Date: Tue, 07 Sep 2004 19:35:47 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: Finding a Home

Finding a Home
By: Moore

Chapter 1

The man's arms and legs were hairy, the color of corn silk, which
briefly reminded the boy of home; the endless rows of corn spreading
away from his house as far as the eye could see. Fields he'd played
in as a small child and labored in with his stepfather when old
enough to drive the tractor.  Fields and a man he'd likely never see
again, never wanted to see again. The boy would call his mother
though, when he got settled. Let her know he was okay, but that he
wasn't ever coming back to Kansas.

The man paused when he saw the boy sitting alone, smiled knowingly,
then walked slowly all the way to the back of the bus, passing rows
of empty seats, any one of which he could have taken.

"This seat taken?" The man asked, tossing his canvas bag in the
overhead rack like he already knew...had no doubt what the answer
would be.

The boy shook his head no and the man promptly sat down, pressing
his hairy thigh against the boy's smooth leg which made the boy
shiver and made the man think that maybe taking the bus this week to
Provincetown wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"You cold or just glad to see me?" The man chuckled, casually
resting his left hand on the boy's trembling knee and extending his
right. "Marty Franklin.  You got a name, gorgeous?"

"Steven Marsh," the boy mumbled, blushing slightly as Marty took his
hand, held it for a moment then set it down near his crotch. The
bare skin was smooth, Steven noted immediately, the hair silky soft
under his fingers.  He also noted that the man wasn't wearing any
underwear, the outline of a large cock clearly visible through the
thin nylon jogging shorts.

Steven could have easily lifted his hand from the man's thigh,
nothing but his own desires held it there.  He didn't. A fact that
brought a smile to Marty's face and made him forget all about his
boyfriend Peter. Steven felt the familiar stirring in his crotch
even before Marty's hand meandered up from his knee, along the
inside of his trembling leg to the frayed hem of his worn denim
cut-offs and beneath.

Marty Franklin had unusually soft hands and long thin fingers with
perfectly manicured nails. Hands that had never worked on a farm or
wielded a hammer or lifted anything heavier than a double martini.
Experienced hands that made quick work with the button fly of
Steven's Levis.

Steven shifted slightly in his seat giving Marty better access,
forgetting that he was on a public bus...forgetting everything
except the feeling in his groin as Marty lightly rubbed his belly
then worked those long fingers under the loose band of his underwear
and into his pubic hair.  Steven had masturbated in the bus station
bathroom some thirty minutes earlier. Might well have been thirty
years earlier for the way his dick was responding to Marty's touch.

"Ahhhh, what have we here?"  Marty whispered in Steven's ear,
wrapping his hand around the boy's thickening shaft. "Why it's Mr.
Cock and he's rising up to say hello.  I'm pleased to meet you too,
Mr. Cock."

For as long as he could remember Steven Marsh had thought about
moments like this; dreamed about it at night, fantasized during the
day. Wondering when, not if, but when he'd meet someone who felt the
same way he did...had the same feelings.  Steven always thought it
would happen with a close friend or at least someone he knew, a boy
around his own age.  He had looked it up, there were 7,611 people
living in Cornstalk County and 582 boys attending Cornstalk High. 
Surely, Steven thought each and every day, surely there had to be
one boy other than himself, one more frustrated boy with demons in
his head. Surely there had to be one more boy who was a homosexual.

The realization that he was different from other boys came first
with his love for music and dance. Not the music his friends
listened and danced to, but the classics, opera and ballet. He
didn't dare ask his parents about taking ballet lessons as some of
the girls did; where would the money come from? But dreamed about
performing, dancing on a stage, about playing the prince in Swan
Lake after seeing a performance on a class trip to Wichita.

The other 13 year old boys thought the show was "faggy" and said so
repeatedly for the duration of the three day trip. Steven, wise
beyond his years, kept silent. He kept this dream, like all his
other dreams, hopes and aspirations, all of his innermost feelings
...his homosexuality to himself.

Chapter 2

Wet dreams, nocturnal emission, masturbation.  Steven had laughed
nervously along with the other boys when the topics were discussed
in health class.  Allan Crosby, the teacher that all the boys looked
up to for his athletic skills and no bull shit way of talking to
them...all the girls swooned over his hunky body and movie star good
looks, had laughed along with them.

"Wet dreams are perfectly normal," Crosby continued when the boys
had settled down.  "Your body is maturing, changing, and the release
of sperm is one way of letting you know it. A show of hands, don't
be shy. How many of you have had a wet dream?"

Not one teacher in a thousand would have had the courage to ask such
a question.  But Allan Crosby wasn't like most teachers. Born and
raised in New York City, a working class family with more love than
money, he'd seen it all and heard it all on the streets of
Manhattan.  Boston College on a full athletic scholarship, NYU for
a masters degree in psychology and education, Allan was dedicated to
teaching young people with honesty and candor.  He'd seen his twin
brother Robert's life almost destroyed by timid teachers afraid to
deal with real life issues and quack psychologists with useless,
harmful even, outdated theories and fat bank accounts.

Robert was okay now, terrific really, but for years he'd been
tormented.  He had suffered needlessly during his teens before he
was able to come to grips with who and what he was.

"How many of you have had a wet dream?" Crosby asked again. One by
one, slowly, every boy in the class of 15 raised his hand. Steven
raised his hand too, the last boy to do so, after a quick check to
make sure that his erection wasn't too obvious.

"Okay, good.  Now, what's another way for the body to release sperm? 
C'mon. Anybody?"

"Jerking off?" A high pitched voice offered from the back of the
room.

Crosby waited for the laughter to subside. "Yes, jerking off,
masturbation. I'll let you boys in on a little secret about
masturbation."  Crosby let the silence linger on as the wide eyed
boys leaned forward in their seats.  "Everybody does it," he said,
voice barely above a conspiratorial whisper. "Every teenage boy
masturbates.  You know why?  Who can tell me why?"

Silence, a few nervous giggles, then, "Because it...because it feels
good?"

"Right on!!" Crosby shouted, thrilled at the honestly given answer
and at the rapport he was building with the class. "Boys masturbate
because it feels good."

"Mr. Crosby?"

"Yes?"

"Do men do it too?  I mean like grown ups, adults, men like our
fathers?  You?"

Crosby answered the question honestly.  "I can't speak for other
men, but I do masturbate once in a while...in the shower."

He answered a lot more of the boy's questions about erections, what
caused them to happen, and sperm, ejaculation...encouraging a wide
ranging, open and honest discussion about sex and relationships.
Steven Marsh, he noticed, was the only boy who seemed disinterested,
did not ask a question, offer a personal thought, or participate at
all in the discussion. The boy was reluctant to make eye contact
too, looking away or closing his eyes when Crosby looked at him.
Crosby made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Steven, in fact, was extremely interested and had a million
questions he would have liked to ask Mr. Crosby.  He was listening
very closely to what his classmates said, particularly what they
said about the girls they liked.

John Larson, Steven's best friend since they were little, awed the
class with the bold admission that he had kissed a girl. "Sue Ellen
Lynch," he said, "on the lips. I think she's hot. I get a boner
whenever I see her, even sometimes when I just think about her. How
come that happens, Mr. Crosby?"

I get a boner when I think about you, John, Steven thought.

"One of life's great mysteries," Crosby answered as the bell rang
signaling the end of class. "Chemistry, biology, I really don't
know. Human sexuality, love, physical attraction...why one person is
attracted to another is a good discussion for our next class. We'll
continue this next time, boys.  Have a good weekend."

The boys followed Crosby out of the classroom like he was the Pied
Piper. Except for Stephan Marsh who remained in his seat with a far
away look in his eyes and an embarrassingly obvious bulge in his
shorts. He jumped when John touched his shoulder and asked if he was
coming. "What? Oh, yeah. Go on ahead, John, I'll meet you in the
cafeteria in a minute."

"You okay?  You look kind of strange?"

"I'm fine, really. Just thinking about somethig that Mr. Crosby said
in class."

"Who isn't, the guy is unreal.  Man, you gotta love a teacher who
admits to jerking off in the shower."

"I do," Steven said under his breath to his friend's back as John
left the classroom.  "I do love him. I love you both."

Chapter 3

Marty Franklin continued to fondle Steven's cock and balls as the
bus, passengers on board; thirty four homosexual men of various
ages, one homosexual teenager about to cream his shorts, and two
lesbians sitting behind the driver, pulled out of the station for
the non-stop run from Boston to the gayest summer community on the
eastern seaboard. Provincetown, the regulars joked, made Fire Island
look like a day camp for celibate priests with a few fag kids thrown
in to keep them happy and occupied.

"Your balls smell great, kid," Marty said, sniffing his fingers. "I
wonder how they taste. Take off the shorts, huh."

Steven was embarrassed, he hadn't bathed in days. Neither had he
changed his jockey shorts which were pretty rank after travelling
half way across the country.  Running away had been a hasty, spur of
the moment decision and he'd only stuffed his backpack with the bare
essentials: A picture of his mom, $188 in small bills, CD player and
his favorite CD's, a few clothes and his toothbrush. The last thing
he packed, retrieved from its secret hiding place was an old jock
strap. Not just any old jock strap...Allan Crosby's jock strap.

~~~~

Yellowed now and stiff with the remains of countless jack off
sessions, Steven hadn't meant to steal it. He'd gone to the gym like
he often did after his last class to watch Crosby shoot hoops. Three
times a week Steven watched from the stands as Crosby raced up and
down the court, dribbling, shooting, rebounding until the sweat
poured from his body. One hour exactly, and then Crosby would shut
the lights and head for the showers.

High up in the stands Steven sat...where it was dark, so that
Crosby, who made it a point to say hello when he saw him come into
the gym, couldn't see him anymore. Couldn't see the tears of joy
that stained Steven's cheeks, or the shame and guilt etched on his
face, as he hurriedly opened his jeans to play with his cock while
watching the man he loved.

Allan Crosby couldn't see the boy masturbating or see his sperm
shooting high in the air, hanging, and falling to the stained patch
of concrete between the boy's trembling legs. Crosby heard him
though, when he paused during his workout to towel off; Steven's
soft sobs, quickening breath and involuntary gasp that accompanied
his orgasm...and it broke his heart.  His brother Robert had
suffered, as he suspected Steven was suffering. Masturbating in the
bed next to his when he thought Allan was asleep, the whole time
whispering the name of his earth science teacher.

The jock strap was just lying there, on the floor of the open locker
when Steven entered the locker room.  Several times before he'd come
to the door of the locker room, "To ask Mr. Crosby a question," he
planned to say if stopped, only to get cold feet and run off before
going inside.  This time he was determined to talk to Mr. Crosby
about what was on his mind, he'd understand. Talk to the man and
just maybe get the chance to see his idol, see the man he worshiped
and dreamed about...see the man he loved, naked.

Crosby was singing in the shower, off key. Steven recognized the
tune from Man of LaMancha, The Impossible Dream. He sat down to
wait. His eyes kept drifting back to the jock strap. I'll just touch
it, he thought, starring intently at the jock while absently
massaging the stiffness in his crotch. One little touch.

Steven didn't stop running until he reached the secret spot he and
John had discovered about a mile from his house. They used to go
there often to play cowboys and indians, aliens from space and other
make believe games. Steven still went there, John not for years,
when he needed to be alone to think about his life, his future and
his blossoming homosexuality. To masturbate too, more often than
not, when his thoughts, more often than not turned to John Larson
and Allan Crosby.

Steven was shaking all over as he opened his backpack, looked
up...listened, then shut out the rest of the world to focus all his
attention on the treasure inside. The mesh fabric was warm to the
touch and wet, soaked through with perspiration. The sweat from his
balls, Steven thought with growing excitement. He held it aloft,
blinked away a tear, and slowly...like an angel descending from
heaven...brought Allan Crosby's jock strap to his face.

The shudders that racked his body, the tension in his limbs and
groin as the soft mesh lightly grazed his cheek was unlike anything,
short of an orgasm, that Steven had ever experienced before. He lay
back, settling the wet jock over his mouth and nose. Breathing
deeply, he inhaled the musky scent of the man he worshiped, drawing
the pungent smell into his lungs...into every cell of his body,
while shucking off his jeans and jockey shorts.

"I love you, Mr. Crosby," Steven gasped into the jock strap as he
stroked his cock with one hand and cupped his balls with the other.
"I love you," he shouted, pumping his dick furiously now,
overstimulated and desperate for release. Then he screamed,
clutching his dick, as a powerful orgasm ripped through his body.

Steven lay perfectly still, enjoying the moment, then did something
he'd often thought about, but had never done before. With Allan
Crosby's jock strap still draped over his nose, Steven Marsh brought
his hand to his mouth and tasted his semen. He shuddered at the
strange taste of the slippery stuff, salty and sharply astringent,
nothing at all like the "sweet cream" the queer boys raved about in
the porn magazines. It made him gag slightly, but he forced himself
to lick the sperm on his fingers anyway.  Then he dipped his index
finger into the pool of cum on his belly and brought it to his lips.

"Suck it," he whispered to bolster his nerve. Then louder, "Suck
that dick," frightening the blackbirds who flew off in a rush.

He put his finger in his mouth and sucked it with care.  Imagining,
wishing that it was a penis...Mr. Crosby's or John's penis that was
in his mouth...Mr. Crosby's or John's sperm that was wrecking havoc
with his taste buds.

When every trace of semen was gone Steven boldly turned his
attention back to the jock strap. He licked the wide band that had
circled Crosby's waist and the thin straps that had hugged his legs.
Then, carefully removing the pubic hairs stuck inside the pouch and
setting them aside, he licked the wet jock fabric that had cradled
Mr. Crosby's penis and testicles.

"I love you, Mr. Crosby," he whispered again and again, tasting the
man's sweat which mingled with the lingering taste of the sperm in
his mouth, all the while stroking the hardness between his legs.

Crosby's jock strap, size 36, was way too big for Steven whose long,
lean body barely weighed 120 lbs. He wore it home anyway and slept
with it that night under his pillow, displacing the teddy bear that
had shared his bed and secrets since birth, whispering to the jock
as though it was alive. Not that he slept very much, waking three
times to jack off into the jock, then lapping up the small amount of
sperm he'd coaxed from his overworked balls.

Night after night, week after week, until the once soft mesh pouch
grew stiff and no longer absorbent. The semen he ejaculated into the
pouch collected in a small shimmering pool. Over time Steven became
accustomed to, if not actually fond of the taste of sperm.

Necessity, it's been said, is the mother of invention. So too is
curiosity which Steven was full off, as well as being full with the
growing interest to ejaculate directly into his mouth. He'd drawn a
simple face on the pouch of Mr. Crosby's jock strap, like the Fedex
guy in the movie had done to the volleyball. A silly thing to do,
but it made him feel like he wasn't talking to himself.

"Gonna do it in my mouth next time," he boldly told the jock one
night after licking the pouch clean. "Gonna jerk off and cum in my
mouth."

He chickened out on the first attempt, closing his mouth as the
climax began...squirting semen all over his face, and hating himself
afterward for being such a coward. He waited almost two days before
trying again, abstaining from sex to insure a full load.

His heart was racing with excitement as he took off his clothes on
the fateful day. "In my mouth this time," he informed Crosby's jock
strap. "Yeah, I know its a gay...okay, a fag thing to do. You just
watch, though. I'm gonna jerk off and cum in my mouth."

His legs were shaking when he tossed them behind his head, which
continued on even after his knees hit the ground by his ears and his
feet were secured against the boulder behind his head. Several
inches above his face Steven's cock grew stiff with excitement.

"This feels so good," he said out loud, clutching the jock strap in
one hand and masturbating with the other. "So good, so good. Gonna
cum...gotta cum...in my mouth...cum in my mouth...cum in my
mouth...cum...cum...cum in my mouth."

Stroking faster and faster, then freezing with his mouth wide open
when the climactic moment arrived, Steven aimed and took the first
two rapid fire explosions of semen squarely in his mouth. The third
was off line, hitting him on the upper lip.  The remainder of his
load, the dribbles and oozes of sperm that he milked from his cock,
he carefully directed to drip onto his outstretched tongue.

Steven swallowed his sticky load after swishing the sperm around in
his mouth. A half hour later he ejaculated into his mouth again, and
again an hour after that. "Cum's not so bad," he confided to the
jock strap after swallowing his third load. "Not so bad at all once
you get used to it."


Chapter 4

The Provincetown bus station looked much the same as all the other
small town bus stations Steven Marsh had passed through on his trip
across the country.  The ticket window and vending machines, the
waiting area with plastic seats and the folks waiting to greet weary
travellers all looked similar.  Were it not for the sight of men
embracing, kissing each other on the lips, and men holding hands as
they left the station, Steven might have been back where he started.

"You're not in Kansas anymore, huh, Dorothy?"

Marty was pretty certain that the boy was a virgin, still halfway in
the closet though, not quite sure of his sexual orientation. He
wouldn't kiss or take off his undershorts which, after two orgasms
were soaked and sticky with semen. And he balked when Marty asked
him to return the favor. An experienced fag this kid's age, 17 if he
had told Marty the truth, like the gay boys in the east Village
where Marty lived, would have been naked and going down on Marty's
dick like a baby on its mother's breast. And not just Marty's dick
once he got started, but every unattached man on the bus,
homosexuals all, would have gotten off in the kid's mouth, or at the
very least sampled his oral skills between Boston and P Town.  Marty
had seen it happen any number of times before.

Steven looked at Marty and smiled at the familiar line from the
Wizard of Oz. "You can say that again."

Marty laughed. "Gotta run, kid. See you around town, maybe get a
taste of those sweet smelling balls sometime."
 
Steven watched through the plate glass window as Marty hopped into
a yellow Mustang convertible parked out front and kissed the man who
was driving.  He turned away, depressed, suddenly feeling very alone
and very uncomfortable in his sticky shorts.  He'd cum twice under
the guidance of Marty's skilled hand, hating himself afterwards, but
unable to resist the man's advances.

The waiting room was deserted when Steven came out of the bathroom.
"We close at nine," the ticket clerk called out as Steven sat down
to think and plan his next move.

Two seats away, someone had left a copy of "M" a gay lifestyle
magazine.  Steven cringed when he saw it, the memory of that awful
day returning with a vengeance.

"Fag!" his stepfather had roared, flinging the magazine across the
living room, knocking over a lamp in the process. "Fag, a good for
nothing fag, Martha, an abomination. I won't have him, it...I won't
have a fag in this house."

"He'll settle down, Stevie," his mother had said, tears streaming
down her cheeks.  "He'll settle down."

Steven fled to the safety of his secret place. He needed to be alone
to think, to plan as his carefully structured life came apart at the
seams.  He'd intended to burn the magazine when he was finished
reading it, like he did with all the other gay magazines he got at
the book store in Wichita.  Burn the evidence, well aware of the
danger of keeping it around. He would have done so yesterday had he
not wanted to reread one article, "How To Suck A Cock", and now it
was too late.

Steven sat alone with his thoughts as darkness descended over the
field of young corn. There was no one he could talk to, no place he
could go. Allan Crosby and his wife were away for the weekend or he
might have gone there. His best friend John was lost to him too.
They hadn't spoken since the incident. Now John wouldn't take or
return his calls, avoided him in school as if he had a communicable
disease.

~~~~

"Sue Ellen is fixing you up with Grace Warren," John had said while
reaching across Steven for another beer.  "It's all arranged."

"What's arranged?" Steven had asked, his attention focused on the
black hairs surrounding each of John's nipples.

"Your date for the senior prom, asshole. You are going?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?  Fuck it man, Grace Warren is hot and she's got great
tits. Couple of beers in her and who knows what might happen to the
angle of the dangle."

Not a thing, Steven thought as John broke up in laughter. Girls had
absolutely no affect on the angle of his dangle or any other part of
his anatomy. John, on the other hand, shirtless and sweating lightly
in the late afternoon heat, had Steven's cock throbbing.

"I think Sue Ellen's ready to do it,"  John said.

"Do what?" 

"It. You know, go all the way.  We're practically engaged and we'll
probably get married next year anyway. She's ready to fuck, I just
know it."

"What if she gets pregnant?"

"I'll use a rubber when I fuck her, idiot," John replied grabbing
his crotch and another beer. "Make her put it on me after she gives
me a blow job. It'll be great, man, if only she'll do it."

Steven, heart and crotch beating madly with long suppressed desire
for his slightly inebriated best friend said nothing for a long
moment. Then, in a breathy high pitched voice that was a fair
imitation of Sue Ellen's voice, he said. "Oh, John darling, I love
you so much. I'd love to give you a blow job, honey. I'd love to
suck your beautiful cock."

The voice was Sue Ellen's but the words, spoken sincerely from the
bottom of his heart were all Steven's.  He loved his friend, had for
years.  More so even after Allan Crosby's class on the history of
homosexuality.  Learning about all the famous men who were
homosexuals made him feel more normal about his romantic love and
physical attraction for another male.

The school library had none of the books Crosby suggested they read.
Steven found a few in the Wichita public library during his frequent
hitchhiking trips to town.  James Baldwin and other serious gay
authors wrote about homosexuals and a homosexual world that was far
different from the world described in the books and magazines he
read in the adult book store.

"Shit, man, I mean Sue Ellen, I mean you sound just like her," John
said. "If I closed my eyes..."

"Then close your eyes," Steven interrupted. "Pretend, imagine all
the things you'd like me, uh, Sue Ellen to do."

John, with four beers in him, went along with the joke. He grabbed
Steven's head playfully and pulled him down to his lap. "Gimme a
blow job, honey.  C'mon, Sue Ellen, suck my dick."
 
Steven didn't really know what he was going to do or how long John
would allow the joke, this little game to continue before pushing
him away, laughing.  One minute, maybe two and they'd go back to
being regular guys just horsing around like always.  The minutes
stretched on though and John, rather than pushing him away, pushed
down on the back of Steven's head, holding it firmly against his
crotch.

He felt the softness of the thin, well-worn denim against his cheek
and the stirring beneath as his best friend became aroused. It was
John who actually opened the top button of his Levis...Steven did
all the others and spread the fabric apart. Steven breathed deeply,
inhaling the musky aroma that rose from John's groin which reminded
him of Allan Crosby's sweaty jock strap. The smell was even better,
stronger, because a cock and balls lay hidden inside the white
cotton of John's BVD's.

Highly aroused, but still thinking clearly, Steven paused to weigh
his options.  He could still back off, roll away from John with a
forced laugh and pretend that it was all a joke. Or he could cross
the line right now, take John in his mouth, not knowing when or if
ever he'd get another opportunity to make his dreams come true.  His
trembling hands moved slowly, but with determination and the instant
John's bare cock grazed his quivering lips Steven Marsh knew he had
made the right decision.

John thrust up instinctively, but Steven would not be rushed.  He
wanted to savor this long awaited moment, nine years in the making.
He wanted to examine and explore every inch of the organ that had
taken psychological possession of his daily thoughts and nightly
dreams...before it took physical possession of his mouth.

John would not long be denied, however, and could hardly be faulted
for his lack of patience. The warm, wet tongue swirling around the
engorged head, sliding up and down along the entire length of his
shaft, lapping at his drawn up testicles was more than he could
bear.  Not one, but two long sighs of mutual satisfaction filled the
air when Steven lovingly kissed the very tip of John's penis,
tasting the shiny drop of precum that had formed.

Their eyes met briefly, "Suck it," John whispered then closed his.

Steven, shivering violently now, kissed the tip again. With his eyes
wide open he parted his lips to receive John's turgid flesh.

As blow jobs go, well, he gagged when John unexpectedly thrust the
majority of his 7" erection up into Steven's mouth. Tears formed in
his eyes and his nose began to run.  He backed off slightly, clamped
his hand firmly around the mid point of the shaft, his lips firmly
around the head. With joy in his heart and a hard dick in his
mouth...Steven began to suck.

"Oh, shit, this feels so good," John gasped, which encouraged
Steven, who was thinking the very same thing, to go down a bit
further, take more of his friend's dick and to suck even harder.

Nothing he had read, serious literature or pornography, had
adequately prepared Steven for the overwhelming feelings of joy and
excitement he felt at this moment. John's warm velvety flesh between
his ovaled lips, sliding smoothly across his wet tongue, pulsing
with life in his mouth was better than he had ever imagined or
dreamed it would be.  When John roughly took hold of his ears and
thrust up hard, the dark image of a cocksucker briefly invaded his
thoughts...only to be cleansed away by the waves of love that surged
throughout his being as he happily serviced his friend.

This was a beautiful act, a physical demonstration of his love for
John, Steven truly wanted to believe as he struggled to take John's
rapid thrusts.  Not, as unbiased observers would suggest had they
witnessed the scene, the act of a homosexual teenager, an
inexperienced cocksucker to be sure, his mouth being used solely for
another's pleasure.

John was close and Steven knew it. He also knew that John was a
virgin like himself so the well known dangers of unprotected oral
sex, swallowing John's sperm should be okay.  John was going to cum
very soon, ejaculate warm, cream-like semen into his mouth and
Steven wanted him to do it.

He felt John's body stiffen beneath him, his incredibly hard cock
grow harder and thicker with impending orgasm.  Steven thought he
was prepared, but the explosive force of John's release and the
quantity of warm sticky semen that so quickly flooded his mouth came
as a surprise.  He lost the third expulsion of sperm, which hit him
right between the eyes, but caught all the rest, swallowing
furiously to avoid being overwhelmed.

The deed was done, Steven's first blow job and he felt absolutely
wonderful as John oozed the last of his sperm and began to soften in
his mouth. A bit guilty perhaps and the tiniest bit worried...not
for having done it, but for having enjoyed the blow job so much.
He'd been so absorbed in the act that he had no recollection of
opening his pants and pushing them and his underwear down past his
knees.

This was John's cock after all. John's cock that he had sucked to
climax and John's sperm that he had swallowed and could still taste
on his tongue.

Steven rationalized away his concerns as John lingered in his mouth.
It's not like I'm a cocksucker, a fag who's going to suck off any
guy who wants head, he assured himself. Mr. Crosby, sure. I'd suck
Mr. Crosby's dick if he'd let me, but that's okay because I love him
too.

"Nooooo," John cried out when Steven licked his nuts and tried to
stuff them into his mouth. John shoved him away roughly and quickly
scrambled to his feet, buttoning his Levis while starring down in
shock at his very surprised friend.  The look on John's face said it
all.

"Wait, let's talk," Steven called out to John's fleeing back.

John stopped and turned, took a step towards Steven who was crawling
towards him on his hands and knees.  John's heart softened for a
moment. Then he saw Steven's erection and the sperm, his sperm, that
was on Steven's face and the moment passed.  "Cocksucker," he
hissed.  "Faggot cocksucker." And then he was gone.

Steven cried for an hour, thinking, not for the first time in his
life, that he should have been born female. The comment made last
week at the Wichita book store said it all,

"GIRLS WHO SUCK DICK ARE POPULAR...BOYS WHO DO IT ARE FAGS."

He hadn't seen the man who'd said it or the men who had laughed in
agreement. Not their faces anyway, nor they his, which was the way
it was meant to be.  The half glass walls separating the spaces were
thin, however, so Steven heard everything that was said as he
performed his familiar routine.

Chapter Five

"How much for a ticket to Provincetown, Massachusetts?"

"One way or round trip?"

"One way, please."

Steven looked around the Wichita bus station while the ticket clerk
calculated the fare, praying that he wouldn't see anybody he knew. 
He was running away, never coming back to Kansas, and Provincetown
seemed to be a good place to start a new life.

"Comes to three hundred and six dollars."

Steven's jaw dropped. "Three hundred dollars?"

"Yup. And six."

Steven was short by more than a hundred dollars.  He was about to
turn away from the ticket window when an idea popped into his head.
"What time does the bus leave?"

"Seven o'clock sharp."

"I'll be back," Steven said, looking at his watch.  He had two hours
to get the money he needed and he knew a place close by where he
could get it.

~~~~

Steven's first visit to the Pleasure Dome, the only store of its
kind in Wichita, had been a short one.  Ten minutes nervously
browsing through the magazines and tapes on the heterosexual side,
a few quick glances quick across the aisle where he really wanted to
be, and then he was gone. His second visit was longer, his third
longer still.  The charade might have gone on forever if Max Farber
hadn't interceded.

"Go on, take a look," he called out to Steven one quiet Sunday
afternoon when the store was empty. After 30 years in the business,
28 of those years in New York's Time Square, Max was nobody's fool.
He saw right through Steven's feigned indifference to the gay
section across the aisle.

"Max Farber," he said, reaching for his cane and coming out from
behind the counter. "I own the place."

They talked for an hour. Max was a very good listener, easily
drawing the boy out. Steven ended up telling him things that he
never thought he'd ever admit to anyone.  He hitch hiked back to the
farm feeling better about himself than he'd felt in a very long
time.  The coverless copy of All Boy in his backpack, a parting gift
from Max, made him eager to get home.  The gift of the magazine,
though Steven in his naivete had no way of knowing, had an unseen
string attached.  Max liked the boy who was clearly battling with
his homosexuality...didn't want to see him get hurt, but he still
had a business to run.

~~~~

"Hi, Max," Steven said, slightly winded from having run the few
blocks from the bus station.  He waited impatiently while Max bagged
one customer's tapes and sold a roll of tokens to another,
eyeballing the men in the shop for potential customers of his own.

"I didn't know you were coming in today," Max called out. "You here
to work?"

Several heads turned knowingly towards Steven.  Not so very long ago
he would have cringed to be made the center of attention, now he
just smiled.  "I'm leaving, Max, heading east. My bus leaves in a
few hours and I need some money."

Max nodded and reached under the counter. The traffic light next to
the cash register changed from red to green, the Pleasure Dome's
signal that the live show was now open for business. Steven headed
towards the rear, through a door marked Lincoln Center to prepare
for his performance.  That men would actually pay five dollars for
ten minutes, thirty bucks an hour to sit in a room and watch him
take off his clothes, among other things, still boggled his mind.

Max had brought him around to the idea slowly.  In New York where
gay kids were a dime a dozen he wouldn't have taken the time.  Too
many damn fags is the problem, he angrily told his incredulous
friends when they asked why he was leaving New York.  Can't do
business here anymore he ranted to anyone who'd listen. The
politicians are passing laws, Times Square is a joke, stores like
mine will soon be extinct in the Big Apple.

"Think of it as a performance," Max suggested.  "You like to dance,
right, ballet?"

He showed him the space where he would perform, referring to the
one-way mirrored room as Lincoln Center, and demonstrating how no
one in the audience would be able to see his face.  Max didn't push
Steven for an answer.  "Think about," he said.  "I'll have some CD's
here next time you come, Swan Lake if you like, and you can try it
out."

Steven was intrigued by the idea. Male ballet dancers, he reasoned,
were practically naked on stage anyway. When Max told him how much
money he could make he agreed to do a dress rehearsal.  He did
several rehearsals under Max's direction, gaining more confidence
and skill each time.  Steven Marsh's "Live at Lincoln Center" debut
at Max's Pleasure Dome was an artistic and financial success.

His one third share of the box office alone eased the guilt and the
shame he felt at taking off all his clothes and dancing in the nude
before an unseen audience. When this money was added to the tips,
the quarter sized tokens that cost one dollar each, Steven had
$85.00 in his hand, more cash than he'd ever held before. He was
already planning on how he would spend his new found wealth, a CD
player, new clothes, ballet lessons...maybe even save up for a
computer.  "Sure, Max," he responded eagerly to Max's inquiry. "I
can come back next week."

After several encore performances before ever larger groups, Steven
learned, with a few suggestions from Max and from the amount of tips
he got, what his male audiences wanted to see. They wanted to watch
him strip, see him totally naked, yes, but that was just for
starters. They also wanted to see the more outrageous stuff they saw
in the gay magazines, tapes and DVD's in the front of the store.
They wanted to see it up close and they wanted to see it live.

Steven came around slowly, motivated by the sound of dollar tokens
dropping into the tip box. Tips increased significantly when he took
Max's advice and switched from his plain white BVD's to sexy black
bikinis.

"Play with your dick," Max encouraged his star performer. "Get it
hard first and then peel off the underwear nice and slow. Time's
money, boy, give'em some pubic hair, but make'em wait to see your
cock and balls."

Steven gave them what they wanted up to a point. Slave collars and
cock rings, temporary decals on his butt and clamps on his nipples
became a standard part of the act. He drew the line at masturbating
to orgasm, then his mother got sick and the line, though it didn't
disappear altogether, got decidedly dimmer.

The Marsh family had no medical insurance, no drug plan to pay for
her costly medications.  Steven took it upon himself to fill her bi-weekly prescriptions which ate up his current earnings and more, but
also justified his frequent trips to Wichita.

"Fifty bucks to suck my cock? You're kidding, right?"

"That's what it says. Here, read it for yourself."

Steven took the paper from Max.  Men stuffed the suggestion box with
all kinds of requests, including oral sex, but no one had ever
offered to pay him for a blow job.  "Fifty dollars, jeez. Do you
know the guy?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's a travelling salesman, comes through once a
month or so. You've seen him. Short, fat, middle aged guy....bald,
sweats a lot and wears thick glasses."

Steven let out a sigh. "The pig?"

Max laughed.  "I've heard him called that, yeah. Name kinda fits."

Steven was about to decline the offer when he remembered the past
due pharmacist's bill and prescription refill in his pocket."Okay,
set it up, Max.  The pig can suck me off, but I don't want to see
him and I don't want his hands touching anything but my dick."

The Pleasure Dome had one small space that served as a glory hole.
Max had had six active ones in New York and no shortage of
volunteers to deal with the various body fluids left behind by his
customers.

"Goddamn fags got no respect for property," he'd complain when the
smell of spent semen got so bad that the plywood walls had to be
scrubbed down with bleach. "Why can't they use a friggin' rubber if
they gotta jerk off while suckin' a guy's dick?"

Steven kept his eyes fixed on the fifty dollar bill he'd tacked to
his side of the wall as the pig settled in on the other. He could
smell the man's body odor, hear his labored breath and little
grunts, and the jingle of his belt and the zip of his zipper.

"Put it through, kid.  Gimme your cock."

Steven felt sick to his stomach as he dropped his pants and
delivered half the goods.

"Balls too, kid. For fifty bucks I want the whole package."

The pig lived up to his name, making a slob of himself over Steven's
cock and balls. Despite his disgust, Steven was aroused.  I'll cum
quick and get this over with, Steven thought, pushing deeper into
the slobbering, sucking and talented mouth on the other side of the
wall.

Pig or not, the queer man was an experienced cocksucker with time on
his hands and the foresight to have brought a cushion for his knees.
He knew and employed all the moves to prevent ejaculation before
he'd played out whatever fantasy lived in his mind.

Steven earned that fifty bucks and all the fifties that followed. He
could have earned more, a lot more if he'd been willing to return
the favor, as it were, become the "ER" rather than the "EE". If by
some miracle John or Mr. Crosby were on the other side of the
wall...but that would be different because that would be for love.

He did allow Max to enlarge the hole to accommodate the ass kissers
and those who wanted to lick his asshole. "Tongues only, Max," he
made it clear. "First guy who tries stick a finger or his cock up my
butt and I'm outta here."

Steven Marsh's final Lincoln Center performance at the Pleasure Dome
in Wichita, Kansas was shorter than usual because he had a bus to
catch. "How much in the box?" he asked Max while removing the cock
ring and checking his pubic hair for any last bits of sperm.

"Seventy five," Max replied, handing over a wad of bills.

"Not enough, shit. I need a hundred more for the bus ticket and some
for expenses along the way. I gotta eat, you know."

"Henry's out front, Steven. You wanna finally take him up on his
standing offer?"

One hundred dollars for a blow job, twice the going rate was mild
mannered Henry's offer. Steven had rejected it numerous times
because unlike his other glory hole experiences with the pig and men
like him, Henry's generous offer had Henry on his feet and Steven on
his knees; Henry's cock coming through the glory hole and Steven's
mouth open to receive it.

"I can't do it, Max. I mean I can, I did it once and liked it. I
want to do it again but I just can't do it this way.  I know it
sounds crazy to you but I'm not like the men who come in here. Well,
I guess I am sort of, I'm a homosexual...gay, I admit it. But
love...I gotta love, at least like the person."

"Wait here, Steven, I'll be right back."

Max took five twenty dollar bills from the cash register, laughing
at himself for being such a fool. Back on the Deuce as New York's as
Forty Second Street was called, he'd be the laughing stock of the
industry for giving money to a hustler. For that's what Steven Marsh
had become whether or not he realized it himself. A boy who sold his
body to queers.

As a kid, Max Farber had worked the Deuce for a while in the 1950's.
All of his Hell's Kitchen friends did it as a source of easy money,
and sometimes, when the mood struck, just for the fun of it.
Taunting a queer, seeing how far one of these men would go, what
outrageous things he would do for a cock was a great way to spend an
otherwise dull evening. Watching a grown man take off all his
clothes and beg, literally sink to his knees and quietly beg for a
cock to suck was simply great fun.

"Whadya say, faggot?"  That was Shorty Harrison's line in the little
play Max's friends had worked out. "They didn't hear you on Eighth."

"Please, boys," the queer would mutter as though he too had read the
script. Shorty would make the man beg for a while, admit he was a
fag, call himself a worthless cocksucker before he'd shove his dick
into the guy's mouth and the game was on.

Max was in it for the money and had little interest in watching his
friends get blow jobs or jerk off onto some poor slob. His job was
to go through the man's pants.  Local queers knew better than to
carry much cash or other valuables. Queers from out of town were a
goldmine. A hotel room key was worth five bucks, more if the key was
from a classy hotel like the Waldorf Astoria.  He'd toss it to
another boy who'd quickly run it over to the pawn shop on Forty
Third. The queer would be in for one hell of a surprise when he
returned to his hotel room and found his suitcase, clothes, camera,
everything gone.

"The wallets," Max would always answer when asked what got him
started in the porn business.  "As a kid, I'd find all kinds of
stuff in the queer's wallet which said to me that catering to
homosexuals was a growth business. Pictures of the wife and kids,
maybe a nice house or a car in the background. Library card, Elks
club, church, country club...the guy suckin' dick while I rifled
through his pants was a normal guy back home. In New York, he's a
queer and willing to pay."

Two strict rules applied when working on the Deuce, which every boy
quickly learned for himself. Get the money first, and never, ever
touch the queer back at the risk of being branded a queer
yourself...a fate worse than death.

The rest was easy. Stand on the corner with your shirt open and wait
to be approached.  Five bucks for an alley-way or front seat blow
job was the going rate, ten if the guy was from out of town and
didn't know any better.  Max was a smart kid, always scheming for
ways to make a buck. An entrepreneur who saw a fortune to be made
from the needs of these men. He couldn't give a damn why a man who
looked normal would pay five bucks to slobber all over a cock or why
a man would humiliate himself, degrade himself on the whims of a
teenage hustler.

"Watch out for yourself, Steven," Max said, handing him the money.

"I will, Max, and thanks. Thanks for everything."

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Love, Max. I'm looking for love."

Chapter 5

Steven walked aimlessly through the streets of Provincetown, taking
in the sights and sounds of the quaint little town by the sea. Food,
a place to sleep and a shower occupied his thoughts. Sex occupied
the thoughts of the men who nodded, waved, winked or said hello to
him as he passed.  Teenage boys flocked to Ptown for the summer
season to work, jobs were plentiful, and to have fun. Fun in Ptown
meant the beach of course, a summer romance if you found Mr. Right
and casual sex with whomever you found. Casual gay sex for the most
part in a town where homosexuality was the norm and straight men
were a distinct minority. A teenage boy out alone on a warm spring
night was like tossing red meat into a den of hungry lions.

Steven took a seat by the window in the cheapest coffee shop he
could find. Everything was expensive in Ptown.  He knew he had to
get a job and fast. It was a small place, six tables and a counter.
He glanced over at the two guys at the only other occupied table,
then turned away towards the window.  

"Hi, I'm Kirk. I'll be your waiter...or anything else you'd like me
to be, sweetheart."

Steven jumped, startled and turned towards the voice which didn't
match up with the bare chested young man in a short white apron
standing by his table. The voice was soft and breathy while the guy,
in his early 20's, was well muscled and breathlessly handsome. His
dark, deepset eyes sparkled and his smooth cheeks glowed. The touch
of glitter on his lashes and eyelids, and blush on his cheeks, the
pink gloss on his full thick lips so artfully applied as to be
practically invisible.

The slave collar around Kirk's neck was part of a set that Steven
recognized immediately. Collar and cock ring, $21.99 at the Pleasure
Dome. The rhinestone nipple rings and belly button stud were
familiar too, though he couldn't remember the price.

"Sorry 'bout that," Kirk apologized as he placed a cloth covered
basket and a glass of water on the table. Would you like to see a
menu...or maybe something else?" Kirk said, smoothing the apron
tight across his hips and crotch.  He wore nothing underneath.

A fact confirmed for Steven when Kirk turned his back for a moment
to the fellows at the other table. "Hey, Kirk baby, my creamer's
full up, Gary's too, but we've got no coffee.  How about some
service."

"Here's a menu, darling. I'll be back in a sexy sec."

Steven chuckled at the sight of Kirk's bare butt, adorned with a
butterfly on each cheek, as he picked up the menu and quickly put it
down. He knew what he was having, burger, fries and a coke, just
like he always had, with mustard on the burger.

John used to laugh at that, Steven remembered. Mustard? He could
almost hear his voice. I wonder what he's doing now. What he thinks
about my leaving. He's probably glad that I'm gone so he doesn't
have to think about what I did to him or maybe he'll tell the others
that I blew him and that's why I left.

Kirk's distinctive voice cut through Steven's musings.  "Oooh, yes,
I'd love to. Let me take this kid's order and I'll be back."

Kirk rushed over to Steven, took his order and rushed into the
kitchen.  Steven was famished. He took a sip of water and reached
for the basket, thinking it contained rolls or breadsticks,
something to nibble on while he waited for his food.

Condoms, flavored condoms lay under the cloth. A note which read,
Help Yourself By Helping Yourself, Compliments of AIDS Prevention
Society of Provincetown, rested atop the colorful foil packets.
Steven poked around in the basket looking for one particular flavor.
Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, cherry, licorice and others were
there, but not the one that had caused such a stir at the Pleasure
Dome.

"Natural Semen! Gimme a fuckin' break," Max roared when Steven
unpacked the shipment and showed it to him. "I stock fruit flavors
for the fruits and now we got cum flavored condoms for the
cocksuckers. Queers oughta turn the damn rubber inside out after the
blow job if they like the taste of cum so much."

Steven tried the semen flavored condom and was disappointed. The
taste was nothing at all like the faintly remembered taste of John's
semen or his own semen which he still ejaculated into his mouth
several times a week. As part of his act Steven got to try all the
flavors by rolling the condom onto a top of the line anatomically
correct reproduction of an erect circumcised penis.  Cocksuckers
Dream was the model Steven used. An 8 x 3 inch caucasian penis,
testicles sold separately, that Max persuaded him to use in his act.

"The customers will love it," Max said. "Watching you suck that
condom covered cock, wait'll you see how the tips increase."

The customers had enjoyed the latest addition to his act which had
evolved from a simple, almost innocent strip tease into a New York
quality one man sex show. The glory hole wall became riddled with
tack marks from all the $50 bills Steven stuck on the wall while
some guy on the other side got happy on his cock.

Two a day was Steven's limit. Not because he couldn't get an
erection, but because he couldn't produce enough sperm quickly
enough to meet the demand.

"Haven't they heard about AIDS and STD?" Steven thought to himself
each time, which was all the time, a customer declined to use one of
the free condoms on his side of the wall. "What if I was sick?"
He commented to Max.

"Are you?" Max answered back.

"No. Not that I know of, anyway."

"Was John Larson sick? Was he clean, Steven, when you gave him
head?"

Steven could only shrug his shoulders as Max continued to challenge
him with probing questions.

"Did you even have a condom with you?  And if you did, would you
have stopped to suit him up in the heat of the moment...in the
middle of a blow job?"

Max put an end to the discussion with a thought provoking question.
"Be honest with yourself, huh Steven? Once his dick was between your
lips, once you started sucking his cock... you wanted John Larson to
cum in your mouth?"

Steven walked back to the farm on deserted country roads, rather
than hitching a ride on the interstate.  He needed the time alone to
think, to plan, to be honest with himself as Max had suggested.
Graduation was not far off and he needed to make some decisions.

Steven knew that his homosexuality had been decided for him at
birth.  He also knew that he had to leave Cornstalk, Kansas if he
wanted to live a normal life among gay people like himself...a
normal life which included love and sex.  Not the kind of loveless
sex that took place at the Pleasure Dome, though the urge to
participate more fully was growing harder to resist. Not every man
was like the pig and it was only a matter of time before the urge to
have sex with a man...to suck a dick and more, the desire to repeat
what he had done with John would overwhelm him.

Knee cushions and condoms were on both sides of the wall now and
more than once Steven had been tempted to slide one onto a good
looking cock and slip the suited beauty into his mouth.  He had
resisted so far, but the, "C'mon kid, suck it for me," from the
other side of the wall was chipping away at his resolve.

"Yes, Max," he shouted to the deaf ears of corn that lined the dusty
road, "I wanted to suck John's cock...I wanted John to cum in my
mouth. I want to do it again."

Steven promised himself that day to always carry a condom and never
to have unprotected sex.

~~~~

"Burger with mustard, fries and a coke, enjoy."

Steven looked up at Kirk. "Thanks."

"You ready, Kirk? Tom's about to bust his pants." 

"One sec, Gary," Kirk said over his shoulder. "Help yourself to more
coke if you want, the machine's by the counter. I gotta take care of
my guys at the other table."

Steven took a big bite of his burger as Kirk went over to the 
other table. There was little doubt in his mind as to what, or
rather who was about to go down. The two guys, Tom and Gary were
grinning, rubbing their crotches and making no attempt to keep their
voices down.

"It's about time. What flavor do you want, Kirk? How about cherry?"

"Cherry! Oh, Gary, you naughty boy," Kirk said, taking the condom
from Gary's hand and returning it to the basket.  "I haven't been
cherry for years and years, not since my uncle Roy fucked me on my
13th birthday. Or was it my uncle Charles?"

Kirk untied his apron and let it fall to the floor. Steven smiled to
see that Kirk was indeed wearing the matching cock ring.

"Anyway, you won't need to wear a rubber, big boy. This is one
cocklover that's swallowing again, thank god.  The doctor says I'm
clean, last week's result was a false positive.  You're okay, right?
I mean you've been tested?"

"Sure, Kirk, sure.  Tom and I are both safe to cum in your mouth."

Steven nearly choked on a french fry.  Gary's assurance about the
state of his and Tom's health sounded pretty vague.

"Let's do it then," Kirk said, leading Tom through the swinging
doors and into the kitchen.

"That was quick," Gary said when Tom returned within minutes.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Our boy Kirk's a helluva cocksucker,"
he chuckled. "And what with all the queers worried about HIV, it's
been a long while since I had a blow job without a rubber."

Gary too was back within minutes, followed by Kirk who retrieved his
apron and walked them to the door. "Thanks guys," he said, tying the
apron around his waist. "I'm working the night shift again
tomorrow."

Steven was listening with half an ear, his attention drawn to a
black Jaguar that had stopped across the street.  Two men got out of
the car. One quickly went inside the building while the other hung
back for a moment.  Steven's eyes widened with surprise. The light
was poor, but the man looked exactly like Allan Crosby.

Chapter 6

Robert Crosby scanned the street to make certain they hadn't been
followed by one of the photographers that had attended the publicity
party for his latest film. They couldn't be too careful. Troy
Lancaster, the young and enormously talented star of the just
released action packed movie that was sure to break all box office
records...and his secret lover...had a bright future ahead of him. 
Troy could lose it all though, the fame and fortune, and more
importantly, the chance to make serious films if his adoring fans or
jealous rivals found out that he was gay.  The scandal sheets would
have a field day with the 23 year old, accusing him of sleeping his
way to the top.

Crosby was careful and discrete, though his homosexuality was not a
secret in the industry. Twenty years older than Troy, he was a
hugely successful producer/director with a long list of hit movies
to his credit and therefore immune to the slings and arrows that
would cause Troy so much pain.  He'd suffered throughout his teens
until, with his brother Allan's support, Robert had come out of the
closet on his 21st birthday and left New York for Hollywood.

Crosby had the drive and a keen sense of what the movie going public
wanted to see so success had come fairly quickly. Not, however,
without some best forgotten experiences along the way. Harv Levin,
a tyrannical studio chief had offered Crosby his first opportunity,
dangled a job as an assistant director...after making it quite clear
during the interview what favors he expected in return.

"I don't care if you're gay, straight or bi-sexual," Levin had said
while waiting for Crosby's answer.

Times were difficult, Crosby needed the job, so he'd swallowed his
pride, got down on his knees and fellated Levin for close to an hour
while the busy executive worked the phones.

Crosby's humiliation was complete when Levin put one caller on hold,
casually climaxed in his mouth, then continued the conversation as
if nothing unusual had happened. The frequent blow jobs and
obligatory appearances at the monthly parties held at Levin's
Beverly Hills estate continued for almost two years, until Crosby
directed his first box office smash.

Things would be different for Troy, Crosby vowed after meeting and
falling in love with the gorgeous young man at an open audition.
Troy had the makings of a star.  His striking good looks and winning
personality had radiated from the screen in the small part he'd had
in a low budget movie. The boy appeared to be a straight arrow,
Crosby observed, easily chatting up the young would-be starlets who
were hanging all over him. He invited Troy to lunch at the Beverly
Hills Hotel the following day, to dinner at Chasens the day after,
and to his home in the hills the following week where Crosby offered
and Troy gratefully accepted the lead role in his next picture.

They talked about the project until two in the morning when Troy
rose from the couch claiming he had to get some sleep. Sleep with me
Crosby wanted to say, feeling himself growing more aroused than he
already was at the mere thought of lying in bed with this charming
and talented young actor who had totally captured his heart.

"I want to see you again," Crosby said, putting his arm around Troy
in a fatherly fashion as they walked towards the front door. "To
discuss the film," he added quickly.

Troy Lancaster knew that Robert Crosby was gay. What Robert Crosby
didn't know, what nobody in Hollywood knew was that Troy was gay
too. Gay and head over heels in love with the wonderful man at his
side.

"I want to see you again too," Troy said when they reached his car.
He turned to face Crosby, struggling to find the words and the
courage to reveal the truth about himself.

"I had no idea, not a clue," Crosby panted thirty minutes later as
they lay together in bed. The two men were naked, a trail of their
clothing lead all the way back to Troy's car. "Thank you for telling
me."

Troy, also breathing heavily was ready to go again. His circumcised
cock, the purplish head still oozing sperm, rose majestically from
his semen spattered pubic hair. "I should have told you sooner," he
said, reaching down to stroke Crosby's erection.  "I was afraid of
what you'd think."

"I think I love you is what I think. And I know I want to spend the
rest of my life with you."

"I love you too," Troy replied after returning Crosby's kiss. "I
love you and..."

Troy left the thought unfinished and with a gleam in his eyes he
began to slowly kiss his way down Crosby's body. He lifted Crosby's
awakening penis to his ovalled lips, only to be stopped before he
could take the half-hard organ into his mouth.

"How many tests?" A disappointed Troy questioned after Crosby
finished explaining what they both had to do before engaging in oral
and anal sex.

"Three blood tests, Troy, at three different labs in different
cities to be absolutely certain that we're both safe.  I've been
with other men," Crosby admitted with a laugh. "You?"

"Yes...a few."

"It'll be worth the wait."

"We could use protection, Bob, while we're waiting for the test
results."

"We could, but we wont because I want to taste your cock, not latex
the first time I take you in my mouth."

They flew to a small private island in the Pacific on the very same
day that the last test came back negative. Owned by a wealthy friend
from back east, the island was a perfect honey moon hideaway for
Robert and Troy who shed their clothes as the sea plane lifted away.

Crosby had had a pair of gold rings made to signify their mutual
pledge of love and fidelity, a marriage in every respect. Troy had
brought a pair of rings too.  Thin silver cock rings that all but
disappeared when he set one in place around Crosby's dick and then
his own, tossing the tiny hex key into the ocean when he was done.

Suitably ringed they made passionate love, climaxing moments apart
and pleasing each other with gushers of sperm that would never see
the light of day.

Robert Crosby noticed Steven Marsh in the coffee shop across the
street and the bare chested waiter hovering at his side. Have fun
boys, he thought as he checked the street one last time before
heading up to his office.

"You okay, honey? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Steven turned towards Kirk. "Thought I saw somebody from back home,
that man across the street. Can't be though, he's back in Kansas."

"Uh, huh. Can I get you something else, honey, before I close up?"

"Nothing, thanks. Hey, maybe you know a cheap motel nearby? I need
a place to spend the night...take a shower. I don't have much
money."

"Nothing's cheap in Ptown except the beach. That's free. Lots of
guys sleep on the beach. The bathroom's locked at night, but there's
showers outside if you don't mind cold water."

"Guess I'll do that," Steven said, rising from the table and taking
the last of his meager funds from his pocket. He was wiped out from
his long journey, but not too tired to feel aroused when Kirk's
hand, which had found its way to his groin, began to massage his
dick.

"The burger's on me if you let me blow you," Kirk said, losing his
apron and dropping to his knees in front of Steven. "You heard what
Tom said, I'm a helluva cocksucker...and I swallow. Please."

Steven sighed as Kirk sniffed the crotch of his worn denim cut-offs
and began to open the buttons. He'd run away from home, travelled
thousands of miles in a quest for a new life, a new beginning, only
to discover that you can't run away from the past.  He thought for
a moment to insist that Kirk use a condom. The moment passed,
however, safe sex easily forgotten when Kirk began to lick Steven's
balls.

Chapter 7

Robert Crosby took the fax into his private office where Troy, clad
only in a pair of the outrageously sexy underwear he liked to wear
was looking at the collection of movie posters that hung on the
walls.

"You made some great films, Bob. Classics."

"The kind of films I want to make with you," Crosby replied as he
sat down behind his desk and quickly scanned through the document.
"If I can afford you, that is," he chuckled.  "According to this
fax, Mona wants ten million for your next picture."

"My agent's got balls," Troy said, as he sat himself down on top of
Crosby's desk and spread his legs.  "All I want from you is a blow
job."

Crosby, smiling up at the face of his lover, put his hands on Troy's
bare thighs and let his thumbs search for the ring, gold now in
celebration of their one year anniversary, encircling Troy's
scrotum. "A blow job, huh? A ten million dollar blow job. You'll be
a wealthy star, Troy, and me, I'll be an impoverished director and
a cocksucker to boot.  I suppose you'll want to climax in my mouth
for that kind of money?"

"I'm gonna cum in these expensive silk shorts if you keep doing what
you're doing." Troy raised up on his well muscled arms so Crosby
could remove the skimpy undergarment.

Crosby stroked him gently, cradling his smooth testicles and kissing
away the tiny pearls as they formed at the tip of his cock. "Mmmmm,
I love the way you taste," Crosby murmured, and took Troy into his
mouth.

The phone rang while Crosby was happily struggling with the final
inch or so of Troy's lengthy organ. "That'll be Mona," he said ten
rings later, after Troy had released his head. "I'll put her on the
speaker so you can hear the news, but keep still.  I don't want her
to know that you're here."

Mona Wexler, the top agent in the business, was calling from Los
Angeles with the results of the sneak preview screening of Troy's
new picture. Crosby had produced and directed the film starring Troy
Lancaster in his first major role which was scheduled to open
nationwide on July 4th.

"The audience loved it, Bob," Mona said excitedly from three
thousand miles away. "Loved Troy. His exit polls were the best I've
ever seen. The women loved him for his sexy good looks and
sensitivity, the men for his rugged masculinity that jumped off the
screen. Troy's a shoe in for an Oscar nomination."

Troy was playing with Crosby's nipples, nibbling his earlobe while
Mona rambled on non-stop for another five minutes. "That's terrific
news," Crosby said, when Mona finally paused to take a breath.

"Troy's going to be a big star, Bob," Mona declared, and then she
started to talk about the contract she'd faxed.

Troy hit the phone's mute button. "I'm already a big star, about
eight inches and growing, wouldn't you agree?"

Crosby laughed and lowered his head to Troy's crotch. "Hmmm, big
enough to keep me happy this past year." Crosby nodded towards the
phone. "Knowing Mona she'll be a while and I always wanted to make
love to a rising young star."

Crosby had ample time to conclude a very satisfying blow job, savor
the familiar taste of Troy's semen, and work the head of his cock
into Troy's ass before the long winded agent got to the bottom line.

"....deserves ten million.  Bob? Bob? You still there, Bob?

Crosby reached around Troy for the mute button. "Ten million is a
lot of money," he said into the live speaker while Troy, seated in
his lap, quietly eased down on the full length of his dick.  Crosby
would gladly pay his life partner ten times ten million.  He'd
already changed his will making Troy his beneficiary: one million
each for his niece and nephew, five million for his brother Allan,
the rest for the man who, if the law allowed would be his legal
spouse.

"But you'll pay it, Bob, right?  Because once this movie's released
Troy Lancaster's going to be bigger than Cruise, Lowe and Afleck. He
won't be able to walk on the street, women will be throwing their
panties at him.  Every producer in town will want him, Bob, but I'm
giving you the inside track."

Crosby, his cock balls deep inside Hollywood's next big star, buried
his face in Troy's chest to muffle the sounds of his quickening
breath. "I'll get back to you in a few days, Mona," he managed to
say. "Something's come up that needs my immediate attention."

"Don't wait too long, Bob," Mona responded, breaking the connection.

~~~~

"Every time we make love it's like discovering sex all over again,"
Crosby said as Troy lifted off his spent body and knelt at his feet.
"I love you so much, Troy, I can't imagine living...you don't have
to do that, there's towels in the bathroom."

"Oh, but I want to," Troy said as he lifted Crosby's flaccid cock
and brought it to his lips. "I love you too, Bob, and..." He paused,
searching for the words, then. "I want to come out. Tell the world
I'm gay."

Crosby stroked Troy's cheek, sticky with the aftermath of their
love, well aware of the frustration and anguish that Troy was
feeling.  "Wait a while longer, until after Oscar night.  If you win
it wont matter as much that you're gay."

Troy looked up, Crosby's cock slipping from his mouth. "I'll win and
that's when I'll do it. With you by my side and the Oscar in my hand
I'll tell the world that I'm gay and that I'm in love with a
wonderful man.  Piss everybody off."

Crosby had to laugh. "That'll piss them off alright. Speaking of
which, I've got to use the john."

Troy cocked his head, a wicked little grin creased the corners of
his mouth. "Why?"

"Because I....oh no, forget it."

"C'mon, Bob, I want you to do it. Didn't you ever..."

"On, not in."

Troy rose from his knees and took Crosby's hand. "There a shower in
the john?"


Chapter 8

Steven felt the warm stream against his backside while waiting in
line for his turn to use the shower. He turned around expecting an
argument and got an apology instead.  The guys behind him were
having a pissing contest, distance and accuracy, pissing into paper
cups half buried in the sand about five feet away. One participant
had lost control of his partner's dick.

"Ooops, sorry. My boyfriend Lou here slipped out of my hand when he
got hard."

Steven smiled back at the errant marksman, a thin, blond boy in his
late teens with rings in his nipples and ears, a leather collar snug
around his neck.  "No problem, forget it."

The boyfriend, Lou, a big beefy guy, was scowling at his very
substantial erection.

"Daniel Fisher."

"Steven Marsh."

"Nice to meet you, Steven. Hey, would you like to play?"

Lou came over before Steven could decline the invitation. He took
Daniel's shoulder, rather roughly Steven thought, and spun him
around.  "There's a hundred bucks in the goddamn pot, Danny boy. I
can't piss with the fuckin' hard-on you gave me."

"I'm sorry, Lou, real sorry."

"Sorry won't make it go down, Danny boy."  Lou tapped his foot
impatiently and scratched his balls, clearly waiting for Danny to
come up with a solution to his problem.

Steven saw a touch of fear, then shame in Danny's face before he
turned to Lou and said. "Would you like me to suck your dick? Make
your hard-on disappear?"

"Yeah, take care of it, Danny boy."

Danny leaned over and put his hands on Lou's hips. He wet his lips
with his tongue, then slurped Lou's prick into his mouth.

What astounded Steven even more then watching Danny suck was the
fact that no one else was astounded.  One guy was blowing another
and the line for the shower just moved around them. A few paused to
pat Danny's smooth ass, run a finger through the crack or jiggle his
balls before moving on, but no one seemed surprised at the blatantly
homosexual act.

Ptown is something else, Steven thought as he gave in to the urge
and put his index finger on Danny's ass, tracing the distinctive tan
line of a 2(x)ist thong. Kirk had all but drawn the life out of him
not twenty minutes ago, his fourth orgasm of the day, but Steven was
aroused. Danny wriggled his ass invitingly and Steven responded by
placing his cock between two very plump buns.

"You gonna hump it all night?"

"What? Huh?" Steven said, startled.

"That ass? You gonna hump it or fuck it?"

Steven took a step back, mumbling an explanation, and the new man
swiftly took his place.  "Hey, Lou, how are you man? What are you
doing in Provincetown? I heard you went to LA after Ohio State."

"Frank," Lou said, extending his hand. "It's good to see you. I'm
still doing public relations in LA, came east for the summer."

The men were friends, fraternity brothers from college. They spent
a few minutes catching up over Danny's back.

"Whose the cocksucker?  Anybody I know?"

"Hitch hiker. Picked him up on the Mass Pike last week. He's from
Idaho or Iowa, some shit hole place like that. His old man caught
him making nice with a ranch hand...called him a queer and threw him
out of the house."

Danny mumbled something which Steven didn't understand. It must have
been something funny because Lou and Frank laughed as they rocked
the boy between them, Lou in his mouth and Frank hunched against his
ass.

"This is just like old times at the frat house. He any good?" Frank
asked, reaching around to feel Danny's genitals. "Hmmm, kid's got a
hard-on, tight nuts...and one great looking ass."

Lou gave Danny several quick thrusts, several slow, lengthy slides
until only the head of his cock was in Danny's mouth, then slid back
in until his balls came close to Danny's chin. Danny sucked and
slurped, gagged when Lou went too deep, and purred like a kitten all
the while Lou was assaulting his mouth.

"Not bad," Lou answered when he'd finished the demonstration and
settled Danny back into an easy paced blow job.  "You can use him
when I'm done."

"Rather have his ass right now if you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead. We'll double dick him like we used to do to the
jock sniffers in the locker room and the sorority sisters when they
were ready to lose their virginity."

"He cherry?" Frank asked. A hopeful note in his voice.

"You're kidding, right? I popped his cherry, made him pussy the day
after I picked him up. Been fucking him two, three a day since."  As
an afterthought he added, "I'm sure Danny wont mind another cock up
his ass while mine's busy in his mouth."

Lou took Danny's head firmly in his hands.  "My pal Frank is going
to fuck you, Danny boy. That's okay with you, right, Danny boy?"

He couldn't answer of course, not with Lou's cock pressing down on
his tongue. He signaled his approval, however reluctantly, by moving
his hands from Lou's hips to his own ass...spreading the cheeks wide
apart to expose his slightly bruised rectum.  He wasn't too sure
about this or about a stranger fucking him, on a public beach no
less. But Lou had asked and Danny wouldn't think of refusing and
possibly upsetting the only person who had shown him any kindness at
all in a very long time.

Double dicking would be yet another in a host of new experiences
Danny had both enjoyed and endured since Lou had picked him up,
exhausted and penniless, and given him a place to stay. Lou was a
top who swung both ways, Danny a bottom, effeminate and exclusively
homosexual. For Danny, the relationship was like a marriage and he
willingly fulfilled all of the marital obligations of a dutiful and
obedient wife.

He enjoyed the sex immensely. The oral sex, Lou ejaculating in his
mouth, and once he'd learned to properly lubricate his ass and
relax, the anal sex as well. Lou used him like a whore and treated
him like a slave. Danny adored him for it because it made him feel
needed. He did the cooking, cleaning, laundry, waited on his man
with slavish devotion.

He endured the body piercings, the collar and the thong Lou had him
wear all the time even though it irritated his anus. He endured the
public sex and the nights at the club, the little humiliations
inflicted on him when Lou had had a couple of drinks.  Danny
believed he was in love and he thought, like a child might think to
win a parents favor, that if he was a very good boy that Lou would
love him in return. Poor Danny was not alone. Like many other
misguided teens who flocked to Ptown in the summer, Danny confused
dependency and submission with love.

Steven had company now as Frank prepared to penetrate the boy. Oral
sex among the young gays in Ptown, it may be said with only slight
exaggeration, was akin to a handshake. A way of greeting old
friends...making new ones; no one stopped to watch two men shaking
hands. Referring to someone as a cocksucker hardly raised an eyebrow
in a community where just about everyone was a cocksucker. Like
jive-talking blacks referring to each other as nigger, cocksucker
had a different meaning when used by like minded males in
conversation.  No, Steven had company, Danny had drawn an audience
because double dicking a guy was fun to watch and any two-on-one
scene could escalate into a spontaneous orgy.

"Anybody got a rubber?" Frank asked, turning to the small crowd that
had assembled to watch and wait in anticipation.

One was produced and its owner did the honors, expertly using his
mouth to roll the latex sheath down the length of Frank's generous
endowment. Scattered applause followed the virtuoso performance,
then a collective gasp as Frank speared into the upturned ass with
a single thrust.  Danny gagged as the force of the thrust sent him
forward and sent Lou's cock into his throat.

"Easy, Danny boy," Lou instructed. "Don't fight it, cocksucker,
breathe through your nose like I taught you."

He struggled, turning blue in the face, until Lou gave up "going for
the gold" and released the hold on his head. When he could breathe
again Danny kissed Lou's cock and apologized. "I'm trying, Lou,
really I am."

"Well, be like the cocksuckers at Avis and try harder, Danny boy.
Now open up and I'll feed my prick in slowly."

Danny settled down on a manageable amount of Lou's cock. His
erection returned as he sucked and began to jump when Frank,
thrusting into him with long easy strokes, stimulated his prostate.
All doubts about being doubled dick faded as his orgasm approached.

Steven felt the hands crawling up his legs and the wet tongues in
his ears as the guys on either side of him moved closer. Aroused by
the sex taking place in front of him, he let his hands wander too,
searching for and finding the pair of cocks that quickly grew hard
in his grasp. Steven hadn't touched a cock since leaving Kansas; not
Marty's on the bus or Kirk's in the coffee shop.  The two cocks
pulsing with life in his hands sent shivers up and down his spine.

Steven's sighs, his little moans and squeals of pleasure joined with
those of his two partners.  All around them the sounds of sexual
pleasure filled the night air.  The smell of semen soon followed, as
the crowd of gay young men gave in to their instincts and let nature
take its course. Steven was ready to give in as well when after a
passionate round of kissing he found himself on his back with an
erect penis hovering above him.

"Suck it for me, buddy.  My nuts are killing me, gonna bust wide
open if I don't get off a load."

Steven considered the request, studied the face of the clean cut guy
who had made it and studied the cock in question. Driven by
hormones, lust and suppressed desire, he grasped the hard shaft at
the midpoint and brought the head to his lips.

"Oh shit that feels good. Suck it now, man. Oh god, please suck my
cock."

Steven closed his eyes and imagined that it was John Larson or Allan
Crosby in his hand, rubbing against his lips. John or Allan about to
slip into his mouth for a blow job. He remembered the thrill of John
between his lips, the feel of him in his mouth, and the explosion of
sperm that had made his head spin.  He also remembered his vow to
practice safe sex. "Have you got a condom?"

"Shit, no. Hey, anybody got a rubber I can have?"

New or used?  What size?  What color? What flavor?

Steven thought the remarks from the crowd were pretty funny. The
fellow straddling his chest expecting a blow job didn't quite agree. 
"Fuck you all!" He shouted back in frustration, then looked down at
Steven who, having made one decision had yet another to make.

"Please suck my dick. I promise, swear to god I'll pull out. I
promise not to cum in your mouth."

Steven had condoms in his back pack. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be
right back."

It took him a while to pick his way through the mass of naked bodies
sprawled in the sand around the shower and beyond. Danny was sitting
on Frank's cock now, Lou was still pumping away in his mouth. His
hands were busy with two other guys who were busily sucking each
others tongues. Guys were joined in every conceivable fashion; no
dick long left uncared for, no mouth and anus long left unfilled.
Used condoms squished under Steven's feet like slimy slugs in a
summer corn field.  He watched as a condom soared up into the stars
like a rocket, then fall back to earth, nose cone filled with semen,
to land with a splat on a bare back.

Steven found his pack buried underneath a pile of clothes that
others who came to shower had left behind.  He quickly retrieved one
condom, paused for a moment, then took another. In case he wants to
fuck me, Steven said to Crosby's jock strap, after I suck his cock.
He hurried back, declining several invitations to join one group or
another, only to find his would be partner happily thrusting away in
Danny's mouth without a condom.

"You're next with the cocksucker," Lou called out to him. "Danny boy
is just getting started."

He shook his head, declining the offer. "Thanks anyway."

Steven let the condoms fall from his hand. He didn't want a blow job
from a boy who had no respect for himself or to blow a guy who would
stick his cock in any available mouth. He could have stayed in
Kansas working at the Pleasure Dome for that. He wanted a friend, a
companion, a lover, a relationship.

He took the shower he came for, the water cold as Kirk had warned,
which cooled him down if only temporarily. His erection returned
with a vengeance as he picked his way through the mass of gyrating
naked bodies to retrieve his backpack.  He walked down to the
water's edge, careful not to step on or trip over anybody.  The
sound of the surf drowned out the sounds of people making love on
the beach behind him and too, the sound of his lonely sobs.  He
waded in up to his knees, stroked his throbbing erection and
released his semen into the sea.

 
Chapter 9

"I spoke to Allan last night," Robert Crosby said as Steven joined
him at the breakfast table.  "A July is out of the question, but the
last two weeks of August is still a possibility.  He said to say
hi."

Steven poured himself a glass of juice, disappointed at the news yet
happy as a clam to be working for Allan's twin brother.  Robert had
hired him on the spot, after they had stopped laughing over the
remarkable coincidence.  Steven told him he was gay. Robert told him
it didn't matter, but said nothing about his own sexual orientation.

"It's not much of a job," Crosby had warned him. "Six guest
cottages, including mine. Make the beds, change the linens and
towels, clean the pool, weed the garden, chores like that. There's
a room with a bath over the garage that comes with the job."

When he took the job Steven had no idea that Robert Crosby was
anything other than Allan Crosby's twin brother, a friendly rich guy
who owned a small resort hotel. He had no idea that he was gay or
that the handsome young man who came to visit once was a movie star. 
He worked hard and Crosby, who was lonely without Troy, took a
fatherly interest in the boy's welfare.

They ate their meals together, took long walks on the beach; laughed
at the antics of the more outrageous gays in their string bikinis,
and Steven unburdened himself. Crosby, who had been down that road,
offered an understanding ear. "You'll find somebody to love, who
will love you back," he counseled repeatedly. "Just be patient and
you will meet a great guy."

After two weeks on the job Steven realized that he wasn't going to
meet any guys his age, great or otherwise, by hanging out at the
hotel on his day off or by jerking off into his mouth alone in his
room at night.  The beach was loaded with gay boys his age so that's
where he needed to be if he wanted to meet one. He used his first
paycheck to go shopping, to buy a few things for the beach: T-shirts, flip-flops and a bathing suit. Nothing too expensive and the
unexpected blow job in the dressing room was free.

"Strings are no good if you plan on going into the water," Bruce,
the helpful clerk said when he came into the dressing room while
Steven was trying on a string bikini.  "Too flimsy. First wave'll
leave you butt naked."

"Be hard to tell it was missing," Steven joked as he tried to untie
the single string that held the tiny suit together.

"A thong is much better and you can wear it all the time, not just
on the beach."  Bruce unzipped his baggy shorts and let them drop to
his feet. "See, I'm wearing one now."

At one time the town council had tried to pass an ordinance banning
thong wearers from the city's streets. "It's indecent, they might as
well walk around naked," one councilman was quoted as saying in the
local newspaper.

The gays organized a protest rally and the council relented when
2,000 angry men, 2,000 naked angry men marched on city hall.

"Wait up, you got a knot," Bruce said when he saw that Steven was
having a problem. "Let me give you a hand."

Bruce took his time with the knot and liberties with Steven's ass.
The first kiss was so light and fleeting that Steven didn't realize
he'd been kissed at all. "Hey, what are you doing back there?" He
shouted when Bruce followed up with a lip smacker.

"Kissing your ass, man. Anybody ever tell you that you've got a
gorgeous ass?  Smells damn good too."

"Yeah, well, stop it," Steven said without much conviction. "You're
giving me a hard-on."

Bruce finished with the string bikini and crawled through Steven's
legs.  "Good looking hard-on too," he said, kissing the moist tip.
"Mmmm, mmmm, good. Okay if I suck it?"

"You're nuts.  What if somebody comes in?"  Steven felt vulnerable
with nothing on except his new flip-flops.

"Not my nuts...your nuts.  I'll suck them too if you want, along
with your prick."

Steven laughed and reached down to his pants for a condom. He
laughed again when Bruce shook his head and asked if he had any
other flavor.  "I'm allergic to stuff, strawberry makes me break out
in a rash."

"I only brought one."

"Forget it then."

"The blow job?"

"No, not the blow, the condom.  I'd rather suck your dick without a
rubber, I'm not allergic to cum. Keep it handy though, you can use
it if you want when you do me."

Steven might well have returned the favor, given Bruce the blow job
he expected if the store hadn't suddenly gotten mobbed with a bus
load of tourists. Bruce was still licking up the semen off Steven's
balls when the door chimes sounded. "Shit," Bruce said, rising to
his feet and peeking out front. "The fag watchers have arrived. I
gotta go."

Bruce returned a second later. "You owe me one."

They made a date to meet at a club that night.  Steven arrived early
with a pocketful of condoms. He had given it a lot of thought and
had decided that he would do it with Bruce. John Larson, his best
friend and the only boy he had ever done it to had called him a
faggot cocksucker.  Harsh words, but John had been right and the
passage of time had eased the pain of rejection.

I am what I am, Steven thought as he waited at the bar for Bruce to
arrive. Two beers later he was still waiting. He left at midnight
when the music slowed, the mood lights came on, the street clothes
came off and couples began to dance.  Bruce had stood him up.

Chapter 10

The Robert Crosby blockbuster film staring Troy Lancaster opened
nationwide on the Fourth of July.  The critics raved, calling it the
best picture of the decade and Troy's performance nothing short of
miraculous.  "Everyone else can stay home on Oscar night," one
critic said on the Leno show. "Lancaster's a shoo in for the Academy
Award."

Where was Troy Lancaster? Nobody had seen him. Not even Mona Wexler,
his agent, had seen him or spoken to him in the weeks since the
movie had been released.

Steven Marsh wasn't saying, but he knew exactly where Troy was. In
Robert Crosby's bedroom this early in the morning and judging by the
sounds coming through the door he was having sex.

"You're still number one at the box office," Steven said looking up
from the newspaper as Troy and Bob, naked and sweaty from their
lovemaking, came into the kitchen for a cold drink. "Five weeks in
a row and it says here that Troy fan clubs have sprung up all over
the country."

Troy poured himself a glass of juice and one for Bob.  "We'll see
how much they love me after I announce that I'm gay. After I
announce that I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world."

"You're still going to wait until you win the Oscar, aren't you?"
Crosby asked quickly.  "You don't want to blow your chances of
winning?"

"Maybe," Troy said. "Maybe I'll blow off old Oscar and stop living
a lie for the sake of fame and fortune. Are you afraid the Academy
wont give the best actor award to a faggot cocksucker who's married
to a faggot cocksucker?"

"Who lives in a house with another faggot cocksucker," Steven piped
up and joined in their laughter.  He'd been astounded to discover,
quite by accident, that Robert Crosby was gay and that the fellow
who came to visit was his life partner.  Steven swore to keep the
secret that wild horses couldn't drag out of him.

Their relationship, so easy and loving made him rethink what he'd
been doing for the past month.  Maybe he'd be better off looking for
an older man.  The young guys he'd met so far only wanted to have
sex with as many partners as possible, without protection, like they
were immune from HIV.  Long-term relationships lasted about as long
as a decent blow job or until another cock got shoved up their ass. 
An older man was definitely the way to go.

Troy announced that he was going to the beach to work on his tan,
inviting Steven to join him.

"Don't forget your sunglasses, and wear a hat," Crosby reminded him.
"I don't want you to be recognized."

"I'll meet you there later, Steven said. "I have work to do and, oh
shit, Rainbow cottage called for more towels ten minutes ago. Can I
borrow one of your thongs, Troy?  Mine are all in the wash."

"Help yourself, anything you want.  I owe you big time for agreeing
to share your room with my brother Todd.

~~~~
"Just wait, he'll be out in a minute."

"Yes, sir,"  Steven said to the man lying on the bed in Rainbow
cottage.  He was still trying to decide if the man was naked under
the bathrobe when the bathroom door flew open.

This man was naked except for the towel around his neck. He had a
good body, Steven noticed as he handed him a towel, and a very large
penis that hung halfway down his thigh.

"Well, well, we meet again Steven Marsh.  Don't you remember me from
the bus?"

Steven, mesmerized by the size of the man's cock, tore his eyes away
to look at the man's face. "Mr. Franklin," He said. "The bus ride
from Boston. I remember, sure. How are you, Mr. Franklin?"

"Call me Marty and that's Peter on the bed."

Steven turned towards the bed, surprised to see that Peter had
removed his robe and was slowly stroking a cock that had to be fake.

"You ever see one that big?  Go ahead, take a closer look."

Marty gently pushed Steven towards the bed, towards a cock that was
slightly larger than a 12" ruler and as thick around as Steven's
wrist.

"Big, huh?"

"Incredible."

"Go on, touch it," Marty urged. Peter won't mind."

Steven leaned over the bed and wrapped one, then both of his hands
around the giant phallus.  "I've never seen one so big."

"Big, and tasty too.  Ask him real nice and Peter might let you suck
the world's biggest cock."

Steven had to stretch his lips to fit the helmet shaped head of
Peter's singular cock into his mouth.  He was so excited by the
challenge and his accomplishment that the loss of his shorts and
thong, Marty's hands on his ass and testicles barely registered on
his mind.  He felt Marty's tongue though, wonderfully warm and wet
between his cheeks, it made him shiver with lust and suck a little
harder on Peter's organ.

Marty entered him slowly, allowing Steven's sphincter muscle to
relax around the well lubed head before easing himself all the way
into the virgin ass.  "Young stuff is the best," Marty said with a
long contented sigh.

They double dicked him for close to half an hour, during which time
Steven climaxed twice under Marty's skillful hand, then they
switched orifices for the grand finale.  Peter managed to get all
but the widest last inch of his cock through Steven's dilated anus
and into his rectum.  Marty let a tiring Steven decide how much cock
he could handle in his over worked mouth.

"I think he's about had it," Marty said.  "You about ready to cum?"

Peter climaxed first, ejaculating semen deep into Steven's colon,
then quickly withdrew to spill the last of seed on Steven's back.
Marty waited until Peter was spent then, dick in hand sloppily
filled Steven's slack jawed mouth with his semen.  Steven's eyes
flew open in reaction to the sharp astringent taste of sperm.  His
lips tightened around Marty's cock, he sucked and swallowed as
though his life depended on the milky fluid.

They left him on the dishevelled bed madly stroking his cock with
one hand, digging into his ass with the other and went into the
bathroom for a shower. Steven was gone when Marty and Peter returned
to the bedroom.

Chapter Eleven

"Your rear end is going to hurt like hell for a few days young man.
There's no permanent damage though and I'll give Bob a prescription.
Use the cream three times a day to reduce the swelling."

"Thanks, doc," Crosby said. "I'll get it filled right away. When
will you have the results of the blood test?"

"Lab's backed up with all the gays in town.  Day after tomorrow,
Friday at the latest. I'll give you a call."

"I'm so ashamed," Steven said to Troy and Crosby when the doctor had
gone. "How could I let them use me like that, like a fag whore.
Serve me right if I got Aids."

"You made a mistake, Steven, you don't deserve to die for being gay.
Now cheer up, Todd's out front and he's anxious to meet you."

~~~~

Todd Lancaster moved in with Steven Marsh and it was love at first
sight. They made love three days later when Steven's blood test came
back negative and got married in late August when Allan Crosby came
to visit.

Steven Marsh had found a home.