Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2005 00:39:35 -0800 (PST) From: Bob Archman Subject: Special Assistant 2 Special Assistant Part 2 By Bald Hairy Man e-mail bldhrymn@aol.com or bldhrymn@yahoo.com This is an adult story intended for adults. It is a fantasy, so I again remind you that I have done away with the requirements of safe sex, and have included no gestures toward common sense either. These are all new stories. Please e-mail me if you have any suggestions or comments. A few days later Randall Burlingame called me. I was surprised when Randall turned out to be Ronnie Billings. He told he had been an actor and Billings was his Equity name. He was now the White House correspondent for th Digital News Association, DNA. We talked for a few minutes, and he said he'd meet me the next day to get his clearance. He appeared promptly at 8:00 A.M. and I gave him a pass. Ronnie, now Randall, sat at the rear of the auditorium during the daily briefings and kept his mouth shut. That was fine with me. Randy dropped in to see me and seemed to have good luck getting interviews with officials. I never looked up the DNA, but all seemed well. Once and a while I saw Randall at a local restaurant with a White House staffer. Unusually they were with another, younger man. Once and a while he'd bring a young man with him to the press room. Apparently the DNA had many interns and trainees. I noticed the interns were consistently handsome men, muscular and well groomed. Bright eyed and bushy tailed is the phrase that jumped to mind. While the televison reporters were well dressed, most of the print media were casual. I didn't know who Randall's connection was to the upper tiers of the White House establishment, but I figured what I didn't know wouldn't hurt me. Frankly, I had a suspicion Randall was hunting for bigger game. This didn't bother me at all. Reporters were always after a story and I was so far down the totem pole there was no reason even to say hello to me. I saw him with a State Department Undersecretary at a baseball game in Baltimore. Randal became a fixture in the press room. After a few months I saw he was chatting with the Press Secretary and some senior assistants. That was odd, since they usually talked to the reporters from the bigger media outlets. One of the reasons I didn't spend and time worrying about Randall was the change in my sex life. My sex life took a dramatic turn for the better. Tommy dropped by to see me every week. The sex was hot and heavy. He called me one evening and said he had a friend I might like to meet. "Jason, Marty is a good guy and he hung like King Kong," Tommy said. "I may be wrong about this, and if I am, please just forget it, but I've sort of guessed you like them big." "To tell you the truth, I've never thought of it that way," I said. "Maybe I am." Tommy laughed. "I've been around the track a few times and take it from me, you'll like it," he said. "I can feel you react." "I didn't think you noticed." "I noticed all right," Tommy said. "You're good. It's a lot better for me if my partner's into it. I hate fucking a log." "You're a romantic," I said. Tommy burst out in a belly laugh. "Marty will be there in fifteen minutes," he said. "I knew you'd be interested. He just as romantic as I am. " Marty appeared on time. He was probably sixty and ugly. He was huge a good six-four and no nonsense. "Tommy told you, I was coming?" he asked. I said, "Yes." "I don't have much time, let's get naked and go to it," Marty said as we went to the bedroom. I thought to myself, "Tommy was right. He is a romantic." At least it would be fast, I thought. Marty looked fat and gross. As he stripped, my impression changed. What I thought was fat turned out to be solid muscle. He did look a bit like a gorilla, but he must have been the most masculine man I had ever seen. He looked me over. "You're very good looking," he said. "You're small, but Tommy told me you could take it. He's a good judge of men." I was hard already and he got on his knees and swallowed my cock. I don't know exactly what he did, but it was good. We got on the bed and 69ed. His cock was massive and uncut. I got my tongue inside the foreskin and licked his cock head. While he had recently showered, it was still steamy and pungent. All my experience had been with cut cocks and I didn't expect the taste. It took a while for him to get hard. "Don't worry," he said. "Once it's hard, it stays hard. Don't worry." He must have been a mind reader. When he was hard, it looked like an exhibit in a medical museum. It was a monster. "Let me make a deal with you. You tell me how you want to take it and take your time," he said. "After I'm in, it's my turn, okay?" "That sounds fair to me," I said. I decided to sit on it. That worked with Tommy. I had a tube of lubricant and I got half way skewered and didn't think I could go any farther. I told him I was at my limit. "I've got a little helper in my pocket," Marty said. "Get up and we'll try it again." I got off. He took out a package from his pants' pocket. "Now try it again," he said. I slowly lowered myself on his cock for a second time. I got a little farther, but not much. "Take a sniff of this," he ordered. Marty had a small glass ampule. He broke it and held it to my nose. I sniffed. It smelled like chemicals, then suddenly I wanted all of his cock. I don't know how I did it but the entire monster was in my ass a few seconds later. I couldn't breathe, but it felt so good, I didn't care. For the next hour or so, I was just a sex toy. Marty totally possessed me, occupying my ass and treating my own genitals as an accessory to his own. My ass bonded to his cock. I felt complete as if his cock was a missing part of my anatomy. His thick meat totally occupied my ass leaving no room for my prostate. It may have hurt, but I couldn't tell. I was out of it. Much to my surprise, once he was fully lodged in my ass, Marty became playful and almost like a kid with a new toy. He was enjoying himself and I didn't mind being the toy at all. After and hour, he had to leave, but he shot his load in my ass then sucked my balls dry. The next day he called me and thanked me. He was gruff, but I could detect a trace of affection in his voice. He asked if he could do it again. I told him it would be fine with me. I have to admit he surprised me when he showed up that night, but the sex was even better. After and hour of incredlbly intense sex, he pulled out most of the way, we relaxed and talked. He left his knob inside my ass and was slowly pulsing it. When there was a genital connection between us, he was affectionate and loving. When the connection broke, he reverted to being a gruff gorilla. He was an ugly man and was use to being rejected. He like young men like me, but he wasn't their type more often than not. I don't think many gave him a chance. Apparently Tommy was his best friend, or at least closer to being a friend than any other. Oddly he also knew Randall. I hate to sound stupid, but I hadn't realized Randall, or Ronnie, provided sex for hire. This should have been obvious, but I had missed it completely. Marty had hired Randall for a weekend and it wasn't a success. Randall liked abusing men, forcing them into degrading situations. This wasn't Marty's thing at all. He was way too big to be forced into anything he didn't want to do. Marty said there were many men who liked gay sex, but had to pretend to be forced into doing it. That was Randall's speciality. My knowledge of S& M was limited and I wasn't attracted to any of the things Marty described. Randall pissed on him while he was in bed. That was the final straw. Marty sent Randall packing, although he did pay the full fee. "I'm ugly, but that was the first and last time I paid for sex," Marty said. "A friend said he was worth it. I was horny, so I gave it a spin. What a waste." "As long as you want it, my ass is free," I said. He was still pumping his cock head in my ass. When I told him it was free, Marty pushed deep and I almost passed out. "Shit, you're a good fuck," he said. Marty spent the night. Fortunately it was a Friday and I didn't need to work the next day. I was wasted. The next morning I asked him if he ever bottomed. He said no. Then he looked me in the eye. "If you really want to top, I'd do it for you," Marty said. "I just wanted to know," I said. "It's not a requirement." He went home. I felt good about Marty. I knew offering to bottom for me was a big step for him. I went off to a local book store- coffee shop for something to eat. This was my favorite store since they destroyed all the records of sales after a short period in case someone was prying into your private life. In the back of the store I saw Randall talking to a vaguely familiar man. The man looked uneasy. The man left and Randall followed a few seconds later. Then I remembered the man was one of the ultra conservative judges the President was trying to get on the Appeals court. Somehow, I knew they were having a date. I went home and surfed the web for a while. I decided to see what the DNA was. When you Google `DNA' you get 42,000,000 references. It took three of four efforts to find Randall's DNA. It was an ordinary web site, without much flair. Reading a few articles I soon realized they were close to being direct transcriptions of While House or RNC news releases. I found a few articles by Randall Burlingame. In print, Randall was a family values man. He had the worse case of Guns, God and Gays I had encountered. I was stunned. Hypocrisy doesn't surprise anyone who is a resident of Washington, D.C. It comes with the territory. But, I was actually shocked Randall could write rabidly anti gay articles and like gay sex as much as he did. I went through them of his articles. By the time I was done, I was almost dazed. That afternoon, it all became clear to me. I realized Randall had the perfect cover. No one would guess this rabidly, anti-gay man was a homosexual prostitute. Anyone could be seen with him and no one would suspect. What I didn't know was if he was a reporter who liked to turn tricks, or a whore who used his reporter persona as a cover. When Tommy visited the next time, I told him about my discoveries. I asked him who in the White house asked me to give Randall the press pass. "I don't think you want to know that," he said. "I have a feeling the man who asked me to contact you was a step or two away from Randall's sponsor anyway. Randall tends to affect the mysterious from time to time. He likes to drop hits he may be a CIA operative. As far as I can tell, he never comes in contact with foreigner." "It seems to me dropping hints you're a CIA agent automatically excludes you from being a CIA operative." I said. "That's the way I see it," Tommy said. "I assumed this was a turning tricks for America fantasy." "Is it dangerous?" I asked. "If this got out, there would be hell to play." "I only see Randall with conservative politicos," Tommy said. "Being gay isn't as much of a problem with the liberals. I'm not sure they need to buy sex." "How in hell does this happen?" "Denial is not just a river in Egypt," Tommy said. "I'm not sure you can fool Mother Nature. There are a lot of gay men who think if they get married and pray to Jesus a lot, all will be good. It doesn't seem to work that way. I think being gay is in the wiring, not what you wear. They think if you dress like a straight guy and act like a straight guy, you will be a straight guy. Most of these men are intellectually committed to the proposition homosexuality is a choice. Once and a while their true sexual preference escapes from the box. " "The sex drive is hard to suppress," I said. "They are more prone to drive a Hummer, or the biggest fucking Jimmy or Explorer they can find." Tommy said laughing. "It's the ultimate expression of the closeted gay man." "Do you think Randall is fucking his way through the administration?" I asked. Tommy looked shocked. He was quiet for a while, then said, "That's not the way I would put it." I noticed, he didn't deny it.