Date: Wed, 02 Feb 2005 20:59:31 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: SEX IN AND OUT OF SCHOOL - 5

SEX IN SCHOOL AND OUT

Part 5 - Early Summer - Back Home

For the first week I didn't do much of anything.  I'd take
Sonny out in the morning and go back to bed for an hour or
two.  She'd slept in so many different places on the trip that
she'd taken to jumping on the bed after I'd gone to sleep and
spending the night with me (maybe she was feeling
insecure) and there was no way I could deter her.  To tell the
truth, I was pooped and blamed it on all the driving plus all
the wild sex I'd had, especially with Pete.  I wish I were
having wild sex with him right now.

Late afternoons, I walked Sonny around the neighborhood.
It had been four years since I'd walked around the area and
it was nice to reacquaint myself with it.  In the evenings I
watched some porno films I'd packed in the boxes I'd
brought home to store until I settled down someplace.  Once
or twice I scoped out a couple of the local bars as well as a
few of the beer joints (beer only, no hard liquor license).

About the second week, and around the end of June, in one
of the beer joints, I started talking to a guy.  He'd been in
Denver and was making his way back to Missouri. (I guess
he meant hitchhiking.)  He asked what I did and I told him I
was fresh out of college and killing the summer while my
parents were in Iowa, with plans on settling in Denver.

So, he'd asked. I'd told him.  Now it was my turn to ask. I did.

He reiterated that he was making his way back to Missouri.

I asked what he doing here.

He said I wouldn't understand.

I said, "Try me anyway."

"I'm waiting for a waitress I met to get home after her shift
ends.  I service pussy. I told you that you wouldn't know
what I meant."

"You guessed wrong, I know."

Things settled down to non-sexual topics and around 11:30
he asked if I would give him a ride to the waitress's house.  It
was raining.  I said I would.

It was a small house in a poor but not dangerous area of
town. (Come to think of it, there are no dangerous areas in
town.)  There were no lights on in the house so I offered to
wait for him.  He knocked and stood waiting on the small
porch.  Nobody answered the door.  He came back, got in
the car and asked if I'd drive around for 10 or 15 minutes
and then come back.  He thought she was in the house but
my car parked in front was scaring her off.

I did.  I returned.  He was standing on the porch, staying out
of the rain and waiting.

"Thanks, would you mind taking me back to the bar?"

"I wouldn't mind but the bar is closed. They close at
midnight.  This town has 7 bars and 19 churches; the
churches rule.  Sorry.  Want to go to my house?  I've got
plenty of liquor but no beer."

"Sure, if you don't mind.  I serviced that cunt this afternoon
and she told me to leave my backpack there, since I'd be
back.  Can you take me by her house again in the morning?"

I changed into dry clothes, gave him a terry cloth robe and
told him if he slipped it on I'd run his stuff through the dryer.

The guy was short, dark skinned, had long, brown hair in a
ponytail, brown eyes and a narrow, weak looking chin.  He
needed a shave. I thought maybe he was Mexican, maybe
even Arabian.   He was clean.  He didn't smell but, later,
while sitting at the kitchen table, the robe I'd loaned him
hung open and I noticed his white jockey shorts were stained
and could have used a trip through a washing machine.  I
guess he just looked unkempt and sleazy instead of unclean,
but I was horned up and had been for over a week and there
wasn't a hell of a lot to chose from in this town as far as I
knew.

I took some glasses out of the cupboard and put ice cubes in
them from the icemaker in the door of the fridge.

"What do you drink?"  (I didn't know his name and when I left
him in the morning I still didn't know it.)

"Whisky."

"What kind?"

"Just whisky."

I assumed he didn't know there were several kinds, but
decided he'd had quite a few beers so decided to get him
drunk and poured a good measure of brandy and put the
bottle on the table.  He wasn't even curious enough to look
at the label on the bottle but did help himself from then on.

I knew better than to put ice in brandy but he didn't and I
thought he might think if funny if I'd poured his drink without
ice when I'd put ice in mine.

I had scotch and soda, strong on the soda and easy on the
scotch.  I planned on staying sober and getting him drunk
thinking that after he went to sleep I might try feeling him up
and jacking off as I did it.

He started right in talking about the broad he was supposed
to connect with.  "That fucking cunt.  I serviced her puss this
afternoon and all she gave me in return was a sandwich and
coffee.  She knew I was about broke and promised to make
things right tonight.  Then she wouldn't even let me in the
fucking house.   I really think she was home but wouldn't
answer the door."

"Out of curiosity, how do you service a pussy?"

"Oh man, I eat those things out.  I'm good at it.  I can tongue
a puss until it cums three or four times before I fuck it.  Then
I can make it cum three or four times again with my dick.
Most guys try to hurry things.  I've found it's better to take
your time."

"I agree."  (I didn't know shit about what he was bragging
about but managed not to toss my cookies while he was
talking about eating pussy.  Yuk!)

"You must be French with eating pussy and all."

"Couldn't prove it by me.  I'm plain Ozark hillbilly as far as I
know."

"Southern Missouri, then?"

"Yea."

"Springfield?"

"Three Corners, about 4 miles from Arkansas.

Finally he was in his cups and looked tired as well.  His
clothes were dry. We went upstairs.  I had to help him.  My
bedroom had it's own bath. While he was in the bathroom I
ran back down stairs, took his clothes out of the dryer, threw
my billfold in and dumped some towels on top of it but didn't
turn it on.  He took so fucking long in the bathroom I thought
he'd fallen asleep on the john.  He didn't even notice Sunny
on the bed; she was well over on my side.

Rats!  He pulled back the covers and got into bed wearing
his Jockey shorts still on.  That complicated my plans.
Worse still, the prick accidentally, or not, plopped down on
top of the top sheet with only the blanket over him.  I of
course, was lying under the top sheet.

He went to sleep in nothing flat, but I waited and waited
trying to figure out how to get at his meat with all the barriers
he'd raised.  Finally I went to the bathroom myself, left the
night-light on and got back in bed on top of the top sheet, as
he'd done.  Rolled over to face him and felt him through his
jockeys, he was flaccid and it felt like about 4 inches.  I
assumed I could work it up a bit.  He was so out of it and I
was so horny that I changed my plans; I whipped the covers
off, got on my knees and pulled his stained jockeys down
below crotch level.

He was uncut and had a more than generous foreskin.  I
skinned it back and went down on him.  Fuck him.  If he
woke up I was bigger than he was and a lot less drunk.

He did raise his head almost the minute I started.  "Oh, so
that's your game?"

"You got it."


"Don't do that to me.  You'll make me queer."

"Like hell it will."  I pushed his head back down onto the
pillow and said, "Stop talking, it's distracting."  After a short
while he popped his nuts and he popped them big time.  His
5-inch, rock hard cock spewed a generous gift of cum into
my mouth, as all cocks so when they ejaculate into a
cocksucker's mouth. I swallowed.

He didn't move, I jacked off and shot my load all over his
penis and his pubic hairs while watching his dick return,
slowly to a flaccid stage and, when it was finished shrinking
the foreskin slowly crept back over his cockhead.

Shit, I felt like having another orgasm.  I grabbed his cock,
jacked on it with one hand and mine on the other until I
dumped a second load on his genitals.

He had either fallen asleep or at least hadn't moved after I'd
pushed his head back down on the pillow.  Before dropping
off I thought about his saying he'd be queer if I sucked him
off.  It made me smile; shit if every guy that had gotten a
blow job turned queer there would be standing room only in
gay bars.

I woke at 4AM, it was already light outside.  He was in the
shower washing my dried cum off his genitals, among other
things. I went to another bathroom and took a piss.  After a
while he began shaking me and asked if he could use my
razor.  I told him, "Go right ahead."

I didn't go back to sleep.  When he was finished he came
out, got back into bed and like me, didn't bother covering him
self up.  I looked over and saw his cock was fully erect at 90
degrees from his body with his foreskin fully retracted.

"Are you awake?"

"Yea.  I was thinking of going down and making coffee."

"Do you want to blow me again?"

"Would you like me to?"

"My cock sure would.  Please!"

(What a change.  Now he's begging me.  He smelled so nice
after a shower and a shave and his dick was so hard; how
could a cocksucker refuse him?)

I couldn't.

I scooted down in the bed and said, "So you wont turn queer,
why don't you fuck me in the mouth this time?"

He did. He was one hot fucker!  And, as he'd said last night,
he took it slow and easy and made it last.

He shot off in short order.

"Don't you kiss your tricks after you make them cum?"

He kissed me.

I thought I'd shower after I got rid of him, so I threw on some
clothes and went down to make coffee while he dressed.  He
still hadn't come down so I took two coffee mugs, a carafe of
coffee and some microwave heated Danish rolls upstairs on
a tray along with an ashtray and my cigarettes, plus my
billfold from the dryer.  He was still lying on the bed, naked.
He'd fallen back asleep.

He drank his coffee and ate two rolls, smoked a cigarette,
and had 2 aspirin I'd offered him.

He ate two of the rolls and had 2 mugs of coffee without
getting dressed.  I liked his foreskin.

In fact I got horny again looking at it said, "I sucked you this
morning.  Wish you'd return the favor."

"What do you want me to do."

"Fuck me."

He laughed.  "Shit you really are trying to make me queer."

"How much was that slut of a waitress going to pay you to
make it right."

"I don't know.  Twenty bucks, maybe.  Hopefully."

"Well this slut will pay you fifty bucks if you fuck me." (Which
I knew I had in my billfold.)

"I can't do that."

"Why not."

"I've never fucked a guy before.  I wouldn't know how.
Beside I just shot my juice a while ago."

At least I tried - no offense I hope."

"What do you mean?"

"I hope I didn't make you angry."

"You didn't."

We went by the waitresses' house again.  His backpack was
on the porch.  He ran up, knocked on the door, no one
answered.  He picked up the backpack and got back in the
car.

"Why don't we get some breakfast and I'll take you across
the river to the east entrance to the Interstate?"

He ate a tremendous breakfast.  I had a large orange juice
and more coffee.

I gave him the $50 anyway.

He said I was weird but he liked me anyway.

I drove him across the river to the freeway. On the way, I
asked if I could give him a piece of advice.  He agreed.

I did.

"Hook up with men, especially older men.  You'll make more
money that way and I think you'll even get to like it.  If you do
it for money, you won't need to think of it as being queer."

So, that was the only sex I had for the whole summer.  The
summer turned out really amazing for me though.

Gene had gone to Denver, he'd finished all the work his
grandparents could afford the materials for; he'd been hired
to teach in a high school in Arapahoe County and he was in
Denver, living with Allen Jefferson.  I was as excited as he
was the day he called and told me the news.

Then, in mid August, Allen called me and said he and Gene
would like to come down and spend a weekend with me.  He
also said he would like to bring an older, long-time friend
who had a job proposal for me.  He wouldn't elaborate,
saying it would be better if he told it to me himself.  The
friend's name, by the way, was Jim Pennington.

Well, Jim Pennington turned out to be a balding guy about
55 years old, short, a real roly-poly, with a completion like a
baby and a mile wide smile that would melt an iceberg.
Although he was wearing sports clothes when he arrived,
they looked tailored, top of the line and as expensive as hell.
I liked him the minute I saw him.

Jim was a real estate broker with an office in Aurora, a large
suburb on the east edge of Denver - Pennington Properties.
Like Pete, his parents were both British.  He had lots of
relatives in England and Scotland and wanted to retire early
and move to England.

Jim started by telling me he'd planned this for quite a while
and had hired two different young men, straights, that he
was hoping to make the same offer to as he was going to
make to me.  However, when they discovered he was gay
they wanted to make their money the easy way by
blackmailing him.  So, he solved the problem by firing them.

"Hell everyone I know, including a lot of clients, already
knows I'm gay.  I'm so far out of the closet I couldn't even
find my way back. I'm a good realtor, work hard and I'm
honest.  I have a lot of repeat customers, so being gay
doesn't seem to be a big deal."

"As a result of what I've told you and discussions with Allen,
I've decided to make you the offer.  I've decided to make you
the offer. Maybe we can out each other."

The offer was a partnership, keeping the business the same.
Jim would remain as Senior Partner, stay active for a year
until I went to night school and became a licensed broker.
Then he'd retired, still remaining the Senior Partner, to keep
continuity in the firm.  He wanted 10 percent of the gross
profit after he retired.  He wanted me to come to Denver on
Wednesday, look at the office, the type of commercial,
industrial and residential properties he had sold and had
currently listed and have a meeting with his accountant.

I did go Wednesday.  Sonny went, too.  I agreed to taking
her despite the feelings she'd displayed toward Gene both
Sunday and when we saw him in Montrose.  I was beginning
to think she liked him more than she liked me.

My parents didn't plan on being home for two weeks.  During
that time I meet the most handome teen ager, I'd ever met
living right across the street from me.  I'll tell you about
him in the next chaper.

TO BE CONTINUED