"We have reason to believe that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation."

Saturday, October 25, 2014

All Male Fiction: My Best Friend (Part 3)

By: Lucas Miller




Josh had to go to class later in the afternoon. Although I had hoped we would stay in bed all day, it was also nice to spend some time alone. I reflected over the events of the past two days. I smiled at the memory of Josh and me in the showers starting our fun together. Then there was the pleasurable blowjob I had given to Carl behind the garage. Then, of course, there was Marc. My heart raced at the thought of him wearing my underwear, his mouth on my cock, and the wonderful sensation of his ass surrounding my dick as I fucked him.

Marc was the first and only guy I had fucked. But even before we'd had sex I felt a different kind of attraction to him. I hoped that he wasn't upset about Josh and me spending the morning together. I wanted to stay close with Marc… I wanted to continue to see him. I wondered if Josh would mind including him in our sexual play. They had fucked too, so why not?

All of this passed through my mind as I showered. The showers were quite busy, but I was oblivious to those around me. When I had finished I returned to Josh's room and dressed. I thought that I would spend a couple of hours exploring the campus. Before leaving, however, I noticed that Marc's computer was on. I went over to see if I could access it to check my e-mail. Luckily, he didn't have his computer password protected.

When I opened the browser, out of curiosity I checked his bookmarks and found some gay sites. Towards the end of his bookmark list was a page titled "My Blog". I clicked on it, and what loaded was an online journal Marc had been keeping. There was a list of entries, with the first one dated over two years ago. He had been in high school then.

It felt wrong violating Marc's privacy, but curiosity had the better of me, and I clicked on the first entry. It began with: "A new life began today…"

I was worried that Marc might come in while I was reading this, so I hit the print key and watched as page after page after page came out of the printer. It took nearly fifteen minutes to print the entire journal. When it was finally done, I closed the site, then deleted my browsing history so Marc wouldn't know I had accessed his journal. After gathering up the pile of papers, I put them in my knapsack and, without even bothering to check my email, I left the room.

I found out right away that the campus was in constant motion. There were so many people around that it was impossible to find a quiet place to sit and read Marc's journal. In the end I decided to go to the library to find a private corner.

On the first floor nearly all the chairs were filled, so I went to the elevator and took it to the sixth floor. There were fewer people there and I found a relatively private place to sit. I say relatively because I was probably about twenty feet from a couple who were studying together, mixed with some giggling on the girl's part when her boyfriend would whisper things in her ear and touch her. But I wasn't going to find any better place to sit.

I pulled the journal out of my knapsack and started to read it:

A new life began today. I have spent my life in near isolation, keeping others away from me, preferring to be alone. My dating experience is slim. I have kissed only two girls and I am almost seventeen. I have never touched a girl's boobs or had sex with a girl. Strangely, I never even think about it. It's not that I am disgusted by sex or girls, but having sex with the girls I know doesn't seem comfortable to me. I thought one day I would get comfortable with girls, but it hasn't happened. I think I found out why, today.

I know I am taking a chance writing about this and putting it online. Although I know the Internet is so vast that the likelihood of someone stumbling upon my blog is very small (It's not like I advertise it, give the URL to people or share it), I still know I am taking a risk of exposing myself to my classmates and family. I suppose if this does happen it would be a good way to let those who are close to me know who I really am.

So, my life truly started today. It totally happened by accident (I think). I had been sick yesterday and had forgotten to get an assignment from Mr. Morgan, my English teacher. After school I remembered the missed assignment and went back to his classroom. It was empty, but I heard movement coming from Mr. Morgan's office, which is connected at the back of the room.

I made my way toward it. The door was closed, but not completely. There was a small crack between the door and door jam. I peered in and saw Mr. Morgan digging through the bottom of his desk drawer. His back was to me. I was going to knock, but the way he was searching made me a little curious as to what he was looking for. I decided to wait until he found it, then I would go in.

Finally, Mr. Morgan pulled out a magazine from far back in the drawer. He opened it up and began leafing through it. As he did this he turned his chair to the side so that he was partially facing me. I could clearly see his face. He was smiling and licking his lips.

Mr. Morgan is a pretty cool teacher. He gives us a lot of work, but is always cool about grading. No one ever failed his class. He is also pretty good looking for a guy in his thirties. He has short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a trim body. It was strangely exciting watching him without his knowledge. I was able to really look him over.

Then he held up the magazine and I could see the cover. It had a man in a leather outfit standing next to another guy in what looked like a ski mask. The man in leather held a chain that ended at a collar around the other guy's neck. It was a gay magazine!

I couldn't believe Mr. Morgan was gay. This was a good piece of gossip, but I realized I didn't have anyone I would really tell it to. I continued to watch.

Mr. Morgan was rubbing the front of his dress pants. He set the magazine down and opened his zipper. He pulled his dick out of his pants through his opened zipper, and it was hard! I was stunned by how long and thick his dick was. It had to be at least eight inches long. Much bigger than mine. And there he was moving his hand over it.

What surprised me the most was that my own dick was now hard in my pants. I wanted to pull mine out, too, but I had books in my hand and was afraid to move for fear of him hearing me. So I stayed still and just watched.

As I read Marc's words I started to become aroused. Although I was far enough from the giggling couple, I thought it would be best to be alone. I located the men's room and went inside. It was empty, so I took the last stall. I pulled down my pants and sat down on the toilet. I continued to read:

Mr. Morgan was beginning to sweat and moan. My dick was doing its best to tear through my underwear and jeans. It hurt like hell and I had to release it from its confines. As quietly as I could, I stepped back and set my books down on a desk in the last row. I moved just as quietly back to the door.

Mr. Morgan's hand was moving quickly over his hard dick now. I unzipped my jeans, reached inside and pulled out my own dick. I began copying his every motion. When he slowed down, I slowed down. When he quickened his pace, I followed. When he began pulling at his balls, I started pulling at my balls.

My own cock was rock hard now and I started to imagine Marc's encounter with his teacher. I anticipated Marc's next move, hoping he would storm into the room and suck Mr. Morgan's cock. I read on:

I could tell Mr. Morgan was getting close to cumming. His moaning was getting a little louder and he was starting to grunt a little. Then a long string of cum flew from his dick and landed on the floor. Another smaller glob landed on his pants. The rest ran down the side of his dick.

I also started to cum. Most of it ended up in my hand, but some remained on my dick. I had never done it before, but with no other option, I ate the cum from my hand and then wiped my hands on the back of my jeans before stuffing my dick back into them and zipping up.

Quietly, I went back over to where I had laid my books and picked them up. Moving back to the outside of his office, I waited until he had put his dick back in his pants, then I knocked on the door.

He greeted me pleasantly, but with noticeable nervousness. I asked for my assignments and he got them together quickly. As he was doing it I noticed the magazine still on his desk. He caught me looking at it and his eyes got wide. I just smiled at him, and then he handed me the assignments. "Thanks, Mr. Morgan," I said, took another glance down at the magazine and then left his office and his classroom.

This was the end of the first entry. I flipped through a few more of the pages and saw Mr. Morgan's name throughout several of them. I hoped there was more to their encounter.

I was going to jerk off, but I heard someone come in. Whomever they were, they moved down toward my stall and ended up right on the other side of the door. They stayed there for a few seconds, then went to the stall right before mine. It was very odd. It was only then, drawing my eyes away from my reading material for the first time that I noticed a hole in the wall of the stall where the toilet paper holder should have been.

Moments later a half-hard dick poked through it. "You want to suck this?" the guy whispered.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

All Male Fiction: Jammin' in the Rush Hour

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels



To quote a classic song by The Monks, "I don't like Mondays." Having to head back to work after the weekend always sucked. That alone was enough to make anyone dislike Mondays, but, for me, some sucked more than others, as I had to occasionally start the week earlier than usual. And this was one of those Mondays - I had to be at work for 7:30am! I work in Manhattan and live in the ass-end of Brooklyn, which meant I had to leave the house at 6:00am. Blech!

Usually, when I have to go in that early, I catch some sleep on the train if I'm sitting, or read if I'm standing. As (bad) luck would have it, I found myself standing. As usual, the train picked up tons of people at each stop, and by the time it hit Myrtle Avenue (one of the big transfer stations), the car was pretty full. This no longer afforded me the room to read. Normally that would have pissed me off a bit and made the start to my dreaded Monday morning that much worse, but suddenly I didn't mind.

I was standing in the corner, right by the connecting door, with my side to it, and right in front of me now was a fucking god! This guy would be enough to grab anyone's attention! He was a really handsome guy, in his mid to late twenties, and, judging by the size of his basket, nicely hung.

We were standing face to face, and every time the train lurched (those that have ridden the L in Brooklyn know how much it lurches), we kind of bumped together. With his looks and the forced body contact in the crowded subway car, I, of course, started to get stiff, and, after one especially hard jolt, he sort of looked at me and sheepishly grinned.

After a few more stops, things were even more crowded, and we were now practically touching, face to face, crotch to crotch. I was hard as a rock now, and was sure that the next time we bumped I'd shoot in my pants.

I couldn't help myself and I really started to check out the large lump in his jeans, and I guess I got a little too obvious, because after pulling out of one station he leaned his mouth by my ear and whispered, "Like what you see?"

I almost shit myself, but as nervous as I suddenly got, I nodded.

Up until then, he had had his hand on the door, supporting himself, but now he moved it between our bodies and grabbed hold of my hand and pulled it towards him. I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt him put it right on the bulge of denim between his legs!

His actions took me by total surprise, but, even so, I started doing what came naturally and began feeling his bulge, squeezing what felt like a really large, really thick, soft cock. A soft cock that in just seconds grew into full hardness as I fondled it.
 
As soon as I started to grope his, he reached over and started feeling mine, too. My dick was nowhere near as big or as thick as his, I was just average in both respects, but he didn't seem at all disappointed with what he had found.

A quick scan of our surroundings showed me that with the number of standing people all jammed onto the subway car, a couple of them right behind my new friend, facing the other way, and a rather large man standing right in front of us with his back to us, we were totally blocked from everyone's view.

Taking comfort in that piece of knowledge, I became more relaxed and really began to concentrate on feeling up his hard cock through his pants, and then, the next thing I knew, he was pulling down my zipper! He then reached into my pants and very casually pulled my stiff dick out through my fly. I took another nervous look around, only to find once again that no one had any clue or visual path to what we were doing.

My attention was returned to him as he brought his other hand between us, brushed my hand aside and pulled his own zipper down, and then moved my hand back to his crotch. I immediately reached inside the opening to find he wasn't wearing underwear, and soon both our hard cocks were out in the open – right there on the fucking subway!

Friday, October 3, 2014

All Male Fiction: Praise the Lord!

By: Unknown Author
 
 
 
It was early. Very early. Too damned early for the alarm clock. What's more, it was Sunday. Was I so wiped out last night that I set the alarm when I flopped into bed?

Sheesh! It's not the alarm, it's the door buzzer! Who'd be ringing that at -- what is it? -- 9:30 on a Sunday morning? I bet Allison locked herself out again.

Living in a brownstone means being a good neighbor or being a shit. Stumbling a bit in my hung-over state, I hit the buzzer to open the front door to the building and grabbed a robe so that I could offer at least the appearance of modesty when saying "Hi!" to Allison. She might even feel guilty enough to go get a paper for me, too.

Opening my apartment door, I bellowed down the stairwell, "Good morning early riser!"

"Good morning, brother! I'm here with good news from the Lord!"

A goddamned Revivalist, brandishing Bible, tracts, and an obnoxious self-assurance. They were an all-too-familiar sight in my neighborhood, where New Wave and Second Coming existed side-by-side.

Before I could slam the door, though, he bounded into view on the landing. Alone and unchaperoned, an unusual state. And proof of God's good taste in children: Golden blond hair, cut short around the sides in an endearingly outdated style, cornflower blue eyes, engaging grin, slender body under an ill-fitting suit. Shades of blue and grey very flattering, though. And the tie, crooked and not quite tight around the buttoned collar.

Well, now awake, I might as well enjoy the scenery.

"I knew God would send me to a receptive home. That's why I kept ringing. Have you been saved?"

Such enthusiasm so soon after sunrise I could not match.

"Well, the lifeguard pulled me out of the lake at camp."

Polite laughter. At least he's diplomatic.

"No, brother, I mean saved for all eternity. Have you given yourself to Jesus?"

"Not that I know of." I didn't hang around in backroom bars, but I didn't get a business card from every trick, either.

"Oh, you'd know it! Giving yourself to Jesus gives you a great big load of joy!"

I passed on that opening. My turn to be diplomatic.


"Why don't you come in?"

A moment's hesitation on my part.

"Ah, hold on just one second, though."

In my most gracious house-tour manner, I swept up the leather pants and red bikini briefs I had dumped on the chair last night, scooped up the dirty socks from under the coffee table, and ducked into the bedroom to throw them in the closet.

On my return, I moved to my guest and invited him in, and he took three or four steps over the threshold. Closing the door behind him with one hand, I gestured him toward the couch with the other.

"Why don't you take off your coat?"

Blue-grey double knit became gracefully draped where leather had just hung.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"I'd like that," he decided, taking a seat on the couch.

The sun streaming through the windows glinted on his hair and seemed to re-charge his godly batteries. "Days like this make me feel so close to the Lord! His creation all aglow in the light of His blessed sun. 'Consider the lilies of the field: they toil not neither do they spin,' yet they bring us joy every day. You can see the power of the Lord every time you look out the window."

This rap continued while I went into the kitchen to fix the coffee. His voice had the kind of Midwestern twang you don't often hear in the city, and a certain breathy quality that would sound great whispered across a pillow. Best of all, he spoke with that preacher's cadence that just picks you up and carries you along.

"'Seek and ye shall find. Ask and ye shall receive. Knock and it shall be opened unto you!' The Bible tells us that salvation is ours for the asking. Will you come with me and ask?"

I was listening more to the rhythm than to the sense. Something about his blend of deference and determination was terribly seductive.

As I puttered around the kitchen, the robe I hadn't bothered to tie firmly came undone. I was getting distinctly turned on by his voice, and I wanted him to keep talking. "You make it sound very appealing," I called out. "Are you one of the champion soul-savers?"

"Saving souls isn't a contest!" He was properly indignant, but a bit proud, too. "It's a duty of every Christian to prepare all men of good will for the judgment to come. And women, too! We're all brothers and sisters and we should reach out to one another in, uh…" he paused and then finished, "love." He must have just spotted the Village Voice on the coffee table. Wonder what he makes of my copy of Honcho sitting right next to it?

By this time, my cock was beginning to reach out itself. I poured the coffee and arranged the cups, sugar bowl, and creamer on a tray.

Walking into the living room, I wondered, mischievously, how my guest would react to my fully exposed, semi-erect posture. But he was searching through his briefcase.

"There's a wonderful article here on discovering the Lord," he was saying in a loud voice, apparently assuming that I was still in the kitchen. "I can leave this here for you to..." Turning around, he found my groin at eye-level.