Date: Fri, 23 Feb 2001 01:17:25 EST From: MikeBranson@aol.com Subject: Happiest Place On Earth - Part 2 DISCLAIMER: The following is just a fantasy. All the characters in the story are fictional. Please do not go further if you are under 21 and/or you are not looking for stories that explicitly describe man-to- man sex. HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH - Part 2 Mike Branson c 2001 Confession #2: One of the first assignments in my freshman Creative Writing class was to start keeping a journal. Mr. Stratton insisted that we call him by his first name, Rick, and he dared us to "keep it real" by not setting limitations. "Color outside the lines," he would say. The journal did not have to reflect current events, or, even, actual events. The emphasis was, is, and should always be on creativity. This is what made me want to recapture the details of the events that took place last summer. This is how the idea of "The Happiest Place On Earth" came to be. This is why my first entry was a recollection of that Saturday, the first day of the best of my life. (Chew on this, Rick.) Mom left at the crack of dawn this morning for a weekend turnaround trip to Vegas with a couple of girlfriends from work. Before leaving, she quietly crept into my room and placed what looked like an envelope on my dresser. She was trying so hard to be stealth about it that I didn't have the heart to tell her I was awake. I was kind of afraid she might make her way over to the bed to kiss me on the forehead or grace me in some other way with a maternal display of affection, but I was spared, thank God. I'd had a piss-on for the better part of an hour and hadn't been able to bring myself to get up and pee. My boner was unmistakable under the sheet. Any closer and Mom would've embarrassed the shit out of both of us. (Note to self: Get a damn lock for that door!) Once I was certain Mom had left the house, I threw off the sheet and the coolness of the morning air hit me, hardening my nipples. I adjusted the pillow beneath my head in order that I could get a better look down the length of my body. My cock was aching for attention but I didn't immediately touch it. Mentally, I was able to make it move slightly. I watched it rise and fall as I tensed my muscles, eyeing the piss slit open and close as if wanting to say something. Finally, my cock relaxed itself against my body, its head coming to rest in the taut depression of my navel. From what daylight there was beginning to make its way through the cracks of the blinds, I could get a clear view of the shave job I'd done on my pubes last night before I went to bed. I was so worked up over thoughts of Uncle Brad that I couldn't shake the horns no matter how hard I tried. On a whim, I got the bright idea of taking a razor to my nads and shaving them smooth as a baby's ass. You'd have thought I was performing goddamned open- heart surgery for the care that I took as I gently ran the Gillette through the foamy lather I'd rubbed all over the twins. I'd made quite a mess before the procedure was complete, with little blond pubes scattered all over the place. But, after I'd washed off in the shower and towel-dried myself, I inspected my now hairless sac and the new look (and feel) was awesome. I remember Tony once telling me that it would itch like a motherfucker if I totally shaved myself, but I don't remember if that applied to a nut job alone. No matter, it was worth it. Now, as I massaged my newly bald balls, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Uncle Brad's sac. I pictured massive, man-sized nuts with tufts of fine brown hair and the musk of a sweaty jock. Lost in my thoughts, it took a minute to register that my hands were now underneath my ass, caressing the mounds of my cheeks. First in circular motions and then, with more concentrated effort, a parting of the two. I brought my legs up for easier access and with my right hand I zoned in on the forbidden entrance of my virgin hole. The tightness was intimidating. I stuck my index finger in my mouth and sucked on it, wetting it as much as I could. Then, I returned to my hole and slowly, carefully, pushed my way in. First one finger, then both my index and middle fingers together. It got easier as I continued with each thrust and before I knew it I was pounding my ass in an attempt to gain as much access as I could withstand. Eyes still shut, my fingers became Uncle Brad's fingers. And then, without warning, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, I pictured his cock making that journey in and out, faster and deeper, harder and further.OH FUCK!!! I knew I couldn't last much longer. I grabbed my dick with my left hand and squeezed it forcefully. It took less than a minute before the eruption introduced itself and as I stroked with my left hand I continued to finger fuck myself in a wild frenzy. I arched my back and opened my mouth, hoping to get some of the jizz in or around my face. Sure as shit, the second gush made direct contact to the lower lip and I was able to catch it with my tongue. I let its salty warmth rest in my mouth, savoring the reward. When at last I swallowed, it was Uncle Brad's cum that made its way down my throat. I brought my ass-intruding fingers to my nose and inhaled what I imagined to be Uncle Brad's scent. Without hesitation, I placed my fingers in my mouth and sucked gently on them. With my left hand I spread a mini-puddle of cum that had landed just under my chin all over my chest and the flatness of my stomach. When eventually I opened my eyes, I looked down to see my upper body glistening as if someone had rubbed baby oil all over me. Spent, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood. What a way to start the day! On my way to the bathroom I stopped to check out the envelope Mom had left me. There was $50.00 in cash and a note telling me to have a great time with Uncle Brad. "I just did", I said to myself. And how! P.S. Rick, if you've made it this far, I've been meaning to tell you-I'm a dead ringer for a young Kevin Williams. That's the resemblance you've been eluding to, isn't it? If you say the name doesn't mean anything to you, you're full of shit. It didn't mean anything to me until the night Uncle Brad popped in a classic video called BIG GUNS and forwarded it to the scene where Mike Henson pops Kevin's cherry in a motel room. (How fucking hot was that?!) When you told me that I reminded you of someone, but you couldn't remember who, I almost busted a gut. Can't let on that Mr. Creative Writing knows his gay porn stars, can we? You think YOU have secrets, Mr. Ambercrombie & Fitch? Let's swap, shall we?) End of second installment. Comments welcome at mikebranson@aol.com. To those of you who e-mailed me after my initial effort, I cannot begin to thank you enough. Please stay in touch!