut inches of hard cock, and I had a hold of it.

Straight Fiction: Cum Party

By: Many Feathers

 

 

 

It wasn't something I would normally even consider doing. But when Brad came over one evening to watch the game with me, he mentioned that he had recently participated in a wild little evening with several other guys and two women. Knowing Brad as well as I did, I wasn't too surprised - he was always telling me about this or that, some conquest he'd recently had, or some girl he'd met in a bar who had given him a blowjob in the men's room or something. But I had to admit, as I listened to his story, though it was pretty wild and far-fetched in my mind, it certainly was interesting.

"Listen Mike, I'm not pulling your leg here," he told me. "One of the guys I work with told me he'd gone there himself. So the following weekend he invited me along, and I went with him, and sure enough it was just like he said."

"So how does this all work?" I asked skeptically.

"We have this email address, you email them and tell them you're interested in attending the party. You have to send a current photo I.D. of yourself, and some guy then checks that against you when you show up at the door. If he's satisfied, he lets you in. They only accept like a dozen guys at a time, so it's almost on a first come first serve sort of basis."

"First cum is right," I laughed still thinking the whole idea was crazy.

"Anyway, if you're approved, they send back an email giving you the date and time and room number of whatever motel or hotel it is they're staying at. Once you get that you just show up."

"And they're not charging anyone to do this?" I asked once again.

"Nope! Seriously, the two women just get off on all this, and do it just about every weekend, just for fun. And trust me, when I went, it was fun! A little kinky in some ways, perhaps, but damn fun!"

"So tell me what happened and what you did when you went," I said becoming a bit more curious and interested now.

"Well, the two girls basically put on a show for the guys, though it's obvious they're really enjoying it. But you can touch them or fuck them whenever you want while this is all going on. You have to wear a condom of course."

"That's nice to know."

"Yeah, but the main reason for all this is they want you to cum on them when you do. Not in the condoms, so if you're ready to pop they want you to tell them. That's basically the whole point of doing this, for them. They really get off on that. It can get pretty messy, especially with a dozen guys there, but that's the whole point I guess. Like I said, it gets pretty wild."

"I don't know Brad, I can certainly see you going and doing something like this, but not too sure about myself, especially with a bunch of other guys standing around as well."

He laughed at that. "Yeah, I wondered about that myself, but after you're there and see these two girls going at it, then you sort of put the rest of all that in the background and it doesn't really matter anymore. And besides, both women are actually pretty attractive, good looks, nice tits, and put on a pretty good show with one another, and obviously enjoy it when they do."

I thought about it, and then gave in, my curiosity and dick getting the better of me. "Ok, go ahead and tell them we're interested," I told him. He was smiling from ear to ear.

"Already did. Friday night, 8 o'clock, room 431!"

Bisexual Fiction: Fulfilling Jamie

By: DinerNighthawk

 

 

 

I stared at the reflection gazing back at me, and found myself not completely disappointed. I was twenty-seven now, but I still could have passed for twenty-one. Time had made my hips a little bigger, had made my cheeks a little rounder, but my breasts were still firm and my skin was still soft. My black hair hung at a shoulder-length bob.

I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my black pinstripe blouse. Underneath was a maroon spaghetti-strap camisole with no bra, because I liked the way it showed off my cleavage and accentuated my nipples in the cold weather. I took one last look at myself, smiled, and left the rest-station bathroom.

Stephen, my boyfriend of three years, was finished pumping gas and waited in the car. Time had made him a little softer too - except for where it counts, that part was always firm. His hair was spiked with red highlights, his jeans were torn, and his patchwork Misfits jacket was dirty. He looked like a punk-rocker in his teens - you'd never guess he was closing in on thirty.

"Jamie..." he began, "Ready to go?"

I got in the car. "Do you think he'll be happy to see us?"

"Baby, anybody would be happy to see you." He smiled with a face that made my legs tremble as we embarked on the last leg of our journey.

We were on our way to visit Ben, an old friend of ours from back in the day. Ben was the nicest guy in the world, and I met him through Stephen years ago. They used to work in a deli together before Ben moved to Monterey to open his own bakery. I was always surprised by how different he and Stephen were... yet how close they seemed. Stephen was rough around the edges - a real man's man. Stephen was a mechanic now, unafraid to get his hands dirty. Ben, however, was a baker and a poet. He was thin and lanky… and he was bisexual.

Stephen has never had an opinion on homosexuality except that it wasn't for him. He had no gay (or bi) friends outside of Ben, and scoffed at the idea of men needing hair-dryers or pedicures. Ben had no such reservations, and was it not for the occasional fling with some hot young girl, I would have sworn he was outright gay.

I asked Stephen once how he felt about Ben being bisexual. "It's none of my business unless he's sucking my cock," he would laugh.

The rain was falling as we sped down the freeway and I found myself thinking of Ben more and more. I loved Stephen dearly, and had no doubt in my mind that I would be Mrs. Stephen Brown one day. Stephen has always been eager to fulfill every desire I've had, with a passion even I find hard to believe all these years later. In the heat of the moment he will take me in the hall of our apartment complex, or in the back of a movie theater. He could take his time and be the gentlest lover I've ever had, or he could be forceful and leave me unable to walk for an hour. There was only one fantasy I've ever had that I've been too afraid to bring up with Stephen... one that I could never imagine anyone but Ben understanding.

That was to be taken by two men simultaneously.

And that's why I couldn't stop thinking about Ben, and why I was willing to drive three hundred miles to spend the weekend with him. While I couldn't imagine anything coming of it at the time, being so close to the fantasy left me damp and short of breath.

I put my hand on Stephen's thigh, nibbled a little on his ear and whispered, "I can't wait until we have some alone time."

"We'll have to get Ben drunk and passed out early then," he smirked.

I moved my hand up from his thigh over to the crotch of his jeans. I could feel his six-inch member at full attention, throbbing. I gave it a little squeeze, and the car involuntarily jerked forward.

"Baby," he whispered, "you're going to make me lose control."

"I think that's the point," I giggled and slid my hand inside his pants and down the waistband of his briefs.

"Fuck, your hand is so cold."

"Well maybe this will warm it up," I purred and mischievously started to stroke him.

He started to moan - we hadn't had sex in a few days so I knew he was hurting for some release. I grinned at him as I undid the button of his pants with my free hand, and then slid his zipper open. He groaned as I pulled his cock up and over his briefs. With the rain and the setting sun Stephen had to keep his eyes glued to the road, but I knew what he was really concentrating on. I began to stroke him faster, no longer restricted by his outer garments.

"Do you like that?" I asked rhetorically.

He never took his eyes off the road, only responding with an "mmm-hmmm."

I stroked faster, feeling him arouse to full potential. The situation was turning me on and I squeezed my thighs together for a little needed stimulation. His breathing started becoming erratic and I knew he was close. I thought about the situation and the mess we were about to make, and I realized I only had one option if I didn't want to have to pull over again so that he could change his pants.

 
"Are you close?" I asked.

He meekly nodded his head.

I leaned over the center console and, with the parking break lever sticking into my ribs, I slid the head of his cock into my mouth. It was so hard, and when I squeezed it against my tongue and the roof of my mouth it felt like stone. My head started bobbing up and down. I used my saliva to lubricate my still stroking hand.

"I going to cum," he groaned in a whisper. "Baby, you're going to make me..."

With that he took one hand off the steering wheel and pulled my hair. Simultaneously his hips pumped up, forcing his dick into my throat. I heard the engine rev still faster as he began to fuck my face, chanting, "Baby... oh... fuck... fuck… FUCK!"

The first hot load shot straight down my throat, but I didn't gag. I just kept letting him thrust into my mouth, each load feeling like a mortar exploding in my mouth. It was hot and sweet and salty, and when he started to calm, I gripped his shaft and squeezed the last few drops of it out, and then swallowed.

"That was hot. I love you so much," he laughed.

And I loved him, too.

**********

When Ben answered the door he was still in his black terry-cloth bathrobe. It was already seven in the evening, but the life of a baker meant that he typically worked from 3am to noon on his bread, and then slept from about one in the afternoon until about nine at night. His dimples showed as he smiled, obviously happy to see us. "Sorry about the mess guys," he laughed, "but I'm not usually up this early."

His tiny studio apartment smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, but other than an unmade bed there was no mess to be found. When we walked in there was an immaculate bathroom directly to our right and a bed to our left, which took up the majority of the apartment. Around the corner, beyond the bathroom, was a cute little breakfast nook and a kitchen unbefitting a cook of Ben's talent. Beyond the far side of the room was a little balcony.

Ben's black hair stood up, except for the left side, which had been matted by his pillow. Naked under his robe and unshaven, he could easily have passed for a patient at an asylum. It was not the Ben we were used to seeing.

"Rough day at work?" Stephen asked.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I wanted to take the weekend off with you guys coming down, so I made triple the dough as usual so that the guys would just have to come in and bake it. So, for the next forty-eight hours, I'm all yours!" And with that he excused himself, locking the bathroom door behind him and starting the shower.

"That Ben," Stephen laughed. "Who would have thought that a baker would work so motherfucking hard?"

I sat on Ben's bed, still warm from his body. The sheets smelled faintly like Cool Water and fine cigarettes, and I found myself involuntarily holding his pillow to my face and breathing in.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Stephen laughed.

"Oh, you know I couldn't want anyone else." I felt ashamed when I said so, because I don't typically lie to him.

**********

Ben emerged from the bathroom, all pressed oxford shirts and Italian-made silk ties. He was wearing black slacks and polished leather shoes. His hair looked perfectly styled and his face was clean shaven and smooth. He looked like a completely different person. He looked like the Ben we knew.

"Are we ready to go?" he smiled.

We started the evening with fine pasta and wine courtesy of a local Italian restaurant. When it was time for the check to arrive, a tremendous middle-aged Greek man, who I could only assume was the owner of the establishment, simply stated "It is my pleasure to service an artist such as Benjamin. This is on the house."

Ben shook his hand and laughed and left a hundred dollar bill on the table anyway. "For the waitress then," he said.

When the owner was gone and we were taking the napkins off our laps in preparation to leave, Stephen laughed then asked, "So do you bake for him... or blow him?"

"A little of both, depending on my mood," Ben replied. I found myself suddenly stimulated by the fact that Ben wasn't being sarcastic.

From dinner we went for shooters at a local dive, and then, for my sake, the boys took me to a dance club with a full martini bar. I wanted to dance, but Stephen wasn't really the dancing type. I looked over to Ben. "What say you come over to the dance floor and sweep me off my feet?"

With that Ben blushed a little. "I seem to have this funny habit of losing friends after I dance with their significant others."

"You don't mind, do you Stephen?" I asked.

Stephen looked unsure and kept glancing back at Ben and myself.

"Come on Steve, let me have some fun!" He hated it when I called him Steve, so I only did it when he was doing something that annoyed me.

Defeated, he just sighed. "Have fun guys."

Ben wasn't about to let his friend be left behind, however. "How about we both dance with her Stephen?"

"I don't know," Stephen replied and shook his head. "It's not really my thing."

Ben took his hand and pulled Stephen to his feet. Even I couldn't do that.

"Well then I promise to be as flaming as possible while we're out there," Ben laughed and then continued, "to make sure everybody's looking at me, and nobody's looking at you."

Stephen laughed, and for the first time looked like he wasn't totally appalled by the idea. In between the two, holding hands in a chain, we all went over to the dance floor.

There was only one guy - some metro preppy fuck - who gave Stephen a dirty look. When Ben looked him in the eye and mouthed "I want to suck your cock," he quickly made himself scarce.

I never understood why Stephen was so against dancing, as he had a terrific sense of rhythm. I danced between the two of them, with Stephen typically behind me and Ben in front. As the crowd got larger, both got closer, and soon our trio was cheek-to-cheek-to-cheek. We were all pretty tipsy at this point, so I stuck my butt out a little further until it was pressing into Stephen's crotch. I waited to make sure I felt him aroused, and only after I knew he was completely in the moment, I pulled Ben a little closer to me.

"Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls came over the loud speakers and everything slowed down. I was intoxicated by the smell of their skin and the weight of their bodies pinning me between them. When the chorus hit, I felt Stephen grinding into me from behind and I spread my legs a little to give him access to the crease of my ass. I began to match the rhythm of his dry humping until my pelvis started rubbing up and down on Ben's cock.

Ben stopped for a split second, and then resumed the dance. He never looked me in the eyes, but slowly he began to grind back into me. Call it naivety, but I had always assumed that given Ben's small frame, he would have a smaller penis. But, the mammoth bulge that milled against my clit told me that I was wrong. It felt like the biggest cock I had never seen.

I started panting, sandwiched between the two of them, and looked into Stephen's eyes. His head on my shoulder, he looked down and knew exactly what I was doing. My heart skipped a beat as I anticipated his response. I was surprised to find his eyes glazed over in passion, and he kissed me, his tongue entering my mouth and dancing to the rhythm of the song. I took a deep breath of relief when the song climaxed.

Silently, so did I.

All Male Fiction: Pure Desire (Part 1)

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

Growing up, Ryan lived on a farm with his parents and his two siblings, both older than him. Ryan was the baby, the only boy. His parents were very strict and his family lived more like people did in the olden days – not quite like the Amish, but similar in some ways. They wore regular clothes and had modern conveniences such as electricity and the like, but they didn't have things like a computer or cell phones. They didn't even have a TV. Ryan and his sisters were being raised to respect their parents – calling them Father and Mother as a sign of that respect – to do as they were told, to not talk back, and to remain living at home until they were married.

The children also did chores, lots of them. Weekends were special – they had chores to do still, but they were also given some playtime outside. And, they spent all of their time on the farm. They were even home-schooled and had no way of making friends. They only had each other, and had no clue as to how different other kids their age lived outside of their world. They may have been getting older, but they were still as innocent as young children.

Of course, being so sheltered, Ryan, like his sisters, was completely oblivious to the fact that sex even existed – his parents didn't talk about it, his family had no TV or computer that would have exposed them to such things, and, being home-schooled, Ryan and his sisters weren't around other kids where they might be made aware of it, see it, or learn it from teachers. Some may find the thought of life without a TV or a computer or a cell phone - or the complete lack of knowledge that sex existed – hard to imagine. But you can't miss what you have never known.
  
As Ryan became old enough - became a man - he had to start helping his father out on the farm, while his sisters continued to do chores and help their mother. Once the girls turned eighteen, however, they were expected to move to town and work in a job more suited to women than farming, as well as try to meet a man to marry and have children with – just another example of his parent's old fashioned ways, which he and his sisters had been raised to believe in and follow.

Sons, however, were not expected to rush out and find a mate, rather remain at home and work alongside their father on the farm. Even when and if they eventually did marry - Ryan didn't know how he was ever going to get married, considering he was never allowed time to venture off the farm – they were still expected to work on the farm. For farmers, it was the family business, fathers and sons tending the farm, a tradition, and refusing to continue to work on the family farm was considered selfish and a sign of disrespect to your parents – a slap in the face. This was life for Ryan, all he knew.

Several years before he started working the farm with his father, just before his body began to change, Ryan's father had taken him to his room to talk with him. He started to talk about the changes Ryan was going to start experiencing. His father simply based his explanation of the changes to come as a boy becoming a man, but left the existence of sex out of the education. Then he placed a small box on the bed in front of Ryan and told him to open it. Ryan did and was met with a clear plastic device that was shaped like a penis, only hollow! "What… what is it Father?" Ryan asked.

"This, son," his father began, "is something that has been a tradition in my family for generations. One is given to each son by his father upon the son's journey into manhood," he finished as he picked the device up out of the box and offered it to the boy.

Ryan took it from his father, still unsure what it was.

"With your body soon to change, you'll need to put that on before it does."

"On? What do you mean Father?"

"It goes between your legs son, on your genitals."

"My what, Father?"

"Your penis, son." He then took it from the boy's hand and disassembled it and then explained how to put it on. "Do you understand son?"

"Yes Father, I mean, I understand your instruction, but may I ask a question?"

"You may," his father allowed.

"How does it work… to make me into a man?" Ryan asked.

"We are Purists, son. In the Purist religion we believe that sperm is sacred and should only be expelled from the male in order to procreate."

"Procreate?" Ryan repeated.

"That's when a man and his wife make a baby."

"Oh… and this will help me make a baby one day?" Ryan asked, not fully understanding. Ryan didn't even know how a man and a woman made a baby – or even what sperm was for that matter.

"No son, it won't help you to make a baby, but it will prevent you from expelling your sacred sperm until you are ready to make a baby."

"And once I am ready to make a baby, I don't have to wear this anymore?"

"No son, you will only take it off when you are trying to procreate with your wife. Once you have, you will continue to wear it until if and when you decide to procreate again. I will keep the key until you are married and then it will be given to your wife, just as my father gave mine to your mother when we were married."

Ryan sat there in wonderment at what his father was telling him about how a boy became a man. He'd had no idea, but that shouldn't have been a surprise. Still, Ryan had questions. "May… may I ask another question Father?"

Ryan's father nodded.

"How do you make a baby anyway?"

"You don't need to know that yet son," he said. "Any more questions?"

Ryan nodded. "Once a man has finished having all the children he is going to have, does he still have to wear this?" he asked pointing at the plastic contraption.

"Oh yes, son. All men only expel their sperm for procreation, but under the Purist belief a man must also wear a sperm guard and may only have his penis freed in order to procreate. Once that part of his life is complete a man still produces sperm, and that sperm is still considered sacred. The sperm guard permanently remains on from that point forward, never to come off again. Do you understand son?"

"Yes Father."

"Ok son, I am going to step out now so that you may take your first step into manhood. Do you remember how to put it on?"

"Yes Father, I think so."

Ryan's father smiled and nodded, handed the sperm guard back to his son and then reached into his pocket and handed him something he called lubricant, instructing the boy to squeeze some of the liquid onto his penis to aid in sliding the tube on, but made it clear Ryan wasn't to touch his penis when applying it. He then walked across to the bedroom door and left.

Ryan had some difficulty getting the thing on, more so in getting the ring around his testicles than getting the tube onto his penis. Once everything was in place, Ryan snapped the little lock shut. He looked at his penis in the device for a moment, wiped his hands on some tissues, and then pulled his underwear and pants back up.

A few minutes later his father came back into his room. "How'd it go son?"

"Fine Father," Ryan replied.

Ryan's father motioned at him and said, "Take down your pants son so I can assure that you have placed it on your genitals properly."

Ryan took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of his father and then opened his pants and slid them down, followed by his underwear. Ryan wasn't embarrassed. His father had bathed him as a small child and still spanked him occasionally when he had misbehaved, so he had seen his penis before. It wasn't anything sexual, not that Ryan knew anything about that anyway at the time.

Ryan's father looked down to between his son's legs, and then he reached down, grasped the small brass padlock and gave it a gentle tug to make sure the boy's penis was properly and securely locked inside his new sperm guard. "Very good son," he said. "You may pull your pants up now."

Ryan did and his father left his room.

It felt weird at first, having something between his legs other than just his penis and testicals, but Ryan soon got used to the guard being there and it was almost like it always had been. It became… natural.

Then, one day, just shortly after puberty had hit, Ryan woke up and had an aching between his legs. He threw the covers back, got out of his bed and lowered his pajama bottoms. His penis was swollen in the tube, swollen so that it was touching the sides and swollen all the way to the end of the short tube as well. Ryan panicked, yanked his pajama pants back up and ran to find his father.

His father was nowhere in sight when Ryan got to the kitchen, which he should have known given the time of day. "Is Father in the barn?" Ryan asked his mother.

"Yes," she replied and then stopped him with her words as Ryan raced for the door. "Where do you think you are going? You sit down and have your breakfast, and then get showered and dressed before you leave this house!" she sternly scolded.

Ryan did as he was told, just as he always did, and turned and walked over to the kitchen table, sat, and ate the breakfast his mother served him as fast as he could without her scolding him to slow down. The discomfort between his legs had gone away as he sat and ate, but Ryan was still worried and as soon as he was done eating he asked to be excused and, once given permission, raced off to shower and dress.

"Father! Father!" Ryan called out when he finally entered the barn.

"What is it son?" his father asked seeing the panic in his son's face.

"I think there's something wrong with my…" Ryan paused and then pointed to his crotch. Even though he knew nothing of sex, being that he was in puberty at the time, Ryan still unconsciously felt that natural embarrassment most boys that age probably felt about saying the word penis to their father.

Ryan's father walked over to him. "What do you mean son? Are you having a problem with your sperm guard?"

"No, not the guard, it's my…" Ryan stopped there.

"What is it son? I can't help you if you don't tell me what it is that has you so upset."

"It's my… my penis," Ryan finished in almost a whisper. "It was… swollen when I woke up, and ached. I think there's something wrong with it!"

Ryan's father put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Son, you are in puberty now. You are becoming a man. What you are experiencing is a natural occurrence for men. You will find that it happens most often in the morning when you first awaken. But it is nothing to worry about. The swelling will continue, but the discomfort will lessen in time," he explained without divulging the reason behind such occurrences.

The swelling of Ryan's penis continued, mostly in the mornings when he woke up, and the discomfort did lessen in time as well, just like his father had said. In fact, sometimes it, and his testicles, even tingled and strange feelings would wash over him – unknown feelings.

Ryan soon adjusted to the daily swelling (and the tingling sensations) until wearing the guard became just as natural as it had become before he hit puberty, with Ryan continuing to be none the wiser to the pleasure other guys his age were experiencing between their legs in the world outside of his secluded farm life.

Time marched on, with life being pretty routine day in and day out. But just recently, things changed. It was shortly after Ryan's eighteenth birthday, and his father had just hired a farmhand to help out with the daily task of maintaining a farm. His name was Marc. Ryan and his father had had no problem maintaining the farm themselves up until that point, but there was a good reason for the new hire – his mother had fallen ill. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer and, although her doctor felt she would survive, she and his father had to go into town quite regularly for her medical care.

While Ryan obviously didn't want his mother to be sick, he liked having Marc around. He was a really nice guy and Ryan liked having a new friend – his first friend, ever, other than his two sisters, who had both left home a few years earlier. Marc was older than Ryan at twenty-four, but even with the six year age difference the gap wasn't that big, and the two of them got along famously, hitting it off right away.

All Male Fiction: The Sailor in 1-C

By: Unknown Author

 

 

 

My mom passed away when I was seventeen. It was hard to handle, but I was kind of relieved that the suffering of her long bout with cancer was over for her. My dad went totally to pieces, though, and his drinking got worse.

Dad wanted to sell the house, more to escape the memories than for the profit. I begged him not to. I'd lived my whole life in the rambling old house with the big front yard. When dad was approached by a contractor about building some rental units on the lot, I was all for it. The contractor and I both worked on dad, and, to my surprise, he finally agreed.

By the time we got the bank loan, and the contractor had laid the foundation and slapped up the six terra cotta apartment units, I was eighteen and a high school senior. With dad still drinking, I got involved in some of the chores. Since we lived close to the Naval Air Station, I called and listed the rental units with them. I managed to get all of the units rented out fairly quickly after that.

My favorite tenant, though, was Tom, a young sailor. I had rented 1-C to him and his wife. Tom was twenty-two, and about the best-looking man, I'd ever seen. I became infatuated with him. He was tall and had a solid, muscular body and the most beautiful blue eyes. Unlike the stereotypical image of the blonde, blue-eyed sailor, Tom had dark brown hair.

Not too long after they moved in, at night, when I was home alone, I heard a lot of noise coming from their apartment. It sounded like lovers' quarrels. I listened in sometimes - he called her a slut and she called him a queer.

Despite his obvious marriage troubles, Tom was always friendly whenever I saw him. My crush on him grew. He was so damn good-looking! I'd recently started to really notice guys, especially some of the jocks in the showers at school. A part of me wondered if I was turning queer, but the larger part of me denied it. I told myself I was just checking out the other guys, making comparisons. Of course, I was lying to myself, and I knew it. Guys aroused me.

I knew guys aroused me because when I whacked off at night I wasn't thinking about getting into girls' pants, my thoughts had been about naked jocks. But, since I'd met Tom, he was the one I beat off over. If I lived a thousand years, I never thought I'd ever get a shot at him. He was so macho, I was sure he was a hundred percent straight… but there are no boundaries on dreams.

One night while I was beating off, fantasizing about Tom, I heard a loud noise coming from their apartment. Not just yelling and screaming - they were throwing things at each other.

A taxi pulled up out front. Peeking out the window I saw Tom's wife get into the cab with a suitcase. Tom stood at the door in his white t-shirt and white boxer shorts, telling her to go and not come back.

"Fuck you, faggot!" she yelled back.

I'm basically kind of shy, but I got the urge to go to Tom to try to console him. I pulled on my t-shirt and jeans. Truth was, I really wanted to look at him in his underwear up close. Barefoot, I walked up to Tom's apartment and knocked on the door.

"Get lost, bitch!" he yelled.

"Tom, it's me, the landlord's son."

He opened the door. "What's up, kid?"

"Uh, I heard the noise, just wondered if you were okay."

"It's Wendy. She left me."

"She'll be back. I'm sure she loves you."

"No way. Besides, I don't want her back. The whole marriage bit was a big mistake. C'mon in."

I sat on the couch beside my idol and got a real stir in my crotch, seeing his hairy legs and the slit in his boxers. Minutes ago I'd been beating off over the sailor. "Wanna talk about it?"

"You're just a kid. Ah, what the hell. I had to marry her, or at least someone. The Navy was investigating me. Remember that scandal about the sailors making porno movies? Well, I did that for the money and fun… although they never showed my face."

"You fucked girls in videos?"

"No, it was guys."

I was dumbfounded. Tom fucked other guys? Unbelievable.

"All kinds of people in the world, kid. I figured if I got married, that would get me off the hook. Wendy used to work at the bar near the base."

Was he trying to tell me something, that he was queer? Just thinking about Tom fucking some guy in a porno movie made me horny and jealous at the same time. I wanted him all to myself. With Wendy out of the way, maybe it was possible; maybe my dreams would come true. "You could have anybody you wanted, with your hot looks," I said.

"And with my big cock," he grinned. He grabbed his crotch, and my cock raged in my pants.

"I figured you had a big one." I don't know why I said that.

"You wanna see it, kid?"