Date: Mon, 06 Aug 2001 14:18:40 -0500
From: Bruce Bramson <organs@backdoor.com>
Subject: College Daze

Once graduation from Central Valley High was out of the way, I was
foot-loose for the summer, waiting for the first semester of Junior College
to commence.  Though I still looked like I was 16 years old, I was going-on
19, and an experienced cocksucker. I was also too young to drink
(alcohol!), but old enough to be drafted into the Army. The prospect of
being surrounded only by men was certainly not unpleasant; but what little
I knew of how the army worked left me with no desire to get involved, so I
obtained a student deferment, in those days fairly easy to get.

Even though there were no regular classes at the JC during the summer,
there was always a steady supply of fellows on the playing fields inside
the rudimentary stadium.  Many of them soon found out what I had to offer
under the bleachers, and for the first few weeks of summer I was kept busy
sucking a variety of sweaty cocks. College boys were more apt than
high-schoolers to want to turn me around, but my backside was reserved for
Howie, with whom I still lived, and who remained my best buddy.

Howie, who would be a Senior at CVHS in the Fall, remained generally as
uninterested in sex as always, his only drawback as far as I was concerned.
Getting him stirred up enough to want to jam his wonderful wang into my
hind-end had never been easy, but like Frank, it was easier if I had some
tale of the day's adventures to get us started. Routine sex under the
bleachers day after day just didn't "cut" it, and we both seemed ready for
something more stimulating.

When he wasn't practicing his own swimming, Howie taught youngsters at the
YMCA how to swim; he suggested I could help out. This was a pleasant
prospect, since in those days most younger guys at the Y swam nude. Many of
the very young boys, not even approaching puberty, were of little interest
(beyond the occasional speculation on how they might look with a few more
years on them), but there were several young teenagers just coming into
bloom who responded quickly to either my own or Howie's quick grope under
water. Eddie, in particular, comes to mind; there was "something about him"
that turned us on. That "something" was likely the typical "raging
hormones" syndrome, but it might have been that Eddie had the
lowest-hanging set of balls either of us had ever seen: they appeared well
below the end of his prick when he was out of the water. Howie discovered
(while teaching Eddie to float face down) that he could jack him off under
water without anyone (except ME) noticing. Eddie was at that age when a
load could be got out of him in about a minute, so quick on the trigger was
he. I figured he was ripe for more sophisticated play, but there in the Y
it wasn't easy be alone with him.

Howie arranged it: there was an unused massage room in the Y, not far from
the steam room. Howie claimed it as a special "changing room" for himself,
since he was the only professional swimmer using the Y, and quietly changed
the lock so that only he and I had keys. Thereafter, when either of us
needed a place to take a "friend", it was incredibly easy. In an unusual
reversal of roles, Howie seduced young Eddie first, later describing to me
how responsive he was to a warm mouth on his fine prick: so responsive that
in the space of half an hour Howie got three tasty loads from the lad, with
promise of many more. Happily, relating this news wound Howie up that
night, and I responded by accommodating his thick, black erection in my
backside for more than an hour. In an equally unusual role-reversal, I took
Howie frontwards for a change, and he launched a hot load where I like them
best -- deep in my throat.

Of course, I had to have a go at Eddie myself, and it was not long after
Howie's seduction that I took him aside for a bit of extra coaching of my
own. He was a very precocious 13 year-old: he appeared to have lived out of
doors all his life, for he was a nice nut-brown color almost everywhere.
There was not even much of a tan-line around his privates, and I learned
that he lived in a nudist family, therefore appearing dressed only in
public. His musculature was developing early, so he was very "defined"; he
had a little hair under his arms and a small bush elsewhere, but was
otherwise glabrous (except for his head, where he had a "butch" haircut
like all boys in those days). As Howie discovered, this kid could cum
repeatedly with surprisingly little effort, and seemed to have no end of
jizz to expel. He was also a very quick study: he got the hang of screwing
me in a trice, and loved it. He was, however, unwilling to try getting
fucked.

On the other hand, Eddie knew a lot of kids more-or-less his own age, many
of them nudists like himself, who he felt might enjoy meeting me or
Howie. So the Saturday afternoon "Bennett-style" parties at our little
apartment resumed. Howie carefully selected a few swim students; Eddie
supplied an endless stream of horny youngsters willing to try almost
anything, and I supplied somewhat more "involvement" than had
Mr. Bennett. Eddie was "into" cum contests: who could shoot farthest, who
could cum the most, who could get off the most times. Naturally, HE won all
the "most times" contests, often losing a half dozen loads one way or
another in the space of an afternoon.  There were a couple of the boys who
were fond of ass-play -- fingers, vegetables and pricks -- pretty much in
that order were applied to them by myself or some of the other boys. None
was willing to try to take Howie, however, no matter how much they admired
his magnificent form: his whopper was just too big for any of them, and
they knew it. They were astonished when Howie and I would occasionally
demonstrate the possibility, however.

Eddie's precocity was certainly fun, but it was little Jason that took a
corner of my heart. At 11, he was less "developed" than Eddie, but
certainly as game for almost anything, and I quickly found he enjoyed
pissing, something Eddie considered "gross". I discovered this one
afternoon in the pool with Howie: he had Jason hard, and I went under water
to see what his prick looked like. It was so inviting that I quickly went
"up" on it, to discover a slightly salty warmth emanating from it. I
stopped it (inadvertently) when I expelled my breath and the bubbling
around his loins tickled Jason into a fit of coughing and choking. When
that was over, I whispered to him to hold his water until later. So, after
the lessons were done, we repaired to the changing room, where I took
Jason's shrunken pricklet into my mouth and was rewarded by a long draining
of his bladder -- he must have swallowed a lot of water in the pool!  He
was forthwith invited to the next Saturday party...

...where I plied him with quarts of his favorite drink: iced tea. I left
the other boys to Howie while Jason and I repaired to the bathtub. Jason, I
was happy to discover, would do anything for or with piss.  He drank mine,
I drank his; we sprayed each other; we washed each other's hair in piss; we
filled rubbers with piss, and generally spent that afternoon wallowing in
the stuff. Jason finally got a little something other than pee out of his
dick as he jerked it violently and I pissed on it; and I managed to
experience that odd sensation of pissing and cumming simultaneously as his
little hand worked its magic on my wand. These long pissy afternoons be-
came a regular thing, on afternoons other than Saturday; whenever Howie
could get away, he would join us (and the fun).


Too soon, the summer ended. The boys went back to school, got involved in
other things, and before long the parties ended as well. It was time for
Howie and me to get back to school, too, and as the first semester rolled
along, we saw less of each other than I would have liked. Still, I was
partly to blame, for I also got caught up in classes and other activities
at JC. I found it very different from High School, both in subject matter
and in presentation: I wasn't used to taking notes from lectures, so it
took a while to become accustomed to this procedure. I also found it
difficult to concentrate on my studies, for there were some unusually nice
looking guys in my classes, and others to be seen here and there on campus.
I would like to have warmed up almost any of them, but the opportunity
seldom arose: the bleachers were so busy with guys and gals getting it on
that my brand of sex seemed out of place.

Two unusual girls in my chemistry class took a sort of shine to me, and
seemed utterly unfazed by my lack of response. Gradually, we became
friends, and even more gradually it dawned on me these two were something
more than friends. The realization that girls could be attracted to each
other, as some boys are to each other, came as a surprise. Eventually, I
was invited by Rosella to a party, and I felt I really should go. Her
partner, Bobbie, mentioned that Mary Jane would be there, but I didn't know
her. In fact, the prospect of a "hen party" didn't appeal to me at all, but
the girls insisted I would be welcome and would have fun, so I went along
that Friday night.

My first surprise, at the door, was to find Bobbie dressed as a man. She
actually looked rather appealing, and when Rosella joined her, decked out
in a very feminine dress, I had to admit they made a good-looking couple.
My second surprise was that there was enough booze in the place to stock a
small bar, and other people were imbibing freely. I had difficulty
persuading the girls I was perfectly happy with a beer, still not much
caring for the hard stuff (and being under age for drinking anyway). My
third surprise was that there were some guys present, several of them
apparently escorting girls, all of them dressed to the nines as if there
was going to be some sort of function later. Bobbie and Rosella intro-duced
me to any number of people, but my memory for names was never good.

My next surprise was an introduction to Mary Jane!  True, I had noticed an
odd smell as I got into the apartment, but I assumed this was because the
place was not large, and there were many people, some smoking cigarettes.
Soon enough I noticed the cigarettes were being shared, which I though very
odd, since these folks could all afford to buy their own. Still, perhaps it
was some sort of game, and when someone passed one along to me, I took a
drag on it and...

...Holy Moly! That was no ordinary cigarette! It wasn't like any kind of
tobacco I'd ever tasted (not that I smoked regularly, though I had tried it
a few times). It had a very queer effect on me; not unpleasant, though not
particularly pleasant either. Just different. I passed it along to the
comely lass sitting next to me, who took a long drag on it and exclaimed, a
deep, loud "whooooiee, that is some greaaat shit"! The deep voice startled
me, so I struck up a conversation with "Darlene" (she called herself), in
the course of which it gradually dawned on me "Darlene" simply had to be a
guy, dressed in a girl's clothes! This realization was so startling, that I
hustled around and found another of those cigarettes, and took a looooong
suck on it. My world was rapidly being turned upside down, or inside out,
or something. Some slightly befogged study then revealed that nearly all
the "girls" there were, in fact, guys!

I finally sought out Bobbie, who at least looked like a man, and asked a
few questions. Realizing my naivete, "he" quickly explained about guys who
dress "in drag", about the guys who like them, about Lesbians (a word I had
never heard until then), about "gay guys" (I recognized myself), and about
"Mary Jane". This was heady stuff on top of a few drags of "greaaat shit"
and several bottles of beer! It seemed like a few more of both might be in
order.

Those objectives accomplished, I repaired to a comfortable sofa in a
corner, away from the general hubbub, and tried to compose my thoughts.  I
was interrupted by a guy I'd not seen before.

"Lonely?"

"Well, sorta. I don't know many people here."

"I've seen you on campus. I wanted to meet you."

"Really?  Me?  Why?"

"I think you're very good looking: I hoped we could be uh friends."

"Well, my name is Bruce..."

"And I'm Joel. Nice to meetcha."

There was an awkward silence. "Are you enrolled here at JC?"

"No, but I cruise the place fairly regularly. I'm a 'trade queen'."

I was not so far "out of it"; I quickly figured out the meaning of "trade";
the truth was I'd been "doing trade" for years, just didn't know that's
what some folks called it. Perhaps it was the Mary Jane at work that made
me lead the guy on.

"Um, 'trade queen'?  I played dumb.

"Yeah, I like to do things to guys."

"Oh. Things like...?"

"I'd rather show you than tell you: I live in this apartment building;
would you like
      to go to my place?"

"Hmmm: well, why not?"

On the way to the door, I met Rosella. "Joel and I are..."

"I know, hon; run along and have fun."

Joel had the "penthouse", the top floor of this small apartment building.
It was tastefully decorated, with paintings of nude men on the walls, and
statues of nude men everywhere. The magazines on the coffee table
apparently featured men as well(I never knew such things existed)! On top
of the pile was a small volume called "Tomorrow's Man", with a muscle-bound
dude in skimpy underwear posed on the cover. Joel waved me into a plush
sofa, went to the kitchen and returned with a six-pack. He casually opened
a box on the end table, took out a small "cigarette", which he lit, drew
upon deeply, and handed to me. Mary Jane, again! If anything, this was
stronger "shit" than had been available downstairs. Any inhibitions I might
have had disappeared in a twinkle. Within minutes, Joel was pawing at my
crotch.

I decided to just "go along and see what happens". We continued sharing the
cigarette, until it was so short it had to be handled with a pair of
tweezers: I thought this quaint, not knowing until years later how
expensive marijuana was in those days. We also drank more beer. Soon after
the first cigarette was consumed, another was lit; and more beer
disappeared, several bottles in fact.  When Joel got around to trying to
get my pants off, I found it difficult to stand up, so he just pulled them
out from under me: moments later he was sucking on my flaccid dick.

"Um, all this beer ... I gotta pee," I announced.

"Go ahead."

SO! There are other guys that like to drink from the tap!  He didn't waste
a drop.

Thereafter, with a good deal of coaxing from his hand, he managed to work
me up to something resembling an erection, but it took no little effort on
my part as well. Never before had I failed to "rise" to any occasion, but
this time, pretending to be "trade" for this hungry cocksucker, and awash
in beer and marijuana, I was in trouble!

"Sorry, Joel, I can't seem to..."

"Don't worry, Hon, give me time."

He returned to the task at hand, but unfortunately for us both, I fell
asleep.

I awoke hours later, feeling awful!  My head ached, my bladder hurt, my
teeth itched! Where was I? It took me quite a while to get my bearings; at
last the night's events flooded back. Where was -- what's-his-name -- Joel?
I stood, not entirely steady on my feet, and found first a bathroom, where
I relieved the pain in my gut, then a bedroom, where Joel lay passed out on
his bed. I dressed quickly and departed as quietly as I could.  I had no
idea what, if anything, Joel had accomplished with me after I fell asleep,
and I didn't want to stick around to find out: I decided on the spot that
in future I would stay away from beer, from Mary Jane, and from gay
guys. Fond of it as I was myself, I was simply not cut out to be "trade".

Walking home that early Saturday morning, I realized I'd never stayed out
all night before; nor had I called Howie to let him know where I was. So I
wasn't surprised to find him panic-stricken when I finally struggled up the
three flights to our apartment. Howie looked as if he had not slept a wink,
but relief on seeing me softened him: he gathered me in his arms as he
always did.

"Pee yew! You stink!  Where have you been?

I had a lot of explaining to do! I concluded with my resolve not to let
these things happen again. I apologized for not letting him know where I
was, but explained how impossible it would have been to "call my boyfriend"
when in fact I was posing as "trade". Howie calmed down and agreed. Then he
pushed me into the shower and washed me all over. With the beer gone and
the Mary Jane out of my system as well, my prick rose up in its old way,
and Howie surprised me greatly by eagerly sucking me off -- something he'd
never done before.

"I'll do you for trade any day of the week," he said, licking his lips. "I
never realized what I was missing!"

The following week, in a conversation with Bobbie and Rosella, I made it
clear I was already "gay" -- something they both claimed to have
suspected. They had not suspected I had a boyfriend, or that he was
black. But I also made it clear I wasn't a party animal, and that the Mary
Jane, especially, had put me off, since it was on it that I blamed by
temporary impotence. I admitted I'd learned a lot at their party, but I
would not be attending any more; they were very understanding. We became
good friends; they regaled me often with descriptions of some of the
strange events that occurred at various parties around town.  Joel, I never
saw again.

My first semester was soon over: I was amazed how much more quickly college
seemed to go than high school had done. Howie was busy back at CVHS,
leading the swim team to new accomplishments, and I was generally content
to turn the occasional trick under the bleachers or in the art wing john,
which had a hole between two stalls. My spring break occurred a week before
Howie's, so I spent some time watching him and the team swimming laps,
diving and working out.  Though Howie was the star attraction for me, I had
to admit there were several very gorgeous guys on the team who I would have
happily "entertained" any time.  When I mentioned the possibility to Howie,
he said he'd see what he could do, but as nothing was immediately
forthcoming, I forgot about it. When Howie's spring break began, he in turn
haunted the JC's gymnasium and pool, but since I was back in classes, I
didn't have many opportunities to see him in action there.

My 19th birthday rolled around in June: Howie announced he was throwing a
party for me, but promised, "No gay guys, no Mary Jane, and no
booze. (Well, maybe some beer...)"

When the afternoon finally arrived, I was astounded: Howie had invited the
very four guys on the High School swim team I'd lusted after, and three
equally luscious hunks from the Junior College team. At first, I thought
this was cruel and unusual punishment, for I had no idea any of these dudes
could be "had".  But Howie planned it all carefully: there was a good deal
of beer consumed, more than I would have expected given these were all
athletes. When at last my birth- day cake arrived, when I successfully blew
out 19 candles, my wish was granted: all seven guests (and Howie) rapidly
shucked their street clothes, down to their skimpy bathing
suits. Apparently having rehearsed, they locked arms and danced a bawdy
routine to a recording of "Night Train" someone had brought along. I was in
hog heaven! Eight lithe hunks, all a trifle tipsy, all practically nude,
and all (it soon became apparent) getting horny. Something about the close
body contact of their routine caused evident inflation in the confines of
their tiny bathing suits. As the routine neared its end, one by one, from
one end of the line to the other, each in turn ripped his suit down to the
floor, exposing eight splendid hard-ons. My mouth was watering, my own
crotch was swollen and uncomfortable.

"Happy birthday to you, ..." they sang more or less in unison. "Happy birth
day dear Bru-ceee: happy birthday to YOU!

"Strip, Brucie babe," Howie ordered.  As I was the only person still
clothed, he must have been speaking to me. I was out of my clothes
instantly.

"Alphabetical order!" Howie announced.

So, Alan was first. Not at all shy, he strutted over to me, his tool pro-
jecting at a rakish angle; I dropped to my knees and engulfed him. My hands
on his thighs seemed to turn him on; they certainly turned me on -- hard
swimmer's muscles always did!  It was not long before he was up on his
toes, grasping my head to balance, and he soon shot a copious wad into my
waiting throat.  The others watched appreciatively, playing with themselves
as necessary to maintain their erections. Dale was next; I had hardly
swallowed Alan's offering when Dale's fleshy uncircumcized protuberance
found its mark, and my hands found another pair of sturdy legs. Dale took
longer than Alan to respond to my endeavors; putting one hand up under his
balls helped. It was worth my wait: I thought I'd choke when he loosed a
torrent of cum. I wondered how long he had stored it up.

Edgar, Harry, Jim, Ronnie and Van: all except Howie fed me on that birthday
evening. They all seemed as if it was the most natural thing to do! Not one
of them touched any of the others, but it was clear that watching each
other -- and watching the others fuck my mouth -- kept them "at the
ready". They kidded Howie for not joining in, but he wasn't fazed at all,
telling them that he would "take care" of me "when the time comes". Van,
the last one to get off with me, "stayed put" after he'd cum, and I felt
sure if I waited for his hard-on to abate, I might get a drink: I did,
without the others (by this time sated and losing interest) ever noticing.

About 9 o'clock, it was Howie's turn. I assumed he would want me to suck
him, but no: he was willing to "perform" for his buddies in the way he knew
best, and in a way most of them had probably never even thought of. So, he
stacked the cushions from the sofa in the middle of the living-room floor,
threw an old towel over them (well knowing the effect he always had on me),
lubed himself with a gob of white cake icing, and plugged my behind right
there in front of four of his buddies and three guests from the college
team! When the inevitable eruption occurred and he struck that "sweet spot"
in my bowel, he pulled me upright so the guests could watch me shoot my
load all over the towel and well beyond. By this time, they were all
whacking away again, and one by one they shot their seconds on me, on Howie
or whoever was in the way.  Unable to control himself, Van pissed on us
both as well: I concluded his reaction to cumming was to piss immediately,
probably out of "force of habit".  We had some major cleaning up to do
after the guys left, but it had been worth every moment, and it was the
grandest birthday celebration I ever had.

Again, sooner than expected, the second semester was over. I was astonished
to discover I had a solid "B" average, despite the time devoted to extra-
curricular activities. Howie planned to join me at JC following the summer
break. One reason was he'd been offered an "inducement" by the swimming
coach, in the form of his very own car. It wasn't new, but it was in fine
shape, a Chevrolet sedan. Since Frank had taught me to drive, and Howie
already knew, we had a degree of mobility not yet enjoyed. Before long we
were taking trips together in the nearby mountains, or up to San Francisco,
or south to Los Angeles. We picked up hitch-hikers frequently, and usually
managed to get into their pants one way or another. Howie's size and
muscularity precluded anyone from "trying" anything; and if they declined
our offers, we were content to take them a bit further and dump them
unceremoniously somewhere we thought they'd have a rough time getting
another ride. Howie, I found, had a mild "perverse" streak that showed
itself now and then.

Our favorites were sailors. There were many on the roads in those
days. Most of them "knew the score" as far as "putting out" was concerned,
and we both became adept at ripping open the famous thirteen buttons
quickly and easily to reveal the goodies they concealed. One or the other
of us was always driving, of course, but the other was often in the back
seat sucking off a sailor or other piece of trade. Sailors, particularly,
had developed a sort of "code": whether this was by actual design, or just
by happenstance I'll never know. But, they gave off many signs they were
horny, without ever saying so in as many words.  Putting their leg up on
the seat, where it was easy to reach, for example, guaranteed they'd be
groped. Working conversation around to the "girlfriend who stood me up" was
another dead giveaway. Groping themselves was the last resort; if all else
failed, that guaranteed they would be hit upon. It's a real pity that
freeways have made hitch-hiking a thing of the past.

We found it unwise to pick up more than one sailor at a time. The other
"un- written law" was that they could never reveal to another buddy they
might swing with a queer.  There was the occasional exception to this, if
two buddies were unusually close, but ordinarily, picking up two at a time
just meant they got a ride, and nothing more. Hence, sailors who definitely
did not want to get hit upon, usually traveled in packs of two or more.

Still, one of the grander romps Howie and I had was with a pair we picked
up on a trip to LA. Highway 99 has many really boring stretches; by the
time we hit these, we had both sailors at the ready, their thirteen-button
flaps down around their knees (or lower) and their flagpoles proudly
displayed. I suspect these guys might have done things together on
occasion; they seemed quite comfortable with each other. I knew from the
sound of things Howie was having a good time in the back seat while I
drove, holding the necker's knob with my left hand and manipulating my
partner with my right. He had an unusually shaped dick, with a shaft of
moderate dimensions, but a disproportionately large head and very tight
foreskin. Perhaps that's why he only oozed when he came, but that's just as
well -- it would not have done to have cum stains all over his Navy
blues. As it was, I managed to catch most of his load in my hand, which I
licked off greedily.  Between Merced and LA I got this kid off three times,
and Howie reported much the same with his back seat buddy.

I had not forgotten those magazines I'd seen at Joel's apartment, either:
after much searching, I found one news-stand in town that occasionally had
copies of Tomorrow's Man, Adonis, and Athletic Model Guild. I could not
bring myself to buy any of these, but spent time looking through them
(folded into a copy of Newsweek); in general, they were disappointing, as
the models in those days had at least a jock or posing strap in place.  One
could fantasize about what might lie underneath, but that was it. Until
late one evening, there was a copy of AMG with a fully nude guy on the
cover! I found more nude photos inside as I eagerly flipped through the
pages. Immersed in this issue, I failed to notice I was being studied
intently by a much older man who blatantly held a copy of the same maga-
zine; he seemed more interested in me than it, though, which meant I had to
wait for him to depart before returning my copy to the rack without being
discovered.

It was not to be so easy: the man kept his eyes glued on me, specifically
on my crotch, where my pecker was up as usual, given the stimulus of the
very first photographs of fully nude guys I had ever seen (even if they
were all flaccid).  As unobtrusively as possible I tried to study the man
who was studying me: I judged him old enough to be my father, perhaps even
older: what interest he might have in me I could not fathom: perhaps he
thought I was "tomorrow's man" -- today!  I wished he would go away,
because I really wanted to study the AMG photos more intently, but I
couldn't concentrate on them with this old man watching my every move.

Eventually, our eyes met; he smiled, as if pleased by what he saw, and his
mouth moved: he was speaking to me.

"Isn't it nice to see some real cock for a change"?  He must have seen me
pick up the AMG.

"Uh, well, all those pictures of guys in posing straps did seem a bit
silly."

"Thank the Supreme Court: they demolished the obscenity law recently."

"Yes. Well, I have to run along." Found out, I put the AMG and the Newsweek
back on the rack.

The man quite brazenly followed me out of the news stand. On the sidewalk
he introduced himself as Dave. I lied, saying my name was Tom. I wasn't
sure where this encounter was leading, but I really didn't have any
interest in this guy, no matter how much interest he seemed to have in me.
Beside a snazzy Cadillac, he touched me lightly on the shoulder: "This is
my car wanna go for a ride"?

"Not particularly. Where"?

"Ever been to the Cheval?"

"The what?"

"It's a bar."

"Oh, I'm not allowed in those places, and I don't like to drink. Thanks
anyway."  I turned to go.

"They don't care, and they serve cokes and stuff. C'mon along, you'll have
a good time."

Well, whattheheck? Howie was off at a swim meet, it was a typically mild
valley evening, and all those nude pictures had got my juices flowing. Some
sort of new adventure was not unwelcome.

"I guess it's OK, just for a little while." Dave unlocked the passenger
door of the Caddy, and I hopped in.

As we approached, I realized I'd passed the Cheval many times; it was
beside highway 99, which went right through town in those days; a rather
seedy looking place I'd never thought of going into. The few cars parked in
front were considerably less pretentious than the Caddy Dave added to the
row. He pushed me ahead of himself through the squeaky door into the dim
interior. The place smelled of stale beer and cigarettes: there were
perhaps twenty men in the place, every one of them holding a beer bottle,
most of them smoking. I saw no one I knew, but Dave greeted several, and
was welcomed effusively by the bartender. Dave ordered something I'd never
heard of (it sounded like "Dike- areee") and a bottle of beer for me,
winking lasciviously at the bartender, who must have known I was under
age. Nevertheless, the drinks appeared, and we joined the others, wandering
aimlessly around. Quite a number of the men greeted Dave, and he introduced
me as "Tom" to most of them, but any attempts to strike up a conversation
with me were quickly squelched: it seemed Dave wanted me all to
himself. Unfortunately for him, there were several much younger (and much
better looking) guys in the place. It gradually dawned on me that Dave had
"picked me up", and was showing me off to his group of friends. He made no
move to depart, or take me away; after several more "Dike-areees", I
decided he was probably there for the duration, and I'd better extricate
myself, or I would be there all night as well.

Meanwhile, more guys had come in, a few had left, and the crowd was clearly
getting younger as the evening progressed. The noise from the juke box grew
louder as the crowd grew larger. Booze flowed like water, though I was
still "nursing" my one bottle of beer. When Dave said he had to pee, I made
my move, figuring I could be out the door and far enough away that he
couldn't find me.  The town was small enough, I could walk home.  But fate
intervened, in the form of a darkly handsome young man who fell into step
behind me as I pushed open the door. He threw his arm around my shoulder as
soon as we were outside as if we'd been buddies forever.

"Name's Louie," he announced.

"Bruce."

"Not what I heard inside."

"Naw, I lied to that old codger that took me in there."

"Dave, our most notorious chicken queen. Too bad he's a lush: he has a way
of finding some really cute guys -- like you -- but he never scores 'cause
he gets drunk."

"I had the drinking thing figured out, at least." Louie was easy to talk
to.  In the darkness as we went along the highway and across the tracks
towards town, I couldn't make out all his features.

"You were perfectly safe from him, but I'm not sure how safe you are from
me."

"Eh?"

"You're really cute: I wanna do wild things with you." Great Scott! Was
 everybody in this town gay?

"I'm flattered, but how do you know I like doing 'wild things' with
anybody?"

"You were in a gay bar, after all..."  The light bulb over my head lit up
brightly.

"All those folks were gay?"

" Well, they say the bartender isn't, but you couldn't prove it by me. I
guess you were never in there before?"

"That's right, and I didn't see anything that made me want to go back."

"Ouch!"

"Oh, I didn't mean you. I didn't even see you in there."

"I walked in moments before you walked out, and I said to myself, "That's
for me."

"And here we are..."

"Five minutes from my place, as it happens."

"Lead on," I said to Louie. The more we talked, the more I liked this guy,
and what I could see of him in the dark suggested I might enjoy the "wild
things" he had in mind.

He had a little old house of his own; when we got inside with more light, I
realized Louie was not a white boy like me, nor a black guy like Howie, but
something in between: I guessed Mexican. Some pictures on the mantel
confirmed it: Louie at various ages with parents and siblings, one posed in
front of a large rococo cathedral I recognized as that of Mexico City.  In
the earliest picture he might have been 14 or so, spectacularly cute. Now,
clearly some years later, he was older of course, but still good looking,
and the few clues I could glean suggested he was well preserved.

"Something to drink?"

"Got any soda?"

"Sure."

We relaxed side by side on the sofa, content for a few minutes to be quiet
and sip our drinks. I could feel heat emanating from Louie in my direction,
and I could see what looked like powerful thighs under the taught, thin
cloth of his tan pants. Suddenly, Louie moved closer, reached around,
gripped my head and kissed me. He kissed the way Frank had always done, and
the way Howie almost never did: passionately, with a lot of tongue
action. It felt wonderful! I re- turned his passion as best I could,
throwing my arms around him and pulling him close. The heat I'd felt as he
sat beside me intensified: this guy was literally hot. What I could feel
through his lightweight shirt rippled with muscles.  Effortlessly, he
manipulated me on to my back on the couch, still kissing with enthusiasm,
ending up with much of himself on top of me. I hadn't realized until then
he was several inches shorter than me, and generally lightly built: his
full weight on me was easy to take, and felt very nice. I don't know how
long we stayed locked in each other's arms and kissing like this, but it
seemed to go on for a long time. Louie was in no hurry; neither was I.

Presently, he rose up far enough to begin unbuttoning my shirt; I responded
in kind, and soon tossed his on the floor. I gripped his tee-shirt and
pulled it over his head, to reveal a magnificent chiseled torso. His skin
was many shades darker than mine, smooth as could be; a few hairs ringed
each dark nipple.  His shoulders were sculpted as if by Michael Angelo, and
his upper arms bulged with shapely, powerful biceps. Our shirts gone, he
pressed himself back down on me: the heat of his body flowed into mine, our
skins now touching directly.  Again, we kissed, again and again, but before
long Louie's tongue wandered over my face, lightly licking me here and
there: I soon returned the favor, dis- covering features I hadn't
noticed. His hair was glossy black, along with his brows and lashes; his
cheeks felt ever so slightly "grainy" from an otherwise almost
imperceptible 5-o'clock shadow. There was some fine black hair on his upper
lip, and more on his chin in the suggestion of a goatee.  But, as far as I
had gotten with him (or he with me, since this was a mutual endeavor), his
chief glory was his torso; below his breasts were rows of muscles clearly
outlined under the most supple skin, with subtle shading around his navel,
itself surrounded by more fine black hair which gradually thickened as it
disappeared into his pants. Those, I wanted out of the way as soon as
possible!

To this point, Louie had aggressed upon me, but I decided to reverse this:
I pushed him up and stood him in front of the sofa, where I quickly
loosened his belt, pulled the zipper down, and pushed the tan trousers down
to his ankles. He wore nothing under them, so I was able to perceive
instantly his dark-skinned cock, a pair of large testicles tucked below,
all nestled between powerfully-muscled thighs of perfect proportion to his
height. I slipped down to my knees and commenced licking those thighs as I
extricated his feet, first from his shoes then from his trousers; pushing
his legs far apart, I stroked the insides of his thighs, right up to his
balls. I felt hair below his knees, but on his thighs there was virtually
none, just more of his supple skin and sexy shadings of color. His pubic
hair was fine and long, with little on his scrotum, which I slathered with
my tongue; sounds from above made it clear he approved. In time, I sat back
up on the sofa's edge and plunged his engorged dick into my mouth: it was
far from the largest I had seen or sucked, but it was unusually satisfying
to bury my nose in his pubic thicket without gagging and inhale the
intoxicating smell of man.

Louie bent over me and stroked my back as I worked on his erection. He
seemed happy with me, and I was certainly enjoying him. Before long he
pulled me away, quickly reversed our positions, and repeated my actions. I
soon stood before him completely nude, my own erection pointed at his
face. He slathered me with saliva, then turned around and knelt on the
sofa, presenting his behind most invitingly. Despite the fact that I had
rarely enjoyed screwing, I went ahead, quickly burying my prod in his butt:
it felt better than it ever had before, and at first I could not explain
quite why. In part, I suppose, it had to do with how good he felt in my
hands as I stroked his back, ran my fingers over his shoulders, and
especially felt the bulging biceps of his arms which supported his own
weight and some of mine. But I soon realized this guy had muscles in a
place I didn't think possible: those, -- somewhere inside his butt, -- were
massaging my dick! I didn't need to use any of my own, didn't need to move
in or out: I just pressed my hard-on into him as far as I could and let him
do the work. This was a new sensation, and it didn't take long to have the
expected effect: with a couple of quick lunges, I exploded inside him, an
absolutely grand ejaculation that had me shouting loudly as I gripped his
waist. I hoped it would continue for ever, but of course the frenzy began
to subside (as it always does). Louie's colon clamped down on my shrinking
dick; I wasn't sure I was going to get out of there, but eventually I
withdrew, sated.

"That was 'wild'," I said breathlessly.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Louie replied. "Now it's my turn."

So saying, he spun me around, bent me over, and plunged his dick into that
place only Frank and Howie had ever been. There was no time to protest, no
build-up, no foreplay to get me into that mood. Once more the aggressor,
Louie pushed me down to the floor and fucked me like a dog, violently,
rapidly, mechanically. He was too small to reach the spot that always "did
it" for me, no matter how hard I pushed back against him: the more I pushed
back, the faster he fucked. Unexpectedly, he pulled out and shot the first
of an octet of ropey spurts: the first landed with an audible "splat" on
the nape of my neck, each subsequent squirt falling here or there around my
back. Finished, Louie collapsed on me and ground his torso against my back,
licked off my neck, slipped and slid around in the lubricant he had just
placed there. Eventually, he rolled on to his back on the floor, which
enabled me to lick what I could of his effusion from his gorgeous torso and
chest. Mildly annoyed that he had invaded me without permission (at least
he didn't drop his load in Howie's private play pen) I forgave Louie's
aggression as I cleaned up his splendid form, but concluded he would be
someone I wouldn't see again.

Three days later, when Howie returned from the Bakersfield swim meet, I
told him all about the adventure with Dave and Louie: we had no
secrets. Howie con- fessed he'd been seduced by the swim coach of another
team at the meet, who insisted on sucking him off in his motel room.

"He didn't do near as good a job as you do," Howie explained.

"And Louie didn't do near as good a job as you do, either!" I exclaimed.

Needless to relate, in a short time Howie and I were going at it again.

Soon, guys with hard-ons were seen in AMG: were these the "redeeming
features" the Supreme Court had in mind? Whatever: they satisfied my
curiosity about other guys' equipment, and tended to confirm that my own
"measured up" (not that anyone had ever complained). I eventually screwed
up the courage to purchase a copy of AMG, and appreciated the clerk's lack
of interest in what I bought.  Thereafter, I couldn't wait until the next
issue came out. Tomorrow's Man wasn't as interesting, pitched at the
body-builder crowd as it was: I didn't much care for the over-built
knotted-muscle guys anyhow. Adonis began publishing in color, a few pages
at a time: eventually, an all color issue appeared. It's a pcollector's
item today.

My final year at JC commenced in the middle of a typical central valley
summer heat wave. Temperatures above 100 were common; the classrooms were
stifling, the lectures boring, the nights long and sweltering. While I had
always enjoyed the summer heat, after nearly as month of it we found it
enervating: Howie and I had no sex; we even slept in separate beds, because
otherwise we made each other miserable tossing and turning, trying to get
cool. Howie was lucky: he could spend some of the day in the swimming pool,
and he did. reason for me to join him, however, and we each had a class
when the other was available for swimming. About the time the heat wave
broke, Howie was off to yet another swim meet, and I was once again left to
my own devices, unusually horny because of our inactivity.

In desperation, I returned to the Cheval, thinking I might meet someone to
help relieve my condition: I would even have gone with Louis, if he showed
up. But with classes in session, there were far fewer younger guys there
and far more older ones. The bar tender didn't look happy drawing me a
beer, but he didn't throw me out, either: he needed all the paying
customers he could get, I decided.  But, after two beers which I managed to
nurse for nearly three hours, no one of any interest had shown up; once
again I headed out the door ready to walk home. As I proceeded along the
highway, a car pulled up and the driver asked directions to a particular
address: I knew how to get there, but explaining it was not easy, so I
said, "Give me a ride, I'll direct you: I can walk home from there as
easily as from here."


The driver, not a lot older than myself, wasn't particularly handsome;
quite averagein appearance, but he had a very mellifluous low voice.  We
had not far to go, but our conversation soon got going, about the weather,
life in a small town, generalities. At his destination he parked, and we
continued talking.  He was from a nearby town, intending to visit a
brother, but we just kept talking and talking and talking, until around 3
AM I said I had to get home.

"The least I can do is drive you there, at this hour," he said.

"At this hour, I'll accept." I directed him to Howie's place.

"I could make us some coffee," I offered.

"I could use some," he replied.

So we went up to our apartment, I made coffee for us both, and we continued
chatting. The more I saw this guy (whose name was Clarence) the more I
liked him, though not really in a sexual way: he was just nice to talk to,
and his voice was easy to listen to as well. Around 5 AM, he stood up.

"I really must be getting along."

"I'm sorry you have to," I said truthfully, and for some reason I walked up
and hugged him warmly. He responded in kind.

"I've been hoping all evening you would do that," he said.

I let my hand drop and felt a distinct swelling through his jeans: he was
hot to trot, and so was I. In a few minutes we lay, fully clothed, on my
bed. On top, he kissed me in a manner that reminded me of Louie. An hour
later, we had scarcely changed positions. I had groped him often enough to
know he had a fine hard-on, and he had got my boner out of my pants, but we
were still fully clothed. I decided it wasn't all that bad to do a long
foreplay without undressing, but I longed to see more of this guy, for what
I could feel through clothing suggested he was nicely built. We were still
kissing and licking at each other when he suddenly froze.

"Oh, dammit!" he exclaimed.  I could not comprehend what the problem was.

"It always happens, no matter how hard I try to prevent it," he went on.

"Um, what exactly happened?"

"I came in my shorts," he said, rising from me and from the bed. He rushed
towards the toilet. I rushed after him.

There in the bathroom he finally opened his trousers. Sure enough, his
jockeys were soggy, and the familiar smell of jizz permeated the
air. Clarence was trying, ineffectually, to mop up with a wad of toilet
paper. By this time, I was so horny! I pressed him against the wall with my
left hand and jacked myself furiously with my right: he obligingly held the
elastic of the waist- band away from his tummy. The glimpse I got of his
flaccid dick and hairy thicket, combined with the odor of warm jizz sent me
over the edge: I shot wad after wad in through his fly, adding my long-pent
effusion to his. By the time of this climax, he had risen again; using his
own seed and mine as a lube, he came again into his saturated
shorts. Except for our open zippers, we were still fully dressed.

"Get out of those," I said: "I'll trade you a clean pair, we're about the
same size."

"Don't worry," Clarence said, zipping up his pants. "My boyfriend loves it
when I come home with a crotch full of jizz."

"Lucky fellow," I exclaimed.  But Clarence was down the stairs moments
later, leaving me to wonder if I would ever see him again. It was a curious
thing to get someone so riled up they could just shoot off in their shorts:
I had never done it that way myself.  I never saw Clarence again, but much
later I met others who had known him. It became clear that was his modus
operandi: that's how he always got his rocks off. Whether there really was
a boyfriend, no one seemed to know.

Once again, Howie's return required a confession. This time no one had
offered any hanky-panky at the swim meet (he said, wistfully) so my
description of Clarence and his unusual form of sex got Howie going
quickly. After a long shower together we enjoyed our usual activities.

The reader could get the impression Howie and I spent all our time in
sexual activity. But this was not the case: most of the time we were
engaged in the usual things college kids get into. I was studying
chemistry, Howie Phys Ed; we both minored in music. Howie was getting good
at jazz piano, not that I cared for it much, and I, having tried the full
brace of viols at one time or another, had settled on the cello: something
about having a big thing between my legs, I guess. Despite the limitations
of Howie's scholarship and the tiny inheritance I got from my parents, we
managed financially: Howie's apartment and car were paid for by the Junior
College PE department, since he was now their star swimmer. Gas, in those
days was only two bits a gallon!

So, the year went along quickly. Now that our spring breaks coincided, that
year we set off on a longer trip, thinking we might reach the Grand Canyon.
Unfortunately, the car broke down somewhere east of LA, stranding us on a
desolate stretch of Highway 66. We needed a lift into the next town, to get
the car towed in, so gathered some vitals in a couple of bags and put out
our thumbs to see if we could hitch-hike successfully. After a while, a car
slowed to a stop a bit past us: we ran to it. The driver, leaning across
the seat, had the passenger-sidewindow down.

"I'll take you," he said to me, "but not the niggah."

"FUCK YOU!"  I shouted: I would have bashed his head against the top of the
window, but Howie grabbed me from behind to prevent it. The car sped off in
a shower of stones and dust. I was very upset, but Howie, more used to this
kind of thing, took it in stride.

A bit later a large truck slowed to a stop; the driver offered us a lift in
the cab. We climbed in.

"Figured that was your car back aways," the driver said.

"Yeah, something broke; we gotta get it towed in to the next town and
fixed."

"That'll be Flagstaff: puttin' in there myself for the night, and I know
all the mechanics there are to know, there. I can take care of the
arrangements."

"Thanks: we appreciate the help. We don't know a lot about cars 'n stuff."

I took a few moments to assess our host as we rumbled along. About 35, I
guessed, pretty well built: his bare arms were fuzzy with blond hair. He
wore bib-overalls and a denim shirt. In his crotch I was sure I detected a
hard-on. I nudged Howie, sitting in the middle, and discretely directed his
glance towards the driver. Howie nudged me back, and stuck his hand down
into his own pants, as if to "rearrange things". But he left his hand in
there, fairly obviously playing with himself. It took a while for the
driver, his eyes on the road, to notice what Howie was doing.

"Need any help with that?" he asked, as he dropped his hand on to Howie's
muscular thigh.

"Mmmmm." Howie withdrew his hand: his pants bulged invitingly. Our driver's
right hand got busy and found Howie's zipper: very soon that black whopper
I knew so well came into view, poking through his bright white underpants.

"Jeeeeezus!  That's a big'n.  Bet it can shoot lotsa peckersnot."

"Not really a shooter, more of an oozer," Howie replied, "my buddy here's
the shooter, when he's fired up. Bouncin' on the road like we are sure
makes me horny, though."

"Know whatcha mean!"

"Me, too!" I chimed in.

Howie reached over to grope our driver. "Time we got better acquainted," he
said.

"Name's Fred, that's Charlie down there, hopin' fer some exercise."

"Wow! Exer-SIZE is right: Charlie looks to be a right upstanding fellow. My
name's Howie, my buddy's Bruce, 'n I don't think we've either of us has
named our meat: just give 'em get plenty of exercise."

"Bet-ya do!"


By this time, Howie had discovered a pathway through the overalls to Fred's
manhood, and had what appeared to be the bulk of it out in the open. Not to
be left out, I was working myself up to doing the same. Unfortunately, the
truck cab was too cramped, with the three of us and our gear in it, to do
much more than jerk off, which all of us were soon doing. What I could see
of Fred's prick, wrapped in his fist, got my mouth watering.

"Why don't we save this for Flagstaff?" I suggested.

"Good idea," Fred replied.

"Dunno if I can hold out," Howie said, to my great surprise. Having touched
Fred's dick, he must have known something I didn't.  "Down, boy!" I said.

We all left our dicks out in the weather, playing with ourselves or each
other as the miles rolled past on the odometer, until we reached the
outskirts of Flagstaff. There, Fred pulled the truck into a motel that had
a lot of parking space around it. It wasn't the most prepossessing place,
but it looked like it would do for a night or two. The three of us
clambered down from the truck, and went into the small office.

"Got a triple," Fred asked? A grizzled codger behind the counter looked up;
recognition painted his face.

"Sure thing, Fred."  He passed out slips for us to sign. "Be in town long?"

"Not sure. My buddies' car broke down, gotta give 'em a hand," he said with
a sly wink in our direction.

"Right! That triple is the last cabin yaknow, one-thirty-eight, on the
right."

"Gotta use yer phone a minute, Chuck." Fred said.  Chuck put it up on the
counter, and Fred worked the dial. In a few minutes, he'd arranged for
someone to go out and haul our car into town.

"All set," Fred said, hanging up the phone. "Thanks, Chuck. We're off to
get some grub, and some shut-eye."

We traipsed through the rapidly cooling evening to "Mothertrucker's", a
truck- stop and restaurant nearby. "Best home cooking east of LA," the sign
said.

It was true, I suspect, but the food was actually pretty ordinary; the
place would rate now as a "greasy spoon". The clientele, though was
something else.  Roughnecks, hoggers, a few hillbillys, mostly a pretty
mangy looking bunch; they all seemed to know Fred, and the floozy waitress
greeted him effusively. Fred was clearly a "regular" here; we made small
talk over coffee, there at the table, waiting for our meals to
arrive. Presently, a rather mean-looking man approached us.

"Fred, you know bettah," he said directly, ignoring Howie and me
completely.

"Howzatt?"

"Y'all can read, cantcha?  That sign yonder says, 'We reserve the right to
refuse service to anyone'."

"So?"

"'C'mon, Fred: you know I'm the owner of this place, 'n I's refusin' to
serve you's niggah, here." He pointed at Howie.

There was an awkward pause. Color rose quickly out of Fred's shirt collar.

"George," Fred spoke meaningfully, "you have to be the stupidest goddam
sonofabitch in this whole fuckin' state of A'zona!  You'n me been frien's
fer years, an' you know perfec'ly well I don't put up wi' that kinda shit,
from YOU or anybody else! You bring us three meals NOW, or I'll have every
trucker in this place outa here in five minutes, an not ONE of 'em will
ever be back.

"Fred, you know I's the ownah....." George whined.

Forty or fifty chairs scraped on the wooden floor. Most of the men in the
place stood up: virtually all of George's clientele was prepared to walk
out, probably without paying.

"Gonna costya a lotta money, George," Fred stated evenly.

The tension in the place was palpable. There was scarcely a sound. The two
men glared at each other.

Mabel arrived with her arms covered in plates. She shot a withering look at
George. "I'm with th' guys," she said tartly: "they go, I go." She served
us our meals, and untied her apron.

"Fuuuuck ALL you bastards," George exploded. But he walked over and tore
the offending sign from the wall. "Goddam niggahs gonna take this place
over one day!"  A beaten man, he retreated to his office. As soon as the
door slammed shut, a great cheer arose as the men returned to their meals,
now stone-cold on the plates.

"Thanks Fred," Howie said. "Don't think any self-respecting 'niggah' would
want this dump, though!"

"Can't stand these georgia crackers," Fred said, "but he won't be givin' me
any more trouble."

I marveled at my Howie's calm: he had to deal with this kind of crap all
the time. I marveled as well at Fred, willing to take a stand against the
rampant racism so common in those days. We finished our meals in silence,
but I noticed the portions on our plates were far larger than those at
other tables. Guess the cook was on our side, too. Mabel tore up our checks
when we went to pay: "You're a good man, Fred," she said. "Sure wish you
were the marryin' kind."

We left the restaurant: it was twenty degrees cooler already. It can get
bitterly cold at night in Flagstaff, but I'm sure we all had ways in mind
of warming each other up...

The cabin was fairly large with three beds as promised. Hardly had we begun
to settle in when there was as a knock at the door. Our jaws must have
dropped when Fred opened it, to reveal his double outside.

"Got the car out in the lot here," the guy said, "the water pump is shot."
This guy wasn't just Fred's double, he had to be his twin. I couldn't tell
them apart, except for their being dressed differently.

"Speaking of 'pump'," Fred said, groping himself, "wouldya like to stick
around for a while? Can't do nothin' about the car tonight anyhow. Oh, and
this here's Howie, 'n this fella's Bruce. Guys, my brother, Derf."

Derf looked us over for a few seconds. "Love to, let me shut down the
tow-truck; be right back."  He slipped out into the night.

"He must be your twin brother," I said.

"Yep. Folks didn't expect twins, so they named one of us 'Fred' 'n the
other 'Derf', which is Fred spelled backward. They's the only 'ns could
tell us apart, and I still don't know how they did it. Bro' 'n me been
doin' it together ever since we could get 'em up. Hope you don't mind a
foursome."

The prospect was not unpleasant: while I had not yet felt Fred's wang,
Howie had, and his reaction was enough for me. Derf returned, and I studied
the men again: they were indeed identical.

"Gotta get this road-dirt off," Derf announced as he began unabashedly
climbing out of his clothes. Fred followed suit, and they were soon both in
the shower, washing each other and putting on a bit of a show. Alas, the
stall was not large enough for Howie and me to join them, so we quickly
abandoned our own clothes and watched as F & D (as I decided to call them)
soaped each other, groped each other, and cleaned up. My assessment was
they had about 16 inches between them, but as neither got fully hard, I
could have been off a bit. As soon as they began toweling each other, Howie
and I hopped in and put on our best show for them. They watched
appreciatively as we did the usual things, but looked on in surprise when I
let a bladderful of piss go in Howie's direction. Surprise turned to
astonishment when I crouched down and drank from Howie's fleshy hose: guess
we youngsters could teach these dudes a thing or two!

All cleaned up, the four of us repaired to the main room of the cabin. One
of them effortlessly pushed the three beds together, and we all collapsed
on them. Howie soon had a handful of rapidly engorging dick; F or D (there
was no telling which) went down on me. He was a real pro, taking all of me
without gagging or choking. Glancing over at what Howie was fondling, I
could see how my fellator developed his facility. If these twins didn't
have every inch of 16 between them, it might really be more like 18! I now
understood Howie's reaction, back there in the truck cab with his hand
inside Fred's overalls: what I could see was scarcely half what was
available. But now a fresh concern raised its head: what might Howie plan
to DO with this plentitude?  I felt sure these guys would want to fuck
before the night was over, and Howie was still a virgin back there as far
as I knew.

I was getting too near to an orgasm, so I reversed my position and faced my
companion in a 69: with my fist around his meat, I still had plenty to work
with.  It was a prodigious endowment: what irony, I thought, to find
something so extraordinary, and then find two at once! But there was more:
my friend was clearly an accomplished cocksucker, and I suspected he had
other talents as well. In addition, he was a very nicely set up fellow,
lean of limb, strong as an ox, and no stranger to guy-guy sex. I wanted his
wang up my backside, where I was certain it would stimulate my sweet spot
in predictable ways. In fact, it occurred to me that it might be possible
to get at least some of both of them in at once: the logistics were not
immediately apparent, but I wanted to give it a try. Whichever twin I was
enjoying at the moment seemed to have something similar in mind; as he
continued to munch on my erection, he was poking around my backside with a
finger or two.

Leaving the dick in my possession as well lubricated with spit as I could,
I quickly turned around again and backed myself into it. This one was not
so big around as Howie's, so it slid in quite easily: but it was rather
longer than Howie's, and it raked past my "P-spot" and bottomed out against
something in a temporary flash of pain. My partner was solicitous, and
slowed his entry for a moment, then pushed in again. No more pain, only the
most extraordinary feeling of being full of cock! His peckerhead was
tickling some portion of my colon hitherto untouched except by many a
turd. Naturally, the sensation was different. Actually, it was pleasant.

Motion on the bed occurred, resulting in the other twin's dick suddenly
being shoved into my mouth. Only by interposing my fist in the nick of time
could I avoid choking. I could not see what Howie was up to, but he told me
later he just watched for a while, figuring (correctly) that I found being
plugged by two huge dicks at once a source of pleasure. Knowing the effect
he had on me, Howie was surely wondering what new effect I might be
experiencing with several more inches of gristle applied than he could
muster alone. I found it, of course, delightful, and when Howie, no longer
content to watch, joined us and sucked my pulsating wand into his mouth, I
thought I might explode. After a few minutes of this, I had to call "time
out".

F & D sat side by side on the edge of the huge bed; Howie and each sat in a
chair. We admired the twins, so perfectly matched, so well knitted
together.  Arms entwined, they kissed passionately.

"What do you dudes like best to do?" I asked. I thought I already knew the
answer.

"There's only one little difference between us: Derf here doesn't really
like to screw or get screwed."

Evidently, it had been Fred plugging me a few minutes earlier.

"I've been screwed just once," Howie said, to my surprise, "and believe it
or not, it was by a guy with a whopper even longer than this -- he squeezed
the nearest twin's penis affectionately. I can't say I really enjoyed it,
but for some reason, tonight I want one or the other of these in my hole!"

I couldn't believe my ears! "And I'd be happy to have both of 'em in mine!"

We set about trying my idea; with the two brothers lying crotch-to-crotch,
and with Howie doing his best to encircle both hard-ons with one hand, I
guided my backside down upon this bounty until Howie took his hand away,
and then slid down further. Now, in addition to feeling "full", I felt
stretched. But it was too much, and I had to relinquish my position.

"That's a new first," one of the Ds exclaimed.

"For us both," I replied.

"Howie's turn?"

"One at a time, guys, one at a time!" Howie rejoined.

"Have at it Fred," Derf said. "I might be up to sloppy seconds: not really
sure."

"Anybody have any lube?" I asked.

Derf dug around in a duffle bag and produced a large jar of Vaseline. It
took a big gob to adequately lubricate Fred's erection.

"Ya gotta go real easy," I told Fred "I don't think Howie's ever been
fucked, no matter what he says."

"Virgin ass! Yowza!"

He was standing right behind Howie, so he bent him over the bed; Howie
braced himself on the mattress. Fred parted Howie's cheeks, took careful
aim, and moved purposefully towards Howie. In all, it took perhaps two
minutes to get him in to the hilt, far less time than I would have
guessed. Apparently Howie's innards were more capacious than mine; there
wasn't a whimper from him as Fred began to work his tool in and out, in and
out. Derf crawled onto the bed and buried much of his tool in Howie's front
end, while I watched in amazement as Fred fucked his back end, which I felt
sure really was "virgin ass". Fred worked up to a climax quickly: he pulled
out at the critical juncture, gripped himself and shot a huge white spurt
out over Howie's dark brown back: just one. He bent over, still gripping
himself, and I could see he was holding back, preventing himself from
cumming. Saving it for later, I hoped. Derf bent over and lapped up his
brother's one streak, then climbed off the bed and plugged Howie before his
hard-on could droop. For someone allegedly not fond of fucking, he
certainly made a convincing show of it. He, too, pulled out, but let
himself ejaculate fully and copiously over Howie: I was there licking it
off his back even before Derf stopped shooting. It was delicious.

Derf's dick was drooping, but not his brother's: I wanted the rest of that
load, and I wanted it in my gut! I quickly assumed Howie's position, and
Fred plunged into me. Howie knew what to expect, so he arranged himself in
the firing line on his back across the bed as Derf watched. Fred fucked me
frantically, and sure enough hit my prostate in just the right way. As Fred
began to irrigate my bowel, I forced myself vertical, thrust my hard-on at
the ceiling and erupted a Vesuvian flood of pearly jizz all over Howie, the
beds, whatever was in the way. It was glorious! Derf was on Howie in
seconds, devouring my creamy exudate as if it were manna from heaven.

We all collapsed in a disheveled heap, exhausted. Suddenly, I realized
Howie had not reached nirvana yet. That was why he was jacking off his big
black prod. I roused F & D, and all three of us began stroking Howie in
every erogenous zone we could think of as he picked up his pace and pulled
his pud vigorously. Watching this handsome black boyfriend being pawed by
three sets of white hands even got my hard-on twitching again. Every muscle
in his body tightened up, each outlined under his skin in tantalizing
shades of dark brown and black. F & D were finding his beautiful skin
eminently touchable; they massaged his legs, his thighs, his arms, his
neck, his chest, his tummy, his crotch, his balls, but only I knew that
Howie had sensitive nipples, and when I sensed he was about to cum, I
tweaked them just the way he liked. My reward was to see my boyfriend lose
a load by his own hand for the first time since we'd got together!  True,
he was an oozer, but he had so much jizz it ran down over his cockhead,
over his hands onto his pubic hair, down alongside his balls: it looked to
me like a couple of tablespoonfuls; F & D were both down there slathering
up as much as they could before it got away.

We all collapsed yet again; before long Howie and I were each snuggled up
to a D or an F, all of us fast asleep.

It took three days to fix the car: parts had to come from LA. The mechanic
was the cutest blond kid I'd ever seen, but Fred told us he was not to be
fooled with.  "Hates faggots," Fred said. A new word entered our
vocabularies.  But Fred did fix us up with somebody all three nights,
though we didn't see any more of Derf.  By the time the car was ready to
roll, we were both so tired out we decided to head home. The repairs and
delay had made big dents in our wallets, too. Fred gave us both big
bear-hugs as we climbed into the Chevy. "Any time you come through
Flagstaff, look me up!" We assured him he was welcome up our way as well,
and pointed the Chevy towards California.

Back on the road, I asked Howie if he really had been fucked before: he
said yes, but was reluctant for the first time ever to give me
details. When, almost in tears, he admitted it was his own father who had
done it, I understood. I hushed him up, pulled him against me with his head
on my shoulder; the even hum of the Chevy soon had him fast asleep, and I
never questioned him again. But it sure looked to me like big dicks were
hereditary.

My final semester at JC seemed to end even before it started! There were so
many things to do. I had decided not to go on with more college, because I
just couldn't afford it, so there were attempts to find work that took a
lot of time. Not much turned up, but eventually a small local laboratory
agreed to take me on as an assistant: my career was launched. Howie, better
off than I financially (not to mention being in much greater demand)
transferred to a four-year university as a sophomore, so our relationship
came to an end. I missed him greatly, at first, but as I looked around town
after work now and then, I realized local demographics were beginning to
change. I saw the occasional oriental (sooo cuddly and cute!), more and
more "Louie"s, and more blacks.

I decided it was time to give Joel a "run for his money" as the town's
"trade queen", and began saving up for a car. When I finally got it, as a
21st birthday present for myself, another career was launched, one that was
to consume many a night away from the lab.

But all that is another story.


COPYRIGHT BRUCE BRAMSON 2001