Date: Sat, 18 Jun 2005 16:12:36 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: HOTEL COXPOINT - PART 2

I arrived at work at 7:30.  One thing Ms. Stockton hadn't told me was what
time the office opened and I'd forgotten to ask.  I parked next to the
doorway, in front of a sign labeled SUPERVISOR.  I wasn't there 10 minutes
until a car pulled up beside mine and a woman got out, came around the back
of my car and said, "I assume you're Michael Morgan?'"

"Yes, I arrived early being uncertain when the office opens."

"It opens at 8:00 but I came early, too, in case you did.  I'm the
supervisor's secretary."  She extended her hand and introduced herself as
Clara Heinemann.  She was a tall, slender, dressed mannishly yet
attractively but still looked as if she could easily play the role of
warden at a women's prison in a movie.

When everyone had arrived, she took me around and made introductions to the
staff, including Jeff Townsend, who was field inspector, excluding the
actual highway crewmen, who she said I could meet as they came in for
something.

Clara brought coffee and placed it on a paper napkin on my desk, asked
where I wanted to do to start.

"I'd like you to bring me all the personnel records and a list of all
daily, weekly, monthly and other reports that State requires be submitted
to them, plus the file folders containing those reports for the last two
months."  I had to start with acquainting myself with whom I was working
with and what was taking place here.

OUCH!  It was obvious I'd hit her sore spot and it wasn't even lunchtime
yet.  However, Richard had warned me that my predecessor hadn't quit - he'd
been fired so to watch my step.

I bussed Clara and told her to include the previous Supervisor's records
with those I'd requested.  I wasn't finished with the personnel records,
because of telephone interruptions when Jeff Townsend came in and asked if
we could have lunch together.

"Where could we go?"

I live across the street in a rental doublewide, my wife teaches and eats
at school.  But I can put together a sandwich that can't do any more harm
than cause a case of indigestion.  We took his car as his space was at the
back of the park.

Jeff had the physique of a pencil.  He was so skinny that at my height,
5'-10", he looked taller. He also had a long face and high forehead that
accentuated his height.  His hair was short and tousled, brown, with blonde
streaks – I'd seen that style before.  It was fashionable with women and
I'd seen teenagers with their hair streaked, but was mildly surprised to
see it on a man of my age in a rural area, all of which are noted for their
conservatism.  His eyes were bright blue. Put it all together and he was
hot as a firecracker.

He started to talk, as he worked at the kitchen counter fixing the
sandwiches and I sat at an island counter having a cigarette, which he said
was OK to do.

"Michael, I just feel compelled to tell you something.  My wife, Debbie,
and I discussed it and if you fire me, I'll just have to find a teaching
spot by September."

"Well it sounds mysterious, but I promise I wont fire you whatever it is.
Does that make it easier?"  I already had the hots for the guy and wasn't
about to fire him.

"I just wanted to caution you that your predecessor was fired."

I broke in and told him I already knew that.

"Jeez, did State tell you?"

"No, I heard it in a bar."

"That was a rumor, I'm confirming the rumor. I want you to know, because we
are of the same age, that you are years younger that the guy you succeeded
and it's the rumor that you're the youngest District Supervisor the state
has ever hired."

Wanting to put him at ease and to continue I said, "Jeff I appreciate your
concern and I'd appreciate your telling anything you want to."

"If this can be our secret, you are of the opinion that you are the
District Supervisor, but at the same time, Clara is as certain as you are
that she is the District Supervisor and that's where the trouble will
begin."

"Oh, oh, and I had her pissed off within the first hour I was on the job.
The first thing I asked of her was to get some personnel files and files on
reports that were required submittals to state and I was totally unprepared
for her reaction."

"Oh, oh, is right.  You unknowingly you hit the nail on the head and you
hadn't even picked up the hammer."

Jeff told what he knew and opened up a lot of clear blue sky.  John
Acheron, the supervisor before me was a happy go lucky, easygoing guy who
liked and trusted everyone and everyone liked him as well.  But he didn't
keep a sufficiently tight rein on the office.  Clara was submitting reports
to the state with a rubber stamp, facsimile signature of Johns.  John
hadn't seen three-fourths of them that left the office.

Jeff continued, "Coincidentally it was one of my weekly progress reports on
a paving project that she transcribed that started the whole business.  She
made a mistake in describing the location of the project.  The state
superintendent of construction knew there was no such location as the one
Clara had described.
  A small error, but it started an investigation and John got the axe –
he'd never even seen the report."

"Too, not everyone in the office is State Civil Service, but Clara is,
she's been a state employee for 15 years, 8 of which are in Coxpoint, four
years as head secretary.  For God's sake, Morgan, don't cross her.  You
could no more fire her than you could fire the Governor.  I just want you
to know what you're dealing with."

"Jeff, I do believe you, I'm happy you told me.  As the old saying goes,
"Forewarned is forearmed" and you've still got you job unless you refuse to
chauffer me back to work.  By the way, when we get back, reserve Thursday,
next week, on your calendar to chauffer me around and acquaint me with the
works in progress."

I knew he was surprised, as he responded with, "John never did take a tour
with me, but we'll need two Thursdays.  There are upkeep and repair jobs
which we handle in-house and contracted projects, awarded by State, which
we just supervise and summer is our busiest time."

"Well, I happen to think the condition and repair of highways is the number
one reason we're all here.  So reserve two Thursdays for me to go with
you."

By the end of the day, I returned all the files that Clara had given me,
without comment.  That eased the tension until Friday afternoon, when,
along with reports requiring my signature, she included an order form from
a rubber stamp company requesting a facsimile stamp of my signature.

By 4:00 everything was in my out basket including the rubber stamp request
on which I wrote on, "I will not sign this.  I will personally sign all
correspondence and reports requiring my signature and all correspondence
directed to state by employees shall be reviewed and initialed by me before
being mailed per office directive 1509. I laid the form on top the pile and
when Clara, later, picked up the contents of the out box, she paused, read
my note and slammed the door on the way out.  A few minutes later, I
happened to look out my window and saw her car burning rubber as she
screeched toward the gate.  So much anger - such a trivial matter.  Clara
knew I was limiting her duties to those of a secretary.  I knew she should
never have exceeded them in the first place; ultimately she'd calm down.


The following Thursday was the highlight of the week, a field day with Jeff
to acquaint me with work in progress on the maintenance and repair
projects.  I enjoyed ever minute spent with Jeff and it was apparent that
he was enjoying it as much as I was.  The night before he'd asked if I
wanted to get the hotel to pack me lunch or if I wanted to find a café
reasonably close to where we happened to be at noon.  I asked him what he
usually did – he brown bagged it so I told him I would too.  On the way
home I stopped at the Little Store, got ice for the cooler and a six-pack
of diet colas.  Irma said she'd be sure I got on the lunch-to-go list and
I'd find it, with my name on it, on the table just inside the door to the
right anytime after 6AM.  We ate, with the crew, sitting on the sandy
bottom of a dry creek, under a bridge.  I felt more like a friend than a
boss after we'd finished.  I never heard so many jokes nor laughed so
heartily.  I'd have to remember the better ones to tell Richard, we'd had a
hot night last night, being it was Wednesday and I always sprung an
occasional a boner the next day after I'd spent the night with him.

Jeff and I both had on open-necked sport shirts and I saw that way up to
the bottom of his neck he had a lot of chest hair.  For some reason that
surprised me.  He was so fragile looking that I just assumed he'd have no
body hair.  At the office he wore Nikes, on the job he wore big, heavy
boots with a tan, suede like finish. They gave the impression that it was
just about all he could do to lift the damn things off the ground.

Much more importantly, the crews, mostly older men, all loved, him, admired
him, respected him and hung on his every word.  He had a Civil Engineering
Degree from the University in Laramie; he spoke with a low pitched, clear
and authoritative voice but, at the same time, he was a friend to any of
the crew that needed something from him and they all knew it.

It was weeks later that I heard he'd won a $1,000 bonus by offering a
suggestion that was adopted.  It was a suggestion to pave side roads coming
on to state roads to the point of the state right-of-way.  It kept the
highways cleaner and the side roads were much more visible to drivers on
the highways which was a good safety factor.

About the same time I learned that R C Olson, the largest private
contractor in the state, had once formed a concrete pour calling for
6-inches in depth per the state specifications.  Jeff knew the wood forms
were 5½ and told Olson they were unsatisfactory.  Olson replied that was
standard practice.  Jeff told him he'd reject the work if he poured it.
Olson told him he'd get him fired.  Jeff replied that he didn't think the
state worked that way.  Olson changed the forms to full 6 inch, reusable
steel forms.  The incident became the favorite tale of John Macintyre, head
of the Construction Department, he told it every chance he had and one day
he told it to me.

Many were the times I'd have liked to slip my hand into Jeff's fly and find
out what kind of a delicious morsel he was hiding between his legs.  But,
like his crews, I respected him and, thus, suffered my frustrations and
erections.

That is, until the last week in September at the annual state wide meeting
of district supervisors and field men, scheduled because it was a lull
after the problems of summer were past and the problems of winter were
still to come.

The meeting location rotates every year to give each town a little state
business.  This year it was scheduled to be at a Hampton House Chain hotel
in Rock River, a small town on the Interstate in the southwest corner of
the state. We used my truck and Jeff and I took turns driving.  It was nice
weather and the trip was fun, Jeff and I did a lot of chatting on the way.
When we checked in we were told they were filled up but had taken the
liberty of reserving a room in a downtown hotel, recently remodeled and
they assured us it would be acceptable but they had no bar or restaurant.
What else could we say; except I did remark that my secretary had made the
reservation a month ago.  The clerk said, "There must be some error, we
received the reservation at 9 AM yesterday."  Under his breath, Jeff said,
"That fucking bitch!"

The room was OK, one bath and two double beds, one in a large room and one
in a smaller room, the two opening into each other by a large, arched,
opening.  Jeff felt that maybe it had originally been a bedroom, sitting
room arrangement.  We ate meals and drank at the Hampton House so no major
problems were foreseen.

As usual, so Jeff informed me, the first evening was always a raucous get
together in the hotel bar.  Tonight was no exception.  You know me, I'm a
moderate drinker so I drove back downtown as Jeff had really celebrated.
We started to argue as to who got which bed and finally settled it by
tossing a coin - him getting the large room and me in the small one. Even
though we drew the drapes, the neon sign on the front of the building, so
typical of older, small towns, threw a red glow into the rooms – thank God
the thing wasn't a flashing on and off sign.

It did keep me awake though; finally I went to take a leak, fully erected
because I'd been thinking of Richard, crossed the big room, pissed and on
the way back picked up my lighter, a cigarette and an ashtray. Still unable
to drop off, I went back to the large room for another cigarette.  I was
lying naked on the bed when Jeff asked, "Can't you sleep?"

"Not yet."

He got up, picked up one of his cigarettes, walked over and asked if he
could join me for a minute. I moved over, he got into bed, also naked,
lifted the ashtray off the nightstand and put it between us.  To smoke we
had to shift around and prop ourselves up if we were to share an ashtray.

Jesus, he had the cutest little uncut penis I'd ever seen, about 4-inches
long and, from what I could tell, the balls of a boy who was a few months
beyond passage through puberty.  I thought I was erect, but looking at him,
I developed the mother of all erections.

I called it a penis, out of habit.  I always call a big one a cock and a
small one a penis for some reason but I love both of them.  I damn near
jumped off the bed when, without warning, without saying anything, he
suddenly reached over and grabbed my cock, then said only one word, "God!"

He copped a good feel of both my cock and my testicles, retracted his hand
and said,

"I'm sorry, Michael."

Holy fuck, I'd waited for this opportunity since the first day I laid eyes
on him and replied, "Don't be", as I quickly leaned forward, pulled back
his foreskin and literally scooped his cute, little penis into my mouth.

"He audibly, spontaneously expelled his breath and asked, "Oh my God, what
are you doing?"

"Why?"

"I've never felt anything like it!"

Within a few seconds he blew his nuts and their content flowed right out
onto my tongue.

You're not going to believe what happened next:

He got out of bed, went back to his own and never said one more word about
it until three later and then I had to bring up the topic.  He was as
friendly as ever, but acted as though it hadn't happened.  I knew he did
remember, though.  No way was he drunk enough not to have remembered.

CHAPTER - 2

One Thursday, as I rode with him in a State pick-up truck back to the
office after our weekly work in progress tour, the days were getting
shorter and we were already a little late. But, I finally I found the
courage to ask:

"Jeff, are you offended by what happened that first night in Rock River?"

"No, why?"

"I didn't know.  You haven't said anything about being offended, but I
somehow hoped that maybe we could do something again, are you afraid, to or
didn't you like it?"

"I just don't think we should."

He was probably thinking about his being married.

"But your dick doesn't agree, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's rock hard!"

As small as it was, it was so hard that it was reading through his pants. I
reached over and put my hand on it.  He put on his flashers, pulled over to
the shoulder of the road, which was totally uncrowded, anyway, put his
hands up on the steering wheel and lowered his head down to rest on his
hands.

"Oh, Michael, what are we going to do?"

"Jeff, I started it and now I don't know what to do, but the last thing I
want to do is come between you and your wife, believe me."

"I believe you.  I've been a mess ever since you took me in your mouth.  I
like sex with Debbie, but it was so different with you, do you know what I
mean?"

"Sure I do.  I think I've had a little more experience with men than you
have."

"You're all I can think of. But I feel guilty?  Do you sometimes feel
guilty?"

"I did the first few times I had sex with a man but I don't anymore."

I reached over, took his hand off the steering wheel, and asked him to look
at me.  When he turned, I looked him in the eye and asked him:

"Jeff, you said that you didn't think we should.  Have you ever done
anything that you knew you shouldn't, maybe something that you couldn't
resist doing because you wanted to do it, or even needed to do it so
strongly, even something when you were barely into your teens, like jacking
off?"

The words were barely out of my mouth when I felt like a total shit.  I was
coming on to him too strong.  My cock was miserable and it was making me
miserable, too.  I was trying too hard to get him hot so he'd give me some.
And, at the same time, I was feeling guilty.  He was as innocent about sex
as anyone his age could be.  I shouldn't be trying so hard to arouse him.
But, oh God, I wanted that hard little penis again and was praying that if
he gave it to me his little cockhead would still be enveloped in his
foreskin.  I wanted so bad to skin it back and hook it behind the rim of
his cockhead.

"Jeff, please don't do anything you'd not be comfortable with, but if you
change your mind, I'm here, interested and eager.  Most of all remember
that it's just between us and will never go any further."

Then, Jeff asked an unexpected question – a very naive one.

"Are you sexually attracted to me?"

I though to my self (Shit, isn't that obvious?)

"Very much so, ever since the first day we met and more so than is
explainable. I think you are the cutest guy I've ever seen.  My pants are
about to go up in flame because I'm so attracted to you right now."

"What would you like to do?"

"Right now – pull your foreskin back and suck your penis, or masturbate you
to climax.  Eventually I'd like to fuck your little back door pussy.
You're the only person that I've ever wanted to fuck, but I would like to
get inside you."

"I can't think of anything else except how big you are down there.  I
almost freaked out just touching you that first night in Rock River.

"I'm glad you like it."

"What time is it?"

"Five-o'clock."

"We're going to be late, I'm going to call Debbie and say we ran into some
problems but we're on our way."

While he was talking, I took my boner out of my fly and when he hung up I
took his hand and wrapped it around my cock.  He immediately bent over,
wrapped his arms around me and kissed me open mouthed with his tongue
penetrating my mouth but never removed his hand from my cock.

"There's a side road just to the right around the curve.  It will be safer
there."

We kissed again; I unzipped his pants and found his little, warm, hard
penis.  At my suggestion we ditched our pants and shorts.  With one door
open, I squirmed around and lay down on the seat, with Jeff on top.
Immediately, filled with greed, I took both his cock and his balls into my
mouth, later calmed down a little and changed to sucking just his penis and
pulling on his balls.

He struggled with the size of my cock but managed to get most of it in his
mouth, struggled again to cope with the first cock that had discharged it's
love juice into his mouth.  But he managed.  We kissed some more and
relished in the sexual pleasure of our first date together.

I drove back to Cockspoint.  , Jeff, seatbelt unfasten to give him more
maneuverability, rested his head on my lap.  He, as I, was now hooked on
cock.  If I needed further proof, it came quickly.  Whenever his wife was
at a school event held in the evening, we had sex together.  Every Thursday
traveling back from job inspections, we had sex together.  Sometimes we
invented a need to work late, locked the doors and had sex.  Sometimes when
I went into his office or when he came to mine, we would feel each other
up.

Jeff turned into a hungry cocksucker and I eventually got my 7-inches into
his boy pussy. My greatest pleasure with Jeff, however, continued to be
skinning his foreskin back and exposing his cute little, cockhead.

I was genuinely happy that our sex together did not impair his relations at
home.  Maybe it helped them; 10 months later he fathered a baby girl.  His
penis may have been a tiny little thing but it was a tiny little thing that
needed lots of love, some of which he came to realize had to be the kind of
loving that could only come from another man. I liked loving it as much as
it needed loving.  Our pleasure expanded to include new things almost every
time we were together.  We were in love but we never put it into words.  We
didn't need to – we both knew it.

CHAPTER - 3

Richard also became more flexible. Part of our sex life together now
included jacking each other off.  Yes, he was finally touching my
genitals. Then, he found that he, too, liked to suck cock. Then he decided
that two men kissing was every bit as good a foreplay as it was between a
man and a woman.

The last development, though, you wont believe.  Because it helped him
financially, we asked Mrs. Bradley if he could move into my room with me.
She agreed without hesitation.  The first thing we did that night before
going to sleep was tape the keyholes on each of the connecting doors.  One
delight I'd never imagined began taking place about a month after we
started rooming together.  Late at night, or early in the morning would be
more accurate, if Richard woke with a hard on or a need to piss, he'd wake
me up, we'd grab towels and get into a hot shower together, he' brace his
hands against the wall and his legs spread apart.  I'd kneel on the floor
in front of him; watch the water form into a trickling stream as it poured
off the head of his big, mushroom cock, and off wet, pubic hair that had
formed into points below his balls. He' learned to like being masturbated.
I'd jack him then suck him, he'd look down at me as I looked up and our
eyes would meet in unspoken acknowledgement of our mutual pleasure in
having sex together. To finish he'd sometimes pull me up off my knees, I'd
wrap and lock my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, and in
this position, he'd dry fuck my crotch but it wasn't so dry with the shower
pounding us with water.  He was meticulous never to climax unless I had my
mouth over his mushroom head.

One thing Richard never did, though, was to tell me he loved me. He'd tell
me sex was "so good" on occasions he had a more intense climax than usual,
but he never told him he loved me.  After every sex session I would tell
him I loved him.  He'd always touch my cheek, tenderly in fact, look at me
and say, "I know you do."

Maybe some experience in his life prevented him from putting it in words.
I could accept that and with a cock the size of his I could overlook most
anything.  Most important of all, like Richard, I knew he loved me too.

THE END


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