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                       ELEVATOR SHAFT
                      by Scott Hughes
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I'd worked almost two solid weeks of evening shifts -- even a couple
of graveyards -- and the stress was beginning to show.  I hadn't
gotten my rocks off since that bout with the furry blond giant who
not only turned out to be a neighbor but turned out to have a dick
the size of Mt. Everest.  I think we were BOTH a little surprised
when I swallowed it to the hilt.

Since then, nothing but two weeks of all work and no play... but
when you're a free-lance word processor, you can't always pick and
choose your assignments.  So, there I was, 2 a.m. on a Saturday and no
one in the firm's office but me.  The place was quiet, the screen a blur
and my mind a blank.  Maybe it WAS time to pick and choose and fuck the
money.  I decided to hit the men's room instead.

I stood at the sink wiping the cold water from my face and gave
myself the once-over.  I saw a guy of 32 with black hair and eyes smiling
back.  Not bad, not bad, I said to myself as I dried my beard.  A little
worn around the edges, but still in the running.  With the water still
running, I dispensed with the urinal and pulled my dick out, letting
loose a stream of piss from my own uncut faucet.

I began to think about my blond next-door-neighbear and his prize-winning
schlong.  The swelling of my dick began to cut off the piss-stream.
I realized how long it had been and how much I needed another man for
some hot, raw sex. Work be damned! I stuffed my rod into my pants and
headed out.  Maybe my neighbor'll still be up, I thought as I switched
off the system and headed for the elevator.  And if he isn't, I was sure
going to do my best to GET him up.

I had to take the back stairs as the evelator had been shut off for the
weekend.  Going down two at a time I made it to the ground floor in
record time.  The lobby entrance was locked of course, and I had to
hunt for Bernie, the resident alcoholic night watchman.  I headed for
the basement, his usual sleeping hole.

I could hear a radio playing some salsa music, but no Bernie.  No nobody,
in fact.  I found the freight elevator with its gate open and looked in to
find a workbench, a blaring radio and some papers and magazines.  But no
Bernie.

I crossed to the radio and switched it off.

And noticed what the magazines were. Fuck books.  Not surprising, given
the amount of time a watchman must spend by himself.  But Bernie?  I
hadn't even thought that Bernie would've been able to get it up.  I
flipped through the first of them and felt a familiar stirring in my
pants.  Listen, I appreciate porn as much as the next guy, even to
checking out the 'competition' every now and then.  But something
about this was bothering me...

I scanned through a couple more before it hit me. Sure!  Most straight
porn centered on the women, the camera micro-zoomed in on various beaver
shots.  THESE books had more dick in them than pussy.  And some pretty
good dicks too, I thought.  My stiff dick agreed.  Either these guys were
pushing cock or the photographer has pulled a fast one on them.  I went
back to the first magazine that had been on top.

All the shots were of the same couple, but centered on the guy -- and
with good reason.  The guy's cock was simply fucking huge.  I went from
picture to picture, most of them of the guy pumping himself with both
hands or trying to fuck his partner.  No shots of her trying to blow
him; I doubted that this poor fucker had EVER found anyone who could
get more than the head of it into their mouth.  And she had such a
look of pain on her face in the fuck shots that it seemed like it was
too big for her there, too.
'Lucky bitch,' I thought.

"HEY!" someone yelled.  Butterfingers me dropped the magazine and turned
around, surprised and a little more than embarrased. I stood facing a 6'1
one latino in overalls. Bushy mustache, no shirt.  PLENTY of chest hair.
"Who the fuck are you?" he said with a slight accent.

"Ted," I said, still red in the cheeks.  "I... uh, I've been working for
Reid & Priest on the sixth floor.  Had a late nite and was trying to find
Bernie to get the door open."  I watched as he walked toward me.

"Bernie's out sick," he said, bending down to pick up the magazine at my
feet. As he slowly rose, he smiled at my still stiff dick and the
spreading wet spot at the head. "Name's Raoul," he said, now standing,
but still smiling. "Sorry to interrupt you," he added with a nod to the
magazine.

"S'okay."  I looked Raoul over and found myself still flushed.  My aching
cock was trying to talk me into taking a chance and my neighbor could
certainly wait...  "Yours?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.  "Gotta do something down here," he said and made a
jacking motion with his fist.  He smiled again.  I pointed to the
magazine still in his hand.

"That one's a fucking freak," I said.

"Oh yeah?  You think so?"  Again the smile.  The message was loud and
clear. "Two to one his father ran in the Kentucky Derby." Raoul laughed
and spread the mag out, looking at the pictures.  "Hadn't noticed," he
said, "but you're right... that's a big motherfucker."  He sait on a
stool next to the table and leaned back against the wall, legs spread
wide.  I moved directly in front of him, my swollen, wet crotch at his
eye level.

"I've only seen one that was bigger," I lied.

"You like 'freaks'?" he asked.  I shook my head.  "They like me,"  I
said.  "And what I can do for them."  His right eyebrow went up.
"And just what can you do for them?" he said in a whisper, his hand moving
to his own wet spot.

I dropped to my knees.  "Why not find out?"  I pushed his hand away and
grabbed the bulge in his overalls.  I could feel the heat through the
denim.  He stood and slowly pulled the zipper down the length of his
front.  Cocky and sure, he let his hands fall to his side, simply letting
his cock and balls flop out on their own.  "I see you two have the same
father," I said of him and the guy in the magazine.

"Let's see if you can make this freak 'like' you," he said and leaned
against the wall, his cock thrusting out closer to me.  It was a dick
to be proud of:  thick and uncut, with a one large vein running the
length of it.  I thought of my neighbor and knew that here was one dick
that could give him a run for the money.  Horny as I was, I wanted to
savor it for a few minutes.  Raoul would have none of it.

"Suck it," he said and forced it past my lips.  It had a slight cheesy
taste, but that was nothing new for me and I sure as hell wasn't going to
let it stop me.  I worked up enough spit to cover the length of it and
ran my tongue into his foreskin.  Above me, Raoul began to mutter
"Suck it" over and over to me.  I was going to try.

I opened up my throat and slid away from him to get a better angle.
I knew the length was no problem, but was worried about the thickness.
My hand just barely closed when I wrapped it around his shaft.  I gripped
it hard, provoking an "Oh, yeah" from Raoul and began to move down on
this spanish dick.  As the dickhead hit my tonsils, I had an urge to gag,
but held it in check.  Raoul began to hump his cock into me and my throat
was threatening to quit the race, but I held on.   Gulping in dick instead
of air, I slid the fucker past my opening and down to the bottom of my
throat. Raoul was a wild man, his hands everywhere:  my hair, by beard,
my neck, trying to force his cock deeper into my throat, but finding all
of it there already.  He was moaning and thrusting now, crying to himself
how good it felt how much he wanted to blast a load in my face.  I felt
like I was drowning, choking on dick and my hands began to beat against
his chest, groping, pulling for help.  He began to shake and I could feel
his load start it's way up his dick, straining to get out, wanting to
blast its way loose.  With a vacuum sound, I jerked my head back off his
prick and took his load in my beard, the thick strands of it clinging to
my facial hair.  Inside my pants, my own hot load sped down it own eight
inches path and soaked my pants even more.  His load just kept coming,
his hands pumping his shaft in place of my mouth.  With a loud gasp, he
seemed to finish.

I stood and worked his cum into my beard, feeling its stickiness and not
wanting to wash it out... just yet.  He was still against the wall, his
now-spent cock hanging slick and wet between his legs, still jerking up
and down with a life of its own.  He panted.

"You know..." I said.  "I lied before."

"Huh?" was all he could manage.

"I DO like freaks.  Glad to meet you."

"Ohhhh, man," he said, rolling his head back and forth. "You can 'like'
me any fucking time, man."

After that, the nite shifts weren't so bad.