Date: Mon, 25 Nov 2002 10:07:12 -0800
From: Michael Moran <MICHAELM6@attbi.com>
Subject: THE ARMORED CAR GUARD

The usual disclaimers apply. If you are under age or live somewhere with
laws that prohibit you from reading material of an explicit sexual nature
do not continue. The same goes for anyone who might be offended by
descriptions of sex between two men. Please go.

This piece may not be reproduced anywhere else without prior consent.

This is a revised version of a story that I wrote several years ago. I've
wanted to go back and correct some (to me) glaring errors. After finishing
Jury Duty and re-doing "Saturday Night Stakeout" and "John", I decided to
go ahead with the renovation on the last of my first three stories.

As are most of my stories "The Armored Car Guard" is based, very loosely,
on an actual event. It is for the most part, a work of fiction and should
be considered as entertainment.

Constructive comments may be directed to MICHAELM6@attbi.com. Flames will
be worked, unflatteringly, into the plot line of a story involving a
donkey, a roving gang of castrato sheep herders and a sleazy little dive in
a the bad part of town where people hang out when they have something to
feel guilty about. Most will be ignored.

THE ARMORED CAR GUARD
by
MICHAEL MORAN

The week hadn't been one for the record books. Everything that could
possibly go moderately wrong went horribly wrong. Even things that would
ordinarily be nothing more than minor annoyances took on cosmic proportions
as the week trudged on.

The high point came with the Wednesday mail. One of the new tellers had
cashed five thousand dollars in stolen traveler's checks for a white male
of about 23 using a passport issued to Lai Fong Wong (DOB 5 March,
1932). Suddenly that invitation to join a group of misguided friends on a
year long nude roller skating trip across Central America looked pretty
damned good.

I was in the middle of trying to find out what he could possibly have been
thinking (the word "nothing" kept popping into my head) when I heard the
familiar rumble of the armored truck pulling up to the front door. The semi
remorseful teller was hidden behind a desk, far away from anyone seeking
money, and handed a thousand real estate flyers, nine hundred mailing
labels and a stern admonition that they all had to go out by the end of the
day. I headed for the vault to receive the shipment with my double custody
in tow, confident that they'd either forget something vital or drop a box
of quarters on my foot.

As we waited outside the vault, behind the triple thick bullet RESISTANT
(not bullet PROOF) glass, I noticed it wasn't the usual crew of elderly,
perpetually winded guards with sweat stains on top of sweat stains and
cholesterol IV drips. We watched with silent admiration as they poured out
of the truck and secured the premises.

The biggest one crossed the lobby and planted himself between New Accounts,
the street entrance and a sickly banana tree that more than once caught his
eye (food?). The others glared threateningly as the truck was unloaded. By
the time the dolly was fully weighted down and ready to roll, the
testosterone level in the lobby was setting off the smoke alarms and
growing hair on Mrs. Goldman's chest. I was impressed.

I don't remember exactly what my first thought was when, having turned away
for a moment, I looked up and saw him standing outside the door. A likely
guess would be something to the effect of "Holy shit!". Have I mentioned
that my grasp of the language fails me in moments of extreme lust?

The man was a walking hard-on for anyone with more than just a passing
interest in the male form. For someone with a strong interest in the male
form in a UNIFORM, me for example, he was an on the ceiling, running down
the walls cum shot on the hoof. Manuel, the sexy guard who picked up the
morning work, had met his match.

His name tag read "J.BUSCH" and he stood a shade over six feet tall. His
light brown hair was cut in a modified military style that complimented his
strong Mid West farm boy features. The gray eyes were large and alert.

My eyes traveled up and down his lean, tightly muscled frame as we stared
at each other through the barrier. The jumpsuit had just been
reinvented. Unlike the other guys on the truck, he didn't just occupy it;
he filled it out and made it home. I was about to fixate on the way the
legs were tucked neatly into the tops of his shiny black boots when he
nodded toward the locked door and waited patiently for me to push the
"unlock" buzzer.

He smiled (knowingly?) and guided the dolly toward the inner room. Walking
several paces behind, my eyes rested on the one of the most beautiful pair
of buns I had ever seen: high, firm and perfectly proportioned to the rest
of his body. I resisted the temptation to send my double custody partner
packing, spinning off the combination and pulling the massive door closed
behind us and got down to the mundane task of banking.

I watched enthralled as he loaded and unloaded the boxes and bags and
wondered, briefly, if he hadn't bent over just a little too long. Yeah,
right.

Thoughts of seeing that ass upturned and waiting were still banging around
in my head when I realized he was addressing me. Past the lethal Smith and
Wesson, I turned my attention to a point where I was looking (more or less)
into his eyes.

"I want to sit on your dick," he announced brusquely.

I shook my head, not quite believing what I had just heard.

"Excuse me?"

"I said sign here please. That's fifty boxes and three bags."

"Oh yeah... Sorry."

Damn!

He nodded as he tucked the clip board under his bulging bicep, turned on
his heel and walked out the door. The click of the outer door lock brought
me, reluctantly, back to the real world. The testosterone level in the
lobby dropped to acceptable E.P.A. levels and it was back to business as
usual. There was still the matter of the Good Samaritan teller who now had
another million or so to give away.

The weekend came at last. In keeping with my usual Friday night routine, I
headed for The Spike to dump on my friend Russ. He had listened to enough
bank horror stories to know when I needed a sympathetic ear.

I recounted every past mistake, corporate and otherwise, that had
contributed to my hyperkinetic condition. He was about to hear the part
about the generous teller when Rick the bartender tapped me on the
shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt, guys. I know you don't usually accept them, but that
guy at the end insists on buying your next beer. Is it okay?"

"Tell the man I said thank you but..."

Rick stopped me.

"Trust me and ask no questions," he said firmly. "You don't want to turn
this one down."

I placed my near empty bottle on the counter.

"Screw it. I guess once won't kill me."

I held up the bottle and thanked the entire South end of the bar, not
really looking at anyone in particular. A couple of swallows later, Rick
came back with a piece of paper, a pen and a bewildered expression.

"He wants you to sign for it."

"He what?"

"He wants you to sign here... please."

I turned around again and froze. Instead of a happy drunk blowing the last
traces of his unemployment check, I was looking into the face of none other
than "J.BUSCH". I smiled stupidly, nodded and turned to Russ who had
already set his sights on a hot little Hispanic guy across the room.

"Holy sit! It's HIM!"

"Who's him? You know that guy over there? What's his name?"

"No, I mean the one at the end of the bar. It's the armored car guy."

"What armored car guy? You never told me about any armored car guy. When
did you..."

The last half of my first beer was gone before he could finish the
question. Right on cue, my hormones had kicked in. I was sporting a major
hard-on that was going to make getting through the crowd a challenge.

I edged around a slender twink, resplendent in designer leather and
lip-synching "Respect" and started for the far end of the room. Russ, I
assumed, had locked the Latin Lad in his sights and was moving in for the
kill. Ready, aim, fire.

He smiled as I approached and, unless my eyes deceived me, shifted on the
stool to afford an unobstructed view of the large hole in the crotch of his
Levis. Abstruse was obviously not in his off duty vocabulary.

"I was beginning to think I had read you the wrong way when I sent down
that beer," he said as our eyes met.

I tried to NOT stare at the gaping tear in his pants. Even if I could,
which I normally couldn't, I'd have made an exception for him. Of course he
didn't have to know that.

"You thought I could be had for the price of a beer?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if I thought you could. I meant at
the bank."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Not at all. I was... Oh never mind."

"You were...what?"

"Well, after seeing nothing but "bank types" waiting at the door all day, I
was surprised when I saw you."

My ears were burning. I was turning red.

"Don't b-be fooled. I've g-got a whole drawer full of plastic pocket
protectors at home," I stammered.

He glanced down at my hard-on, which showed no signs of backing off, and
ran his finger up and down its length.

"I'm willing to bet you don't even own a pocket protector."

My brain seemed to have shut down as, once again, I was at a loss for
words. Suddenly all I could think of was how much I wanted to see him
naked.

In the remote chance that the two beers I'd just consumed in less than an
hour had gone to my head and were clouding my judgement, it seemed like the
ideal time to get a hold on myself: in the emblematic sense of course. I'd
heard stories about guys who carried guns, and it was in my best interest
to find out a little more about him before things went much farther.

To my relief, he didn't mind my asking a few questions and even had a few
of his own. It turned out that he really disliked guns but in the light of
a recent string of armored car holdups saw them as a life saving
necessity. If the thought of it made my stomach flip, I had to admit the
logic was sound.

Before long, I knew everything there was to know about his job, his likes
and dislikes and who else shopped at the same market. He didn't mention
Manuel.

It was eleven o'clock before he got around to putting his hand on my leg. I
stared into his large gray eyes and prayed that he'd take it from there.

Vince, the bar owner, had a policy about extreme public displays and was
keeping a close watch on the horny Friday night crowd. I moved my stool
closer and slipped my finger into the opening between his legs. He was as
hard as I'd been all evening. I smiled as I stood up and put my empty
bottle on the counter.

Busch drained the last of his beer and put the bottle aside.

"You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?" he asked.

My reply sounded more frog like than I'd have liked.

"That depends on how you define work," I
croaked. "So... (ribbit)... Interested... (ribbit)... in blowing this
place?"

He adjusted himself and slid off the barstool.

"I'd rather blow you."

While walking to my truck, it occurred to that I still hadn't caught his
name: at least I didn't think he had offered it. The music had been loud,
but I'd always made a point of knowing who I was fucking. If this was
destined to be a one-time encounter, at least it wouldn't be an anonymous
one. I opened the passenger door and paused.

"Please don't think I'm an asshole for asking this, but did you tell me
what the "J" stands for?"

"I don't... and I didn't. It's Jay."

I may have gone brain dead, but THAT much I could remember. All that
remained was if he knew mine.

It was a five minute drive to his place. Jay lived in the upper half of a
duplex on a narrow side street just south of the trendy part of Melrose:
not the kind of area most people associate with presumed rednecks who carry
guns. So much for stereotypes.

We ascended a long flight of stairs to a wide landing and a sparsely
furnished living room.

"Sorry about the odor. I wasn't expecting company."

I realized to my dismay that I'd been searching the dimly lit room for
racks of assault rifles and crates of grenades.

"Odor? What odor?"

Jay reached for the switch.

"The gun oil. I cleaned my weapon before I left tonight. It takes awhile
for the smell to go away. If it bothers you..."

Relieved, and a little ashamed of my stupid assumptions, I guided his hand
away from the wall and downward to my crotch.

"Don't worry about it. It kinda reminds me of the Hollywood High School
ROTC Armory."

He looked at me questioningly and, grabbing my sweaty hand led me down a
long hall toward the rear of the apartment. We came to a door and
stopped. A room appeared as if by magic with the click of a switch.

"My friends call this the fish bowl."

"Damn!" I exclaimed as I stepped inside. "Words fail me."

The room was, roughly, 12 by 18 and sheathed, four walls and ceiling, with
mirrors. It was awash in a soft blue light that seemed to come from
everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"It was like this when I moved in. Pretty cool, huh?"

I joined him at the foot of a massive sleigh bed. Cool? I was standing in
the middle of a huge diamond with this hot fucker standing at my side hard
and ready for action. Cool didn't begin to describe it: especially when his
hands disappeared beneath my leather jacket. No. Cool was definitely an
understatement.

"Yeah... It sure is."

I pulled him closer and ran my hands down his muscular back until they came
to rest on his ass. My jacket hit the floor and I buried my face in the
crook of his neck.

"By the way, my name is..."

"Your name is Michael," he whispered.

"Yeah... I know," I replied just before our lips met.

Jay stepped back out of reach as my hand ventured downward over his taut
belly. My first thought was that I had just overstepped some unspoken
commandment: kinda like "Thou shalt not tweak my tits" or some other
bullshit. Seeing the look on my face, he grinned.

"Don't sweat it. There's something missing.

"Missing? How much more do you need?"

"Don't move. I'll be right back."

He walked out of the room leaving me alone with my four selves (five if you
counted the ceiling). As one who's been known to partially rate a man by
what he reads, I switched on the lamp and wandered over to the bookcase.

It was filled with an esoteric unusual collection that ranged from a
compilation of porn star interviews done by my friend Dave Kinnick to the
works of Isaac Singer. Scattered about were computer manuals, books on
nineteenth century guns and biographies of obscure people whose stories
would never see the light of a TV Movie of the Week. I picked out the
Singer volume and began reading.

"Do you know Singer?" he asked eyeing the book as he stood watching me from
the door.

"Not intimately, but I saw Yentyl."

Whether or not the book made it back into it's slot is unimportant. I was
too absorbed in the sight of the man in the uniform walking across the room
to even care. Jay was dressed exactly as he had been that first day at the
bank. All that was missing was the mace, the gun (neither of which was a
major loss) and the restrictive lead lined underwear.

"I remember you said something about being into uniforms."

To be honest I couldn't remember ever having said that. It could have been
a lucky guess for all I knew or cared, but I wasted no time in letting him
know how right he was. My hand shook a little as I grabbed him by his thick
leather belt and pulled him closer.

As our tongues met, I began to very slowly unbutton his jumpsuit. I had
every intention of making things last for as long as I could. Assuming my
imagination didn't give out, he would still be begging for more at dawn's
early light.

At 6'4", 190 pounds, I'm not a "small" man. I like the feel of a man in my
arms. It doesn't matter how tall they are, as long as I'm holding something
substantial. Jay fit that requirement and then some. God did he ever.

I rested the palms of my hands on his back for a second or two before
allowing them to drift downward until they came to rest on his ass. His
powerful, finely tuned muscles grew tense: like those of a tiger preparing
to spring. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his crotch
tightly against mine as I slid my middle finger through a hole in the seam.

"It's an old uniform," he growled.

The temperature in the room seemed to jump ten degrees as I dropped to one
knee turned him around and got to work. I yanked the two halves apart, then
sat back to admire his exposed ass. Strangely enough, there was still
something wrong. Then it hit me.

"Lose the tee shirt," I commanded. "Get rid of it."

Jay's face remained impassive as he lowered the zipper of his jump suit,
reducing the shirt to shreds while I watched with breathless anticipation.

It was only when the last piece had fallen to the floor, and every feature
of his sharply defined chest was revealed, that I recovered my senses and
got to my feet. I brushed the palm of my hand lightly over a hard, pierced
nipple, then grasped the ring between my thumb and forefinger and pulled
gently.

"You like that?"

Jay shuddered and nodded his head.

"Yes sir. I like it very much sir."

Okay. The "sir" part caught me by surprise, but I could go along with it if
he was into that. Still holding on to the nipple ring, I reached inside and
grasped the base of his thick cock with my free hand. His breathing became
heavy: as if he was about to shoot his load.

I pulled my hand out.

"I don't want you to cum yet."

"No sir," Jay replied gasping. "Don't want to sir."

He dropped to his knees and freed my straining dick from its prison. He
studied it for a moment and then looked up into my face. His eyes glittered
like alpine lakes beneath a star filled night sky.

"Nice cock," he said running his finger along its side. "May I suck it,
sir?"

In less time than it takes to work up a suitable response he had taken it
into his mouth. All I could do was catch my breath and hold it until his
nose was buried deep in my pubic hair. He gagged once and paused as if
waiting for me to take the controls.

Lacing my fingers behind his head, we fell into a natural rhythm. Before
long I was fucking his face like a madman while he received my thrusts with
an eagerness that was inspiring.

Everywhere I looked I found another version of my cock sliding into his
mouth. Every wall presented another image of Jay furiously beating off, his
torn uniform flapping wildly in the still air.

"That's it. Swallow my big cock," I commanded.

I rotated my hips, forcing his nose even deeper into my crotch as I probed
the warm confines of his mouth. He nodded eagerly, pausing briefly to catch
his breath before getting back to work with renewed vigor.

My balls churned and drew up into their sacks. I'd lost all sense of
anything existing beyond the head of my penis. It's an oversimplification
to say that I'd become one big erection with just one thought in my wet,
swollen head.

Rather than risk carrying the analogy to the next unsavory level, I'll just
say that he sensed that I was getting close and pulled away. I stood over
him, my dick, glistening with saliva, and rested it on his cheek as his
hands moved up and down my legs.

"I want this thing inside me, sir."

"Not yet."

I helped him to his feet and pushed him against the wall. Then, dropping to
my knees, I pulled the shaft into my mouth. With the sound of his moans
ringing in my ears, I went to work like a man obsessed.

Everything I'd ever learned was coming into play. Things I remembered, from
men with faces I could no longer visualize, came back in a rush as I worked
his cock, and him, steadily toward the brink.

I loved sucking his dick. I loved the way he tasted: salty, like someone
who'd just peeled off his jock strap after a long day on the playing
field. I relished his smell, immersing myself in it as my tongue probed
every hard inch of his cock and balls.

At one point I glanced upward, hoping for a glimpse of his handsome face
contorted with pleasure. He'd be watching me, his face glistening with
perspiration as his hands worked over his nipples: twisting and teasing
them. Clearly, my technique of sucking harder at the head and gradually
decreasing the suction as I moved along the shaft was turning him inside
out.

"Your mouth feels so good. Jesus, you're killing me."

Lest my efforts became lethal, I got to my feet and he threw his muscular
arms around my chest. My tongue slid down his throat as I wrapped my hand
around both of our cocks and stroked them together.

"Now," I whispered. "I want your ass now."

"Yes sir," he responded eagerly.

Jay retrieved a half-empty bottle of lube and a rubber from under the bed
and got back on his knees.

"It looks like you're prepared for anything."

Although there was nothing to read into it, my offhanded observation didn't
go unnoticed.

"I'm not promiscuous. I jack off a lot," Jay replied.

He carefully removed the rubber from its foil package and placed it on his
tongue. My dick slid into his mouth, only to emerge safely sheathed and
ready for action. Jay grinned at my surprised expression, and wrapped his
strong arms around my neck.

"Nice trick," I whispered.

"I've always wanted to do that on a real man. So far I've only been able to
practice with a dildo."

The kiss was hard and passionate. The time was right. He turned and bent
over the edge of the bed.

"Fuck me," he whispered huskily.

The sight of the perfect ass being offered to me was overwhelming. I
dropped to my knees and buried my tongue deep in his hole. His whole body
quivered as I licked and teased it.

"Oh God! Eat my hole, man!"

I slapped his left cheek as I moistened my finger and thrust it deep
inside. Jay rocked back and forth, murmuring softly as I pushed in and out
until his sphincter relaxed. It was then, as I withdrew my finger and
positioned my dick at the opening, that my attention was drawn to a length
of chain dangling from the ceiling a few feet away.

"Don't move. I just had a brilliant idea."

I abruptly turned and went in search of my jacket. I'm not sure how
brilliant it was, but Jay appeared to be intrigued as I fumbled through the
pockets. Neither of us spoke: even when I led him away from the bed,
snapped the cuffs on his wrists and looped them over the hook at the end of
the chain.

I stood back to admire the magnificent body, helpless and exposed, before
me. It was one of those moments that I'd fantasized about: right down to
the dripping, erection. Pulling aside the fabric of his uniform, I kicked
his legs apart and thrust my straining cock deep inside with a single
lunge.

"Oh fuck!" he cried out, straining at his bonds. "Shove that big dick up
there. Ride that ass. Ride it hard!"

I grabbed the back of his belt and continued my attack using long
jackhammer strokes that scarcely gave him time to breathe, much less
acclimate himself. We were like a well oiled machine, pushing and pounding
one part against another.

I thought of that first day and of how I'd chastised myself for daring to
imagine him begging for my dick. How could I have given myself the luxury
of imagining my hands roaming across his heaving chest and down his rippled
abs?

When I couldn't penetrate any farther, I took a half step forward and
forced my cock deeper by shear will power. Jay stopped thrashing and, with
a deep sigh, went almost limp as it pushed steadily against his prostate.

"Oh God! Do it, daddy," he demanded forcefully, his hard-on bouncing like a
fleshy divining rod. "Plow my hot butt hole!"

I picked up speed; relentlessly pounding his greasy, abused hole as the
slap of sweat drenched flesh against flesh filled the room. He was getting
close and gasping for air as his balls constricted in my hand.

"Cum for me," I whispered, twisting his right nipple between my thumb and
forefinger.

I resumed stroking him in time to the plowing he was getting from the other
side, and twisted his right nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

"Oh shit," he cried out. "I'm gonna blow my load right through the fucking
wall!"

He arched his back and, with a howl, shot his wad across the room on to his
reflection in the gleaming mirror. Wave after wave of cum splattered across
the floor until I released his spent cock.

No longer able to hold back I pulled out, tore off the rubber and walked
around to face him. Jay looked down and grinned as I shoved my greasy dick
through the opening of his ravaged uniform and jacked myself off to a
shuddering orgasm into his wet pubic hair.

A thick strand of cum ran slowly down the top of his still semi hard
dick. I waited for it to reach the end and fall to the floor before tearing
away the last of his uniform and releasing the cuffs. Jay staggered once
and fell into my arms.

"Fuck, that was hot," he whispered as a shudder raced through his body.

I gently picked him up and carried him toward the bed, his head resting
against my chest. He stretched out on the white sheets and waited patiently
as I removed the rest of my clothes and climbed in next to him.

Later, as he lay next to me with his smooth ass pushed firmly against my
crotch, I looked up at the ceiling at our reflection. Sometime within the
last couple of hours, or however long we had been there, it had started to
rain.

I pulled him closer and my cock sprang to life again as I kissed the back
of his neck. Jay maneuvered it between his cheeks and tightened his grip on
it.

"You're not going anywhere, bank man," he growled in a low, painfully sexy
voice.

"I wasn't even considering it."

I was about to doze off in preparation for the next round, when I heard the
faint sound of the front door opening. Jay yawned and stretched but was
otherwise unconcerned.

"Oh, that's just my roommate."

"Hey, Jay! You home Buschman?"

There were footsteps coming down the hall.

"We're in here, Manuel."

"Manuel?" I queried.

"Yeah you know him. He does your morning pickup."

I dropped back on the pillow and smiled. An already memorable evening was
about to become one for the record books.

30

MICHAELM6@attbi.com