Date: Mon, 18 Dec 2006 10:21:21 -0800
From: Bruce Bramson <organs@bdcsi.net>
Subject: BACK TO HEARTBREAK MOTEL (Fiction)

                        BACK TO HEARTBREAK MOTEL

NB: This sequel makes sense of you read "HEARTBREAK MOTEL" first. --BB


The boys stayed in touch for a while, perhaps because I had given them
their first computer. Initially, they all used the same e-mail address:
JJJ@midweston-line.com . This got a bit confusing, so before long each of
them got his own mailbox; I found it amusing how they chose to identify
themselves.

Jay, with whom I corresponded most, was "JayPee", an allusion to his family
initial, P, but also (as he told me often) to his new-found enjoyment of
watersports, to which I presumably had introduced the boys on my visit. Of
the three, it seems Jay especially had taken to this particular fetish,
and I often found myself imagining hot scenes of him watering down Jack
or Joe -- or even Jet.

Less often, I'd get a note from Jay's brother Jack, identifying himself as
"JackBelt". He explained it as rhyming with black belt, as in jiu-jitsu,
something he learned about on the internet. He said he was practicing it
now and then, but without a formal trainer, it was slow going. This seemed
to fit his character: I recalled Jet's remark, "... he like a little
slappin' aroun' once in a while".

Least often, I'd find a note from "JoeJob", an obvious rhyme with blow job!
This struck me odd, for in our brief time together, it had become clear
that Joe's speciality was fucking. Still, he had acquitted himself well
sucking my cock, so I guess the moniker was apt.

In the fullness of time, Jay told me to "check out our web page,
ThreeJ'sMotel.com."  Well, it was a trifle amateurish, put together with
some pretty unsophisticated software, but it was there. Head-shots of
the three J's, a few pictures of the motel, and words touting it as
"a convenient stop-over between Omaha and Kansas City". Truth to tell,
it was far off the beaten (free-way) track: I had found it entirely by
accident! No mention was made of the availability of anything other than
"a good night's rest and lots of Miss Kitty's home-style cookin'." I
wrote back, suggesting they might get more business if they put up
full-length pictures of themselves, and even more business if they'd
put up a suitable picture of Jet!

As time went on, correspondence dwindled and I got busy with retirement
activities and my current novel. One day, I accidently clicked on the
URL for their web-page when my mouse moved the arrow to the wrong spot.
On a hunch, I refreshed the page, and was pleased to see it had been
considerably improved. Sure enough, there was each of the boys, not
only full length, but clad only in Speedos. Jay was as lanky as ever,
and still as handsome in his rugged mid-western way. Jack either had
been photographed with a hard-on, or had packed his Speedo with some
wadded-up socks. He sure did look delicious: he had exactly the right
kind of face for his long flowing hair. There, too, was Joe, perhaps
a bit stockier than I remembered him, but a nice hunk no man in his
right mind would turn down.

And, my, my! There was Biggun, sitting patiently beside Jay. There, too
was  Jet, though no sign of  Kitty, except through mention of her fine
cooking. A slightly better-fitting uniform had been found for Jet,
which almost hid his incredible form. Seeing him got my juices flowing:
I remembered that wonderful experience taking (so he claimed) his first
voluminous load to a guy. My gawd, what a specimen of manhood he was!

Of course, there was more text now, describing the farm in greater detail,
with pictures of the barn and paddocks with several horses examining the
photographer from a distance. "Horseback rides and lessons available" the
caption said. It all seemed quite pleasant: I began to think about a repeat
visit, possibly the following summer. I said as much in an e-mail to Jay,
asking "how's business?" then went back to web-research for my book. But,
I couldn't concentrate...

                                   ********

Seeing Joe there in his tight swimsuit reminded me of another Joe I had
met many years before, in Vietnam. I was there as a civilian, employed by
a contractor to the army, so lived off-base in Saigon.1968 was a pretty
bad year, with rockets landing in Saigon now and then, so there was usually
a curfew. Such nights made it difficult to link up with any of the cadre of
young boys the French had taught so well (and left behind). I thought
Vietnamese boys were some of the most beautiful I'd ever seen, so rarely
paid any attention to the GIs, who were everywhere.

One night as I was hurrying back to my apartment, I was accosted by this
other Joe: "Hey, guy," he said, "I can't get back to my bunk before this
damn curfew drops: ya got 'ny place ya can put me up?"

There was no way to assess this fellow, it being well past dusk, and his
baggy uniform would have hid anything useful anyway. Still, what I could
see of him looked decent, and I knew things would go badly for him if he
broke curfew. "Nothing comfortable like the barracks," I replied, but
you're welcome to share if you behave yourself." I figured I'd start on
a light note. "Follow me."

It was not far to my walk-up apartment on Le Loi Boulevard. I suppose,
compared with an army barrack, it might have seemed palatial, but in fact
the only luxurious thing in it was a huge bed left by the previous
occupant: it could have slept several easily. There was a desk and my
typewriter, a beat-up chest-of-drawers, a few chairs, and not much else.
When we had electricity, there was a slow ceiling fan to help keep the
mosquitos at bay.

Joe took in this situation at once. "Just us?" he asked.

"You were expecting Mrs. Nussbaum?" I mimicked Fred Allen's old line,
forgetting this guy would be far too young to have ever heard of Fred
Allen or Mrs. Nussbaum. "Oh, sorry, that's from an old radio program
from before you were born."

"You sleep alone in that huge bed?"

"Not unless I have to, but you know how the curfew tends to -- um --
curtail one's baser inclinations."

It was a typically warm evening, so I quickly stripped to my shorts: I
could see no reason to be shy around this guy with whom I was destined to
share the night, willingly or not. There was a war on, so these things
were apt to happen. When I next glanced at Joe, he had followed my lead
and was down to his skivvies; though the light was dim, I could see he
was far younger than I had imagined any soldier could be. Barely out of
High School, I thought to myself. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a
Huey came out of nowhere, passing low overhead, shaking the flimsy
building: at the same moment, power failed and we were plunged into
darkness. By now, I could find my way around the apartment without light,
so I soon found a candle and got it lit. Joe had disappeared.

"Joe?"

"Mmnnff."  He was under the bed!

"Get out of there! I haven't cleaned under there in weeks. Its probably
filthy!"

Joe slid into sight, pushing several dusty cum-rags ahead of him. "You've
been busy," he said.

"Yes, well, you know how it is, sex gets 'handy' at times over here."

He laughed, but as he stood, I saw he was trembling. "What's with you?" I
asked.

"I ... uh ... I'm scared shitless by what's happening here. Those 'copters
overhead all night... I can't even tell anyone how scared I am -- leastways
not anyone in the army. You aren't in the army are you?"

"No, I'm not in the army, never have been. And you have every reason to be
scared: horrible things are happening here." I moved toward the lad: he
seemed so young, so out of place in these surroundings, frightened, almost
nude and without the protection of his uniform. Would I take advantage of
this vulnerable lad?

You bet I would! The curfew had interfered with my sex-life, I was horny,
and chance had thrown this  terrified youngster my way. I folded him into
my arms, pushed his head against my shoulder and let him cry like a baby.
On cue, another Huey flailed the air above us: Joe clung to me fiercely,
his fear palpable.

Equally palpable, I found, were the globes of his butt, hidden only by the
flimsy boxers. This guy was all muscle: probably not more than a few weeks
out of basic training.

"How long have you been in country, Joe?"

"Three weeks. Stationed at Long Binh. Awful place." Joe held me tightly,
still sobbing quietly.

"Yes, but comparatively safe at this time."  My own duty-station was on
Long Binh Post, so I knew the place well. "You haven't seen any action
yet?"

"Naw" -- sniff -- "we're still in training. We sleep on the perimeter,
with the jungle right out there, and its really weird. Our COs know what
all the sounds are, and they sleep like babies, but we new guys are scared
out of our wits every time a twig breaks or a rat farts. We're supposed to
ship out to Cam Ranh any day."

"Not much opportunity for hanky-panky, then?"

"There's nobody to hanky panky with! 'N the COs tell us if we get caught
on leave at 20p-alley, we'll be court-martialed."

"No, you'd only be treated for syph and clap. Jacking off beats 20p-alley
any day!" By now my hands were inside his boxers, kneading his buns and
working slowly towards the front. As soon as his thoughts had turned to
any form of sex, his dick had grown hard. The warmth of his body, now
trembling far less, had gotten me up long ago. Perhaps he was just not
aware of my cock stabbing his belly; if he had noticed, he'd not yet done
anything about it. He still held on to me tightly, so I nuzzled the nape
of his neck, just below where his close-cropped military hair-cut ended.
My right hand inched closer to his manhood.

Power came back with a few flickers: the fan slowly got underway. I did
not want to break the spell.

"Got 'ny Bammy-ba?" Joe asked. [Ba mui ba, beer "33", Vietnamese beer,
of poor quality in those days.]

"Lord, NO! That shit's awful. Half formaldehyde and half embalming-fluid.
I can't stomach it. I always eat at the BOQs, so I don't  keep anything
here. Refrigerators don't do well on a diet of power interruptions." I
wished I did have something for him to drink: he needed a good stiff one,
but the only stiff one I had was between my legs. It was now or never.
My hand found his swollen pecker: it felt very nice. I maneuvered him
towards the bed and pushed him backwards on to it. He let go of me,
reluctantly, I thought, and stretched out, his hard-on pushing out his
boxers most tantalizingly.

Another Huey passed overhead, and the power went out again.  "Bruce, I
don't think I can stay in this God-forsaken place: the noise, the dirt,
the guns..."

"You'll do OK, Joe, once you settle in. For now, you're about to learn that
even in the midst of hell, you can have some fun, if you let yourself go."
I pulled his boxers down below his knees, knelt astride his out-stretched
legs and  zeroed-in on his erection. It was nothing spectacular, just a
nice young-man cock, ready for action.

"Wha' th' fug?"

"Relax, Joe: nothing's gonna hurt. I bent over and enveloped him in my
mouth. His dick loved the attention, but Joe was not so sure.

"You like that?" he asked incredulously.

"Wouldn't do it if I didn't. You need some relief: RELAX!" Poor guy, he
was wound up tight. Another 'copter thrashed around overhead, and I had
to restrain him, or he'd have been under the bed again.

"Go the fug away!" he shouted.

"Me?"

"No, those fuggin helicopters. They drive me nuts."

"Well, you are driving ME nuts! Here I am, trying to make you feel good,
and you aren't being at all cooperative." He'd lost his hard-on, and
remained silent for a few moments.

"I don' know what ya want me to do," he whimpered quietly. A sudden
inspiration hit me:

"I want you to roll over," I said sternly. ROLL OVER, SOLDIER, NOW!"

"Yes, Sir!"    ...    Over he went.

"RELAX!"

"Yes, Sir."

I lubed his hole and myself with spit and rammed my hardness against his
ass: he tightened up.

"RELAX, DAMMIT!"

"Yes, Sir."  He did his best. I pressed my advantage, and my hard-on:
before long, I was in.

"Ever been fucked, soldier?"

"No."

"No -- what?"

"No, SIR!"

"That's better. Now, relax: try to enjoy getting fucked."

"Yes, Sir!"

There was not a peep out of him as I screwed him mercilessly.  I'm not
usually aggressive, so brutality didn't come naturally, but being in
command of this pliable chap was exciting.  I could see the military had
taken a perfectly reasonable youngster and turned him into a robot, ready
to accept anything; and he got me on a power trip! I don't think Joe
enjoyed getting plowed, but ordered to accept it, he had no choice. The
harder I thrust, the more he backed up to meet me, and, as yet another
Huey shook the building, I shot a long-overdue load deep in his bowels.
I fell on him, sweating profusely. Joe had finally relaxed completely.
I thought he was asleep: I nearly was, but presently he stirred, pushed
me aside, and I slipped out of his behind. "Where's the john?"

Power was still off, and the candle had long since burned out. I pushed
Joe upright, used his muscular body to pull myself up as well and led him
through the darkness into what passed for a bathroom: a sink that emptied
on the floor, a spigot on the wall for a cold shower, and a potty that
emptied who-knows-where. Water came from a 55-gallon drum mounted high on
a shelf; the barrel got filled (now and then) when Saigon's water system
managed to pump something out. To save precious water, I always peed in
the shower area, so when Joe was properly aimed, I told him to go.

"Can't piss with a hard-on."

"I'll fix that." I knelt before him and received his still rigid dick.
Despite his need to pee, his need to get his rocks off was greater,
and soon he rewarded me with cum enough for two or three. Right behind
it came his warm piss. When at last he stopped pissing, I propelled him
back to the huge bed.

"Haven't cum since I left the States," he said.

"Kinda thought so: you needed it."

"Can't see myself doing it with all those other guys in the barracks,
though."

"Wake yourself up some night and listen carefully: half the guys there
will be pullin' their puds, either on their cot or in the john. Guys
just hafta get off now and then, or they go nuts."

But, Joe was already asleep. He was up and gone at the crack of dawn:
I never saw him again. But now I could truthfully say I'd been
"in the army".

                                ***********

The news that Biggun had expired of old age was communicated by a heart-
broken Jay, sobbing uncontrollably on the telephone: of course he and the
hound had bonded far more strongly then is usual. I could only comfort him
by saying time would help, and that he should get a new dog as soon as
possible for  companionship. When next I visited their web-page, Biggun's
demise was duly noted, but his place beside Jay had been taken by an
immense Great Dane named Hamlet, "the greatest Dane of all" the caption
said. It didn't take much imagination on my part to visualize Hamlet
humping Jay vigorously, possibly helped by Jet...

When next I heard from the boys, there were changes taking place: the
government was paying them to let their land lie fallow,  a program to
prop up the price of corn by reducing the supply. This meant my friends
had little to keep them occupied, and they were getting bored. All their
lives they'd risen in the wee hours of the morning to do the chores:
suddenly, there was far less work to be done, and the boys needed
something to fill their time.

Their answer was to revise their web-pages and change the thrust of their
business: instead of the "ThreeJ'sMotel", it became the "ThreeJ'sRanch":
they seemed to be turning it into some sort of dude ranch. I wondered if
they were offering themselves as the dudes! So, from time to time I
checked the pages: every time I refreshed, there were new items. They
were expanding their paddocks and horse-barns. Other animals were added
to their menagerie, and new hired hands. Several lads about their own age
were shown in tight bathing-suits which left nothing to one's imagination.
Their groom for the horses had begun life as a jockey; he was a tiny
fellow, dwarfed by the stallions in the pictures. Stallions: always, and
quite  obviously stallions. No mares. Once again I remembered Jet's words
about Jack: "...I seed him lookin' sideways at a horse more'n once" and
began to wonder...

                             ************

Seeing that diminutive jockey sent me back to Vietnam once again. Viets are
small people, and I thought the boys were especially cute. In those days,
the ubiquitous garb for youngsters up to puberty (and occasionally well
beyond) was a pair of brief shorts, sometimes a tee-shirt, and clogs:
rarely much else. For a leg man like myself, it was paradise!

I had arrived there with a group of other "round-eyes" just before the
famous Tet Offensive launched by the VC in 1968: while that raged, we were
confined to a small fairly modern hotel away from the city center. I knew
nothing about Vietnam, so latched on to an older man who was returning for
his third tour of duty:  he knew the situation well, and explained that as
long as we laid low, we were in little real danger. The VC were after much
bigger fry. But, almost two weeks without sex was a problem for me, then
in my prime, and the situation was made worse by one of the boys on the
hotel staff, who got steadily sexier-looking as the duration of my sexual
deprivation increased. It seemed to me the lad made more than the usual
number of excuses to visit our room, and subtle glances convinced me his
gaydar had registered me appropriately. With my mentor around most of the
time, I could not approach the boy, but I resolved to do so as soon as the
"coast was clear".

However, my first encounter with a local fellow occurred in the whore-house
just a short distance from our hotel. Once we were able to move about,
C.A. introduced me to getting a "steam-job and a blow-bath", as it was
locally known. I discretely enquired if the house had a masseur: of course
they did, yet another vestige of the french occupation, I suppose.

My first encounter was a revelation: I had never had any kind of massage in
my life, but the practice of bathing first (useful, given the hot climate)
was particularly enjoyable for me. The masseur's name was Hung: he was
small, wiry and strong! Yet, his touch was gentle as he soaped me all over,
then rinsed me with cool water. After drying me off, he put me on his table
face-down and went to work. He really knew his stuff! I found his rubbing,
pounding, and punching very relaxing. When he tapped me to turn over, he
discretely placed a small towel over my private parts and went to work on
the rest of me. Of course, when he got to my legs, particularly my thighs,
the little towel rose up majestically; I'm sure he knew it would. His touch
became lighter as he worked his hands up into my groin, played with my
balls, and ran his fingers through my pubic hair. By this time, I had let
my left arm drop over the side of the table so I could explore his bare
legs, and as he began working with me under the towel, I slipped my hand
into his shorts: he had a nice little boner, but my fingers had almost no
pubic hair to run through. When Hung put one hand around my engorged prong,
two weeks' of  frustration -- repeated visual stimulation by the young
boys all around, but no contact -- worked their magic! He jacked me with
his right hand as he fondled my shriveled balls and whisked the towel away
just as I  got off: my gawd, what a mess! I shot my wad over and over,
flooding his delicate hand: he in turn came in my hand. It was glorious!
After another wash, it was over.

However, it was commercial: not very expensive, true, but done for profit,
not for fun. I resolved to find some play-mates who might be as intrigued
by me as I was with them. The boy, Nguyen, at the hotel was at the top of
my list, but the place was so small and intimate I knew anything I might
do with him would be known within minutes.

As soon as things returned to "normal" after Tet, I sub-let an apartment
near the city center. I engaged Nguyen to help me move a few sticks of
furniture into the place, at the conclusion of which he seemed loathe to
depart. The massive bed captured his imagination, and he had long since
captured mine.
Seated close, I stroked his glabrous thighs, which was all he needed to
begin stroking my somewhat hairy arms. His hard-on pushed at his shorts,
and within minutes we were both stripped bare and pawing madly at each
other. He seemed as taken with my body-hair as I was with his lack of it,
and he was not at all bashful about sucking my dick, as soon as I had
tasted his. He had a small prick, but in perfect proportion to his size;
on his pubes there was not much more than the suggestion of a bush, and
there was not a trace of fat anywhere. When he came, I thought I might
drown: he seemed able to shoot forever, though he eventually calmed down.

For the remainder of my tour in Vietnam, Nguyen dropped in several times
a week; we carried on the same way every time, but neither seemed to get
tired of it. I became hooked on the Asian somatotype, and remain so to
this day.

                                **********

As work on my novel progressed, I would check in from time to time to see
what the three J's were up to. Their web pages were expanding, and it
seemed as if they were going to open a zoo: several more hounds were
added. As with the horses, the dogs were all males, well posed so there
was no mistake about their gender. More horses, including a miniature or
two, and a darling colt appeared. When I noticed they had named the colt
"Kinky", I had figured out what sort of a ranch the boys had developed. It
was clearly popular: the opening page exhorted readers who wanted to visit
to make reservations: "open from April to November, special group rates
available". I resolved to reward myself with a return to the motel.  I
would fire up the old Chrysler and head east again as soon as my novel was
completed. I wanted to pay a "pop call" on the boys, but I needed assurance
of a bunk.

I phoned the ThreeJ'sRanch "hotline". A decidedly nellie voice identified
itself as Lenny: I remembered seeing his picture on the web-page. I
explained that I had spent time at the motel, and wanted to visit, now that
it was a ranch "of the sort I might be interested in".

"What sssort of a ranch isss it, do you think?" Lenny asked.

"Oh, just a lovely place with lots of animals," I replied noncommittally.

"Have you ssseen our web-pagesss?"

"Yes, indeed."

"All of them?"

"All I've found..."

"You recall ssseeing Kinky the colt?"

"Sure."

"Try double-clicking on his image, then get back to usss," Lenny
said tersely.

"Will do: and give my regards to Jay, especially. He'll remember me."

"Jay Plant?"

"Yes..."

"I'm sssorry, Jay is no longer here."

"What?"

"The three original Js have sold the ranch and are no longer associated
with it."

"Their pictures are still on the web-site."

"Um, yesss, they agreed to let usss use those imagesss. Perhaps you should
get in touch with them by e-mail?" Lenny seemed a trifle exasperated.

"Yes, I'll do that. And I'll get back to you soon."

Back at my computer, I pulled up the ThreeJ'sRanch opening page: there at
the very bottom was a notice I had missed, so tiny was the type-face: "Jay
and Jack Plant and Joe Morgan are no longer associated with ThreeJ'sRanch:
their images used by permission".

I sought out the picture of "Kinky": double-clicking brought nothing, so I
scanned the image with my  mouse-pointer looking for a "hot-spot". I should
have known: the pointer turned into a hand only when directly over the
horse's rather obvious sheath! I double-clicked, and waited.

STOP!! YOU ARE ABOUT  TO ... The familiar disclaimer stuff: I've read
so many ... I moved my pointer down and clicked  "Enter", wondering what
I might see.

The same identical picture of Kinky came up, except now he sported a skinny
cock hanging out, nearly reaching the ground.

"NOW YOU KNOW!" the text beneath the photo read: do you still want
to continue?"

   "YES, I'm into zoo stuff     "NO, thanks anyway, not my kind of thing"

So: I was raised on a farm. Like farm-boys everywhere, I'd had my
interactions with animals, and of course, I had helped Jay Plant take
Biggun when I'd stayed at the ThreeJ's Motel. I did not hesitate to
click on the "YES" button.

              "STALLIONS                         MARES"

Associated with each of those buttons was a small image of a nude man
(stallions), and of a nude woman (mares). It was all very professionally
done, if a trifle cute.  I clicked on the "stallion" button. Pages
began to load....

The first thumbnails up were of the menagerie at the ranch: all the horses
were there sporting their mammoth multi-colored dongs, many flaring and
a few dribbling cum. Next came the hounds, with explicit pictures of their
large fleshy penises, usually held by a human hand so the knot would show.
Most of these pricks were bigger than mine, and while I knew how much Jay
had enjoyed getting humped (and stuck) with Biggun, my own interest lay in
going back to my child-hood days and just sucking and playing...

Then came pictures of the new ranch owners actively engaged with the
various animals. That little groom had an outsized dick that (on his frame)
was grotesque! Though his bio made it clear he really was a jockey, his
forte was screwing she-dogs, or getting screwed by the he-dogs. Lurid text
made it clear the ranch offered these amusements and many others for anyone
who cared to visit. On it went, page after page, eventually degenerating
into images they'd filched from other web-sites: I'd already seen most of
these on Usenet. I didn't even bother to click on the "mares" button.

I was anxious to find out what had become of the three original J's! I
phoned, and got the familiar "...that number has changed: the new number
is ... please make a note of it". (Some things, like that message, never
change)! But the new number was in the same area-code and had the same
prefix. I was happy to hear Jay's voice, and he seemed pleased I
had called.

"We're just down the road a piece. Lenny, Bob, Tom and Harry stayed at the
motel a while back. We had a ball: um, well, we had several (giggle) and
they decided to buy us out and turn the place into their fantasy. They'd
made a lotta money in the dot-com boom. Jack 'n Joe 'n I were bored to
tears not growin' corn, so we bought a spread where we can raise soy
beans and keep busy."

"It looks like the new guys at the old place are making a go of it."

"Oh, yes! (pause) we're their best customers (giggle)."

"I see! I'm thinking of dropping in on them myself."

"Oh, Bruce, DO! Only, stay with us. Drop-ins don't need a reservation, and
the four of us can go over and stir things up any time."

"What happened to Jet and Kitty?"

"Oh, they're with us of course. And we have Hamlet. Well, that is, I have
Hamlet (giggle) as often as I can."

"I'll bet Jack has discovered horses."

"You got that right! So have I."

"Oh, my!  Well, Jay, I gotta put some things in order, but I'll drop you
a note to let you know when to make up a bed up for me."

"You gotta sleep with one of us: we don't have a spare bedroom."

"Bless your horny little heart, Jay: I'll be there soon."

So, some months later, my manuscript safely at the publisher's office, I
was on the road again in my old Chrysler. Hurtling over the Sierra
mountains was great fun as usual: passing much newer cars struggling with
the climb and altitude always exhilarates me. After all, that's what
413 cubes under the hood is all about!

A while later, rolling at a good clip on Highway 50 east of Fallon, Nevada,
I spotted a black slick in the center of the lane: an oil slick, which
quickly grew in size. Soon some bits of metal were included: someone had
blown-up another modern engine. Sure enough, the slick moved right-ward,
and I saw a small red plastic "toy" car on the shoulder. It looked
expensive, as modern cars do, but it had quickly become a candidate for
the junk yard. I slowed, figuring I'd soon encounter the car's owner
hitch-hiking, and about a mile on there he was, trudging along with a
large sack. The bag was military-issue and so was the hiker: there's a
naval air station near Fallon, so I figured this fella was from there.

I slowed my car and tooted the horn as I pulled up to him. "Need a lift?"
I shouted.

"Fuck, yeah!"

"Climb in: toss your bag in the back seat with my shit. That's your car
back there with the engine gone?"

"Yep: cheap piece of crap. Supposed to get me home, but it barely made
fifty miles before it disintegrated.  Say, what's this monster?"

"'64 Chrysler. Where's home? Whatcha gonna do about the car?"

" Home's Denver. The car's dead: the troopers will haul it off."

"Stationed at the NAS?"

"Not 'ny more! I mustered out yesterday, bought that piece of crap this
morning and headed for home. Didn't get far, though."

"How much are you out for the car?"

"Nuthin! The check will bounce and the shyster that sold it to me will
eat it."

So, my passenger was not the most honest fellow, it seemed.  He was lucky,
though: highway 50  isn't well-traveled. He could have had a long wait for
a ride. He fell silent, the steady hum of the engine soon lulled him to
sleep. He had probably partied all night with his buddies, celebrating his
release from the Navy. I wondered how I could induce another form of
release for him.

Crossing Nevada, 50 has long straight stretches, then short curvy parts
over a series of low mountain passes. My passenger awoke when I reached
one of those twisty sections. "What's your name, partner?" he asked. "I'm
Harry: horny Harry, they called me back at the base."

"I'm Bruce. I imagine all you fly-boys are horny, cooped up on that base
way out of town, right?"

"Pretty much. We got female fliers out there now."

"But surely, they aren't there to service the men -- or are they?"

"Christ, no! They're untouchable. Them being there just makes matters
worse."

"So I should imagine. So, how do you guys cope?" I was sounding him out.

"How do you think?" He was sounding me out! And his hand was in his
crotch.

"I expect you take matters in hand..."

"That's mostly it. Some of the guys fool around, but they hafta go
off-base to do it, and it's risky. The Navy gets tough if you get caught."

"But you aren't in the Navy, any more, so..." He was groping himself now,
not very subtly.

                                *************

My mind drifted back to my days doing "trade" when I lived near a major
army post: several of us dedicated ourselves to "servicing the
service-men". They'd get week-end passes, and our modest town would be
awash in randy young men in uniform. They might take in a movie, often
got a little drunk, and always hoped to hook up with a girl. But usually
they wouldn't get anything: the "good" girls didn't want to tie
themselves to guys about to be shipped out. The soldiers knew the score:
they always wore their uniforms, and if they wanted a blow-job, they had
to ditch their buddies and wander around solo. It wouldn't be long before
one of us would swoop down with an offer. Fellows who did not want to get
hit-on would hang in groups so they wouldn't be bothered by "those goddam
queers".

I was lucky: in college at the time, I rented a room from an elderly
couple who never bothered me in any way. My room had a door right at
street-level. Before long I had a steady stream of "doorbell trade";
on Friday and Saturday nights I often stayed up most of the night taking
care of the  troops. I had a lot of regulars, a few of whom would bring
their buddies with them. They could always count on hot coffee if they
needed to sober up a bit, and I would occasionally offer bus-fare to help
them get back to the base. Now and then I could entice one to spend the
night: these were fellows willing to admit to themselves, at least, that
they might be queer. My favorite of these was Tommy, who would actually
suck me off now and then, if he'd had a few beers.

Some of those week-end nights were really wild; getting twenty or thirty
guys off was not unusual. One dude I remember especially: Tommy  brought
him to me. It was Roy's first leave since getting out of the brig, and he
was hot to trot. Tommy left to spend a while with his girl-friend: I knew
he'd be back, after she got him all stirred up. Why girls in those days
were  unwilling to help their guys out with a hand-job, at least, I could
never understand. I wasn't complaining though: I loved horny guys!

Roy's uniform was looser than most, so it was difficult to tell how he was
put together, but there was no mistaking his readiness for action: his
trouser-trout was up, and wanted out! On the other hand, I wanted to take
my time: many of the guys were far too quick on the trigger for me, and
once they got their rocks off, they usually departed quickly. They almost
never fooled around with me: that would prove they were queer!

We sat on my little sofa, more space between us than I would have liked.

"So, Roy, how'd you end up in the brig?"

"Got pissed-off n' told the sarge to shove it."

"Tsk, tsk! Those big, butch men don't like that!"

"Jerks on a power trip is all. Know they got us where it's short and curly.
Got six weeks."

"Any hanky-panky going on there in the brig?"

"You kidding? They watched us like a hawk. They'd court-martial you for
farting if they could get away with it. Got so all I had to do was put
my hand around my dick and it would shoot off."

"Hmmm. Seems like your mouth shootin' off was what got you in there.
Maybe you need to button that lip."

"Yeah, the brig's no fun. At least in the barracks we can beat off at
night without ..." Just mentioning jacking off got him hard. It was time
to act, before he messed up his clean uniform.

"Better get out of those rags, Roy: cum stains are tough to wash out you
know."


He stood. There was no point in hiding his hard-on from me, after all: he
knew what I wanted, and I knew what he wanted! He was gonna plug my
mouth, pop his cork, and go get drunk. It's what I called "Gillette sex:"
'push-pull-click-click, that's the way to drain your dick'. However, I had
other things in mind...

Nor was he bashful. He'd been in the army long enough to get over that, so
he was stripped to his camo boxers in just a few minutes, not forgetting
to smooth the creases in his trousers before folding them and putting them
on the back of a chair. Holy Cow! My friend Tommy had good taste in men!
Roy would have made a terrific light-weight fighter: he was not large, but
compact and muscular in a very understated sort of way. He had a dusting
of fine hair, quite sparse even in his crotch, and a faint tan-line. His
most prominent feature, of course, was his erection, already drooling,
standing at full attention. I wanted to suck on it on in the worst way,
but I knew he'd be off in seconds, and there might not be any "seconds".

"Why don'tcha take a cold shower, Roy? Might cool you off a bit."

"Don't wanna cool off: wanna get off! I'm so horned up I can taste it."

"Have you ever tasted it, Roy?"

"Uh, well, once when I was a kid I remember doing that. Didn't seem right
somehow."

"Its quite harmless. I have a steady diet of it, and it hasn't stunted
my growth."

"Yeah, well, I got one hellova load for you."

"That's nice, Roy, but actually I got a full load for you, too." By this
time I had slipped out of my denims; my response to him was apparent
through my white shorts.

"Whatcha mean?" His horniness overcame his suspicions: it was easy to see
Roy would not ordinarily allow any sexual contact with another guy, except
that he was now so "horned up" (as he put it) that caution was thrown to
the winds. I knew his defenses were down, and intended to take advantage
of the fact.

"Aw, cummon, Roy! I get just as "horned up" as the next person. Seeing a
well built dude like you in the nude does it for me."

"Me? 'Well built'?" You must be joking. The barracks are full of guys
better built than I am." Hmmmm:  he's noticed other guys!

"Don't put yourself down, Roy. Look there: that's a nicely put-together
package of young man." I was on my feet, now, and turned him towards the
long reflection in the wall-mirror. His muscles twitched as I touched his
shoulders, but it broke the ice. He struck a pose and admired himself,
and appeared pleased with what he saw.  Next to him, I was anything but
well built; the only feature we shared was our respective organs; rampant,
about the same size, and ready.

"Ten-SHUN!"  I said authoritatively.

He straightened up automatically, pushed out his chest and chin and sucked
in his belly. I reached across him and gently stroked his abs, each one
neatly outlined and prominent. "That's a six-pak to be proud of, soldier,"
 I said quietly.

I moved my hand up and caressed each breast in turn: they were nicely
defined, and his nipples were erect. Did I dare to lick one? Not until
after I tweaked and pinched a little; then I bent over and lapped gently
at the nearest one, reveling in the spontaneous rippling of muscles
under his supple skin. He sucked in his breath with an audible hiss,
and put his arms behind his head, exposing his nearly bare arm-pits
exuding the faintest odor of fresh sweat. No, he's not ready for me to
lick him there, I thought. I drew one arm down and put my hand on his
fore-arm. Instinctively, he made a fist and drew his arm up: his biceps
bulged deliciously. I squeezed the hard flesh, then bit it playfully.
He smiled at our image in the mirror: he was still at attention -- both
ways!

"At ease," I ordered. Roy relaxed. I was standing close to him now, and
turned just enough so my hard-on caressed his groin. He lowered his right
arm and grabbed my rigid prong: I expected him to push it away. Instead,
to my great surprise, he simply held on, probably feeling another man's
readiness for the first time in his life. I decided to go for the gold:
I reached up, gripped his head and brought our mouths together. He knew
how to kiss, alright! With his eyes tightly shut, he probably had visions
of a buxom lass to spur him on, but he kissed me passionately, only
breaking away when I had to come up for air. He released my dick: I'd
nearly lost it when he took hold of me.

"Jesus!" He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Thank you, Roy! That was wonderful, and quite unexpected.."

"Bruce, I have to get off! My balls ache."

"Yes, I know how it feels. I'll take care of that in a few minutes, but
I  have to pee first. I'll be right back." I ducked into the bathroom and
pulled the door shut. There was no way I was gonna pee with my dick the
way it was: I just wanted to keep him on edge a while longer. I quietly
drew a glass of water and dribbled it into the toilet, in case he was
listening, then washed my hands in very hot water for several minutes.

Roy was still admiring himself when I emerged. There was much to admire!
I'd scarcely noticed his balls, but they were large and hung quite low
below his still-rigid cock. By now, he'd been hard for nearly an hour,
and had not flagged for a moment.

"Ten-SHUN!"  I said authoritatively again.

"Aw, shit, Bruce!" but he straightened up on cue.

I stood directly in front of him. "Why is your dick so hard, soldier?" I
mimicked a sergeant.

"Dunno, Sir!"  He played along. I put my warm hands underneath his balls
and squeezed them.

"Wrong answer. It's hard because you need to get your rocks off! Your
balls are blue."

"YES, SIR!"  His dick was drooling wildly now, and he was up on his toes.

"How long since you jacked off, soldier?"

"Too long, Sir."

Slowly, I lowered myself to my haunches, my hands on his thighs to brace
myself. His legs were all tight ropey muscle. I massaged them briefly,
then worked one hand up under his balls. His right hand come forward to
grip his meat: I slapped it away. "Don't play with yourself, son!"

"Bruce, Sir: please..." Pre-cum dripped in long threads from his pulsing
wand. I didn't dare lick it away. I blew gently on his cock-head while
working my left hand towards his anus. He could not have stopped me if he
wanted to.

"Bruce, oh gawd, please," he begged. Sweat was gathering between his
cheeks: I did not need a lubricant to facilitate entry. Obligingly, he
spread his legs. I aimed for his prostate...

"Oh     my     gawd     Bruce     I'm      gonna ..."

All I had to do was open my mouth: he was cumming before I could really
get down on it properly. Weeks-worth of un-spent seed flooded my mouth
as his gonads ejected their precious pearly nectar. I did little more than
lap at his dick: I didn't need to work hard as I usually did: this guy
was utterly consumed with getting off, and needed very little help. His
legs shook, and he absently gripped my head and held on for dear life as
he came, and came, and came!

"... SHOOT!"

His legs went out from under him suddenly: I was able to push him back on
my bed where he lay breathing heavily. I put my own rigidity against his
thigh; a couple of quick rubs got me off, shooting all over his smooth
skin. I wasn't sure he would like that, so wanted to get it done before he
descended from the high his release had finally brought him. His hard-on
slowly subsided, and his flaccid cock drooled. I stretched out along side
him and waited.

His recovery was swift and sure: within a half hour he had dressed and
gone, drained and ready to do some serious drinking. He scarcely spoke as
he prepared to leave: I knew I had pushed him well beyond his limits, and
felt sure I would never see him again. I was right.

However, Tommy returned later that night, all worked up because Mary-Belle
had refused even to look at his hard-on, much less touch or -- gawd
forbid! -- taste it. His explosion, which I assisted him with in my usual
way, was almost as intense as Roy's had been, but Tommy was willing to
spend the night, something Roy could never do.

                                  ***********

Horny Harry dozed whenever the road was straight, but always awoke when
we got into the hills. The car rolled off the miles: a tank of gas in
Aurora, and a pit-stop for sandwiches and pissing was all that happened
except for my driving and some unrevealing conversation about the Nevada
landscape. I expected to spend the night in Ely, but had no idea what
plans Harry might have: I was willing to include him in my own, if he
turned out to be compatible.

"So, Harry: if your buddies called you 'horny Harry', they musta had a
reason."

"Yep. I got a condition sorta like Priapism; my dick never really goes
soft: stays about two-thirds hard all the time."

"Mine would too, if I played with it as much as you do yours."

"Other way round: I play with mine all the time 'cause it there and mostly
hard. I hafta wear jock-straps to be presentable."

"It works properly, otherwise?"

"Yeah, 'cept it never gets really hard, either. It's a problem in my
flying suit: we're 'wired' to a urine-bag inside the suit, and the thingy
that fits over yer cock is usually too small for me. Most guys aren't
hard when they're flying..."

"I wonder if flying makes some guys horny: I know driving does it for me."

"At Mach 1 or 2 you're too busy to even think about it! 'N gettin' a
hard-on inside that suit is very uncomfortable: there's just no room to
spare. The parachute harness comes down through your crotch and back
up to your neck."

"I've seen pictures of guys in those suits, and it really did look like
they had nothing 'going on' down there at all!"

"Yep: everything's really squished in tight. I'm probably the only guy
that showed a basket, accounta my dick never really goes soft."

Harry had been fiddling with himself from the moment he got into my car.
I reached across the seat and groped him: it was there, alright, and he
didn't resist me. "Maybe its time to give that thing a little air," I
suggested.

He opened his zipper, fumbled within his fly, and brought forth a really
nice dick. I guessed it might approach eight inches in length if fully
hard. But it was not fully hard: it curved downward quite severely, as
if it would hang properly, but I could see how, if it really never went
soft, it would protrude noticeably.

"There it is: that's why they call me horny Harry!" He seemed proud of
it, as anyone would be, despite it's being a medical condition. He held
it up and waved it back and forth.

"Mind if I..."

"Best you don't, I also have a hair-trigger: wouldn't wanna mess up this
neat car."

"You planning to put your thumb out when I put in at Ely?"

"Well, seeing as you're going on to Denver, I may as well hang with a
sure thing, as opposed to trying my luck on the highway at night. There
must be even less traffic then than there has been all day, and it
ain't much."

"I guess we could save a few bucks by getting a double at the Motel 6.
Its basic, but all we're gonna do is sleep in it anyway."

"Aw, shucks."

"Whatcha mean?"

"Ya got me kinda stirred up, know what I mean? 'N I notice you fumbling
with your privates now and then, too."

"Like I said, driving does it for me: that, and having a horny stud
riding shot-gun."

"I ain't queer, but I don't mind jumping the fence occasionally."

"I am queer, and I've never jumped the fence: if you can handle that,
you're on."

"Not a problem! Horny Harry, that's me: don't play favorites."

We rode on in silence: Harry left his cock out, and toyed with constantly.
It's shape never changed, neither shrinking nor expanding. About three in
the afternoon, we rounded the last few curves that give on to the main
drag of Ely. Off the highway on east I pulled into the Motel 6. Harry
stuffed his meat into his jock-strap: I glimpsed the tell-tale weave of
the fabric as he did so. We were soon ensconced in a double. I was tired,
and needed some shut-eye, so Harry obliged by stretching out on his bed
to watch TV. The last thing I remember is a glance at him lying there,
a delicious bulge in his pants.

We dined at the Red Apple restaurant on decent, if utterly uninspired,
grub. I watched several pairs of eyes follow Harry as we were led to a
booth: even confined in a jock-strap, his endowment crowded his crotch.
Later, I didn't even notice we were followed out of the place by a
lanky youngster.

"Snazzy car you guys got," he said as we reached my Chrysler. His eyes
were not on the car!

"We're headed for the 6: want a ride?" I said, fathoming the boy's real
interest.

"Sure."

He sat between us: plenty of room in those old cars. "Name's Lou," he
said. "Folks hereabouts call me 'Lewd Louie'". There was no response to
my leg pressing against his.

Harry laughed: "'N they call me horny Harry! We just might get along!"

"Hope so," Lou said.

We repaired to the motel room. Despite his moniker, Lou appeared to be a
novice: he seemed ill at ease, unsure what to do, and stood self-
consciously in the room as Harry and I got out of our jackets. Harry
took off his shirt, revealing a very nice torso, well muscled and tight.
It was Harry who asked, "So, Lou, why do folks call you 'Lewd Louie'?"

"My Daddy caught me whacking off when I was ten: gave me the nick-name,
and it stuck."

"Well, the words do sorta go together. How old are you?"

"Seventeen. Gonna be 18 next month," he added hurriedly. His eyes hadn't
once left Harry's crotch: he was bewitched. In his own pants, I thought I
detected something, but it was not easy to tell: his Levis were a few
sizes too large.

Without another word, Harry, seated on the edge of his bed, un-buckled his
belt, dropped his zipper, and pushed his pants down to his ankles. When he
stood up, it was my turn to be bewitched. To say Harry was well built was
an understatement: he had strong, muscular legs of perfect proportions,
and a faint trail of hair that emanated from the wide band of his strap
and ran up towards his navel. He was the proverbial "Greek god", even
though he was far too light-skinned to be Greek in any way but one, and
in that regard he claimed he wasn't. The bulk of his jock's contents
seemed enormous, emphasized by the bright white net of the pouch. I
thought Lou was going to faint.

"Christ!"  Lou's Levis rose magically as his crotch-rocket expanded, but
he couldn't move any other muscle: he seemed riveted to the floor.

No stranger to those who found his unusual cock interesting, Harry
proceeded to slowly reverse his jock-strap out and over his projection;
bending, he slipped it down below his knees, and in so doing contrived to
bump his head into Lou's rapidly expanding fly. When he straightened up,
his not-hard hard-on was fully exposed: it arose from a moderately hairy
thicket, straight out for a couple of inches, then arched downward at a
rakish angle. It was larger in girth than most I'd seen, though not
actually monstrous, it resembled a large bratwurst. In an ordinary pair
of pants, he would have been arrested for indecent exposure. Nude before
Lou and me, I thought there was nothing indecent about it.

Lou slowly came to life: in slow motion, he stepped forward and stretched
a hand towards the "attractive nuisance" that mesmerized him.

"Careful, son," Harry said evenly: "it spits."

Lou stopped, unsure. It was time for me to act: there was a fully erect
penis behind Lou's fly I wanted to see --  entirely in the interest of
comparative anatomy, you comprehend. But when I stepped toward him,
intent on loosening his belt, he shrank away.

 "I ain't never..." he whispered.

"...had a hand-job?" Harry asked.

Lou found his voice. "No, never have. Sure can see why they call you
'horny Harry' though."

"Then you're going to, right now! You undressed me with your eyes, and I
responded appropriately: now its your turn." Harry was polite, but firm.
For someone who "ain't queer", I thought his interest in the youth before
him was suspicious. "You, too, Bruce."

"Sheeeeit! I'm older than both of you put together: ya don't wanna see me
nude."

"Just think it will help the boy relax," Harry said.

"More likely scare the shit outa him," I said, but I dropped my pants
below my shorts anyway.

Lou was still staring at Harry's massive cock. There was a kind of
magnetic attraction about it, I had to admit. In slow-motion once again,
Lou slipped the buckle along his belt and unbuttoned his levis: with no
underwear, his boner sprang forth with such violence that a gob of
pre-cum was flung across the space between him and Harry. His levis slowly
collapsed of their own weight into a pile around his ankles. At 17, he was
in the bloom of youth; his legs were still glabrous, but a healthy thicket
of pubic hair bespoke his age. Below, a pendulous pair of balls rose and
fell rhythmically in response to his breathing.

"Right nice dick ya got, Lou," Harry said. I murmured agreement.

"Puny next to yours."

"Mine's the way it is on account of a medical problem: yours is a perfectly
natural boy-dick. Bet it spits just like mine."

"What?"

"Like, you know, when ya jack off."

"Don't do it much."

'Why on earth not?"

"Nuthin' happens when I do."

Was he lying to us? I moved behind him, reached around and palmed his
erection. He made no move to stop me, so I began to jack him slowly. He
was nicely, if unremarkably endowed, and circumcised. Where Harry's dick
drooped downward, Lou's pointed upward at the ceiling. I worked on him
as Harry watched, but Harry's cock remained unchanged.

I picked up my pace, but it seemed true: Lou was not responding in ways
I found familiar. Except for some leakage, he seemed un-aroused, his
breathing remained steady and his muscles, save one, were relaxed. He
had not yet taken his eyes off Harry's dangling dick.

I kept working on Lou, but it was Harry who divined what the boy really
wanted: he wanted Harry's penis in his mouth. By climbing on to his bed,
Harry got it up to an appropriate level, and I coaxed Lou forward by
pulling his dick in Harry's direction: I also had my hand on his butt
and was working a finger into his cleavage. Much as I wanted to suck
Harry's prong myself, I figured I might have another chance, where Lou
was unlikely to see either of us again.

When they joined, things happened swiftly. Harry was right: he did have
a hair-trigger! Lou let that big salami slide deep into his throat as if
he'd been doing it forever, and Harry popped his cork with loud groans
and a lot of lurching muscles. For his part, Lou, who I was vigorously
manipulating, shot upwards with enough power to reach Harry's knees!
Yet, except for his throbbing dick, Lou was otherwise utterly
dis-engaged: no shouts (well, with his mouth full, that was out of the
question) but no shaky legs, no heavy breathing. Between the two of them,
the scene was over in just a few minutes: Lou's evacuated dick began to
shrink immediately,  and Harry's chorizo emerged from Lou's throat in
the same condition as when it went in, except for a coating of saliva.

Lou pulled up his levis at once and seemed anxious to leave. "Did you
enjoy that?" I asked him.

"Enjoy what?"

"Good lord! Lou creamed your throat, and you creamed his legs: look there,
and there," I pointed out the shiny gobs slowly sliding down among the
hairs on Lou's fine calves.

"That came outa me?" Lou asked, incredulous.

Harry stepped off the bed. "You didn't feel anything?" It was his turn
for incredulity.

"No. Guess I'm funny that way. It just comes out sometimes when I do what
you were doing, but I don't get any charge out of it. But I enjoyed
that!" -- he pointed at Harry's dripping meat -- "and I gotta be going.
Thanks for the ride: I live close." Off he went into the night.

"Odd fellow," I remarked.

"He's straight. Just needs a gal to wind him up."

"He's a cocksucker!"

"Not for life: once a bint gets into his pants, he'll straighten out."

"Could be a medical condition," I teased Harry.

"Maybe: we'll never know. But for now, its getting late, and I need some
sleep."

"Yeah, been a long day."

We did our ablutions, then retired to separate beds. But by morning,
Harry had joined me. I slept like a baby, as I always do when there's
a man's arms around me.

When traveling alone, I like to get on the road early   not later than
6 am. But on this morning, I slept in, reveling in Harry's warm body. I
no longer sleep with anyone regularly, so it was a real treat. Harry
slept deeply, giving me a chance to furtively check out that "condition"
that lay between his well-built thighs. Sure enough, it was there, no
change in its size having taken place since I last observed it slipping
wetly out of Lou's mouth. Satisfied, I turned over and went back to sleep.

Denver is a very long hop from Ely, a bit more than 700 miles. I've done
it often in a single day. But with Harry in tow, I had no reason to
hurry: I figured on staying in Grand Junction, once again to luxuriate in
sleeping with him. In the meantime, mid-morning found us both awake. I
had my usual piss-hard, but from the position of the sheet over Harry's
mid-rift, I knew even piss was not getting him fully hard. Pissing is my
fetish now, since the operation, and I very much wanted to sample Harry's
accumulation, unsure if he would welcome the idea, and worried about
his "hair-trigger".

"Gotta take a whiz," Harry said, tossing aside the blankets.

"Would it shock you to know I'd very much like to watch you do that?"

"No."

"Would it shock you if I told you I'd like to consume your golden
nectar..."

"Um, no."

"...direct from the tap?"

"It's a new one on me, but I'm game."

He stood, and I tossed my legs over the side of the bed. Before he could
move towards the bathroom, I simply swallowed him on the spot. His meat
was perfectly designed to slip down a throat, something Lou had
demonstrated the night before. By the time he began to pee, the end of
his cock was well past my tonsils, thus by-passing my throat and negating
the sensation of receiving. It was, in fact, rather disappointing.
Nevertheless, when he was empty, he withdrew slightly, and before I quite
realized it, he was cumming! Quick to get off, even in the morning! He let
loose a very respectable wad, and I enjoyed the sensation of his doing so.
I gripped his thighs as he shot, feeling his muscles do their work. It was
 a very nice  event, and I hoped there would be repeats.

After a pleasant breakfast, we were on the road around eleven. Harry
relaxed as I drove, enjoying what little scenery there is as one crosses
the rest of Nevada and Utah. Before long he had his meat out: seeing him
playing with it caused my mind to wander.

                                  ***********

While at university I lived in a dormitory complex that had a peculiar
layout: there were odd light-wells and other features that made it
possible for many occupants to observe other dwellers in the place: I
often wondered if the architect planned it, or whether it just happened.

I had a nice view across an opening and down one story to the bed-room of
someone I never met, but with whom I nevertheless became quite familiar.
I saw him around: late teens, always in dirty, sloppy clothes; he had
wild, unkept hair that framed what might have been a pretty face. He was
a hippie: I didn't understand then (and still don't) why a guy as
potentially good-looking as he, tried so hard to be ugly! Out of his
clothes, he was a strapping youngster, a bit thin, lanky, and (among other
things) supple enough to suck his own cock: the first person I ever
witnessed doing so. He did this fairly often, and seemed to get a real
"bang" out of taking his own load, usually ejected forcefully into his
waiting mouth (or at least nearby: his aim wasn't perfect). He spent
nearly every evening, and well into the night, watching porno flicks
and playing with himself. I spent nearly every evening, and well into the
night, watching him!

His bed was strategically placed close to the large window: its likely he
wanted to be seen. He was not always alone, however, and in the 60s, to
fornicate with another guy so blatantly was perhaps not the wisest thing
to do. I certainly wouldn't rat on him, but who else might be watching?
While I never found him the slightest bit attractive in his usual sloppy
garb,  he had a number of partners over the months who had evidently done
their homework and discovered beneath the grime-encrusted exterior a
decent body enclosing a mind that was certainly willing to experiment.

The dude had an array of toys, many of which I'd never seen before: rubber
dildos of various sizes and colors, along with several pump-like devices
designed to substitute for one's  hand. For this reason, I called him
"Toy". Beyond being incredibly horny, his chief feature was how long it
took him to reach an orgasm. Whether alone or with another, his sessions
tended to go on and on: more than once I fell asleep watching, but he
(or they) would still be at it when I awoke.  I marveled that his dick
had not worn out, given the time he spent jacking off or fucking various
plastic or rubber devices. He placed a large mirror so he could watch
himself, but it didn't seem to speed things up; he just took a very long
time to "get there". I got myself off twice now and then, in the time
he took to get off once.

Toy's  most spectacular performance took place one night when I had moved
my desk nearer my own window so I could study and keep my eye on him: the
evening developed into a gang-bang, something you rarely witness unless
involved in it. His first partner was a very long-limbed black fellow:
from my vantage point, he looked to be at least seven feet tall! The test
for which I was supposed to be studying was quickly forgotten: this guy
was long in all ways! The schwanz he uncoiled from within his fly had to
be nearly nine inches long, and was the longest I'd ever seen. Toy seemed
overjoyed by this guy's munificence, and undertook to suck on it at once.
However, he was up against Armageddon, and choked badly before even half
that crank was out of sight. The harder his partner pushed the more Toy
resisted,  no doubt in fear of being asphyxiated. These attempts were
accompanied by their ripping each others' clothes off: once the deck was
cleared (so to speak), they spent a good deal of time just pawing at each
other. I would like to have been there, but watching surreptitiously had
to do. Besides his blackness and super-sized dick, the negro's other
noticeable attribute was a massive gold chain around his neck: if it was
real, this dude had money! I named him "Thug".

The foreplay went on for quite some time, during which I got a bit of
studying done. But when Thug suddenly grabbed  Toy's midriff  and rotated
him one-hundred and eighty degrees as effortlessly as one might flip a
pancake, I could see the fun was just getting good. Thug produced a bottle
of fluid with which he liberally slathered Toy's backside: he parted the
cleavage before him with his huge hand and squirted a big dollop of the
stuff right on Toy's pink star-fish, then pinned the hapless hippie to
the mattress with a direct thrust of his mighty divining-rod. Toy's scream
wafted up the light-well. Despite all the dildos, vegetables and other
phallic substitutes Toy's colon had accommodated, it hadn't stretched
enough to comfortably encompass Thug's massive meat. In sympathy, I felt
every inch of that schlong go up my own ass! OUCH!

At this point I discovered the pair was not alone: from the shadows there
emerged a youngster who looked to be only about fourteen. Even from my
awkward vantage point, his youth was evident in lithe musculature and a
tight torso. However, when he climbed up on the bed to which Toy was
skewered, I could see he was a precocious lad, respectably endowed, and
his dead-straight cock disappeared  immediately in Thug's hungry mouth in
front of him. Thug seemed to have a throat as copious as Toy's colon, for
he swallowed the standing youth right up to his balls. The youngster
grabbed Thug's ears and pumped his head forward and back so vigorously I
thought it might fall off.  With each thrust Thug's cheeks alternately
puffed out and sank in. It wasn't long before the tell-tale signs of an
impending orgasm were apparent, though I would certainly have preferred to
see the boy shoot in the open. As it was, he all but pulled Thug's ears
off! He yanked the nappy head into his groin and held on for dear life as
he lurched and  snorted in the throes of the kind of climax reserved for
the very young. As his thrashing subsided, he withdrew his wilting cock
from Thug's throat and stepped off the bed, and out of sight.

Through all of this, Toy had wiggled his butt and slowly managed to force
his assailant up and back: I expected he wanted that awesome poker in his
backside out, but in fact he wanted to get it doggie-fashion and as deep
in his bowel as he possibly could. Toy was now on all four, with Thug's
dick still driven to the hilt. I realized with a start that yet another
body had appeared, this time that of a second black man, intent on sucking
on Toy's now-dangling swizzle-stick and low-hangers. These (all!) he
swallowed greedily, while at his crotch still another participant got
busy on whatever he had there: I only got a glimpse before a thicket of
long black hair cascaded over his stomach. hiding the action provided by
the hair's owner. I wondered if this was a girl: Toy had entertained a few
in his day. But eventually she came up for air, and turned out to be a he
after all. Whatever he'd been doing out of my sight (probably playing with
that cute youngster) had him all ready to pop: a few strokes of his
hard-on sent jizz flying all over the place, some landing in large blobs
on the black stomach beneath him.

Meanwhile, Thug had been rooting Toy's ass mercilessly (not that Toy
seemed to mind): once cum started to flow, there was no stopping it. Thug
pulled Toy's groin tightly against his own: his glabrous muscles could be
seen working mightily as he expelled his precious juices in Toy's rectum,
accompanied by shouting and moaning that came up the light-well just as
Toy's shriek had earlier. When after some while Thug stopped bucking and
hollering, Toy, still impaled, turned and went down on the man under him:
before long, the 69-ing pair got their jollies as well, then all tumbled
into a disheveled heap on the bed.

That's when all hell broke loose: the lights in the room, which had been
on low, were suddenly turned up full and the bodies in my view leaped into
action and off the bed. Shouts were heard, then a large man in a blue
suit appeared. The "suit" was a uniform: everyone in the room was being
arrested. Given the openness with which they had been carrying-on, and the
young age of one of the participants, I was not surprised. The university
must have hushed it up, though: I found no mention of the bust in the
papers. The room was soon occupied by a girl, which naturally ended my
voyeurism.

                               *************

We stropped for gas and lunch at a Burger-King in Delta, Utah, a god-
forsaken little railroad town in the middle of nowhere. Even here, Harry's
prominent "feature" got many furtive glances, but no one followed us out
to the car; as we all know, Mormon boys don't play around. At least,
that's the conventional wisdom, and I can't refute it, never having known
any Mormons. We were soon back on the road, and  Harry's dick was soon back
in hand. The Chrysler purred as usual, and before long we were hurtling
through the painted desert south of the Wasatch mountains, a colorful part
of the country. Our conversation turned to sex, there being little else of
interest to both of us.

"How'd you come --  no pun intended --  to be in the Navy? I asked Harry.

"Followed my Dad's footsteps, I guess. Just seemed the thing to do after
Junior College."

"Who declared your dick a medical condition?"

"Oh, that was while I was in High School. I was, um, 'fully developed' at
15, and the object of some interest to many of my class mates. Of course,
the girls only heard about it through scuttle-butt and hall-way gossip,
but I couldn't hide anything from my buddies in the gym classes. The first
time I put on a suit for swimming, I thought the coach was gonna faint! He
sent me off to the school nurse, but apparently she'd been warned, so she
sent me to a doctor. He studied my dick closely and tried to get it to
stand up, but it wouldn't respond to his handiwork any more than it did
to mine. After studying some books, he decided it was probably not life-
threatening, especially when it had spat in his hand twice in the course
of his inspection. He did say the hair-trigger might cause me some problems
later on, but there were ways to deal with that when the time came."

"Has it been a problem?"

"Not really: I've not had many contacts with either sex. A few guys seem
to find it novel, and the girls, um..."

"There haven't been any girls, have there?" I was guessing, but it seemed
a sure bet.

"Yeah, I'm still a virgin in that department. I read a lot about how girls
don't like guys that get off too easy, so it makes me shy away from trying
anything with them."

"You're still young: no reason to be in a big hurry."

Not long after passing near Green River, we entered Colorado and I soon
pulled off into a clutch of motels and gas-stations at the east end of
Grand Junction.

I got the gas pumping and went into the men's room to take a whiz. When
I came out, I found Harry in the hands of two gendarmes: MPs, it seems.
There were two others standing by, and a large van painted up with
emblems of the Military Police. I asked one of them what was going on.

"Yer buddy here is AWOL. And he ditched a car he stole back in Nevada.
We got orders to haul him in, but you've kept ahead of us in that old
Chrysler. Ya musta souped it up!"

"Nope: it's stock. Just a typical muscle car of the 60s. You don't see many
of 'em on the road any more. I hope you aren't gonna drag me in as well?"

"You gave us a run for our money, but we can't fault you for picking up
that dude. I guess he didn't give you any trouble?"

"None at all. He's really a rather nice fellow. Be good to him!"

They packed Horny Harry into the back of the van: I couldn't even wave
good bye... After only the one night with him, I was gonna miss him!

I had a thoroughly forgettable meal in a chain restaurant: the only thing
going for the place was a sexy bus-boy, but without Harry's massive basket
to attract his attention, all I could do was enjoy the view. By early the
next morning I was back on the road. The Chrysler bounded over the Rockies
like a mountain goat, and by afternoon I was in a dumpy motel on the far
outskirts of Denver, a place I've never thought much of. They're always
working on the freeways, and never seem to finish them.

Early the next afternoon, I pulled into the new "ThreeJ'sFarm", a pleasant
bungalow at the end of a long driveway. There were lots of trees and
several out-buildings. I honked to announce my arrival: first to appear
was Hamlet, one of the largest dogs I'd ever seen: his back was about level
with my elbows. Well trained, he bounded around friskily but didn't jump
on me: he'd have knocked me flat. It was Sunday, so all  three J's quickly
emerged, looking as delicious as ever, and smothered me in hugs and kisses.
Each had filled out a little, but it was clear the soy beans were keeping
them busy enough to stay nicely fit.

Jay gave me a wonderfully sloppy kiss right on the mouth: "Welcome back!"
he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Slightly more reserved, Jack and Joe were content to pump my hand
vigorously: I hoped they'd be pumping something else soon. We extricated
my suitcase from the trunk of the car and traipsed into the house.

"Jet, Kitty: come see who's here," Jack shouted.

Jet emerged from the kitchen, followed by his diminutive Kitty. Now that
they had a place to themselves, Jet had forsaken wearing his threadbare
uniform and was clad only in white knee-length Calvin Kleins: against his
ebony skin, the effect was spectacular. So was the bulge that threatened
to burst the fabric at any moment. He was as gorgeous as ever, and
hugged me so fiercely I thought I would explode! Kitty stood on her toes
so she  could give me a light peck on my lips. It was nice to be welcomed
so fondly.

"Lawdy, Massah Bruce, you been away too long 'n I kin see ya ain' been
eatin' none o' my cookin! Stick aroun' here 'n put some meat on yo bones!"
Kitty exclaimed.

"Oh, Kitty, you know I wanna put some bones on my meat!" I replied.

"Well, starvin yosef ain't ruint yer appetite fer sex, kin see that. Ya
come to da right place: I got three corn-fed fellers been hankering fer
ya ever since ya wrote to say ya wuz cummin."

"Don' fergit ME", Jet interjected. Kitty's face fell.

"Aw, now Kitty, don' you worry. Now I's decided to be buy, you still
gettin' all you can eat!"

I thought it best to change the subject, at least for the moment. "I
brought you all a few things from California," I explained, as I dug
around in the goodie-bag I had carefully packed before leaving. "Here's
some fine California wine: I hope you have some decent glasses and a
cork-screw."

"Well, we got the 'screw' part anyway," Joe said with a lascivious chuckle.

Kitty disappeared and returned with some plastic wine-glasses and the
necessary implement. "We's not fancy 'roun here, 'n nothin made o' glass
is safe from Jet's clumsy paws: these'll hafta do."

The boys and I relaxed in their comfortable living-room and caught up on
"happenings" while Kitty and Jet repaired to the kitchen to cook up a
Sunday Dinner designed to put "meat on ma bones". By the time the repast
was ready, a few glasses of good California Merlot had us all in a mellow
mood: succulent roast beef and fresh "vegables" washed down with more
Merlot soon filled my stomach, but the repartee around the table left my
other appetite unfulfilled. Jet removed our plates; Kitty arrived with
desert: "Ah done made da boys' favrit deezert, spunkin' pie," she
announced, placing before me a large pumpkin pie. The sauce on top was
the finest representation of one of Jet's huge loads I'd ever seen: I
hoped it was the real thing.

"Egad, Kitty: how do you make it?"

"Seecrit  restipee. A li'l milk, a li'l cone-stark, a bit o' aig-whyte
'n a li'l sugah, but ya gotta know jes' how much and how ta mix 'em ta git
dat streaky 'fect."

"Do you know how to make Benny's pudding?"

"Whazzat?"

I told the hoary old joke about "come again on another pudding, Benny!"
Everyone laughed: none of them had ever heard it. It set Kitty to thinking,
and I bet she's perfected it by now. The pie, incidently, was delicious.

I wasn't the only one to cop a quick feel of Jet's granite-like legs as he
served. He seemed pleased when  I went to my goodie-bag and brought out
his present: some Old Navy boxer-shorts in a cut I particularly liked.
Finding something for Kitty had been more troublesome: a big dildo would
have been pointless (and stolen by the boys anyway). I'd finally decided
on a frilly little dress from Victoria's Secret: only a tart would have
worn it, but she changed into it right away and danced around happily,
thanking me profusely for thinking of her. Other gifts for the boys were
still in my goodie-bag: I decided to wait for more propitious times.

Over coffee, Jack explained they'd been trying to decide who would sleep
with me the first night: unable to find a better way, they had set up
straws as they had once before. I failed to notice there were four, so
when I unfolded the one I drew, I was startled to find "Jet" written on it.

I was pleased, but surprised. "So, Jet's scope has widened a bit?"
I queried.

"Occasionally, only occasionally, he'll let one of us suck him off.
Something you did when you were here apparently led him to experiment,"
Jack explained. "He says he's 'biseckshull' now."

"He never told you?"

"Jet doesn't spill secrets."

"But I do," I replied: "That last day I was here you were all down at
some other farm and Kitty was having 'female trubble', so I offered to
take care of him, and to my amazement, he let me. I've never forgotten it!"

"We figured as much, and we're indebted to you, because, one by one, we've
each gotten a piece of that action. (Jay smacked his lips). I love getting
my tonsils blasted by that monster."

"But you said, 'You gotta sleep with one of us: we don't have a spare
bedroom'."

"Just pulling your leg, Bruce: we have two spare rooms upstairs, and we did
them over to look as close as we could to the old sixty-nine duplex at the
motel. ... And now, since we youngsters hafta work tomorrow, we're gonna
let you get some sleep   if you can (giggle): but I at least get the honor
of showing you up to your room," Jay explained.

Sure enough, the spare rooms were duplicates of the old ThreeJ'sMotel
duplex, bead-board, old TV and all. It immediately took me back to that
first lucky break when I stumbled on the place by accident. Jay set my bag
on a little stand.

"You know your way around, Bruce," he said, so I'll be going...

"Not so fast, Jay! I pulled him against me and kissed him passionately.
"I've been wanting to do that all evening!" When we both came up for air,
his pecker poked its head above the waist of his levis.

"Has it grown that much?" I asked.

"Naw, my pants are just lower-cut."

I could not resist un-buttoning them and letting his gorgeous piece of meat
spring free. It was still magnificent, and I stroked it as we kissed again.
But when I bent, intent on a quick suck, he resisted: "I'm yours tomorrow
night, and I'm saving up for it," he said. "Besides, you'll have your hands
full just as soon as Jet finishes the dishes. Have fun!" He scampered out,
leaving me horny and unsatisfied.

I unpacked a few things, hung them in the closet and stretched out on the
bed: it had been a long day. The wine and fine dinner soon had me in a deep
slumber. Sometime later, I awoke, sensing a presence in the room, even
though it was now dark outside and I'd not turned on a light.

"Jet?"

"Yass, Massah Bruce. I's rat heah."

"Can't see you without light."

The little table-lamp flickered into existence, suffusing a warm glow and
bringing Jet's huge form into view. He'd put on the new shorts for me: they
seem to have turned him on, for his mammoth manhood protruded from the
wrinkled fly, its dead-straight blackness highlighted against the brilliant
whiteness of the new garment.
"Mighty glad you got the straw for me, Massah Bruce: been wantin' ta thank
ya fer what ya taught me when you wuz here before."

 "Taught you?"

"Yassa! I done never hada blowjob from a guy: only from my little Kitty,
'n like I said, she never lets me git it off in her mouth. Havin' a mouth
take  it was a new 'sperience, an' ah liked it."

"You got the boys around here: they'd surely do it for you any time."

"They tellin' me I's buy, so I oughta like to get it off dat way more
often. But Kitty, sheez  a little jealous, and she DO keep me satsfied
mosta da time. So I let one or 'nother o' the boys suck me off now 'n
then, but don' make it a regler thing."

"And tonight?"

"Atcher service, Massa Bruce!"

His erection had not drooped for a moment, and discussing anything sexual
always gets me up: heck, just sitting on the bed feasting my eyes on his
spectacular form was enough. I beckoned for him to stand: he linked his
hands and struck a brief pose. Every ripped muscle in his body stood out
in the dim light, then he relaxed and strode over to me: I buried what I
could of his massive erection in my mouth and gripped his glutes. Then I
remembered: he needs body-worship to get really stirred up. So I carefully
extricated him from the boxer-shorts (no trivial task, given that on his
frame, XXL's were tight and his immensity impaled the fly). By the time I
succeeded in getting him out of them, he was beginning to murmur and groan
quietly: my busy hands were having the desired effect.

He'd brought a bottle of lube, and when I began to slather his nudeness
with it, his grunts became more frequent. No sooner had I got my hands
all gooey than he decided I should be undressed. He clumsily tried to
work at my shirt and pants, but his huge hands couldn't cope with the
buttons, so I quickly wiped my hands on a towel so I could assist. Once
the fastenings were released, he gently helped me out of my shirt, then
my pants. Before I could get out of my Y-fronts, he maliciously squirted
a big blob of lube inside them, followed by his huge right hand, with
which he spread the stuff around and fondled my favorite muscle. What
a sensation! Before long we were pawing at each other and spreading more
glop around: it was messy in the extreme, but sensuous and exciting.
Eventually, he pushed my soggy shorts down to the floor: to do so he bent
effortlessly and got each of my legs out of them.

Then, to my astonishment, rather than straightening up, Jet simply turned
around! Only one thing could possibly follow: I grasped his groin and
rammed my well-lubricated dick right up his behind in a single thrust. A
guttural "Lawdy" floated up to my ears, but otherwise, Jet remained silent,
and bent over. I fucked him slowly at first, unsure of how much abuse he
might want or be willing to take; and of course, as I began to thrust more
deeply, I began to squirt piss, which is all I can manage nowadays. There
was no objection from Jet, so I went on, inspired by the intensity of my
feelings and by the broad expanse of his smooth black back, all I could
see of him. As I increased my pace, still gripping his groin, grunts of
pleasure and an occasional "fug me" echoed from the floor: when I reached
an orgasm, I heard, "Mighty Lord Jeezus, Massah, dat feel gooood!"
I don't remember what I shouted, but I must have: it was amazing, banging
this huge man who I never would have thought would let me, or anyone else,
do such a thing.

I drooped quickly and slowly pulled out of him, towel at the ready: nothing
escaped except me. Straightening up, Jet turned to me,  his erection
dribbling wildly: for an awful moment I thought he wanted me to reciprocate
 (which would have put me in the hospital) but to my relief he simply aimed
for my throat: "All ready now, Massah," he announced.

I managed to get one hand around him so I didn't choke to death, and with
a mighty lunge he exploded: I counted eight distinct spurts as each one
painted my throat white. Only after he had shot his wad did his formidable
phallus begin to droop.

"Guess I reely am buyseckshull, Massah," Jet said, still breathing heavily.
"Nevah thought I'd take 'nything up dare, nosir!"

"I certainly never thought I'd be putting anything up there, either, Jet,
but my 'thing' sure did enjoy it. Am I the first?"

"Oh, yesSIR, Massah. I been watchin th' boys all dese years, dey fucks each
other alla time. Fer sum reason, I nevah wuz tempted ta try it."

"Why tonight?"

"Don' rightly know: think dat lubercant has sumthin' ta do wid it. Dat
stuff make it so easy!"

"It certainly does! So now you have another treat for the boys now and
then."

"Naw, don' think so. Leas' not any time soon. I's a little sore back dare."

"You'll get over that! But now, it's shower time."

"You right about dat! I's about ta burst! 'N I 'member how ya like dat,
too."

In the bathtub he showered me with one of the longest flows of urine I ever
got from anyone: I guess his bladder is big like the rest of him. He didn't
mind when I sprayed him down as well. Then came a long hot-water shower,
with lots of soaping and slathering. This got Jet up again: in yet another
surprise, he allowed me to jack him off to a soggy climax: I caught his
load in my free hand and slurped it into my mouth. Manna from heaven!

It was near  midnight when at last we dried each other off. Jet struggled
into the Old Navys, thanked me for a wonderful evening and headed for the
door. Before opening it, he surprised me yet again: he kissed me on my
mouth, very inexpertly, but it was his idea! I thought of the old saying,
"Good things come in threes". I fell into bed, thinking perhaps Jet was
"buy" after all.

The boys were long gone when I struggled out of bed around ten the next
morning. It was a fine sunny day, and Kitty was ready with "bacon 'n aigs"
soon after I appeared in the dining room. Once again, she sat with me as I
wolfed down her fine home-style cookin' and swilled several cups of coffee.

"Knows the boys setcha up wid ma Jet las' night," she said
matter-of-factly.

"Just the luck of the draw, Kitty. But I have to admit, it was fun to be
with him." I did not add 'again', unsure if she knew of our previous tryst.

"He all man, 'n I love evry inch o' him. Wish I could really satisfy him
ever day, but I just don' got da stamina he got."

"I can sympathize, Kitty: I doubt I could keep him completely happy for
long myself, though it would sure be fun trying!"

"He come onta me las' night 'bout midnight: sayin' you got him all worked
up, hadta get that big thing o' his off 'fore he could go ta sleep."

"Did he?"

"Lordy, yes! Nellt over ma laigs so I could play wid dem baskit-balls
o' his, n' shot spunk all over da place. Hadta wash sumuv it outa ma
hair dis mornin'."

"Well, Kitty, that was his third eruption in the space of about four hours:
even when I was a horny teenager, I couldn't do that. I'm sure as long as
you let him roam a little, he'll stay with you forever."

"Sure hope so! Cain't 'magine life widout dat man! Don' really care how
much spunk he got, longs he don' make me eat it. Sumpin' 'bout dat stuff
jes sets my teeth on edge."

"Takes all kinds, Kitty: I can't get enough it."

"Dat's OK. You kin have all ya want aroun' here!  'N now, I gotta git on
wid da chores. Lunch is at noon like alwayz, 'n the boys'll be wantin'
they's chow."  She rose to her full height of five-four and left the room.

I wanted to catch up on e-mail, so headed back to my room. Leaving the
table, I noticed the strips of paper   the "straws" I had drawn the night
before   in a small waste-basket. The one facing up was marked "Jet". I
retrieved the other three: each of them was also marked "Jet". So, Kitty
was right: the boys had set me up, but I wasn't supposed to know it.

Having eaten a huge breakfast quite late, I was not hungry when lunch time
rolled around. The boys, on the other hand, wolfed down huge piles of
biscuits and gravy, slabs of beef and piles of vegetables. They'd been up
since day-break, tending the bean-fields.

"How'd you 'n Jet get along last night?" Jack asked, between mouthfuls of
mashed potatoes.

"Splendidly," I replied. "That sure was a lucky draw: but I gather there's
more in store tonight."

"Not with Jet," Jay said hotly: "tonight you're mine!"

"Bet it's a three-way with Hamlet," Joe chortled.

Jay's face turned bright red. Despite his predilection for beasts being
common knowledge now, it still embarrassed him when brought into the
open. "Don't want anything to come between me and Bruce tonight
except..."

"You'll be coming on Bruce   or in him I bet," Joe said. "But don't worry:
Jack and I are gonna be next door, fucking our balls off."

"...Again!" Jay exclaimed.

"Don't knock it, Jay: Jack's the best piece of ass in Clawson county 'n
you know it!"

"There's a donkey up the road might give him a run for his money, though,"
Jay said, laughing.

With a lot of chair-scraping, they were off to complete the day's chores.

When I got back to my little room, I found Hamlet sprawled out on my bed.
He came close to weighing more than I did, and was a truly magnificent
beast. Remembering my early years on the farm, I decided to explore,
knowing it would not be the first time he'd been groped. He responded to
my hand around his sheath exactly as I remembered: his penis expanded and
the pointed end slipped into view as the base began to swell. I pushed
the furry pouch back past the swelling knot, and watched in amazement as
his equipment enlarged  fully: he was far better hung than I was, though
of course our shapes were different. Visions of all that up Jay's
back-side did not come easily, for this dog was half-again larger than
Biggun had been. Fully expanded, his knot was at least three inches in
diameter, and the largest portion of his shaft was bigger around than
my hard dick. No stranger to being fondled, Hamlet seemed to enjoy my
gentle manipulation: I whipped out my handkerchief to catch his juices,
not wishing to befoul the blanket.

Suddenly, Hamlet stirred, got up and stepped off the bed. (He was so large,
he didn't hop, he just stepped off!) His erection dangled wildly, and I
couldn't resist getting down on the floor so I could, with some effort,
get my head up under him to suck on his dribbling dog-meat. I was rewarded
by typical humping and much more copious squirts of his salty sperm. Well
trained, he nuzzled my fly until I released my own protuberance, which he
licked enthusiastically. Suddenly, the flicking tongue was replaced by a
human mouth, deep-throating me in a way no dog could. It was Jay, clad in
a pair of filthy bib-overalls. I relaxed, leaving the panting dog's
engorged dong to dangle, and turned my attention to Jay's attack on my
hard-on. When he stopped for breath, he said, "I just knew I'd find
you here with Hamlet!"

"Forgive me, Jay: he was asleep on my bed and I couldn't resist some
exploration."

"Its OK, Bruce: you know I don't mind sharing. But I do have to get back
to work: don't wear him out, 'cause he is gonna be with us tonight,
whether Jack and Joe like it or not!"

"I promise to leave him alone, Jay; I found out what I wanted to know."

"Which was?"

"How well hung he is. He's huge!"

"Sure is! (giggle) see you tonight!" Jay was gone. Hamlet flopped down
in a corner,  noisily licking his rapidly shrinking dog-hood. I stretched
out for a snooze: the bed lurched as Hamlet stepped up and fell asleep
beside me.

About three, I awoke and decided to have a look around the farm. As I went
out through the kitchen, Kitty was taking laundry out of the dryer.

"Thought I'd have a look around the spread," I told her.

"Dat's fine Massah Bruce: 'n I'll give ya a hint. See dat li'l buildin'
over dare juttin' off da barn?

"Sure."

"Dat's da changin' house where da boys 'n da hans wash up fer dinnah.
Dey'll be hittin da showers long 'bout fo clock, 'n ya might enjoy da show."

"Hands?"

"Da boys got sum dudes dat help wid da chores: dis is a big place."

The gleam in her eye made it clear she knew how to "enjoy da show" without
being seen. "So, where's the secret spy-hole?" I asked her.

"See that doe? Dat gives inta a little hawway. Firs' doe on yer rat is a
bafroom, dat gives onto da showers. Doe at da end  o' da haw iza closet
fer brooms 'n such, but dere's a mirra on da wall in dare dat lets ya see
inta da showers. Nobuddy'll know you're in dare." She gave me a big wink.
"'Cep ya'll likely hafta share da closet wid Jet: know he watchin da
boys a whole lot."

"You're a real peach, Kitty: thanks for the tip!" I made a bee-line for
the door she'd pointed out: there was no one inside. I checked out the
"bafroom": there were lockers along one wall, a round industrial-style
wash-sink in the middle of the room, a long urinal and some stalls on
another wall, and a wide door leading into a big shower with about a
dozen nozzles arranged around the perimeter. There was a mirror on one
wall: that had to be the viewing-port from the closet, a really neat
set-up. I retraced my steps to the hallway and found the broom-closet,
right where Kitty said it would be. Sure enough, the mirror was one-way,
so from the closet there was a perfect view of the showers.

I didn't have long to wait. I soon heard voices, clanking of locker doors,
water running somewhere, and before long the first body came into the
shower. And what a body! A bit chunky, perhaps five-foot eight, but all
muscle fresh from a hard day's work. His fleshy man-meat swung from side
to side as he strode into the room, selected a shower-head and got the
water running. Not far behind was a strapping young fellow, much taller,
well over six feet. His most notable feature was a scrotum that descended
far below his prick. Next to appear was Jay, still (I thought) the best-
looking of the bunch. Another youngster, almost petite, but wiry, with
long hair, and already hard, ran in. Instead of finding a shower of his
own, he boldly stepped under the shower with the first fellow: they began
washing each other feverishly. Joe was next, followed by a dark-skinned
fellow, probably hispanic, very hairy but well set up. A couple of others
walked in hand in hand, got together under another spray, and got to
kissing and petting. I thought Jack was the last, but right behind him
was yet another kid -- I pegged him at no more than 15 -- who was a real
winner, in every way: lean, glabrous, and hung: He reminded me of Jay
when we'd first met. What a marvelous array of young men! All in their
prime, they were soon engaged in a wild orgy. The beautiful boy, clearly
the youngest, also seemed to be the horniest; his formidable tool quickly
disappeared, impaled on the dark fellow who grabbed his own ankles and
took the boy's sword to the hilt.

The door to the closet opened: Jet came in as Kitty had foretold. I don't
know where he'd left his clothes, but he was stark naked, and as usual,
rampant.

"Guess Kitty dun tol' ya 'bout dis seecrit place," he said quietly.

"Yes, she did: doesn't seem to be all that secret! I hope you don't mind."

"No, dey's room fer us both. My, lookat dat little Jimmy go! Give 'im haff
a chance, he'll fug ever one o' dem guys."

Jimmy was, in fact, already on his second butt, that of our Jack, who I
know enjoyed being plowed by the young buck.

'N dere's Glen 'n Frank: dey's luvvers, suckin' each other lak dey's no
tomorra!"

The tall fellow was flogging himself vigorously in front of Jack. It didn't
take him long to shoot long strings of goo all over Joe's chest as the
youth plugging Jack watched, mesmerized.

I had got myself disengaged from my pants, and was grateful when Jet
absently got hold of me. I grabbed as much of him as I could and we watched
the orgy together.

Jimmy was up his third poop-chute already, that of Brandon (so Jet informed
me), one of the pair who had begun making out as soon as they entered the
room. "His buddy, Billy, is as fond o' suckin' as Jimmy is o' fuggin," Jet
explained, clearly conversant with all of the various boys' proclivities.
Indeed, Billy was sucking Brandon voraciously as Jimmy's gyrations in
Brandon's anus seemed to be approaching a climax.

"Watch dis!" Jet hissed in my ear.

Jimmy suddenly withdrew his nine-incher, grabbed his hips, bent back a bit
and shot forth a series of long pearly-white streaks of jizz. Effortlessly,
it seemed, he ejaculated several feet as the others watched each spurt land
beyond Brandon's back on the tiled floor. I thought it a waste of good
semen, but it was exciting to watch someone explode without the usual
hand-work.

This event spurred on the others, and in various combinations they all got
off at least once, several of them twice. All except Jay: I knew he was
saving himself for me that night (and he might well have suspected I was
watching through the mirror). But it was my turn to save myself: Jet's
hand, combined with all the eye-candy had me on the edge, which would have
meant making a pissy mess in the broom closet, which I didn't want to do.
I restrained him. Jet, on the other hand, clearly needed relief, but before
I could get a grip, he wrapped his own hand around his black tube-steak.
I was able only to fondle his massive "baskit-balls" as he stroked himself
just a few times, causing the eye of his cock-head to spew powerful spurts
of jizz which landed far up on the glass before us. He grunted like the
animal he was as he achieved the necessary release: it had probably only
been a few hours since he'd cum last, but he never seemed to run out of it.

In the showers, the orgy was over: everyone had washed up, and gone on to
dry and get dressed. Jet thanked me for the small help I'd been with his
business; he found a rag and some windex and whisked away the evidence
of his most recent expulsion. He was still stark naked, and still
spectacular! He opened the door, made sure the coast was clear, and
disappeared. I followed, but he had gone some other way: I made it back
to the house undetected: the three J's were not far behind.

Dinner was a more typical mid-western light supper. We rinsed it down
with more of the California wine I'd brought along (I had a couple of
cases in the Chrysler's trunk). Conversation was mostly about the farm:
I had little interest in the intricacies of raising soy beans. Seated
next to Jay, though, I succeeded in raising him, or at least that most
enticing part of him that I could reach without drawing too much attention.
Over coffee, Joe said, "Jack and I are gonna leave you two love-birds
alone: I can't wait to plug his butt. We'll try not to make too much
noise: we know you'll both be trying to sleep -- or not!"

"We'll sleep alright," Jay replied, squeezing my crotch,  "but not before
we have some fun ourselves."

"Enjoy!" Jack and Joe left the room arm-in-arm.

'C'mon, Bruce, there's fun to be had," Jay exclaimed, rising from his
chair. His jeans bulged invitingly.

Once more, my bed was already occupied by Hamlet. I wasn't surprised or
disturbed by this: after all,  Biggun had cemented my relationship with
Jay. Now, several years later, he seemed to have accepted his fetish. We
settled into chairs, ready to talk intimately and see where the evening
would lead.

"Oh, sorry, Bruce, I forgot the beer: I'll be right back." Jay disappeared.

A few moments later the clink of glasses and thud of a six-pack on the
table, then another, announced his return. When I turned around, it was
not Jay, but Jimmy who had brought the libation.

"Hi there, I'm Jimmy," he said, extending his hand. "I know you're Bruce.
Jay'll be right back."

I was speechless, I'm afraid: casually dressed in thigh-tight jeans and a
crew-neck white tee, Jimmy was a real beauty. Of course, I'd already seen
him in action, but at close range I was able to discern more of his
features: everything I saw was agreeable. He was fair, almost blond, but
lightly tanned. He smoothly uncapped a bottle of beer and poured a glass
for each of us; he popped another so he could fill a third glass for Jay,
who came back at just that moment.

"Guess you've met Jimmy," Jay said.

"Just now, yes."

Jay pushed Jimmy down to sit on the bed next to Hamlet, and we resumed
our seats. I had no clue yet as to what lay ahead, but I sure hoped it
would involve Jimmy. However, there was some information I wanted: I
decided it was time to learn more about the old place the boys had sold.

"Tell me, Jay: what goes on up at the old ranch?" Jimmy's face brightened.

"It's a really nice setup: they've been so successful they've added more
cottages. Its divided, of course: a whole section for the gals and a whole
section for the guys," Jay replied.

"Their web pages made that pretty obvious, but what actually goes on?"

Jimmy came to life. "Dunno anything about the gals' side, but on the guys'
side, they got horses, dogs, donkeys..."

"And?"

"Well, you know, guys that like to do things with horses or dogs or
donkeys, they come there and... do things."

"So, you can get a real piece of ass?" They both laughed.

"You don't need to beat around the bush, Jimmy: Bruce here knows all about
that. He helped me get around Biggun's knot the very first time I managed
it, and just this afternoon I caught him blowing Hamlet," Jay said.

"Cool! Then, you don't really need any explanation!"

"Actually, no, I guess I don't. I presume all this costs money?"

"Quite a lot of it," Jay replied.  "Its gotten so pricey we don't go up
there much any more."

"Why should we pay for what we can get right here?" Jimmy exclaimed,
groping Hamlet.

Jay poured fresh beer. "Jimmy is someone after my own heart,"  he said.
"After you showed me I was not the only one who liked to take on a dog, I
discovered Jimmy. Biggun was always especially friendly with Jimmy, just
like with me, and I finally figured out why."

"I was workin' at the next ranch then," Jimmy explained, "but when the
hound I had died I lost my bestest friend. That's when Jay explained a
few things, and mainly told me how he took Biggun just like I'd been
takin' ol' Spot. When Biggun died, I helped find Hamlet, and we've been
helpin' each other ever since."

"Suppose I wanted to do something with a horse: what sorta money are we
talking about up there?" I asked.

"It got to where Joe hadta pay a hundred bucks just to jack one off. That's
when we bought a horse of our own. Now Joe and Jack can have him any
way they want whenever they want: the feed ain't nothin' compared with the
ranch prices.'N if you wanna do a horse, you can do it right here!"

"I did it once or twice when I was a kid: I thought it might be fun to do
it again for old times' sake."

"I'll talk to Joe," Jay said, "but right now, Jimmy and I have something
planned we think you'll enjoy." He poured another round of beers. "Jimmy,
I happen to know Bruce would love nothing better than to take your clothes
off you -- right Bruce?"

"It crossed my mind an hour ago," I said.

Jimmy pried himself from the dog and stood before me. "Saves me the
trouble," he said as I applied myself to the rather complicated belt-
buckle at his narrow waist. Once past that barrier, it was easy to part
the fly. He was wearing boxers, which surprised me as many youngsters
don't like 'em: I pushed them down with his trousers, thrilled to see
his flaccid young prick come into view, hidden only slightly by very
light pubic hair. He could not have known I already knew how majestic
he was when excited. I helped him out of the pants as he snapped his
tee over his head. He was in the perfect bloom of youth, everything in
exactly the right proportion.

"Exactly how old  are you, Jimmy?" I asked.

He glanced at Jay, alarmed. "Its OK, Jimmy," Jay said.

"I'm only 15, but all the paperwork for the spread says I'm 18,"
he replied.

"That had been my guess," I said, "and the secret is safe with me. I think
you are beautiful!"

"He said that about me, too, Jimmy: guess he says it about all the boys,"
Jay joshed.

"I say it when the boys are, but not when they aren't!" I said
emphatically, "and both of you definitely are!" I ran my hands up Jimmy's
lanky thighs, hefted his balls and wrapped a hand around his dick. It
rose, as I knew it would, as my own did when I was 15, and as it still
does now and then.

"On with the show!" Jay exclaimed, pouring yet another round of beers.
"Wake up, Hamlet!"

The beast raised his head: coming awake, he spotted Jimmy's swaying hard-
on. He got off the bed and licked Jimmy eagerly. I quickly understood how
Jimmy had learned to come without touching himself.  Jay let me undress
him; then  he undressed me. We all linked arms, which gave Hamlet a trio of
cocks to choose from: he went from one to another, licking enthusiastically
and wagging his tail vigorously. I had long forgotten the sensation: though
raised on a farm, I'd been a city-slicker most of my adult life.

"I'm afraid my beer has run through," Jay said. I pushed the dog aside,
knelt to receive and drank all he could offer. "My turn," Jimmy said as
his cock replaced Jay's. A "two-fer", I loved it!

"We've trained Hamlet to drink," Jay said, so when you're ready..."

"Meanwhile...."

Jimmy sat down on the bed, then lay back upon it. Jay was up under Hamlet,
stirring things up, and when he had the dog ready,  he lifted Jimmy's legs
up from the floor and back over his head, exposing his pink rosebud. Hamlet
sprang into action, sniffing Jimmy's anus vigorously as his instincts to
screw took hold. On cue, he put his massive paws on the bed on either side
of Jimmy's torso: with a little help from Jay, he was soon impaled up to
his knot. He went wild, thrusting his bright red prick in and out rapidly
as Jimmy grabbed the dog's hind legs to hold him in position. The panting
dog behaved like a giant wind-up toy slowly running down. For his part,
Jimmy seemed to love the action, clearly wanting more than he was getting.

Hamlet's spring finally unwound and he stopped fucking: Jimmy released him
and he stood, breathing heavily with his engorged cock hanging down
obscenely.

"You ready?" Jay asked Jimmy.

"When he is, you bet!" Jimmy replied.

Hamlet's dick began to shrink slowly.

"Jay, I have got to pee: all this beer..." I said.

"Perfect timing: HAMLET: DRINK!" he ordered.

The hound looked bewildered for a moment: Jay guided his jowly face
towards my wilted dick. Hamlet sniffed, then opened  his capacious mouth.
I cut loose, and by gosh, the dog drank, lapping at me eagerly,  missing
very little, until I was drained. This distraction allowed his pointed
dick to shrink even more.

"Ready, Jimmy, here he comes!" Jay said as he quickly got under the dog
with his hands and pushed him towards the bed. The dog mounted as before,
and Jay aimed the rapidly rising penis into Jimmy's waiting ass. This time,
he kept his hand behind the knot and pushed Hamlet's rump forward: once
again, Hamlet humped vigorously, and his knot expanded inside Jimmy.
"Look, Ma, no hands!" Jay exclaimed as he released the dog's penis, now
fully entrapped. Jimmy squirmed and moaned with pleasure: obviously, this
was nothing new for either of them. My own sphincter twinged as I recalled
the size of Hamlet's knot: Jay put his arms around me as we watched the
coupled pair. Hamlet calmed down, and struggled to be free: just as with
Biggun previously, Hamlet reversed himself with some difficulty, leaving
his huge dog-dick stuck in Jimmy's ass: Jimmy was able to bring his legs
down on the dog's back and so relieve the pressure on his own spine. Jay
and I exchanged piss again and waited for the panting dog to achieve his
release.

By the time this occurred, Jay and I were doing a sixty-nine on the floor,
largely forgetting the connected pair. "It's gonna come out," Jimmy hissed,
and the dog let out a low howl of pain. His shrinking cock slipped out of
Jimmy, swivelled around to its normal position and quickly disappeared in
it's furry home. Jay helped Jimmy up from the bed, his arrow-straight prod
rigid: he needed relief, and I'd have gladly offered, but Jay held me back.
"Just watch," he said.

Jimmy stood and assumed the pose I'd seen in the shower: with his hands on
his forward-thrust hips, his dick aimed almost straight up. His eyes were
closed: some kind of mental activity was going to bring about the eruption
I knew to expect. A curious animalistic growl came from deep in his throat,
to which Hamlet responded immediately. The dog came to Jimmy from behind
and slathered his buns and pudendum with his long tongue. It was all Jimmy
needed: every muscle in his young body came into play to violently expel
his young seed that flew far enough to anoint both of us, Jay having
subtly positioned us to receive his copious nectar. When his eruption was
finally over, Jimmy collapsed on the bed.

I lapped up a few gobs of freshly-shot jizz from Jay's thigh: this got him
going as I knew it would, and within minutes we pushed Jimmy aside and did
a sixty-nine on the bed. Before long, Jimmy recovered enough to get between
Jay and me: now I had Jimmy's slender stick to suck on, though his recent
explosion left him unable to get fully hard. Not that I minded: a soft-on
is exciting in its own way, especially when attached to someone as lithe
and splendidly assembled as Jimmy!

Presently, Jay broke the spell: he walked to the bathroom and stepped into
the tub. "Come on in, the water's fine!" he called.

By the time Jimmy and I got there, he'd stretched out, and beckoned me to
join him. It was cramped, but intimate. Then Jimmy, who had not pissed for
some time, stood beside the tub and bathed us both. Jay and I both joined
in and there was piss enough for the greediest water-sportsman. No sooner
had we stood, intent on washing off, than Joe and Jack ran in noisily and
jumped in with us: Jimmy made five, and Jack and Joe added their warm
flows. When we were all drained, Jay got hot water running and we soaped
each other up: there followed a grand orgy of jacking, sucking, fucking
and body-worship that seemed to go on forever. Jimmy seemed permanently
attached to Jack's back-side, but that left Jack's hard-on and those of
Joe, Jay and me to play with. Jack got off first, presumably having been
fucked all night by Joe, and now with his prostate getting massaged by
Jimmy's pool-cue, he sent a delicious wad of cum down my throat. Joe
followed next, spurting repeatedly as he kissed his brother passionately.
Jimmy pulled out of Jack with a noisy shlurp, assumed his position and
shot off again, with my hand under his balls to assist. Finally, after
pissing down my throat copiously once again, Jay responded to my suction
with pent-up effluvium of wonderful volume and flavor: I managed a dry
orgasm as he did so.

How these guys managed all this feverish activity, yet got out in the
fields at day-break, I'll never know. I guess their youth had much to
do with it! After the scene in the tub, Jack and Joe disappeared, but
Jay, Jimmy, I and the dog shared the bed, a tangle of legs arms and fur.
By the time I came fully awake the next morning, my hosts were gone.

This morning, I was really hungry. Kitty plied me with my favorite
"bacon 'n aigs", along with piles of delicious cinnamon-toast and fresh
biscuits. After this, I finally found time to get my lap-top fired up
and check my e-mail. Once all the spam was deleted, there was little of
interest. I looked at some dirty pictures for a while, but lunch-time
rolled around quickly. Still stuffed, I was no longer hungry.

"Joe, how's that horse of yours doing? Jay asked between mouthfuls of corn.

"Doing what?" Joe asked.

"You know what I mean! Is he as frisky as usual?"

"I haven't had time to find out lately: we've been so busy planting. Why
do you ask?"

"I think Bruce might like a demonstration."

"Guess it can be arranged. If I can leave the south forty a little early..."

"Wouldn't be the first time you bugged out early on accounta that randy
stallion."

"He's just like us: needs to get his rocks off on a regular schedule like
we do. Bruce, meet me in the barn about three," Joe ordered.

"I'll be there."

The barn, to which the changing room had been added, wasn't huge like
some, but was sturdily built and well maintained. The instant I slid the
door aside, the unmistakable odor of animals, their feed and their poo
struck my nostrils. I was instantly transported back to my youth: it
smelled exactly like the much smaller barn that I'd grown up with. How
many times had I sought out a corner of that place for a quick wank?
(A load sprayed across a sack of chicken-feed has an unmistakable
appearance). How many times had I spied on the horse we had, hoping for
a glimpse when he dropped? (He was an ornery old beast, so I never dared
touch him). How many times had I spied on my brothers as they did their
chores, getting the occasional glimpse of their rapidly developing
baskets? (They were both older than me, and there were more pecker-tracks
in that barn than I laid down). I simply stood in the open door and let
my mind wander back to those fine, care-free days of my mis-spent youth.
I did not even hear Joe walk up behind me, and jumped violently when he
patted my butt.

"Jeez, Joe, ya scared me!"

"Wanted to! C'mon," he ordered.

The barn was dark inside: my eyes adjusted slowly. We passed some chicken-
pens, a no-longer used milking stall, and out through the far end of the
barn. There, grazing in a paddock was a handsome  black horse: he seemed
huge, as all horses do to me. Joe brought forth a peculiar clucking noise
from his cheeks: the horse's head came up, his ears flicked forward, and
he trotted over to us gracefully. Joe welcomed him with a sugar-cube from
his pocket and petted his jowls affectionately, murmuring sweet nothings
that quickly relaxed the beast. "Bruce, meet Jet-Two!" I fondled the
animal as Joe was doing.

"My, my, what a name!" I exclaimed.

"Jet himself named him soon as we brought him over from the farm where
we got him. This horse took one look at Jet and dropped! "Oh, lawdy,
Massah Joe, dat beas' got me beat: gotta call him Jet numba two," Joe
mimicked. "So, Jet-Two it is."

Joe let his hands roam, first down under Jet-Two's neck, then up over his
shoulders, along his back, down over his flanks, back along his side, all
the while uttering strange gurgling sounds. It was a ritual, and the horse
responded: as Joe worked down closer to his sheath, Jet-Two began to drop.
Before long, close to eighteen inches of  multi-hued cock hung exposed,
swinging slightly fore and aft.

"Well, yes, he does have Jet beat, I have to admit," I said.

From his other pocket, Joe retrieved a worn soft-leather glove. He had
dampened it with something, so it was slick. "Put this on at first," Joe
said, "and jack him off a little: he loves it. Once he gets going, slip
off the glove."

I squatted down and followed Joe's directions. Jet-Two's cock responded
by filling out a bit, then straightened some as the horse humped up. Some
fluid emanated which I used to wet the glove and the horse's shaft: then
I slipped off the glove and masturbated him bare-handed. There is no
other sensation like it, and if the horse responds, as Jet-Two did, the
result is many inches of rigid horse-cock, flared at the end, from
which huge gobs of semen emerge in powerful spurts. This can be done
several times, if the  horse is allowed to recover between each
erection. Once was enough for me to refresh my memory: Joe switched
places with me, and Jet-Two responded to his practiced hand more
vigorously than to mine. In all, he probably  shot a half a cup of
juice. When Joe stood, there was no mistaking the  hardness in his
crotch: I attacked this feverishly, and with the horse still "hanging
loose" beside him, Joe pumped a wad of fresh jizz down my throat.

"Poor old guy," Joe spoke to the horse gently. "Too bad there's no filly
around to take all that! Only Jack!"

"You mean?"

"Oh yes! Not very often, but he has managed it. We don't allow it very
often: Jack's asshole takes a week to recover."

"I can well imagine!" I replied.

"We've never gotten Jet-One interested in plugging Jack, so Jet-Two gets
the fun, occasionally."

"It would destroy me."

"Some can, some can't: I can take Jay and Jack back there, but neither Jet,
I'm sure."

"Well, Joe, thanks for the show, and for letting me do something I haven't
done in forty years. And for the fresh load!" I said.

"I have another surprise for you," he said as he glanced at his watch:
"just in time. Follow me."

We went a short way back towards the front of the barn, turned abruptly
left, walked through the tack room and came to a door: Joe opened it and
pushed me into the "bafroom" to which Kitty had directed me the day before.

"I'm sure Kitty must have told you about the changing house," Joe
explained: "she can't keep anything in that empty head of hers. In
there," -- he  gestured -- "is where we and the hired hands shower up,
as you know. So today, you can join us instead of peeping through the
mirror."

"Oh, gosh, Joe: those hunky dudes don't wanna mix it up with me!"

"There you go again, Bruce: you know we don't play favorites around here.
The boys'll enjoy having someone different in their midst. Now, strip! Use
that locker:" -- he gestured again -- "they oughta be showing up any
minute."

I'd scarcely begun peeling off my clothes when several of the fellows
arrived. The tall one whipped out his hose and let fly in the urinal, as
did several others as they all traipsed in, along with three I had not
seen previously. Gorgeous Jimmy was there, swallowed up by his
mud-splattered overalls: it seemed planting was a messy business. All the
men were out of their filthy, sweaty clothes within a few minutes:
shortly thereafter all ten of us were lathering up under a hot shower.

Ribald banter erupted at once. "Hey Jimmy, who ya gonna plug first today?"
one fellow shouted.

"Not you: got my eye on Bert over there," Jimmy replied, pointing to one of
the new guys. Bert was a close match to Jimmy himself: he could have been
his brother, or a twin. In any case, they coupled up smoothly and several
of us gathered around to watch his energetic fucking. The tall fellow with
the pendulous balls stood beside me and groped me unabashedly.

"Hey, Jose," he called to the dark fellow: "I heard you like daddy types.
Here's a fine specimen for ya."

Jos‚ strode over and shook first my hand, then my cock. I returned the
favor, then sank to my knees and took his dark meat in my mouth. It was a
struggle: he was as big around as Jet, though by no means as long. I
applied myself diligently, but soon another prick was presented, and so
it went.  Half way through the orgy, I saw Jack beckon to the mirror,
and moments later Jet joined the fun. He, of course, was in hog-heaven,
with ten dudes to slather his huge body with soap,  spit, or anything
else that came along, though I noticed everyone steered clear of his
face, his cock, and his ass: perhaps he hadn't told everyone he was
now "buyseckshull"!

The others steered clear of nothing! I lost track of all the couplings,
pairings, three-ways and more that took place. I saw Jimmy's straight-
arrow slip between at least four sets of soapy ass-cheeks; I sucked as
many cocks as presented themselves, marveling in the subtle differences
in size and structure; several of the players pissed, usually on someone
else, two of them on me. This went on for at least a half hour: when Jet
announced (as he always did) that he was ready, he planted his bulk
facing the wall-mirror. Two guys fondled his thighs, Jimmy tickled his
pudendum, and two more tongued his nipples: with a few strokes of his
own hand, he shot huge wads of cum high onto the mirror, shouting,
"This'ns fer you, Kitty! Know ya's watchin'!"  As soon as he calmed down,
Jimmy took his place and usual stance: aided by many pairs of hands
everywhere except on his dick, he added another copious load to the
streaks of Jet's jizz slowly sliding down the glass.

When the remaining guys turned their attention away from these spectacular
eruptions, they found me lying on the floor, hoping one or more would
anoint me with whatever fluids they had left: it seemed there were no full
bladders to be emptied, but there were nine healthy sets of gonads as yet
undrained: one by one in quick succession their pearly effusions rained
down drenching me in jizz. I was, in the words of the immortal phrase,
"happier than a pig eating shit", and I spread this munificence over me
and wallowed in it long after the men had returned to the locker room.
When I could finally recover enough to stand, I reluctantly washed it
all away, dressed and dragged my tired old bod up to the house for dinner.

Over the usual light supper, I learned the hired hands lived in a
bunkhouse nearby and worked the various farms as needed.

"Bet there's some wild goings-on over there," I remarked.

"They're usually too tired to do anything but eat and sleep when they leave
here," Jay observed, but on weekends, who knows? There's nothing much
else to do around here, except possibly dropping into our old place. By the
way, what sort of mischief do you want to get into tonight?"

"I think I want to get a good old-fashioned night's sleep! This afternoon's
orgy in the showers has worn me out."

"Alone?" all three boys chimed in together.

"Um, well..."

"I'll join you, and I'll leave you strictly alone," Jay said. "No
hanky-panky."

Who could complain? Before long we were curled up together in bed, where
I slept like a baby.

When I finally slept off the euphoria of the day before, I was surprised
to find all three J's still at the breakfast table. They looked solemn
and depressed: clearly, some calamity had occurred.

"Why the long faces?" I asked as Kitty poured me a cup of coffee.

Jay broke the silence: "The feds raided our old place. The owners are in
jail, along with a bunch of their clients. We wonder if they'll be after
us next."

"Why would they?"

"Maybe some of the hands might talk: you never know," Jack remarked
flatly.

"I can't imagine any of them spilling any beans: after all, they sure enjoy
showering up in your changing house," I replied.

"But," Jay said, looking as he might cry any moment, "we think you should
leave: if the feds come after us, there's no need for you to be involved."

"Can't imagine the feds being interested in my old carcass," I said, but
if  you feel I should go, I will. But not before I give you the things I
brought  for each of you. I'll go get them."

No one had moved when I got back with my goodie-bag. "Christmas in August!"
I said, putting a carefully wrapped package in front of each of them.

Jack tore open his package first: it contained the largest double-ended
rubber dildo I could find in San Francisco. Its possibilities slowly dawned
on him as he studied the thing: it brought a smile to his worried face.

Joe's present was an inflatable man-doll, with "an adjustable,
liquid-filled anal-orifice and electric heater". The picture on the box
was so gross, it got everyone giggling.

For Jay, a small soft-plastic replica of Nipper, the Victor dog. When you
tweaked his ear, he barked and his eyes lit up. If you squeezed his
haunches just right, his little pink prick emerged.

And for Hamlet, a collar with a little wine-cask attached, labeled
"Hello, I'm here to help".

"The Chinese must think we're crazy as they crank out all this crap," I
observed.

This nonsense lifted their spirits some, but it was clear they wanted me
out of the way of whatever lay in store: soon after lunch, after many
tearful farewells, I headed the old Chrysler in the direction of
California, wondering what adventures I might have on the way home.

                  **************************************

Copyright BRUCE BRAMSON, 2006

                  **************************************


                     BRUCE BRAMSON: COMPLEAT WORKS

  AIRBORNE EXPRESS, AIRBORN II, ALTAREGO, ANIMAL CRACKERS, COLLEGE DAZE,

   FIRST AND SECOND COUSINS, CENTRAL VALLEY HIGH, GRAPEVINE, DEAR BILL,

    THE CONSTANT GROCER, HEARTBREAK MOTEL, BACK TO HEARTBREAK MOTEL,

  INNOCENT ABROAD, JORDIE, SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS, MIGUEL, THE ORPHANAGE,

   THE ORPHANAGE REVISITED. PIECE ON EARTH, BOYS IN THE QUIRE, THAT BOY

                      All on the Nifty Archive!

               Enjoy!  Bruce Bramson  organs@bdcsi.net