Date: Mon, 27 Mar 2006 15:35:59 -0600
From: Lance Davids <norskebjorn@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hookup 4: Old Guy

[As a story about Steven, this incident is not actual.  Since this is a work
of fiction, all the names and details are invented.]

Bryan and I were both transplants from the Deep South, one of the things we
had in common.  He a black hustler from Louisiana and me from Appalachian
Georgia, Bry always lorded it over me.  He called me 'you hillbilly white
trash,' and I loved him for it.  He always made it sound like I had some
seductive power over his ball busting black ass, even though he was the one
with all the sophistication.

Bry taught me to pronounce English the way they do in the Midwestern voice
spoken on the Weather Channel and by all those other announcers.  He got me
to the dentist, too, twenty-three and the first time in my life.  Now, I'll
do anything to keep that pearly white smile.

We met up in the Chateau, the best restaurant in town, he a top flight
waiter and me a dishwasher.  After we bumped into one another a couple
times, he said, 'You want to go to my place and fuck?'  Dumbfounded, I said,
'You bet your sweet ass, I do.'  He likes to suck cock, the bigger the
better, and he'd already sized me up.  I didn't have his experience but
already knew I wanted to screw his curvy butt senseless.

I about creamed in my pants that first night just busing across town with
him.  He kept talking natural, like we were going to a basketball game, all
the while giving me those hot, lusty looks as though he was already taking
my clothes off and going down on me.  A couple nights tossing with him in
the sack, and we moved in together at a new place.  He was insatiable even
after we got home late nights from the restaurant, always wanting to give
head.  And when he did, I always wanted to jump him.  God Almighty, we were
happy, just two fucking fools.

A few months under Bry's tutelage, and I became a waiter, too.  He was a
master at snagging tips.  A dude would give $60 on a $45 charge, and Bry
would say, 'Thank you, sir,' and whisk away $15 richer.  No one ever
objected.

Nights off, I'd stay home and watch TV.  Bry and his friend, Ron, would go
to the gay complex downtown.  Bry liked to flirt, boogie, and size up the
crowd.  Ron liked to hustle drinks and score some daddy who'd give him fifty
bucks a throw.

Ron had lost his apartment and crashed with us when he wasn't servicing some
popsie-doodle somewhere else.  He wasn't what you call stable, no
forethought, no ambition, and mostly drunk or passed out every evening.  At
least he kept himself well supplied with condoms.  Bry was angry with Ron
half the time for his freeloading and lack of ambition, that is, when he
wasn't protecting him the other half.  They'd grown up together and called
one another pet names.  Bry called Ron "Wren," and Ron called Bry "Baretta."

One Saturday night, they came home after closing the complex, and I could
hear by the added talking that Ron had brought some guy home with him.  Bry
was reminding Ron in his forceful way, 'Wren, you take care of you guest
now.'

Bry came into the bedroom, knew I was awake and began to take his clothes
off.  Naked under the sheets, I turned on my elbow to watch.  Bry saw me eye
him and began to tell me about the evening - the transverse couple, a young
man and woman both really the other gender, the Hispanic who had fought with
Ron on the dance floor.

'I need a cigarette to calm down,' he said suddenly and went to the other
room, still in his underwear, a nylon string bikini, barely keeping his dong
and balls from public view, looking smooth and horny.  I could hear him
coolly bumming a cigarette from the jon Ron had picked up.  Then he shouted,
  'Wren, wake up; take care of your guest.'  On his way back in to me, Bry
pressed his middle and rubbed his thighs.  He always fretted about getting
old and fat.  I couldn't see it on him.

His hairless body glowed with its dusky, healthy glow, satiny.  I wanted his
sensuous mouth and grabbed a fist full of dreadlocks to kiss him.  He drew
back, inhaled his cigarette and exhaled into my mouth.  Bry laughed.  'What
a life!,' he said.

'Who's Ron's daddy tonight?' I asked.

'Some old guy.'  Bry shrugged.  'Very polite.  Name of Rick, I think.'

'Old.'

'Old to me.'

'Daddyish?'

'You know what Wren likes.'

'Someone to take care of him.'

'Some one who in a fairy tale will save him from himself.'

Bry finished his cigarette and went out again.  I heard him talking, but
quiet.  Then he was back.

'Wren's passed out.  The old guy wants to leave.'

'This time of night?'

'Wren's out on the couch.  The daddy is not about to sleep on the floor.'

'That's his problem.'

'What'd you say we invite him in with us?'

'You tired of me?'

'Not you, just the same old fuck every night.'

Bry continued.  'We'll get the old guy between us and we can each have our
way with him.  He's not bad looking for an over the hill hippie.'

I thought a moment, looking at Bry who remained expressionless with no
pressure on me.  'What happens just happens,' he said.

'Okay,' I said.

Bry went to him, and I heard Bry say something like, 'How would you like to
sleep with my partner and me.  I'll suck your cock.'

'I'm tempted,' I could hear him say, 'but I don't really know you.'

'Come on in then.  I'd just like you to meet Steven.'

They came in.  The old guy was about fifty-something, trim and average
build.  He wore work boots, worn jeans, a head rag gypsy style and tied with
rawhide.  He wore a canvas army surplus jacket tucked into his jeans like it
was a shirt.  It wasn't buttoned but pulled one side over the other so that
when he leaned from the foot of the bed to shake hands, the shirt parted and
I could see his deep neck tank and graying hairy chest underneath.

I reached up to greet him, and the sheets fell away showing my own pelt,
bush and root of the tube steak that hung from it.

'I'm Rick,' he said, stretching from the foot of the bed to shake hands.
And then he leaned further to kiss me, a very nice, warm, tobacco and beer
scented kiss.

'Glad to meet you,' I said.

Old Rick pulled back and eyed the both of us who likely totaled his age.
'Does your invite still hold?' he asked Bry.

'Sure,' Bry said.  'Dive in.'

'I'll spend the night then.'  He parted his shirt and pulled it off with the
tank  in one fluid motion over his head.  His dog tags swung free between
his pierced nipples hung with D-rings.  Then the bandana came off, too, a
shaved skull beneath.  With his auburn stache and goatee, his bright blue
eyes and steady head-on look, I thought, What a sexy old coot.  I knew the
best was yet to come.  He undid his pants and pulled them down to his boots
with his frayed black jock strap so that his trim waist and whopper slung
between his thighs was on display.  Then he dove at my cock that was already
rising up to greet him.

While he tended there with warm, wet kisses and licks to the cap of my
zinger, Bry was up, out of his bikini brief, and had Rick's boots and gear
off in about five seconds.  Bry pulled Rick's rod and balls out from under
where his abdomen had mashed them against the mattress.  He maneuvered
himself into position at that seasoned hunk's buttocks in order to give him
what head he could.

Rick lifted his jaws off me and kissed Bry deeply.  They searched one's
mouths for a minute.  Then Rick scooted up next to me with Bry after him so
that the three of us sat side by side against the headboard.  Rick turned to
kiss me as thoroughly as his tongue had sought Bry; then he was back to Bry,
then me.  Back and forth, he rubbed our necks, shoulders, chests, and legs
becoming more and more intent as we reciprocated on him when he was moving
on the other.

He turned down and began swinging his head first on me, then on Bry.  Bry
came over and aligned himself on top of me so that my shaft came from under
and alongside his.  Rick saw the awesome pair; his eyes widened and then his
jaw.  He sucked both of us in one mouthful, twisting his skull curling
around our hot southern-fried sandwich.

With Bry up against me, I kissed the back of his neck, feeling his dusky
smoothness and pinching his nips.  Bry played with his balls and mine,
mashing our nuts together.

For a few moments, Rick got on top of us so that all our loins ground
together.  Then he pulled Bry off and got into 69 position with him.  Rick's
ass was there in my face, begging to be taken.

With a ready tube of lube on the nightstand, I warmed the gel and began to
ply Rick's pucker.  That old roseola gave way and began coating his rectum,
then my own hungry prong.  Us bangers of the old shit wall like a tight fit.
  The wonder of plugging Rick was that it was a slide to hammer him while
nonetheless firm and welcoming as a hot ass could be.

I pumped myself into Rick and he got into the rhythm of moving back on me as
he and Bry did the mouth-fucking thing on one another.  For an old guy, he
did a great job of humping and stumping at both ends.

Bry started the cooing hum he did with me when he felt he was soon to come.
I reached under and around Rick's pits and had him by the shoulders as I
went hot doggies faster and deeper into his glory ass.

Rick, who had been silent, let out a deep moan and shifted his hump of Bry's
moth into high gear.  Bry started to thrash about, giving little screamy
gasps of excitement.  He came first as Rick swiveled and swallowed Bry salty
cum.  Rick started to orgasm, bucking wildly, then I shot pumping my load
into Rick, who, however old, was still in fettle, a tireless and expert
two-way fucking madman.

We collapsed together for some minutes until the Eveready Bry reached for
the towels and we began mopping up.  I plumped and arranged the pillows, and
then sated as though half-drugged, we cozied in together.  Rick nuzzled
against Bry, his hand around on the lad's genitals.  I was up against Rick's
backside my hand around to his fine chest as hairy as mine.  Bry kissed my
fingertips, and we were asleep.

Some time during the night Ron got in with us as we slept and caused some
shuffling so that Bry was next to me with Ron next to him.  In the morning -
well, almost noon - I awoke to Rick fucking Ron, so I did a wakeup with Bry.
  Rick and I each fucked them from opposite of the bed as platform, he with
Ron face up and me with Bry face down.  That way, the two childhood friends
could sixty-nine one another to keep up with what went on in the gonads of
their two white plowboys.

After the friendly community shower that almost got us humping again, Rick
took us all to a big brunch.  We rode there in his extended cab pickup and
ate like starved construction workers.  On the return, Rick helped Ron pack
up his few possessions and took that country boy with him to his place in
the woods, somewhere up north.  Ron talked his line that he was going to
suck this new daddy all the way there.  As far as I know, they're still
together.

Bry and I are still a twosome, more than nightly fuck buddies.  From time to
time, Bry will bring home a treat for me like what happened with Rick.  Bry
is choosy, and we have a hallelujah of a time.  Bry likes the variety, and I
do what keeps him happy.  Different dudes have different talents, but none
is a Rick.  I think fondly of him and sometimes fantasize that he is with
us.

Thanks to Rick and the display of his fucking prowess, I now look forward to
my own nasty old age.  But not just yet, thank you very much.