Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,gay-net.erotic-storys From: man2man@netcom.com Subject: The Bank (M/M) Date: Wed, 12 Apr 1995 14:18:19 GMT Sent to me by anonymous email: Posting with full credit and no changes The Bank A Short Story by the Skin Docktor Studs BBS It was a hot summer day as Brent drove up to the bank branch. The heat slapped him in the face as he stepped out of the air conditioned interior of the car. He felt like he was in a furnace as he transversed the short distance to the front door. When he stepped inside he felt the sweat bead on his forehead and he could feel his white shirt dampen under his armpits. As he walked toward the customer line, another man approached the line from the opposite door. He was dressed in muscle shirt, shorts and sandals and Brent mused that this was far better attire for a hot day than his own slacks, shirt and tie. They reached the line at the same time, and as their eyes met, Brent nodded for the stranger to go ahead. He in turn said thanks with his eyes and a nod of his head. It was lunch time and there were only two tellers, and quite a few customers ahead of him. Brent had stared at everything in the bank on a hundred other occasions, and his eyes began scanning the man ahead of him. He was probably twenty-five, a few years younger than Brent. His muscle shirt was inside out, probably thrown on just before he walked in the bank. Brent noticed the back of the shirt had an imprint which was in reverse image faintly visible through the material of the shirt. As he was trying to decipher the monogram, the stranger abruptly turned to look out the window behind Brent, catching him staring at his back. Their eyes met again for just a flash before Brent altered his gaze. There were still five ahead of him line. The stranger turned back toward the tellers and Brent again tried to make out the writing on the shirt. He had just figured out it said "adidas" when the strangers hand came into view as he began to scratch an itch on his back. The itch must have been extensive, because the hand slipped beneath the waistband of the shorts. A quick glance revealed that the man was not wearing any underwear under his shorts, and as the fingers pushed the waistband down a bit on one side to get at the itch, Brent could see the top of his ass crack. Normally Brent was turned off by men in public who's butt crack appeared when they bent over or couldn't keep their pants up where they belonged. But for some reason this was more intriguing than revolting. The hand was removed from the waistband and returned out of sight in front of the stranger. But until someone got in line behind Brent a few minutes later, the itch and the hand reappeared a couple of times. Finally Brent was at the front of the line. The stranger's business was brief and he was through before the other teller finished, and he looked back at Brent and motioned him to the teller as he left. As Brent concluded his business and headed toward the door he noticed the stranger was just hanging up the courtesy phone. Brent held the door open for him and followed him into the stifling heat. As he headed for his car, he watched the stranger take off his shirt and walk toward the sidewalk. Brent never picked up hitch-hikers, and he couldn't explain why he called out "Want a ride?" The stranger turned, said "Thanks" and walked to the passenger door. The car was like an oven inside. As the stranger got in, Brent started up the car to get the a/c on as soon as he could. "Where can I take you?" he inquired. "I live a few miles up Hayes street." "That's quite a walk in this heat." "At least I'm better dressed for it than you are." he retorted. "You could at least take off your tie and undo your shirt until you get back to your office." There was an edge of scorn in his voice this time. Brent agreed with this logic, and while he waited for traffic to clear to make a left from the parking lot, he pulled off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. A "window" in traffic allowed him to get on the street, but the gas pedal didn't accelerate the car as fast as usual, and the car hesitated for a moment before getting across. "Afraid I'm going to have to turn off the a/c. The car's not up to this heat and running the air too." "I'll survive, but I don't know about you." Traffic was heavy and it seemed they hit every light red. By the time they had gone a mile Brent's shirt clung to him on his back and chest where the sweat had soaked the material. Even his crotch felt damp from perspiration. He glanced over at his passenger and noted that he was faring much better, not appearing too overheated. As his eyes surveyed the stranger he noticed that since he rather sprawled in the seat, his shorts had moved exposing one of his balls. Since they were waiting for yet another light Brent leaned forward on the pretense of pulling his wet shirt away from his back, but also affording a better view of his companion's crotch. He was normally not a voyeur, but something about this man intrigued him. The man was looking out the side window, but Brent's movement brought his face around and noticing Brent's actions reached over and helped pull the shirt. "Why don't you let me help you take that off?" His shirt was going to be a wrinkled mess anyway so Brent started unbuttoning his shirt. A honk behind him made him aware the light was green, so he started across the intersection, giving up on his shirt. But his passenger leaned over and unbuttoned the remaining buttons for him. At the bottom he pulled the shirt tail out to get the last button. "You're even soaked down there," he observed as he undid the last button. "I guess this is not the best attire to be driving around today. Too bad my boss doesn't believe that." The stranger was holding Brent's shirt sleeve so he could remove his arm and still drive, if somewhat slowly. They arrived at the next light and Brent was able to take his other arm out. The stranger took the shirt and laid it neatly on the back seat to dry. "How much farther?" "Three more lights, then left. By the way, my name's Mark and I really appreciate the ride." "Mine's Brent, and you're welcome." "I hope you're not too late for work." "I'm on lunch break and running company errands anyway." "So no one will notice if you don't get right back?" "Especially on Friday." "Why don't you come in for a cold drink before you go back then. I think your car needs to cool down awhile anyway." "I guess I could." Mark directed him into a Spanish style condominium complex. The guard at the security gate waved them through when he saw Mark, and Brent parked in a guest spot complete with shade. Mark picked the white shirt from the back seat as Brent got out of the car. He was a little embarrassed to note that there were two wet lines on the front of his pants where the sweat soaked through. Mark noticed it too "You should have taken those off, too." Brent looked at him and saw the twinkle in is eye. "I would have but the traffic was too bad and besides, I have ugly knees," was his rejoinder. Brent followed Mark through pleasant grounds to a remote section of the complex. Mark reached inside the front waistband of his shorts and pulled out a key and opened the door, throwing the key on the counter. The condo was well apportioned and tastefully decorated. A vaulted ceiling extended over the entry/living room and kitchen. It was punctuated with large sky lights, making up for the lack of windows in the walls. The kitchen was separated from the front room by a counter/bar. A stairway led to what Brent assumed was the bedrooms. Mark had very carefully taken off his sandals before entering, so Brent took off his shoes too. Mark padded over to the refrigerator and over his shoulder said "If you hang your pants over the counter there they won't look so bad when they dry." There was something in Mark's matter-of-fact manner and Brent took the wallet and keys out of his pockets, took off his slacks and folded them over the counter as neatly as he could. By this time Mark was approaching with two bottles of Koala Springs and put them on the counter. He picked up his crumpled muscle shirt and said "I'll put these in the laundry," and walked through a door by the stairway. Brent was thirsty and picked up one of the bottles and took a long drink. He almost choked as he saw Mark return, as he obviously put his shorts in the laundry as well. Mark nonchalantly walked up and took the other bottle and took a deep drink. Brent tried to look like he took a sudden interest in something besides his naked host. "They aren't really ugly," Mark remarked nodding to Brent's knees. A slight blush crossed Brent's face. "My dryer could have your shorts dry in a few minutes," Mark offered. Brent had noticed that they were very damp when he took off his slacks, but had hoped it wasn't noticeable. Brent was a little overwhelmed with everything, but something about Mark's casual manner continued to intrigue him and he said thanks and took off his shorts and put them in Mark's extended hand. As Mark turned and took his shorts out, Brent realized how ridiculous he must look standing there in his socks, so he removed them and put them in his shoes. It struck him how impossible it would have seemed twenty minutes ago at the bank that he would be standing naked in a strange house within that short time span. Mark returned and picked up his bottle and motioned Brent to the couch. Brent sat down a little self-consciously as Mark went to the stereo cabinet and selected some music for the cd. Not knowing what to say, Brent opted for "Where do you work?" Mark half turned towards him and said "where ever I feel like it." Brent wasn't sure what that meant. "What do you do?" Mark had the music going, turned and walked to library unit, picked up a large book and said "Here, I'll show you." He walked over to the sofa and sat next to Brent. He opened the book which Brent could now see was an album. "I'm a photographer, and this is some of my work." The first photo was a spectacular study of the Grand Canyon. The next was a black and white of a weathered building. As Mark flipped through the pages he explained what they were and why he took them. It was obvious that Mark was an exceptional photographer, and Brent thought he recognized a couple of the photos. The subjects ranged from landscapes to portraits to magazine ads to sports. Brent knew he should be going, but was fascinated by the photographs and the photographer. "Can I use your phone?" he interrupted Mark. Mark took a remote phone beside the sofa and handed it to Brent. Brent dialed the office and as the secretary answered he remembered for the first time in a half hour that he was sitting there naked, and was a little embarrassed. "Hello, Susan? This is Brent, is Jake there? When will he be back? I see. How about Ron? Gone for the day too? Well, if anyone asks, I am meeting with a graphic photographer. If I don't make it back, please lock my office for me. Thanks." "You were pretty smooth." "Everybody's gone anyway, besides I could justify meeting with a graphics photographer if anyone asked." "But I am not a graphics photographer!" Mark retorted, only half serious. "What's more graphic than a naked photographer?" Mark laughed, and went to the shelf and pulled down another volume. "I guess after that excuse I better show my client my better work." This portfolio was as intriguing and on the fifth page was the finest male nude rendering Brent had ever seen. The expression of the model was riveting, the lighting enhanced his body perfectly, and the body was perfectly posed showing restrained power in every muscle. The shadowing accentuated his genitals more than concealed them, making them a natural part of the portrait without detracting from the whole image. "This is one of my favorites," Mark said, affirming what Brent had thought himself. The next pages revealed more poses of the same model in repose, asleep, in a sauna, and in a forest setting. Each possessed a portion of the natural innocent feeling of the first, but not quite all, and Brent flipped back to the first several times. Mark seemed pleased with the attention Brent gave his work and began describing them in more detail, The next series of photos began with a well-known baseball team superimposed over a overhead photo of their athletic arena. Several action stills followed, also superimposed over various views of the stadium. The effect was exceptional and Mark remarked that this style had been since duplicated by others in the offices of several major league teams. The shots that followed however were obviously not displayed in the stadiums. Mark had followed the team to the victory celebration, the locker room and the showers to capture the casual moments and intimacy of the team. The final photo showed five of the players each with their right foot up on a bench, right arm over the player next to him with their left hand raised in the "we're number 1" sign. Mark said that this was truly representative of the whole team, since it included a pitcher, catcher, fielder, infielder and base coach. Brent noted there was one white, two Hispanics and two blacks, further representing the makeup of the team. But one thing must have escaped the photographer, so Brent commented: "I don't think they are completely representative of the team though." "How's that?" Mark responded, a little less defensively than Brent expected from an obvious perfectionist. "Well, I doubt that the whole team is uncircumcised, yet these five are uncut." "I suspected you were observant. Now you know why they are my favorite team." "You mean they really are?" Mark flipped back a few pages to the shower photos. "Look for yourself." Brent already had them memorized, and realized that he hadn't see a cut cock in any of the pictures. "I always thought this team should have been the one featured in the movie 'The Natural'" Mark continued. "Actually the coaches and staff have their own lockers, so I can't claim everyone is. But all the players are uncut and after I pointed that out to them, I think they played better ball together." "Weren't they hesitant to have you photograph them like this. These could be very damaging in the wrong hands?" "First of all, remember these were taken after their division championship and there was a lot of liquor around. They had more or less accepted me as part of the team by then anyway. Although they all have seen the photos, they agreed that I would keep the only copies. I don't let anyone see them unless I can trust them." "But you let me see them, and you have known me for less than two hours." "That may be true, but I can tell very soon who I can trust and who I can't." Brent was skeptical. "Isn't that a little overconfident?" "I don't intend to seem arrogant or overconfident as you say. But how can I not trust you when you come in my house, entrust me with your clothes, and call your secretary and look at photos in the nude, yet from your tan- lines you are obviously not a nudist. Then you look at some of my best work with a real appreciation, not just a lewd interest." "But I did those things because of how natural it seemed." "I didn't think you were in the habit of this type of thing?" "I have never done this before." "Then I don't think your behavior is suspect, so I can trust you." Brent was suddenly aware that he was trying to convince Mark that he might not be trusted, yet at the same time he wanted Mark to accept him for his own merits. Even if Mark's argument was weak, this was ludicrous. Mark arose from the couch, put the album back on the shelf and went to the refrigerator. He also seemed unwilling to continue this discussion. He returned to the couch with a bowl of grapes and some cheese. "Care for a snack?" Brent chuckled at the irony and picked a bunch of grapes from the bowl, leaning his head back and nibbling a few off the stem. "That is a great composition." At first Brent thought Mark was referring to the music, but he could tell by the way he was watching him that he was speaking of something else. "Would you pose for a few shots?" Brent about choked on the grape in his mouth and looked at Mark incredulously. "I'm serious, I would like to try a new composition you just brought to mind." "Hey Mark, you're a great photographer but I'm not a model and I don't think my career will go very far if anyone sees me in your photos." "Brent, I would like to use you to develop an idea. If the composition works, I'll substitute a model for the real take. I'll even give you the film when we're through if you want." Brent was dubious, but at the same time thrilled. His natural caution was consoled by the guarantee from Mark. "I guess a few poses would be alright," he replied. Mark went to the fridge to get some more grapes, then beckoned Brent to follow him up the stairs. They passed through a bedroom to another room beyond that served as Mark's studio. It was well lit from skylights although there were several spot lights on the walls as well. Mark began busying himself arranging some wicker furniture and some palm plants, seeming to forget Brent was even there. As Mark lifted and carried the various props, Brent was struck as to how strong and lithe he was. The muscles in this arms and thighs could be a photographic subject themselves as they rippled, tensed and relaxed in these very routine actions. "Mind if I take a leak while you're arranging the set?" Mark turned to him as if finally remembering he was still there. "It would be best if you could wait until we're through. The pressure will enhance your appearance." Brent felt a little uncomfortable, not just because he was now conscious that he needed relief but couldn't find it. But also because this was the cold observation of a photographer, like telling him how to comb his hair or hold his mouth. The personal Mark had retreated behind the professional Mark. The natural flow of events this afternoon was replaced by calculation and preoccupation. Since it had been the natural and open Mark that had prepared Brent for this moment, Brent began to fell uneasy and self-conscious and he thought of gathering his clothes and leaving. At this juncture, Mark turned to him and saw the anxiety in Brent's face and correctly guessed its portent. "I've always preferred natural settings for my work. Arranging props is distracting, but it is also important to the composition of the picture. If this looks as promising as I think, I will probably spend all night trying to think of a natural setting to use for the final work." Brent's fears and inhibitions were calmed as Mark explained what he was doing and what he hoped to show. Brent even offered a few suggestions that Mark took into consideration. Finally he had Brent take the pose that they had agreed on. He reclined on the divan propped up on one elbow, his head thrown back and his left hand holding a bunch of grapes just above his expectant mouth. Mark surveyed the image through his camera, then came over and arranged Brent's hand at a different angle. Another look through the lens, then Mark shifted Brent's left leg and knee, then Brent felt Mark's hands on this cock and balls, arranging them. Then a final perusal and Mark returned to Brent and lightly pinched his nipples, causing them to become erect. This also caused his penis to twitch and Mark moved it back into the proper position. Brent was beginning to strain from holding this position and was relieved to hear three stacatto clicks of the camera. Mark then had him slowly shift positions while eating the grapes, taking several pictures as he moved. Among the three cameras Mark had used in the sequence was a Polaroid that allowed him to get an immediate idea of the composition. Brent sat up as Mark brought them over to the divan and sat down. Brent was fascinated with the angles and shadows. His body had never looked so good, indeed he could hardly recognize himself from the angle his face was turned. "Please critique each one for me, Brent." "Well, in this first one I am not relaxed enough. The second one is less rigid, but my mouth looks funny and my leg's bent at a funny angle. The third one is good up top, but I am moving and my arm's in a strange position..." He critiqued each in turn. "Now, we want a composite of the best features of each photo. Do you think you can pose again with these things in mind?" Brent agreed, and took his position on the Divan again. Mark looked through the lens a few times and made a few corrections, then returned to the divan one last time, pinched Brent's nipples again, then reached down and pulled his foreskin back just enough for the cockhead to peek through. The cameras clicked several times. Brent was about to sit up, but Mark told him to stay for a minute more. Mark moved around behind the Divan, put one foot up against Brent's back, leaned forward and took the grapes from his hand and held them over Brent's mouth himself. There were several more clicks of the camera. Mark then told Brent to close his eyes and open his mouth again, trying to show a look of great pleasure on his face. Brent complied and felt Mark move around a bit before the click of the cameras. Mark jumped down and got the film from the Polaroid. Brent was already sitting when he returned and sat down next to him. The first shot was very good, but the second shot was excellent and Brent even thought it was worthy of Mark's other works. The third shot was with Mark, and although not as good a composition, it had merit and Brent studied it for a moment, noting Mark's cock rested on Brent's arm as he leaned over his body with the grapes. The final picture came as a complete surprise to Brent. True, he had been successful in having his face reflect pleasure, but instead of dangling the grapes above his expectant mouth, Mark had leaned over and dangled his cock just above Brent's mouth. He looked at Mark and saw the sly grin. "In my business that is called bait and switch," Brent complained. "But that only holds if what's switched is not as good as the bait," Mark rebutted. "But those grapes were very good and would be hard to beat." "Yes, but I have some bigger grapes and one is easy to peel. If you are interested I will serve them up." "Only if you'll join me," Brent replied. "My pleasure, but I prefer not to eat in my studio." "You're the host, I am waiting to be seated." Brent followed Mark into the bedroom. Mark motioned to the bed and Brent sat down on the edge. "I guess the host always starts." Mark knelt down between Brent's knees, leaned down and sucked his soft cock into his mouth. Brent moaned softly as he felt Mark's tongue strip back the foreskin from the glans. Brent began softly stroking Mark's back as Mark's hand fondled Brent's balls, forcing one of them inside his mouth along with the now stiffening cock. Brent reached down and brushed his fingers down Mark's butt, lingering at the puckered hole so vulnerable as Mark leaned over. Brent's hands proceeded down grasping first Mark's balls and then grabbed his cock and pulled it back between his legs. Although he had avoided staring at this cock all afternoon, his stolen glances had appraised this as a long beauty, much longer, but more slender, than his own dong now being greedily devoured. Now as he pulled Mark's cock up he was able to rub the knob of it against Mark's own rectum. Fascinated he put his fingers in his mouth and rubbed his spit against the hole, moving back the foreskin of the cock with the other. He rubbed the exposed head against hole as he inserted his finger inside. Mark moaned at the intrusion, but his cock got hard and Brent could no longer hold it in this position. He reached his arms around Mark. He could feel the cock now sticking straight forward. Grabbing on with both hands, he arched backward, flipping Mark over on top of him as he plunged back on the bed. Mark had not been prepared for this, and Brent felt his own cock wrenched from Mark's mouth in the maneuver. Mark scrambled off Brent and surveyed his face for a moment. In that moment Brent grabbed Mark's cock by the foreskin and pulled it toward his mouth. Mark moved forward, and straddled Brent's face before leaning down to continue his interrupted meal. While Brent nibbled and stretched his foreskin, Mark nibbled and mouthed the two big grapes below Brent's rigid stem. The scrotum was soft and the texture pleasant and Mark managed to get both testicles in his mouth. Brent peeled the grape in his face, which now resembled a mushroom more than a grape. He gently took the mushroom in his mouth, savoring its musky taste. While tonguing the edge of the corona, he used his fingers to carefully pull the skin forward over his tongue, trapping it inside with the mushroom. The feeling and taste was phenomenal as his tongue forced the skin back again and a drop of pre-cum oozed onto his tongue. Mark had decided to hunt mushrooms, too and Brent felt Mark's teeth gently scrape the skin back from his cockhead. Mark's tongue began assaulting the slit in the top of the mushroom, forcing itself in until it was rewarded with the nectar of pre-cum seeping up the shaft. Brent again wet his fingers in his mouth and while Mark began pumping his cock in and out of Brent's throat, he inserted his middle finger past the rectal muscled and into the tunnel of Mark's ass. As his fingers contacted the prostrate, Mark began shooting his jism in Brent's mouth until it overflowed down the sides of his cheeks and into his ears. Mark's climax caused him to neglect Brent for a few minutes. But as the spasms subsided, he renewed his energies and soon Brent was shooting his load up Mark's throat. Like a cat, Mark licked off every bit of cum off Brent's softening rod. Then he turned around and laid atop Brent, crushing their now soft cocks together. Mark licked his own sperm off Brent's cheeks and ears. Brent reached up and kneaded Mark's butt, then sliding his hand between them, held their cocks together and drifted into contented sleep. When he awoke, the skylights were dark and it took a moment to remember where he was. He was aware of the great need to take a piss that he had been prevented from doing earlier. He pulled his arm from under Mark's head and stumbled in the dark to where he thought the bathroom might be. He found the light and was dazzled by the mirrors that circled the bathroom. When his eyesight returned, he stepped up to the toilet and released the river that surged within him. He had just began, when he felt skin press against his back and an arm circled around his waist and gently hold his pissing cock. He felt something force itself between his legs, and looking in the mirror in front of him he saw Mark's cock appear beneath his balls and soon a twin stream was cascading down. Brent reached down and locked his fingers with Mark's around their manhood. As the streams subsided, they mutually pulled back the skins and milked out the last golden drops. But long after this was necessary, they continued the motion until both cocks were rigid. Brent was fascinated by the image in the mirror of this second cock lurching up beneath his balls. He squeezed his legs together capturing Mark's long dick for a moment, and in the mirror he could see the foreskin peeled back by the motion. He repeated this with the natural rhythm of Mark's movements. Mark's hand peeled back Brent's skin and watched around Brent's side as he massaged precum from his own cock into the slit that moments earlier had released its golden torrent. Mark's cock began to curve up and Brent could feel the nerves along the shaft trapped between his thighs begin to react as an eruption of satin cum arched from beneath his balls and splashed against the mirror. Mark's hand quickened the pace on Brent's cock, and soon two columns of glistening sperm trailed down the mirror. As the fervor eased, Brent turned around as Mark's softening cock shrunk from between his legs. Kneeling down he took the dick in his mouth, bathing it with his tongue. When he was through, they returned to the bed and lay side by side, each holding the other's cock. Brent's last thought as he drifted to sleep again was that he was glad he didn't have to leave for work in the morning. Mark dreamed of the natural setting he would photograph this new work of art that had come into his life.