All Male Fiction: Blowjob Blues

 By: wpblue & Ryan Michaels

 

We sprinted the last several yards along the beach before dropping into the sand; both of us sweaty and panting, trying to catch our breath. We had met on the beach several weeks ago - Sunday morning runners who happened to take the time to chat - and have been meeting to run every Sunday morning since then.

His name was Kyle. He's 26 and is a self-employed fitness instructor. He had what I would describe as a dancer's build. He was thin, but all sinew and muscle. He had an incredibly sexy bubble butt and an enticing bulge that was prominent even when he was wearing baggy running shorts.

His voice was deep and sexy, and even his mundane chatter kept my interest. It was like the sound waves from his voice were covered in lube and they floated through the air to slide around my cock.

His body and his voice kept me in a perpetual state of lust when I was around him, but I did my best to keep myself in check. I hadn't told him I was gay; the subject had never come up, and if he suspected it, he has never said anything about it.

There was really nothing about me to suggest that I was gay (other than the way my eyes lingered on him, the way they undressed him). I have an average build, somewhat on the muscular side, and I am as masculine as he is, though in an understated way. He's definitely an Alpha male, whereas I am more subdued.

He was exceptionally quiet this morning, and I wondered what was on his mind. I turned onto my side and studied him. He was splayed across the sand, eyes closed, arms at his sides, legs spread. I watched the subtle movement of his stomach; studied the prominent bulge in his shorts. He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. He was clearly conflicted about something, and I decided to find out what was bothering him.

"Are you okay Kyle? You're not usually this quiet."

He didn't answer right away, just sighed a few more times before finally speaking. "I'm okay, I guess. But sometimes, life can be really fucked up, you know?"

"I hear ya. What's going on? You want to talk about it?"

Kyle sat up and faced me, his legs pulled up and spread. His eyes locked onto mine, making me feel like I was going to melt. "It's my girlfriend... I know I haven't said much about her before, it's like private stuff, you know? But lately, she's been like a cold fish when it comes to sex. She's cuddly and affectionate, but when I try to have sex, she backs off, tells me that's all I think about."

"Is it?"

"Is it, what?"

"Is it all you think about?"

"Hell no. Well, maybe. I mean, I need sex, you know? Fuck, maybe I do pressure her too much. I sometimes think I'm addicted to sex. I jack off in the shower in the morning and then have to jack off at night too before I go to sleep. Anytime I'm on the computer I end up jackin' off to porn, even if I've already jacked off a few times. It's like my dick is always hard - and I'm always thinkin' about gettin' off."

"Geez Kyle, maybe all that jerkin' off has her upset. Maybe she feels threatened."

"No, she's happy I take care of my own needs because she doesn't want to have sex. But I'm not happy about it; I still want sex, no matter how many times I've jacked off. I mean, that's part of being in a relationship, right?"

I nodded.

"And then, when we do have sex, she won't even go down on me. She'll, like, lick it, and get me all primed, but then won't suck it. She says it's too big, that the taste is gross. I don't get it; I go down on her every time we do have sex."

All this talk about his cock made me look at his bulge. And he noticed where my eyes were. He frowned slightly but didn't say a word.

"Okay Kyle, I get it. You're a horn dog. But do you like her enough to keep dating her, even if she doesn't want to blow you?"

"I don't know man. It's not just the blowjobs; it's the sex in general. I kind of regret asking her to move in with me, now. I mean, there's just no hiding when I get hard, and when I am, which is, like, all the fucking time it seems, I always try to get sex and she only ever says yes about once a week. Hell, I'm hard now just talkin' about always being hard."

Once again, I had to look. And yes, he was hard. I could see the fullness pressed against the material of his shorts. My thoughts were no longer on his girlfriend issue, but on the large hard-on between his legs; I couldn't take my eyes off it. When I did take my eyes off of it and looked at him, he was staring at me. He adjusted himself and closed his legs.

Just as he started to say something, it started to rain. The rain was heavy and Kyle grabbed me by my shirt sleeve and said, "C'mon, let's get in my truck," and we jumped up and headed to the parking area.

By the time we jumped in the truck, we were both soaked. He started the engine and the air conditioner blasted us with cold air. I start to shiver in my wet clothes, and he adjusted the temperature. We sat quietly, and then he said, "I'm sorry to lay all this on you man. I just needed to talk about it. I'll figure something out."

"No problem. I don't mind listening; I just wish I had some advice for you."

"Well, what would you do in my shoes?"

"I'm not sure you'll like my answer to that." As I said that, he lifted the bottom of his shirt and fanned it, trying to dry it out. I looked down and could see that he was hard again, or still.

Again, he noticed me eyeing his cock. I tried to pretend that I was not aware of his aroused condition, and continued with what I had to say. "Your sex drive is not going to go away, and her sex drive isn't going to increase. So, unless you just want to stay frustrated all the time, the only logical choice is to break it off. Until you find someone that has a sex drive to match yours - you'll just have to get it where you can get it."

"I know you're right; it can't work."

We sat quietly again. It stopped raining, and he turned off the engine and rolled the windows down to the cool outside air. When he turned his head back, he followed my gaze, both of us now looking at the outline of his swollen cock. I looked away, pretending to concentrate on something outside.

"You don't need to look away. I'm pretty sure you want to see what I'm packin'."

All Male Fiction: A Real Man

 By: Tommyhawk1

 

"Where the fuck were you?" Gordon asked gruffly as I hurried into the warehouse at ten thirty at night. He was a beefy, large man with a battered face and a ready vocabulary of foul language. Just the sort you’d expect to find working in a warehouse - hard work attracts hard people.

"I'm sorry," I responded sincerely. "I missed my bus." I took my bag from "A Different Light" and hurriedly stuffed it between two pallets of boxes in the warehouse. It would be safe there until I had a chance to sneak them to a better hiding spot, but I couldn't do that now. And showing them to Gordon was out of the question. Half his curse words were "pansy" or worse when he was searching for derogatory remarks to make about someone; "faggot" to him was worse than calling someone a "motherfucker," so I stayed firmly in the closet while at work.

"What you got over there?" he asked as I lifted my hand back. His huge biceps glinted with white crescents from the sheen of his sweat and the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. His voice was like a god's, the heavy echoes of the cavernous warehouse reverberated back every syllable a dozen-fold.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"Then haul your pansy ass over here and help me load this truck, motherfucker," he said.

He didn't know I was gay; he talked like that to and about almost everybody. I didn't dare let him see the "A Different Light" book bag, not as big and brawny as this guy was; he could snap me in two without thinking about it.

Taking a gay book and magazines to a job where you're closeted was stupid, I knew that, I knew I should have waited, but the bookstore was right on my way to work. Passing by "A Different Light" bookstore, I made the fatal mistake of peering inside to see what was displayed in the window. A look at my watch to verify I had a couple of spare minutes, and in I went, coming out much later than intended with not only the book but with two porno magazines. And, with my stash now tucked between a pallet of Tide and a pallet of Oxydol, it could wait until I could take it home and give it proper attention.

"Come on, move it, cocksucker," Gordon growled and I hastened over to him. He handed me half of a stack of lists and said, "We got three trucks to do tonight," and I groaned.

Our warehouse takes in the boxcars from individual factories, and from there we load the items ordered by individual supermarkets. We don't handle any of the chain stores, but there are a sizeable number of Mom-and-Pop places that need to furnish their customers with Pop-Tarts and Cheetos; I had plenty of work. In fact, with three trucks needing loading I had more work than I could handle.

Each store had a long page marked with the items and quantities they wanted. We tried to keep the supplies organized so we could go right down the list and grab in order, but in practice, it's never quite that easy. So, you run around until you get all the stuff for one store loaded, then you load that into a larger, plastic shipping box which is then driven over by a forklift and placed into the truck. Gordon drove the little forklift, which was about the size of a Volkswagen, but with only the two of us, he had to jump down from the forklift and trundle a trolley like mine, too.

Once we had the truck filled with the boxes, which contained boxes that contained boxes that contained the essential items for life, we'd move on to the next sheaf of orders. When we finished a truck, we could take a short break, then move the loaded truck out (Gordon did that as well. You have to have a special license and training to drive an eighteen-wheeler) and back another one in and we'd do it all over again. But a truck would take three to four hours to load. Three trucks meant overtime whether I wanted it or not.

So, I worked away on my list, fuming about the unfairness of it all. Damn it, I'd picked up a really butch issue of "Stroke" and couldn't wait to get home and do just what the magazine's title suggested. I had only glanced at the contents, seeing a heavily built, gruff man dominating a younger, more slender man - "Stroke's" favorite form of sex – and it caused my stomach to churn, imagining that big man dominating me, forcing me to take his cock into my mouth... okay, three boxes of salad dressing and I could take this trolley over to the shipping box.

Soon enough my mind was off of sex and back onto my job, because with nothing but cardboard boxes to select from you have to pay attention to what you're picking up. A store orders a box of Ronzoni spaghetti and if you give them American Beauty instead, they don't see it as being all right, you get a nasty restock order and three forms to fill out and sign and initial. One of those goes into your personnel file and they track your performance that way. Sucks. No wonder they had such a heavy turnover of workers on this shitty job.

So, I loaded up that shipping box and the next and the next, and time passed. Soon we'd be finished with the shipping boxes; we could then load the truck with them according to the driver's schedule, and then could take a half-hour break. Sitting and jawing with Gordon wasn't that bad if you let him call you names without flinching. He didn't really mean anything personal by it; it was just his way of talking.

I finished and looked over at Gordon's last box; it was only half-loaded. Hell, he was usually waiting on me, not the other way around. Maybe the guy was slowing down. I decided I could give him a couple of comments while I helped him finish his loading. A few of his choicer comments to me would work nicely, such as "They need to hire some real men to do this work instead of you faggots." I'd like to see his face when I used that one on him!

So, I went in search of him. The warehouse was big (it had to be) so it took some time for me to find him… right by the pallet of boxes of Tide! He had a big load of it on his trolley, and on top of the trolley was a big, white plastic bag… and my copy of "Stroke" was in his hands! And he was looking at the pictures!

All Male Fiction: Late-Night Hunger

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

As my sleepy eyes came into focus, so did the fuzzy glow of the digital clock on the bedside table; it read 2:06 in the morning. I was staying at the Comfort Inn, a place I was very familiar with, as I traveled to this particular city once a month on business. I usually slept just fine during my regular stays there, but for some reason, I had woken up and just couldn't get back to sleep.

After alternating between tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, I decided that a snack might help, since I was feeling hungry and thought maybe that was what was keeping me awake. So, up I hopped from the bed and headed off for the small alcove that housed the ice machine and a couple of vending machines.

As I started to peruse the snack items available in one of the machines, a man walked in and took up at the vending machine next to me, which housed sodas and water. "Hi there," he greeted me.

"Hi," I replied, casually taking him in as he browsed the choice of beverages in the machine. He looked to be about forty and was clad in only a white t-shirt and boxer shorts. He was decent looking and appeared to be in good shape. When my eyes moved to take a look at his crotch, they lingered there as I saw the outline of his cock hanging down along his thigh.

"Like what you see?" he spoke, while still looking straight ahead, and then he turned and looked right at me.

"What? I don't know what you mean, I'm just getting a snack," I babbled and turned my head, eyeing the items in my machine again.

"Hey, it's cool," he said. "The only reason I'm up at this hour is because my pecker won't let me sleep, and I'm pretty sure after I caught you checking out my dick that you like sucking on them, and a good suck job would be real nice right about now. So, how about it? You wanna suck on this?" he asked giving his cock a squeeze through his underwear.

By that point my own dick was hard inside my sleep pants, making my condition impossible to hide.

My hard dick was screaming yes, but my head was telling me that this guy, after catching me staring at his crotch and figuring me for a queer, could be setting me up for a beating or something. I'm sure it won't come as any surprise that my cock won out and I nodded my head.

"Great!" he grinned, and then he put his hands to his hips and was about to push his underwear down, right there in the fucking alcove!

"Hey, wait!" I spoke. "We can't do it here! Why don't we go back to my room, or we can go to yours if you prefer?"

"It's after two in the morning; no one is around. Where's your sense of adventure?" he smiled.

"I don't know. I really think we should go back to…"

I stopped there when he went ahead and proceeded to push his underwear down past his balls. One thing I could not resist was a cock. I wasn't just a cocksucker, I was a hungry cocksucker, and now that his cock was exposed right in front of me, all reason and caution went out the window and I immediately fell to my knees in front of him and gobbled that cock up!

Bisexual Fiction: Triple Workout (Part 1)

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels

I punched in my security access code at the door to the company gym and pulled the handle as the buzzer signaled the ok to enter.

The gym had been open for a year now, and I started using it regularly about six months ago to try to reduce the stress levels induced by a fast-paced Information Systems career. I had made it a priority to get down there three days a week, and I was really feeling the benefits of a good hard workout at the end of a long - and usually hectic - day.

It was about 6:30 pm and I could hear the music pounding from the big blaster in the corner of the room. I looked around to see who else was there and saw one other guy already on the Stairmaster working up a sweat.

He looked up and gave a nod hello as I headed for a warm-up on the bike. I nodded back and set the timer on the bike for five minutes. Josh Somebody-or-another was his name, I recalled. We had chatted amicably on the few occasions where we had seen one another here in the evening. Most of the employees who used the gym used it in the mornings before work, but he, like me, seemed to prefer to use the stress of the day to keep the ‘edge’ on his workout.

He had brought a great mixtape with him, and I found myself enjoying the music as I relaxed into a rhythm on the bike. The five minutes passed quickly, and I walked over in front of the wall-to-wall mirrors for a nice languid stretch.

Josh had finished his time on the Stairmaster and walked over to the mat area where I was now standing, stretching my quads.

"Ethan, right?" he commented pulling up beside me.

"Yup, and you’re Josh?" I commented.

"Yes. Ready for a good session?" he asked assuming a similar pose with his leg distended behind him.

"Yeah, shitty day today," I lamented. "Lots of crap happening on the system."

"I know! I was bounced on and off the network today for the whole morning," he laughed. "Geez, you guys in I.S. sure make it hard for a guy to stay connected to the internet! How the hell do you expect us guys in the plant to search for porn when you keep bouncing us off?" he joked.

I chuckled at his comment and looked out the corner of my eye as he bent over to touch his toes. "Hmm… nice body. Nice arms. Nice pecs. Hard ass. Strong legs."

Where the hell did THAT come from? I thought. Oh well - I’ve always admired the human form and this guy was a good sample of how I wanted to look by the end of the year.

"Hey! I’d like to use some free weights today instead of the Universal. Seeing as how you’re here, would you spot for me?" he asked as he headed for the rack.

"Sure. No problem."

We took turns spotting and encouraging one another and bantered back and forth a little as we did our thing. We increased the weights each round, and we had both worked up a decent sweat within the half-hour. We then moved on to some dumbbell routines and decided to finish up on the treadmill.

As we got the treadmills going, he reached up and pulled his t-shirt up to wipe his very sweaty face. I couldn’t help but notice a very nicely detailed set of abs, and a totally smooth chest. I set the timer for twenty minutes and got into a good trot. Once again, we chatted about the company, our offices, and careers - the usual idle chat that you get into while you’re jogging on a mechanical device at the office gym.

The timer on the tortuous machine dinged and I staggered off to the mats to stretch out once more before hitting the showers and heading home. Josh pulled up beside me – sopping wet now - and proceeded to do the same. We laughed about the sweat we were dripping all over the mats.

"Wow, you’re a slave driver! My wife is usually the only one who can get me this hot and wet." Then he laughed as he looked over at the locked door and said, "With the two of us in here panting and grunting and groaning, if anyone passed by the door, they'd probably think we were getting it on in here."

The thought of what he was saying had an immediate effect on my crotch, as I chuckled and said, "Yeah, it certainly did sound like it," and then began concentrating my efforts on trying to put my overactive imagination into check when I noticed in the mirror that the front of his shorts had a bit of a tent there as well. I quickly stole another glance, and when I looked up, he was also looking at my reflection in the mirror. Our eyes met for an electric moment, and then we both glanced away.

"Well, I’m hitting the showers," he said as he straightened up.  

"Yeah, me too," I said, and followed him out the door to the shower area.