Places: New Orleans, Barracks Street
By John Yager

Some time ago I posted a series of four very short pieces under the collective title Seasons.

Many readers have since written to ask if I would do further such little vignettes.  What follows is one such piece, part of a series titled Places, based on my own memories of some of my favorite cities and locations around the world.

Andrew, thank you again for so much help, for good advice, for proofing and editing and, most of all, for making me look so much better than I am.

This work is copyrighted © by the author, 2003 and may not be reproduced in any form without specific written permission from the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

We lay twisted together in his rumpled bed. The room was hot, oppressive, stale, filled with the odors of male sex.

I turned slowly, trying to free myself from the grasp of his muscular arm. Our bodies were bound together by sweat and spent sex and we reeked of our own exhausted lust.

"Don't go," Dave groaned."

"I've got to piss."

"Come back."


I stumbled across the dimly lit room. It was three on a hot afternoon but the light was blocked by heavy drapes pulled over shuttered windows. I went into the white tile bathroom and blinked at the brightness when I turned on the harsh lights. I looked in the mirror and marveled at my ugliness. My hair was tangled, my face covered with a two day growth of whiskers and my eyes looked as red as Lucifer's. My head throbbed and my legs felt as if they could buckle under me at any moment. My ass was beyond caring but I cared.

I pissed.

Back in the bedroom Dave now lay on his back, his naked body spread-eagle on the dingy sheets. He was a big man, muscular, his massive chest covered with thick, curling black, hair.
His face was more stubbled than mine and his cock was huge, drooling and hard.

We'd met in a bar on Royal two days ago and not been apart since. We'd hardly been out of bed, not out of his apartment at all.

He rolled onto his side as I approached, looked at me and growled, "I want your ass."

I sat on the side of the bed. "You've had my ass. My ass is raw."

He reached for me, placed his arm around my waist, splayed his callused fingers over my belly, and drew me back toward him, dragging my bare, inflamed ass across the rough sheets.

He pushed me onto my back and moved over me. I could have resisted. I could have told him no. I did neither and he rose up to kneel between my now yielding legs.

"You're fucking beautiful."

"You told me that before."

He put his hands behind my knees and lifted them up until they were pressed against my shoulders and my rear was splayed, exposed to his attack.

I tucked my feet behind his bull neck and moaned. "Yes."

His gargantuan cock slid into me. I remembered how it hurt the first time and realized I must be gaping now. I thought he'd rip me open then. I felt as if it was his fist. His fist, I learned later, was far bigger than his cock.

"Yes," I hissed again, "yes, yes."

I felt myself floating, felt time end. The city ebbed away and the smell of the river melded with the smells of sweat and cum and shit.

"Oh, yeah," I groaned, letting him do what he wanted, anything he wanted, letting myself be taken, filled, impaled. "Oh, fucking yes."

Other men had fucked me. They'd hit my prostate with their cock, sending bolts of lighting through my soul. This was different by a magnitude of six. Dave's huge cock invaded me, crushing my prostate as he stretched my ass like some rubber toy designed only to pleasure him.
There were no intermittent bolts, no pulsing shocks, but one continuous, unending, unyielding explosion of my senses.

I hit a high and stayed there, only coming down when Dave was through. By then I'd come a dozen times, one climax merging with the next until my body was racked and every muscle limp.

"I love your fucking ass," he growled as he pounded into me. I knew it would take time and resigned myself to it. We'd both come again and again as Dave had tortured my searing ass over the last two days and I knew it would take him time to come again. I felt my body go limp under him and then felt myself simply float away.

The first wave hit me as I floated over Jackson Square. I felt my balls explode. There was only a split second as I hovered over Algiers and then shot pulsing rounds as I flew the length of Canal Street and had another sizable detonation over Louis Armstrong Park.

Hello, Satch-mo, here I came!

I felt Dave stiffen and knew he was getting near. My ass, already filled to the ripping point, was stretched just that further bit more and then I felt his hot cum.

"Oh, fucking yes," he moaned.

My out-of-body journey ended and I settled back down into Dave's rumpled bed on Barracks Street. Then, surrounded by him, I too just said, "yes, yes."

The end.