Date: Thu, 6 Oct 2011 15:26:50 -0700 (PDT) From: Macout Mann Subject: The Society of Sextus This story is fiction for adults. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental. This story also features a variety of explicit sexual activity, so if such offends you or if you are underage, please move on. Feedback is appreciated. macoutmann@yahoo.com. THE SOCIETY OF SEXTUS by Macout Mann I: Introduction It was 1997. I was 20. Hitching back home from California. I had reached Barstow, where Interstate 40 begins and was further up the ramp than I should've been, but it was already after five, and I needed to get a ride before dark. I thought maybe somebody already on the freeway might stop. Instead, this late model Ram pickup coming up the ramp pulled over. He'd already passed up a couple of guys down near the bottom. Why he didn't stop for them, I didn't know, but I was grateful for my good luck and ran up, threw my shit in the truck bed, and jumped in. "Thanks for stopping," I said. "No problem," he answered. "Sid's my name," he added, extending his hand. "I'm Jeff," I said. "Where you headed, Jeff?" "Nashville," I replied. "What d'ya know? I'm going to Atlanta. If we hit it off, aint no reason I can't take you all the way." As he said this, he casually dropped his right hand to his crotch. Embracing my dick with my right hand, I replied, "Can't think of why we shouldn't get along." He smiled, as we pulled into traffic. He was about 50, I'd guess. Well built, trim, and still muscular. He was wearing well-worn jeans and a dark green muscle shirt, western belt and cowboy boots. Greying at the temples, his moustache also had flecks of grey. And his jeans had a man-sized bulge below his beltline. For his age, he was one hot motherfucker. One thing I noticed right away was his tat. It was between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and it looked like a hard, cut dick, looked at from above. An oversized head, colored red; a long shaft with balls below, both colored green; and printed in blue in a half circle beneath were the letters, "S E X T U S." It's not polite to ask about a dude's tattoos, at least not right away, so I was just left wondering, as we chatted about this and that. I told him I was headed home after spending a year and a half hitching around the country. He said that he had been on vacation at Yosemite and San Francisco. Had always wanted to visit there. He owned a small construction company outside Atlanta. Mostly did additions and renovations, but occasionally got lucky and was able to build a custom home. After a couple of hours it was dark and he said it was time to stop for the night. "So shall I continue on?" I asked. "Hell, no. Stay with me. We seem to be getting along o.k." He picked up some take-out and a six pack, and stopped at a small, independent motel. He checked in while I waited in the truck. As I expected, he got a room with one king-sized bed, and paid extra for the XXX movie channel. We watched two dudes make out with a hot party girl, while we guzzled beer and chomped down our burgers and fries. I'd stripped off my t shirt when we came in, and as I watched the sucking and fucking going on on the screen, my dick was trying to tear a hole in my threadbare jeans. I already had a wet spot where I was leaking precum. Sid didn't hesitate to reach for my junk and to open my fly. He took my hard tool in his calloused hand and said "Nice dick. I thought you'd have a big one, when I first saw you." "Thanks," I said. "I aint never been ashamed of mine." "Let's get comfortable," he said. He stood up and ripped off his shirt and his jeans and quickly shed his boots and socks. I saw he had another tat, this one just over his right leg. In small block letters, it read, "If you are close enough to read this, you should be sucking my dick instead." And he had a good, suckable eight inches. I pulled off my sneakers and jeans and we slipped beside each other in the huge bed. I ran my hands over his hard pecs, tweaked his nipples, and massaged his abs. He responded in kind. "You got a nice bod," I told him. "Yeah, for an old fucker," he replied. "You're in damned good shape yourself. Especially here." Again he touched my eager dick, and it throbbed in anticipation. "Feels like it wants something. Maybe this." He quickly twisted his body to replace his hand with his lips, and I felt the indescribable pleasure of a real man satisfying his desire by tasting me, and slurping me, and bringing me to that ecstatic moment when my cum surges into his mouth and throat. There's nothing like it in the world. I continued to massage his chest and gut, then kissed every inch of his torso, concluding my exploration by going down on him as he had gone down on me. As I glimpsed myself pleasuring his pole in the full length mirror across the room, I became even more excited. I swallowed every drop of his load. We lay in each other's arms, enjoying the afterglow. Somehow, there's something extraordinary about the satisfaction that comes from having wanton sex with a complete stranger. I finally took his left hand in mine and said, "Tell me about your tat." "Oh," he answered, "it's just a recognition symbol of a club I belonged to, when I was a kid." "Was it a gay club?" I asked. "That tat looks like a dick." "Yes it is," he said, "but back thirty-five odd years ago, even people who thought that would never say so. It was called `the flower of youth.' So the knob is red—that's the blossom—and the shaft and balls are green—that's the stem and leaves." What about the "S, E, X, T, U, S?" I asked. "That's Latin," he answered. "'Sex' is the Latin word for `six.' And it was common in ancient Rome, after they'd run out of family names to call boys, they'd do it by number. So `Sextus' would be the first name of the sixth son born into a family. Like `Sextus Smith.' I laughed. "So the club was called `The Society of Sextus,'" he continued. "It was started by a doctor, was for us `underprivileged teens,' and was well known throughout town for developing character by undertaking community projects." "Still sounds like a gay club to me," I retorted. Sid laughed. "Not gay. You might say `bi,' because at full membership there were twenty-four guys and twenty-four gals in it. That's six—get it?--for each of the four years of high school. But the members knew that `Sextus' really stood for `Sex to Us.' All kinds." "Shit!," I said. "Sounds like fun. Tell me more." "Well, it's complicated. I'll give you the full scoop tomorrow, if you'd like." He reached for my dick again, and added, "Right now, I'd love to have that thing up my ass. But we need to get some shuteye. Why don'cha turn off the light?" I did turn off the light and rolled over to go to sleep. He slid next to me and spooned me. I think he really was trying to go to sleep himself, but I felt his dick harden against my butt. Then I felt his hand on my crotch. It wasn't long before my tool was in his mouth again. I acted like I was about asleep. He was giving me a premium blowjob, though, burying his nose in my pubes on the downstroke and almost pulling off on the upstroke. Finally he said, "I know you aint asleep, Jeff. Fuck my face, why don't cha? I got him on his back and gave him what he wanted. Too bad the light wasn't on. Well, over the next several days, as we drove across the country, he did tell me all about Sextus. And that's what this tale is about. Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.