Date: Mon, 19 Mar 2001 22:34:40 EST
From: cybercavan@hotmail.com
Subject: Morning Cummute

This is the second adventure of Liam, hunky hero of Transit Trash. The author
loves feedback, suggestions, ideas, etc. Please direct comments to Mick
Maxwell at cybercavan@hotmail.com

Copyright Mick Maxwell 2001


Morning Cummute- Transit Trash Part II

The sunrise was stacked in a checkerboard pattern of hot pink reflections
up the slopes of Twin Peaks. Liam stood at the kitchen window, sipping his
coffee and taking in the scene. A thin lining of blue-orange winter fog lay
poised at the top of the hills lit by the rising sun. Later, as the air
warmed, the fog would descend and extinguish those bright squares of light,
masking the streets of the Castro in a gray film of moisture, just like a
winter day in Dublin.

Between his legs slipped a gray wraith of a cat that was loudly demanding
breakfast. Absently, he reached down and petted the persistent feline. His
thoughts weren't on the cat. Instead, his ever-fertile imagination was
visualizing all those men behind the glowing windows, rising naked from
their tumbled cum-stained sheets, scratching their heavy balls and stroking
their morning hard-ons and... a set of sharp claws dug into his naked
ankle, causing him to jump and spill his coffee.

"Shite!  Goddam ya mangy little nuisance."

Hungry feline eyes looked up into angry Irish ones.

 "Okay, okay. I'll get your fookin' grub. "

Liam turned from his erotic contemplation and dished out a large portion of
kibble. Liam didn't especially like cats. He had only agreed to pet-sit
when his best mate Michael had to return suddenly to Dublin for a family
emergency and begged Liam to help out. Normally, Liam would have packed the
cat up and taken it over to his own digs in Berkeley but his cousin and
landlady Moira was deathly allergic to cats and had imposed a strict
embargo on the wee critters. So, Liam agreed to take care of Michael's
Castro apartment along with the asthma-inducing furball.

His real motive was to be in the thick of glorious Gaydom. Visions of daily
orgies and endless man-meat had prompted him to enthusiastically agree to
Michael's plea for help. Sweetening the offer was the fact that Michael had
left him the membership cards to all his south of Market sex clubs and a
week's supply of mind-blowing pot which he had scored from his latest
trick, a punk from the Haight .

So far, however, it had been a bit of a dud. The long hours Liam had to put
in to master the new technology his company had developed, the endless
client meetings and his daily bike rides had not left much time or energy
for the sex clubs. The pot had left him too numbed to do anything but watch
television and wonder at the barrenness of American culture and his few
forays into the Castro had been disappointing no-starts.

Liam considered himself a typical Irishman - friendly, gregarious, and
given to irreverent humor. And though fairly modest, knew that his fresh
good looks, humpy body and lilting accent were a draw. None of these
attributes, however, had served him well in the frigid atmosphere in the
clubs. Oh, there were sexual vibes aplenty, sometimes even a quick feel
when he went to take a piss but he liked a little chat along with the
exchange of pheromones. When he ventured to crack a joke, y'know, liven
things up a bit, all he got were blank stares and cool dismissals. Liam
longed for the ribald humor and easy, lively companionship of his Dublin
watering holes. At least there, you got credit for a little effort or
wit. In San Francisco, the queers looked at you askance if you expressed an
opinion or deviated from the lock-step, predictable and frankly boring
posturing which seemed to be the norm. Liam was puzzled how anyone ever got
laid when they were so uptight and worried about being cool!

Well, maybe not all of 'em. Liam smiled as he remembered his steamy
encounter on the train to Berkeley two weeks before. (Transit Trash)

He had given his number to the hot bike messenger he had fucked but never
heard from him. Still, the encounter had provided some needed relief;
relief that he could use right now. Deadly sperm buildup, that's what's the
matter with me, he thought as he finished the coffee and jumped in the
shower.

Liam dressed quickly, grabbed his black leather overcoat and shoved his tie
in one of its capacious pockets. He hurried through the winter morning to
the municipal rail where, as usual, the Castro Street MUNI station was
packed with men.

Liam had learned from co-workers that the city rail system was notorious
for surly drivers, late (or no) train arrivals and third-world crowding. He
didn't mind it a bit. It was a treat to see all these gay men, neatly
dressed in business attire, assuming the demeanor of good corporate
soldiers, checking their electronic calendars and reading the financial
rags. And a real hoot, when Liam knew that some of them had been fist
fucked the night before or had traipsed about in slinky dresses at the
annual charity drag show.

The Jeckyl and Hyde quality of the scene was a definite turn on and he
amused himself in speculating which of these proper gents had been pissed
on by a total stranger in the last 24-hours at the local golden showers !

The downtown train arrived and like overly muscular sheep, the crowd
pressed in through the narrow doorway. Holy mother of god, it was more
packed then usual!

 Liam found himself squeezed against a wall, a solid phalanx of bodies all
around him. He struggled out of his heavy, hot coat, draped it over his
shoulders and inched his way back into a tiny niche at the corner of the
train where he could get out of the crush and have the best views of the
riders.

He sniffed the air, loving the smell of so many men crowded into such a
small space.  The heat was on as well, which meant that the overcrowded car
would begin to take on the ripe odor of a men's locker room, with the
melange of pricey colognes clashing with the aphrodisiacal smell of sweat.

 Liam's cock involuntarily began to swell. He dropped a discreet hand and
gave his basket a slow sensuous squeeze, liking the risk of manhandling his
huge meat in public.  Since his adventure on the trans-bay train, the idea
of public sex had become something of an obsession and he was eager to
avail himself of any chance opportunity. His dick grew harder at the very
thought of sex right here on MUNI!

"Transit trash, that's what I am," thought Liam to himself with a rueful
laugh.

Without really admitting it to himself, Liam relied on his
innocent-appearing Irish face, sparkling green eyes, white skin and copper
tumble of curls to project a most deceiving image of an adult altar boy
lost in the big bad city. Few casual observers would understand that Liam
was, first and foremost, a dedicated cock-hound who would go to extreme
lengths to satisfy his needs. Need which were, as a result of the sumptuous
press of manflesh in the train, growing more acute.

>From his vantage point in the corner, he could see only parts of
bodies. The curve of a buttock, a span of shoulders, the hint of a muscular
thigh.  With this many men so tightly packed in, there was a good chance
that he might feel a stray hand or butt brush across his dick. Why not give
a stranger a thrill by having a rock hard dick to encounter? His cock
stiffened obligingly at the thought.

The train, as was typical, lurched abruptly into action, sending the whole
massed mob violently swaying and cursing. A smaller guy cannoned into
Liam. He turned awkwardly and apologetically to the Irishman.

Holy shit! Liam sucked in his breath as he looked down into an upturned
face the color of new bronze, with liquid black eyes deeply-set behind
dense blue-black eyelashes, high meso-American cheekbones and full red lips
behind which sparkled the hint of blinding white teeth. The skin-head
haircut threw his dramatic features into emphasis and gave him a tough look
at wild variance to his startling beauty.  His compact torso, now turned as
he faced Liam, was leanly-muscled under his tight collarless shirt.

Liam's inventory could go no further.  The hot boy had a fleece sweatshirt
tied around his waist, the dangling sleeves concealing his crotch and the
remainder covering what the Irishman fantasized as a tiny, tight butt.

His green eyes alight with lustful speculation, Liam smiled broadly at the
gorgeous stranger who glanced quickly away, seemingly taken off guard by
Liam's candid appraisal.

The Irishman sighed. That's the problem with San Francisco: you get too
forward and the boys scuttle away like frightened virgins. You act too
aloof and you are doomed to hours of acute boredom. And here, in this
jam-packed movable feast, why, it was damned silly to play coy, not when
you could kiss your neighbor just by puckering your lips!

As the train moved again, the kid stretched up to grab the metal passenger
grip, the sleeve of his shirt falling back back to reveal sinewy muscle and
honey-colored skin. The Irishman's felt his cock begin to lengthen as he
imagined licking the closely-pored skin inside the boy's elbow, running his
tongue up the sensitive flesh under the taut brown bicep and then roughly
lapping at the sweet armpit.

Liam's lascivious perusal was interrupted by another unexpected surge of
the train. The boy barged into his Liam again, this time roughly enough to
cause the sweatshirt to loosen and fall towards the filthy floor of the
train.

The kid made a rush to grab his garment, bending over sufficiently to give
Liam a quick look at his ass.

Liam's cock stiffened in a flash. Instead of the neat business slacks or
khakis sported by most of the downtown-bound passengers, the boy was
wearing skin-tight jeans, whitish- blue with wear. And just below the
pockets, two perfect crescents of naked ass cheeks and the top of his
muscular legs showed through twin rips in the cloth.

Liam chuckled. No wonder the kid was wearing his sweatshirt tied around his
waist. The tantalizing rips were an invitation to rape - just enough to
provoke a come-on but not enough to warrant a run-in with the cops for
indecent exposure.

The Irishman wondered where the kid had been the night previously. No
self-respecting parents would let their pretty young son out of the house
dressed like that. Liam's rampaging imagination saw the kid being cornered
by a shadowy older guy, maybe with copper hair; the boy being roughly
man-handled and forced to stand against the wall while muscular hands
grabbed the worn jeans and with a brutal upwards yank, expose the tender
flesh of his ass...

Turning once again and interrupting the Irishman's reverie, the kid glanced
even more apologetically at Liam for the second collision. This time, there
was no smile from the Irishman, just the avid, predatory gaze of the
hunter. The younger man swallowed nervously, clearly getting the unspoken
signal.

With the boy's black eyes still on him, Liam reached inside his leather
overcoat, pulled back the jacket of his suit and squeezed his tit through
the soft white cotton of his pinstripe business shirt.

A red flush mounted over the boy's cheeks. Encouraged, Liam quickly
unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and thrust his hand inside. He
worked his sweaty paw further into his shirt and caressed his muscular
hairless chest. The boy's eyes followed his every move.

Liam whispered, "turn around."

Glancing nervously from side to side, the boy turned around, facing front
and center away from Liam, quickly re-tying the draping sweatshirt, this
time with the bulk of it hanging down over his crotch and the sleeves to
his sides.

Liam stuck his finger through the belt loop of the kid's jeans and pulled.
Almost unnoticeably, the young stud began to back closer into Liam's iron
hard crotch.

It was the Irishman's turn to glance around. He and his prey were hidden in
the sheer crush of bodies; most of the riders faced away from Liam towards
the center door as the train inched along its progress towards downtown.

Liam opened his long leather overcoat, the black western duster an
affectation he maintained despite Michael's taunts that it made him look
like a vampire.  It was bluidy practical in cool, rainy, and windy San
Francisco. Draped as it was over his shoulders, leaving his arms and hands
free, the long coat provided ample cover for Liam's next move.

  Liam dropped his hands to his sides and then slid them to his now-bulging
crotch. He stealthily unzipped and with a gentle tug, pulled out his huge
hard-on. He stroked the hot white tool lovingly, getting it rock hard.

Sliding his hands forward, he connected with the boy's perfect ass, cupping
the cheeks and then giving them a quick, mean squeeze. Shite, it was like
squeezing bowling balls! The kid obviously cycled or played soccer to get
buns like that.

He snuck his fingers down to the rips in the jeans and slipped them inside.
There wasn't much wriggle room in the overtight fabric so Liam contented
himself with inching his fingers towards the kid's crack, delighting in the
total risk of his actions. At any minute, someone might spot him.

Suddenly, he felt the worn fabric lose its tautness and realized that the
kid had undone the button of his jeans.

Liam looked around to make sure that a fellow passenger hadn't spotted his
motions.  Most were trying to avoid getting stomped on or reading their
papers.  He drew a deep breath and slowly began to pull down the back of
the kid's loosened jeans. It wasn't easy to do so. Seemed like the front of
the jeans was caught on somethin'. Liam chuckled as he realized it was
probably the kid's hard dick.

Liam drew a breath.  Keeping up normal appearances when his dick was raging
and beginning to drool pre-cum was tough. Especially when more and more of
the kid's ass was revealed. Perfect hairless globes and with the crack
appearing as a deep mocha shadow. Yum.

The Irishman faked a cough and covered his mouth with his hand. He quickly
spit a good wad onto his fingers and dropped them down to the kid's ass.

His motion partially concealed by the voluminous coat, Liam worked his
fingers down the sharp cleft of buttocks and under the denim, until he hit
the soft moist flesh of the bunghole. Jaisus, it tight and burning hot.

Liam gently inserted one wet finger, loving the sudden clenching of the
kid's ass.  He drove deeper, delighted as the kid's sphincter nearly
crushed his finger.  With a steady rhythm he began to finger fuck the kid,
his other hand kneading the hot ass cheeks.

Sweat was pouring off Liam's brow, excitement and nervousness heightened by
the increasing heat of the packed train. . He would have given his eternal
soul to be able to stick his aching dick up the kid's ass right then and
there, but he was a good five inches taller than the boy. Even his
concealing coat wouldn't hide the rough thrusting that Liam preferred.
Liam inserted another finger in the kid's hole, his dick screaming for
entry into that tight brown ass. God, he had to gets his nuts off or he
would perish for certain, exploding into flames of lust like the vampire
Michael insisted he resembled!

His life was saved as he felt a roughened hand grab his cock. In his
single-minded pursuit of the boy, Liam had not noticed that the stranger
crushed next to him had turned during the last surge of the train in a vain
attempt to avoid the butt end of a fellow-passenger's briefcase. The gap in
Liam's protective coat had briefly opened as Liam grew more avid and
careless in his finger-fucking, thus allowing the man a clear shot of the
Irishman's bloated dick and the pumping fingers buried in the boy's ass.

Liam cast a startled look at the new player.  Five foot seven or
thereabouts, probably closer to 50 than 40, the dude was dressed in the
white overalls of a painter or plasterer. Over his shoulder was slung a
leather bag full of tools that rested on his waist. A checked shirt opened
at the top to show a forest of black hair and thin gold chain. His chest
bulged beneath the straps of the overall and his biceps stretched the worn
cotton workshirt. Liam knew that those muscles came from hard work, not the
effects of hours on a Nautilus machine. A faint odor of paint, musk and
sweat hung about the stud, causing Liam's dick to jerk inside the tight
grip of the stranger's hand.

The daddy had thick black hair shot with silver and an enormous black
mustache - very butch. Slate blue eyes devoured Liam as the hidden hand
began to stroke him, the movements concealed behind the leather coat. The
hand felt like sandpaper, rasping Liam's cock harshly.

The Irishman stared into the man's immobile face with its olive skin,
hawk-like nose, and generous cheekbones.  Liam traveled widely for business
and had been posted in Riyadh for three months. His aggressive stranger was
Saudi, for sure. A blue-eyed Saudi who showed absolutely no evidence of the
raw lust that drove his actions. Under the thick mustache, his were finely
chiseled and turned up and in on the corners. Lips to kiss and to have wrap
around a hard Irish cock. And tell no secrets afterwards.

The Arabic "don't ask, don' tell" gay code was familiar to Liam. Seeing the
hot workman, his memory went surging back to his stint in the Saudi capital
five years ago.

It had been his first international assignment and he had been as nervous
as a virgin. Having been raised in Catholic Ireland, he had the usual
misinformation and prejudices about Islam and the Arab world in
general. The five weeks of intensive cultural coaching he received before
he had departed had opened his eyes to the complexity, tangled history and
immense depths of Arabic culture. Nothing, however, had prepared him for
the spectacular beauty of the Arab men.

At 22, Liam still looked like a kid. His thick white skin, green eyes and
copper colored hair were noticeably exotic amidst the darker Arabs and his
muscular physique retained the suppleness of youth. Only in later years had
the weight training and intensive biking given brute mass to his body.

Aware of his sexuality but absolutely paranoid about making any career
mistakes on his first big job, Liam had forsworn any gay activities until
he returned to Dublin. He had also heard from his mates that gay sex in
Saudi Arabia was punishable by whipping and in extreme cases, by
death. Which, he conceded, was a pretty high price to pay for an orgasm,
despite his growing desire to see what was under the robes of those
gorgeous brown men.

Islamic puritanism aside, it was pretty clear that some Arab men, at least,
liked boys and with his unusual coloring and youthfulness, Liam was a fair
target.  More than once, he had ducked obvious come-ons by rich Arabs
cruising in their Mercedes along the commercial strip in Riyadh.  And he
noticed that the young male prostitutes who hung around discreetly around
the big hotels and shopping centers seemed to do a thriving trade, one that
Liam had semi-seriously considered adopting as his horniness grew with his
enforced abstinence.

Many a night Liam lay in his bed, feverishly beating his big Irish meat,
fantasizing about the handsome Arabic workman he had sat next to in a cafe,
the stud's legs spread wide and showing a huge basket in his tight jeans
while Liam tried not to stare. Or the breathtaking young shop clerk whose
thin linen shirt showed dark erect nipples on a firm chest and who had
"accidentally" let his hand slip across Liam's crotch as the Irishman tried
on a pair of sandals.

When Arabic men smiled those blinding white smiles, it seemed to go right
to his nuts and more than once, he had scurried away from an everyday
encounter, fearing that his hard-on would be all too noticeable to the
especially observant Arabs.

After two months of this torture, his chance had come unexpectedly.

The senior leaders of the project had gone on a site inspection, leaving
Liam in Riyadh to catch up on overdue paperwork. As was typical in the
shoddily-built office buildings in the capital, the air conditioning had
inexplicably gone off hours earlier. Liam had stripped down to his boxer
and shut off all lights but the working lamps over the desk and tilted
drafting table in a vain attempt to feel cooler. He was still sweating like
a horse at 10:00 at night.

Desperately craving a pint of Guinness and a thick ham sandwich, both of
which were forbidden by his culturally-sensitive employer, Liam cursed his
sorry lot. But, there was hope. Three more weeks and it was back to dear
dirty old Dublin. He intended on spending his week of vacation on return in
doing nuthin' but seeing his friends, drinking his favorite whiskey in the
local bar - and fuckin' sweet Irish ass, preferably some skinhead with an
attitude.

His daydream was interrupted by a knock on the door. This was
unusual. Security was tight in his company, as Europeans were not exactly
popular.  He was surprised that the guard hadn't called him from the lobby
if there was a visitor.

Liam moved to the closed door and asked for the visitor's name in halting
Arabic.  It was Hassim, one of the senior members of the Saudi design team.
Opening the door and greeting the older man respectfully, Liam asked of
what service he could be.

Apparently, some important documents had been left behind and Hassim needed
to locate and fax them to the site. He had remained in town to attend the
graduation of his nephew.  The celebration had concluded earlier and Hassim
wanted to fax the papers before returning home. The Arab concluded by
apologizing to the young Irishman for disturbing him.

Liam listened to the explanation with polite perplexity. He knew the
project as well as anyone and could have easily faxed off the
paperwork. The wordy apology puzzled him as well. It was hardly his place,
the junior member of the team, an office boy really, to be provided
explanations by someone as highly-placed as Hassim.

"It is hot in here, no?" Hassim said, his eyes slowly moving over the tight
muscles of Liam's hairless chest and then returning to the boy's reddening
face.

Liam was suddenly very aware of his half-naked state and groaned
internally. Here he was, damn near starkers, beginning to sport a woody as
he contemplated his upcoming spree in Dublin and who should walk in but one
of the big guys himself, reportedly a very devout Muslim, to boot!

"Er..yes, sir. I apologize for my appearance but..." Liam stammered to a
halt.

Hassim had ceased looking at Liam's face and had let his thickly lashed
eyes drop to the white boxers. Liam was not exactly cock-proud but he was
very well-hung for an Irishman.  The problem was that he was extremely
trigger-happy, too.  It didn't take much to get him hard and Hassim's
continued stare was beginning to have unfortunate results.

Liam quickly turned and retreated strategically behind the drafting table,
affording Hassim a view of his beautifully developed back and small, soft
ass barely covered by the tight boxers. The Irishman rustled nervously
through the papers precariously stacked on the tilted surface of the table,
using the moment to chide his dick into submission. It didn't work.

When he looked up, Hassim was still staring at him. Liam couldn't help
noticing how handsome the guy was, if you liked really tall guys with big
features, flashing brown eyes barely visible behind those stupendous
lashes, thick curly black hair and mustache. Liam did - a lot. Under the
expensive business suit, Hassim had a pretty impressive body, too. Muscular
neck and shoulders, big biceps straining the Italian silk, massive chest
and just the beginning of a gut - stomach still solid but showing the signs
of good eating.

Liam dropped his eyes to the table again and kept them there, telling
himself to get a fuckin' grip. His meat, instead of shrinking to peanut
size given his potential jeopardy, was growing by the second. Luckily, the
high drafting table concealed his erection.

"Perhaps you will let me help you find the papers? But first, perhaps, I
will take off my coat. It is indeed very warm in here."

Liam cleared his throat nervously. "Of course.. please...of course." His
eyes quite blind with horniness, Liam had no idea what he was looking at.

Hassim removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his hand-made
shirt. Liam glanced up involuntarily at the Arab. Hairy forearms and big
hands - really big hands.

Hassim moved silently around the table, standing to the side and back of
Liam in the partially lit room. The boy could smell the sweet spice of some
Arab cologne, overlaid with a hint of hot skin. He continued his futile
search and almost screamed when Hassim laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You seem upset, Liam. I hope nothing is wrong? Or is it just the heat?

Liam stammered out a disjointed reply.

Hassim said smoothly, "Many of you Irish find the heat unsupportable here
in Riyadh.  While I have never been to your beautiful country, I understand
that it quite cool and wet. That would account, of course, for your
susceptibility to the temperature...and the unusual whiteness of your
skin."

Liam's meat surged against the straining cotton boxers at the mention of
the word 'skin' which was said in a soft, low voice, quite unlike the
clipped Oxonian accent that Hassim normally used when speaking English.

The hairy hand remained on Liam's shoulder as he struggled for an answer.

"Well, yes, Ireland is not much for the sun...quite cool as you state, and
the waters are really too cold for swimming.."

Liam bit his lips, aghast at his inanity. Hassim must think him a total
idiot.

"So you like to swim? Have you visited any of the beaches in Jiddah?" asked
Hassim, referring to a popular resort on the Red Sea.

"I haven't really had a chance to see much of your country, what with the
project and all.. and I have to be very careful in the sun, being so pale."

"So..  pale, yes. And hair the color of a winter sunset - very unusual,"
murmured Hassim.

Hassim slid his huge hand down Liam's spine, causing the boy to shudder
with excitement. The Arab continued his gentle exploration of Liam's back,
in an almost casual manner but with enough purpose to set off Liam's
internal alarms.

Something was going on!

Liam was frantic with horniness but had no idea whether casual petting was
just part of the "let's be pals" behavior in this very physically friendly
country or not. A part of Liam's distracted mind regretted the inbred Irish
taboos about casual physical contact between men. In Dublin, any touch by
another man was usually a come-on or a prelude to a fistfight!  Here, where
straight men walked hand in hand and kissed each other routinely, he felt
totally at a loss. Hassim's gentle voice continued.

"And that color of hair. Is it the same everywhere?" Liam swallowed. Was
Hassim giving him a cue or was his comment just an example of the cultural
naivete that sometimes you got dealing with non-Europeans?

 Liam's hair had been the lure for many of his conquests. Truly a bright
copper color, it avoided the carrot or auburn tones that so many Celts
possessed. Being thick, curly and unruly, his silken mop was the envy of
many women and the bane of his barber's existence. It did set off his green
eyes and magnolia white skin.  Only his nose, broken twice in fights and
slightly askew as a consequence had saved his face from overprettiness.

  "Um.er..well..it's pretty much the same everywhere..where I have it,
,,hair..I mean," stammered Liam.

"Ah.  I have embarrassed you. Please forgive my unacceptable curiousity. It
is a personal matter, I understand."  Hassim explained in a conversational
tone, "We Arabs are pretty much the same, you know - dark and hairy -
everywhere."

Hassim's hand had dropped to the waistband of Liam's shorts. He causally
inserted a thumb in the elastic and ran his nail across the small of the
Irish boy's back.

Liam gripped the edge of the table, afraid that he would faint. His lust,
the heat and the proximity of Hassim's hand to his ass were making him
dizzy. What the shite was going on? Liam felt that he had to regain control
of the situation or totally lose it and shoot his load right there.

Reviewing the mess he had made of papers on the drafting table and focusing
his glazed eyes, he spotted the document that Hassim allegedly had come to
retrieve. It was perched on the edge of the tilted table. Liam grabbed for
it and in doing so, accidentally knocked another stack over, sending a
cascade of reports and invoices flying.

Liam quickly bent to retrieve the papers, humiliated at his clumsiness but
glad of the action - any action, that would break this spell he was under.
Apologizing to the silent Hassim who had stepped politely back, Liam
scrambled on all fours to gather up the papers, crouching awkwardly to
conceal his erection.

Clutching them in his hand, he noticed a final paper - under Hassim's
pricey leather loafer. Glancing up apologetically and about to ask the hot
Arab to please lift his foot, Liam froze, his jaw dropping.

Hassim had a hard-on - a huge hard on. No amount of expensive tailoring
could conceal the massive shape of the Arab's meat that crowded down the
side of his pants leg. The work light from the drafting table cast a clear
ten-inch shadow. And this vision was less than a foot from Liam's suddenly
open mouth.

Liam glanced down again, his face so red he felt like he had been
scalded. Whatever the Arab had in mind, he would have to initiate it. No
way in hell was Liam going to assume that Hassim's hard-on meant it was
intended for Liam. For all he knew, Hassim always got a hard on late at
night or in this kind of heat.

Hassim spoke.  "  Ah, clumsy of me to be standing on the paper. I do
apologize."  Pulling the leg of his slacks up, he gracefully stepped up and
off the paper. Liam could not help but notice the thick black hair on
Hassim's exposed ankle, even through the thin silk socks he wore. The Irish
boy decided that he would risk a tentative move.

" No problem at all. Thank you. I..er..notice that you were right about
your hair being everywhere, " pointing boldly to Hassim's ankle. "Must be a
bit of a nuisance when it gets muggy."

  The Arab glanced down and shrugged. "Yes, it is quite a trial to be so
hirsute in this climate.  It gets quite..,wet with the slightest exertion."

"Well, 'tis a good thing you are in management, then," joked Liam,
wondering if he had gone too far by teasing the Arab. Him and his big Irish
mouth!

"Oh, I don't mind getting..wet, as long as the exertion is worth it," said
Hassim, ignoring Liam's impertinent quip.

"And what kind of ..exertion do you enjoy, sir?" Liam asked, scarcely
believing that he was being so ballsy. For fuck's sake, he sounded some coy
two-bit whore in a Victorian musical. And definitely wanted to act like
one!  His erection had roared to an all-time hardness. Luckily, he was
still crouched at Hassim's feet and could hold the papers at his crotch for
concealment.

Hassim dropped his hand onto Liam's hair and began to stroke his curls. He
then ran his huge hand across Liam's cheek and positioned it gently at the
back of his head. With his other hand, he slowly unzipped his straining
crotch.

"I believe that you perceive the exertion I enjoy."

Liam looked up, flabbergasted at the turn of events, his head reeling with
excitement and fear.  Was this some sort of set-up, with this unbelievably
hot stud actually an undercover cop for some fag-shooting fundamentalist
Muslim group? Had the heat gone to his dizzy Irish head and he was
hallucinating?

Licking his lips, Liam stuttered, "I...am afraid...  I don't
quite..er..understand.."  He ground to a halt as Hassim finished unzipping
his pants. A blast of male heat came from the open fly.

"Don't be afraid, Liam. And there is nothing wrong with either of our
understanding.  But perhaps I should make myself quite clear." Hassim's
huge hand deftly reached and clenched the hunk of cock. With a bit of a
tussle, he freed it from the confines of his trousers and drew it out, inch
by turgid inch.

It was huge.  It was thick. It was cut. It was the most beautiful dick Liam
had ever seen.  The Irishman began to salivate. Whatever this madness meant
for his career, even if he ended up in front of some mullah's firing squad,
he was going to suck that dick!

Hassim apparently had the same idea.  He gently forced Liam's head forward
towards the cock, his hand caressing the boy's neck.

The Irishman stuck out his tongue and gently washed the huge dark head of
Hassim's dick, the taste of hot man-meat, of sweat and piss filling his
deprived senses like the rarest Arabian perfume. Over and over, he lavished
his hot tongue around the corona and tickled the piss hole, delighting as
the massive shaft grew longer and more rigid.

Hassim began to stoke Liam's long white throat with his hand, fingering the
muscles of his neck. Liam got the idea - quit messin' about with foreplay
and "exert" himself. Liam opened wide and said aah.

Hassim, hitherto quite the gent in his approach, grabbed Liam's head
andthrust his hips forward, sinking half his cock down the boy's gullet in
a rude thrust. Liam gagged, suddenly afraid that he would choke on the
horse size dick.  His distress communicated itself to Hassim who partially
withdrew and allowed Liam to swallow and breathe. But not for long.  The
Arab's dick, nicely lubricated by the Irishman's saliva, thrust again.
This time Liam was prepared and using his well-toned throat muscles,
accepted the cock with grace if not dignity. It was hard to be dignified
when you felt and acted like a rutting pig gobbling down a corn cob -
grunts and all.

Liam's loss of dignity apparently didn't faze Hassim who began to hiss at
Liam in Arabic. Not sure whether he was being called Eurotrash slut or a
little flower of paradise, Liam glanced up at Hassim, trying to read the
stoic face partially concealed in the room's half-light. No clue
there. Liam gave a mental shrug and applied himself to sucking the cock of
his dreams. Hasssim fucked the boy's mouth with silent savagery, his thighs
bulging and straining with each thrust.

Liam was lost in a timeless euphoria of lust, not noticing his aching jaws
or the sweat which poured down his back and from his pits, soaking his
boxers and sprinkling the carpet. All he knew was this was the cock he had
waited for all his life and that he was willing to do anything, anything at
all, for this daemon-dick out of the Arabian night.

Hassim pulled his cock out of Liam's mouth suddenly, leaving the boy
feeling bereft.  Grabbing the waist of his pants, the Arab lowered his
trousers, exposing the beautifully muscled legs of a soccer player - legs
so densely covered with silky black hair that the stud appeared to be
half-beast - a Muslim minotaur with big drooping balls which hung four
inches below the rigid cock.

Liam groaned at the sight and ran his trembling hands up the huge calves
and truly thunderous thighs, luxuriating in the feel of the hard muscles,
now slick with sweat from Hassim's "exertions." The Irishman leaned forward
and began to lap at the hot skin wet, roughly licking the inside of the
man's thighs and daring a soft nibble as he approached those amazing nuts.

Hassim suddenly grabbed his the top of his sac and clenched it. The
apricot-sized nuts ballooned up within the taut skin. Liam began his
lingual assault, lapping with fury. The abundant hair chafed his tongue but
Liam continued his efforts, darting his tongue over and around the swollen
'nads until they were glistening with spit.

Liam liked his sex rough and to be the top, but this Arab was one big
fellow. And it seemed clear that Hassim saw Liam as the passive partner. If
Liam decided to reverse the roles, he didn't know whether he would end up
regretting it. He pulled away, debating the point, almost unable to
restrain himself from sinking his teeth into those big juicy balls.

Hassim ended Liam's speculation by flipping the constricted balls hard
against Liam's mouth and cheek - hard - again and again. The Arab then
released his nuts and grabbed his cock. This weapon was more formidable as
he began to beat the Irishman's face with it, apparently oblivious to the
pain it caused himself or Liam, who felt like he was being struck with a
rubber truncheon.  When he began to duck away from the blows, Hassim seized
his hair and hissed again in Arabic. Liam closed his eyes and hoped that
the Arab wouldn't break his nose. Yeh, it hurt, but by Allah, it was a pain
that caused Liam's dick to surge and begin dribbling pre-cum.

The blowc stopped and Liam opened his eyes. Hassim was stripping off his
shirt that was now sodden with sweat. The Arab had retained the body of a
powerful athlete even though his stomach had begun to soften. To Liam, the
combination of massive hairy pecs and ripe belly was extremely
sexy. Especially when below the thickening waistline, the fist size dick
head and rigid shaft rose like surfacing submarine.

Liam's cock was now strangling inside the tight boxers. As he watched the
Arab strip, he reached down and freed his throbbing dick. It sprang into
his hand like an eager oversized puppy begging for a treat. As Hassim
unbuckled his trousers and stepped out his pants, Liam began to stroke his
erection, relishing the sheer physicality of the Arab who radiated raw
sexual energy, uncomplicated and direct.

Hassim finished his disrobing and stood, totally nude and unselfconscious,
contemplating Liam. He looked like an exotic god in the darkened room, the
desk lamp casting shadows that hooded his eyes and emphasized the curved
muscles of his biceps, chest and thighs.

"Stand up." Liam eagerly complied; glad to ease his cramped muscles and
eager to show off his huge dick which, compared to the gargantuan meat
Hassim sported, was more modest but was nonetheless a minor masterpiece.

Hassim moved forward into the circle of light in which Liam stood.

"Shorts - off," Hassim barked.  Gone like snow on the desert was the urbane
professional Liam had known before. What towered before him was a master -
uncompromising and in total control.

Liam hastened out of his shorts, barely able to pull them over his
rampaging cock. He tossed them on the floor and stood nervously awaiting
the Arab's next move.

Hassim slowly circled Liam, barely inches from him. It was like being
stalked by a carnivore, a mick-eating lion of the desert. The Arab stopped
behind Liam. Waves of goosebumps coursed up and down the boy's back and
ass.  Liam could feel the heat radiating from Hassim who had made no move
but just stood there.  Liam imagined those feral eyes burning holes in his
white skin as they traveled down to his hairless ass.

Try as he could, Liam could never get his butt to develop the same muscular
appearance as the rest of his body. There wasn't an ounce of flab in his
glutes, but despite the hours of running, cycling and fucking, he still had
the bum of a ten-year old boy, mortifying to a stud who prided himself on
his aggressive masculinity.

Few would have agreed that the softness was a defect. Men had lost their
minds over that ass and experienced no sweeter joy than sticking their face
and tongue between those silken cheeks.

Hassim stared mesmerized at the boy's butt. The European was definitely
older than the boys Hassim normally enjoyed but ever since he had been
introduced to the young Irishman, the Arab had longed for him. He had
learned that Liam would be remaining in the capital during the team's
absence and had planned accordingly. Knowing of the boy's ambition and
zeal, he guessed that he would be in the office that night.

Hassim had not anticipated that the boy would be half-naked,
however. Whatever reserve he might have felt about seducing him right there
in the office vanished at the first sight of the white hairless chest and
tight undershorts.  And truly, that radiant gold-copper hair acted upon him
like an aphrodisiac.

And now, the boy stood before him - his for the taking. And take him, he
would.

Hassim cupped the perfect cheeks with his huge hands. Very gently he began
to squeeze them, marveling at their elasticity but aware of the muscle
under the suppleness. The boy groaned softly, causing Hassim's dick to
burgeon. The Arab's hands ached to clench them roughly, to spank the boy as
he had done so frequently with the young prostitutes he picked up. But, he
could not bear to mar that white, white skin.

This did not mean, however, that he was not prepared to fuck the boy. But
first, he required assistance.

Hassim grabbed Liam's shoulders, turned him around and forced him to his
knees.

"Spit into my hand."  Liam complied. Hassim began to stroke the rigid mass
of his cock.  Eager to help, the boy began to lick the engorged hairy
shaft, being sure to leave plenty of saliva to lubricate the ten-inch
monster.  He lavished his tongue over and between the Arab's fingers, his
mouth watering with pure pleasure, soaking the hairy hand as Hassim
continued his preparations.

The Irishman paused and spit onto his own fingers. Bracing himself against
Hassim's massively muscled leg with one hand, Liam quickly greased up his
tight Irish asshole with the other. There was no way he was going to take
that enormous hose without being ready. Liam was almost always a top; the
rare occasions where he got fucked remained as painful memories.  And this
one promised to be the mother of all memorable fucks.

Hassim, noticing Liam's furtive movement grabbed the boy's tits and forced
him to stand. Swallowing his cry, Liam launched to his feet, his
inadequately prepared asshole quivering with trepidation.  The Arab grabbed
the back of Liam's neck and marched him to the drafting table. He swept his
arm violently across the tabletop, scattering documents everywhere.

"Stand on the stool, "commanded Hassim, referring to a small footstool the
draftsman used to ease their legs during long hours of standing. The
Irishman stepped up, feeling like a Celtic prisoner in an ancient
middle-eastern slave market, about to be auctioned off to some boy-fucking
desert sheik. His dick throbbed at the fantasy

"Bend over and grab the edge of the table." Liam promptly bent over, the
drafting lamp making his skin blinding white. Heat radiated from the high
intensity bulb, causing him to break out into a heavy sweat that gathered
quickly on his flawless white skin.

Using both hands, Hassim slid the pooled sweat off the boy's lower back
down over his butt and into the hairless crack. He forced the sides of both
hands into the cleft and began to separate the soft globes, eagerly seeking
Liam's bunghole. There it was, pink, hairless and very tight.

Hassim spat directly at the hole, his aim uncannily accurate. He placed the
enormous head of his dick against the impossibly tiny hole and pushed.
Liam screamed. He couldn't help it. Never had he felt pain like this, even
after the fight during which he broke his nose a second time and that had
resulted in a three-day coma. Hassim clapped his huge paw over the boy's
mouth, stifling his further cries.

Truly, the boy was tight; Hassim would have thought Liam a virgin had he
not been such an expert in sucking dick. No matter, the Arab intended on
opening up that little door of pleasure and spilling his seed. He pushed
further, delighting in the boy's frantic writhing; his back muscles
bunching and quivering under the white-hot light.

Liam wanted to die.  What had seemed like the erotic adventure of the
century had turned into pure torture. It seemed impossible that his ass
could take the punishment without serious internal damage. "Relax, relax, "
he intoned mentally, hoping that the pain would lessen or Hassim would
fuckin' ease up.

The Arab did him one better. He stuck his hand between Liam's spread legs
and seized the Irishman's cock, which had shriveled with the first onset of
pain. Hassim grabbed a rubber band off the table and twisted it several
times around the base of the boy's dick and balls. He slid his
spit-dripping hand down the length of the Irishman's cock and pinched the
dick head.

The result was miraculous. Liam's dick inflated within seconds and the pain
in his ass was replaced with rampaging pleasure in his cock. The Arab began
beating Liam's sweaty cock and gently squeezed the ballooning gonads, his
large hot hands expert and unerring. Liam's hole relaxed in response.

Hassim smiled.  Now, he would ride the boy more softly, slipping into a
cadence that would pleasure them both. He drew his dick almost all the way
out, spat again and eased it in, all the while slowly stropping the
Irishman's impressive meat.  With his other hand, he reached up and lightly
stroked the boy's firm chest muscles, tickling the nipples with his hairy
knuckles. Liam groaned again, this time with pleasure.

Outside, the traffic had ceased. Only the soft grunts and liquid sound of
Hassim's giant dick easing in and out of Liam's hole could be heard. The
room grew rank with the smell of hot sweaty flesh. Hassim leaned the hairy
bulk of his belly onto Liam's back. The Irishman loved the feel of so much
man on top of him, the sweat pouring off the Arab's massive pecs, the heavy
breathing that seemed to singe the back of his neck.  Liam reached around
and clenched one bucking haunch, awed at the power of the butt muscles as
they thrust the mammoth meat again and again into his hole.

Hassim shifted his hand from Liam's chest to his neck and forced the boy's
head to the surface of the table, his fucking picking up speed as he grew
closer to cuming. Never had the Arab felt this kind of sexual pleasure,
almost religious in intensity. Accustomed to the tepid sexual responses of
his dutiful wife and the professional ministrations of the male
prostitutes, this wild boy from the cold north took him to a place beyond
his experience.  Hassim began to hiss as he felt his release imminent.
Liam clamped his raw anal muscles down on the exploding cock just at the
moment of orgasm, wrenching a cry from the Arab who continued his
devastating hand job. At the same time, Liam shot stream after stream of
cum all over Hassim's hand, the table and the floor.

Liam collapsed onto the table, Hassim's bulk trapping his heaving
chest. The Arab then gently kissed the boy's sweaty shoulders. For some
reason, that totally unexpected gesture brought tears to Liam's eyes, so
complete was his pleasure. He unclenched his hands from the edge of the
table and dropped his head onto his crossed arms, exhausted.

With careful tenderness, Hassim withdrew his still rigid dick from Liam who
heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. The Arab backed away, his eyes fixed
on the halo of sunburst hair burning brightly under the light, the taut
white shoulders now relaxed and the perfect ass splattered with cum.
Hassim stood in the half-darkness, his heavy cock dripping and sweat
running in rivulets down his chest and belly. How he wanted to taste the
boy's cock, to kiss those mischievous lips and ravage that white
throat. But, that was not manly. He permitted himself to only fuck and
handle young men, no oral contact with their cocks or lips. Regrettable,
but still the rules.

As the Irishman pulled himself upright and turned shyly to face Hassim, the
Arab's resolve almost weakened.  Those green eyes, those bruised lips, that
white skin....

His speculations were shattered by the shriek of the phone. Liam scrambled
to grab the handset. It was the project manager from the site. Liam turned
away from the Arab and tried to sound coherent - not an easy task.  His ass
burned and his cock ached. His head was still spinning from his earlier
"exertions."  Luckily, he managed to respond appropriately.  A movement
caught his eye.  Hassim had collected his clothes and was slowly beginning
to dress.

The Arab had his back to Liam and the Irishman's cock began to rise again
as he took in the breadth of hairy shoulders and wide span of back, the
meaty, muscular ass and beautiful legs. And dangling between the spread
legs, the still enormous cock and pendulous balls. Jaisus, what a stud!!
What a fuck. What a night to remember - Liam's Arabian Night.

///////

The train lurched forward again and the present crowded back in on
Liam. Another city, another Saudi.  Maybe not a Hassim, but one hot fucker
nonetheless. He couldn't stand it any longer - he wanted that Arab
meat. Continuing his finger-fucking the kid with one hand, Liam tentatively
moved his other hand towards the hot older man's crotch. The guy shifted
his shoulder bag forward, effectively blocking the view of any casual
observer.

In the tight free space between the men, Liam grabbed at the bunched white
overalls. The painter obligingly unzipped and Liam reached in and grabbed
an uncut dick, still soft and flabby but with enough heft in it to make
Liam drool. He jerked the cock a bit, admiring the weight of it, which grew
as he stroked it.

The Irishman eagerly grabbed into the open fly again and then
stopped. Filling his fingers were the largest fuckin' nuts he had ever
felt. It was as if two ostrich eggs lay in his hand, and flopped over them
the massive stump of hard dick, now fully erect. The weight alone made his
wrist ache and his mouth water.

The head of the stranger's cock was glossy red and shiny with pre-cum. The
shaft of the cock was of average length but immensely wide, with huge dark
veins crawling up the side. Liam's hand could not begin to fully circle the
man's meat.  The hot older guy dropped his hand off Liam's dick and quickly
drew an opened condom from his pocket. With some difficulty, he sheathed
his mammoth meat as Liam watched with fascination and amazement at the
guy's deft movements - he must get a lot of practice.  The stud grabbed his
cock and balls with both hands, staring at Liam.

Liam looked into the Arab's face and involuntarily whimpered, dying to lick
those lush immobile lips and strafe that brown muscular neck with his
teeth.  It wasn't fuckin' fair! First the hot boy and now this incredible
workman. And he could neither fuck the one not suck t'other - even he
wasn't bold enough to do the nasty in broad daylight on a crowded train.
Then there was his own dick, engorged and now thrusting against the boy's
low back, as if it were knocking on a door asking, pleading for entry. What
was a poor, horny mick to do?

The kid, perhaps wondering about Liam's sudden inattention, craned his head
over his shoulder and saw the blue eyes of the workman mere inches from his
own. Startled, he shifted slightly and glanced down, taking in the huge
plug of latexed dick and stupendous balls. The expressive black eyes fairly
blazed as the workman mouthed "fuck you" silently to the boy.

Glancing at the freely sweating and inwardly cursing Liam, the boy smiled.
The Irishman suddenly knew that the "sweet young thing "of his imagining
was just as sexually practiced and horny as himself. And that he, who had
initiated this outrageous adventure, would not be the recipient of the
boy's charms.

Turning counterclockwise, his sweatshirt still covering his lowered jeans,
the boy positioned his ass directly in front of the workman. He grabbed the
edge of Liam's oversized coat and turned the bemused Irishman in toward
him.

Grabbing Liam's dick, he began to pump it softly, then slid his hand
towards the Irishman's nuts.  He squeezed them as tightly as Liam had
squeezed the boy's much harder cheeks.

Liam swallowed a gasp of pain as the kid continued the relentless pressure.
Liam's cock soared as the pain traveled through his scrotum and into his
prostate. He felt like dropping to his knees and begging for mercy, for
more, or for both. The kid eased up for a second and then reapplied his
grip.  Again and again, he worked Liam's nuts until the Irishman thought he
would explode in an eruption of cum.

With a coy shake of his ass, the kid then backed up into the workman's
crotch, signaling his intentions. Both were much the same height and the
slight upward tilt to the man's dick meant the boy was in for a helluva
fucking.

The workman eased forward, his pelvis concealed by the workbag. He bent his
knees slightly and with a strategic thrust, lay his fat dick between the
kid's cheeks.  Sliding it along the sweat soaked crack, he rubbed back and
forth until he was rock hard. And then, as roughly as the kid had mauled
Liam's nuts, the workman entered the boy.

Liam watched the boy's eyes widen in pain. Liam smiled, enjoying the boy's
inability to react verbally when it was clear he would like to scream.  The
boy responded by roughly grabbing Liam's dick with both hands and began
full-length stroking, the coat providing a shield to the overt sexual
activity.

One callused hand gripped the boy's waist roughly as the workman pulled him
further onto his dick.  His other hand fumbled under the kid's sweatshirt
and then grabbed at the hidden throbbing dick. Not very large but with a
big head and perfect round shaved nuts, the kid's dick was slick with
sweat, allowing it to be beaten with ease.

Liam was close to coming; His dick was consumed with heat from the boy's
strokes.  His whole body shook with the arousal. The Irishman looked first
into the glazed black eyes of the young beauty, who was now off in a world
between agony and rapture and then over his shoulder, into the intense blue
eyes of the workman whose unchanging face belied the furious thrusts of his
concealed cock.

Three things happened simultaneously.  The train slammed to a
teeth-chattering halt, the workman's dick plunged mightily forward into the
boy's asshole and Liam began to spray his cum all over the boy's fingers as
well as the inside of his fancy leather coat. Both of the workman's hands
now cruelly grasped the boy's waist as he heaved his dick inside the tight
hole and spilled his sperm. No groan or heavy breathing - just a slight
tightening of his face which washed away in an instant.

And the boy, with the labor-hardened hand of the painter having worked its
magic, shot his wad inside the sweatshirt covering his crotch. His orgasm
was just as silent but he tossed his head back, sweat dampening the back of
his neck, almost causing Liam to lean forward and lick it The air
surrounding the trio became rich with the smell of jism, unnoticeable to
most of the riders. A few, however, like hounds tracing a faint scent,
raised their heads from their newspapers, sniffed and then wondered if they
were just reliving last night's glory or something hot and unseen was going
on. Eyes caught each other and eyebrows lifted in inquiry but no one said a
word.

The Arab, with the same immobility of feature, grabbed a paint rag from his
back pocket.  Sliding his still hard dick out of the boy's ass, he pulled
off the condom with its the weighty load of cum and furtively wiped off his
dick.  He quickly pulled up the boy's jeans over the bruised leaking
asshole and stuffed his giant meat back in his pants. The painter then
shoved the rag and condom in his workbag and turned aside, staring off into
space as if he was just another bored passenger waiting patiently for the
train to arrive at this stop.

The boy, less discreet, lifted his cum-stained hand and began to lick as
daintily as Michael's cat groomed its paws after a meal. Liam stared in
amazement as the boy slid him a sly grin, sucking his fingers one by one.
Finishing his chore, the boy buttoned up his jeans and retied his
sweatshirt in the original position, his abused ass now covered.

Liam was a wreck, knees shaking with the fury of his orgasm, his coat a
sticky mess and sweat soaking his shirt. He leaned back against the wall,
catching his breath. The train hurtled forward again, passengers swaying
and grabbing for the railings. Taking advantage of a break in the wall of
bodies, the boy slipped between two larger passengers and disappeared. The
Arab had completely turned his back on Liam.

The Irishman swabbed himself and his coat down as discreetly as he could.
As the train pulled into the first station, the crush lessened. The Arab
disembarked without a backward glance. With an adroit movement, Liam thrust
his arms into his coat and rapidly buttoned it, hoping to hide the
cum-splattered pants and his still-hard dick.

As the train pulled into his stop, Liam stuck his hands in his coat to grab
his train pass and stopped. Instead of the pass, he pulled out a sticky
business card that had not been there when he left home. Liam sniffed the
card, the smell of cum filling his nostrils. It read "Arabian Knight
Painters - We Do it Right the First Time, Every Time."

 Liam smiled at the pun. Another city, another Saudi. Definitely another
Arabian Knight to remember.

THE END

Liam's adventures continue in Moving Violations, Transit Trash III.

(c) Mick Maxwell, 2001