Date: Tue, 27 Jul 2004 23:52:45 EDT
From: PeterCoxDickson@aol.com
Subject: Cumaholics Anonymous, Chapter 1

Cumaholics Anonymous

By

Peter Cox Dickson


The following is a literary fantasy for people aged 18 or older.  While
some of the details involve real places, the characters are the creation of
imagination.  This is the author's first submission to the Nifty Archives.
Your feedback will be read carefully and appreciated.  All sex on the phone
or in fiction is drug and disease free.  However, don't forget to practice
safe sex in your real life.


Chapter 1, Center Scuttlebutt

I found out about the meetings from my friend Randy (aptly named) who had
been going to the SA: Sexualcompulsives Anonymous meetings at the Gay
Community Center.  According to Randy most of the guys who were showing up
at meetings were horny and overly sexed and looking to hook-up.  The
leaders had no idea that the attempt to establish a therapeutic group for
gay men afflicted with satyriasis had become a meat rack for fuck buddies
with insatiable lust for cock.

Randy told me that the CA group was spoken of only in hushed tones, and
even then there was considerable doubt as to its actual existence.  While
people alluded to it, no one actually talked about CA aloud.  A lot of guys
denied that it existed or would be allowed to meet at the Center on a
regular basis.  But the rumors never went away.  I wasn't just curious
about a possible Cumaholics Anonymous 12 step meeting happening at the
Center, I was obsessed by the idea and driven to find out for sure.

I started hanging out at the Center every free minute I got and signed up
for a variety of classes and groups from Nude Painting to Conversational
Brazilian Portuguese.  What started out as a life drawing class on Saturday
mornings with a live male model posing in the nude for us to paint and
sketch had evolved and on Monday nights the class disrobed to paint a
clothed live model who posed in a variety of costumes and paraphernalia. In
the current semester, the favorite costume by far was "business drag" and
A-list friends were recommending runway models from Prada, Perry Ellis-even
Brooks Brothers-to relax casually in three-piece suits and hold traditional
preppy poses.  Guys in pinstripe suits showed big baskets while checking
the time with their pocket watches.

Abercrombie frat boys in chinos and blue blazers held mock corporate
conversations while becoming aroused, their long hose-like cocks snaked
down the legs of their pants or their tangerine-sized shaved balls were set
off by a hand reaching into a pocket.  Invariably, the suggestiveness of
the poses of the chastely clothed models aroused the interest of the
sketching artists who would sport rampant hardons by the end of the
evening.  We were assured that the clothed models were straight and that
many had been photographed in the past for the catalogues of the brands
they wore.  They were there only for the money and were out of bounds.  The
promiscuity of the nude models compensated.

It was actually the several months I had spent in Conversational Brazilian
Portuguese which led to suckcess (if you get my meaning!).  I had no
problem with right-brain thinking and really clicked with the Portuguese.
I attributed my linguistic skills to methodical replaying of Kristen Bjorn
video tapes, particularly Carnival in Rio, which I'd watch every night as I
jacked off and practiced yogic postures to strengthen my spine so I'd be
able to suck my own dick.  It didn't take me long to figure out that the
teacher was also a Kristen Bjorn fan.  He supplemented the Berlitz phrase
book we were using as a text with photocopied vocabulary lists he passed
out.  Actually, they were word for word dialogue from every juicy porn flic
Bjorn had ever made featuring his magnificently endowed, uncut, Brazilian
spurting stars.

 One night while waiting for the Center's Casting Body Parts workshop to
begin, I overheard two hot, curly headed, tanned, toned, green-eyed boys
whispering rapidly in Brazilian Portuguese about their friend Pablo from
São Paulo who was late for their Wednesday night jaunt to Pork at the Lure.
What was holding him up?  Was he busy making a pig of himself already, even
though he was supposed to be headed to Pork with them?  And if he presumed
to kiss them on the cheeks with his semen scented mouth and cum stained
lips they'd grab him by the testiculos and pull and squeeze until he begged
for mercy.

Just then a dozen handsome men filed out of a small meeting room tucked in
the back staircase on the floor above, Pablo among them.  The three of them
chatted rapidly in Brazilian Portuguese, their mouths making the signature
sound of the language--delicious mushy consonant sounds as though they had
their tongues wrapped around mouthfuls of freshly ejaculated cum which they
were trying to decide if they should imbibe in one hot gulp like a live
oyster too big for its shell or in manageable sips so as to feel the whole
coat the inside of their mouths while having the opportunity to savor each
swallow.

Bingo.  Down the hatch.  Swallow in one gulp like a live oyster-- andorinha
em um gole como uma ostra viva.  Why of course, these men were too good
looking to be at the Center for the Log Cabin Republicans' monthly meeting.
They could only be from the CA group and Pablo was the missing link.

Thank you, Jesus, for making it so easy for me to learn all that vocabulary
from the video tapes!

	The next night I showed up about 6 to 9 minutes ahead of the
scheduled Cumaholics Anonymous meeting.