Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2021 14:13:23 -0500 From: Greylock Writer Subject: STRUTTIN' First, importantly: SUPPORT NIFTY! Make financial or literary contributions to Nifty to the benefit of all. My story is a work of pure fiction intended for adult readers of legal adult age, at least 18 years-old and older and in some places at least 21 years-old or more. Anyone younger should leave now. My stories involve sex in various forms between consenting persons and should not be construed as a guideline for living anyone's individual everyday life. All characters are from my imagination and mot based on real people. STRUTTIN' By Greylock Writer I've always been a sucker for a guy who struts, who moves with confidence and an animal awareness of the space he inhabits. He knows that he belongs wherever he wants to belong. I find that very, very sexy. And, it's something that I can't do myself. My approach is more cerebral, more considered. But, boy, I love that intuitive approach to life. That's why Rusty, the new gofer on "The Chronicle", was so striking. Right away, he was striding around the newsroom like he owned the goddamn place. He'd pick up some copy or deliver some coffee and smile his shit-eating grin and tell you in one quick glance that he wasn't going to be at the bottom of the rung for long, that he'd soon be doing whatever he wanted to do and with....whoever he wanted to do it with. He smiled that same hunky grin at everyone: star reporters, editors, the old ladies on the copy desk and the gnarled old cleaning man who'd been emptying wastebaskets since there was movable type. And, Rusty told everyone who'd listen that he had the tools to make it in the business, too. He could take photos, develop his own pictures when using film and was handy at word processing. Most of the staff didn't listen and didn't care. They saw him as a 22-year-old that had proven himself at nothing and could help them in the most minor ways. He was well-built and a smiling hunky dirty blond. But eye candy looks didn't give him real street cred. So, why give him a second thought? But I did because I could see that big basket bob as Rusty walked around the office doing chores. I saw more whenever I could conveniently sidle up to him in the men's room and grab a quick peek at his pecker. That's when I knew he had the tool to make it. He had a gorgeous cock even as he pissed. He held it like it was his best friend, and, maybe it was. It was a good six inches soft. Cut. Heavily veined. Ivory and blue. A tasty looking mushroom head. And it seemed to have as much swagger and sureness as its master. Unless, of course, it WAS the master. I was lucky to be very busy because I started having big-time fantasies about Rusty and his tool. Driving around town, I'd think about him, about how nice it would be to have him sitting next to me, massaging my crotch as we drove the city streets. More than once I found myself kneading my dick and thinking it was sliding through Rusty's hot mouth. In the shower, I'd soap myself up and close my eyes. And I'd swear it was Rusty pinching my nipples, squeezing my big soapy balls, or exploring my squeaky clean ass with some very talented fingers. Then, I'd imagine Rusty pulled out his fingers and inserted his big tool. I felt like his dick and I were on a first name basis. Yet, I had never said more than a few words to its owner. My beat was murder and mayhem. I covered the city cops, big fires and disasters of all kinds. It was not my preferred assignment. But I was big and beefy and the local gendarmes and firemen took to me like I was one of their own. When my eyes swept up and down their bodies, they thought I was just admiring their courage and heart, not their biceps and their buns. It was already late on a Friday and I was headed home with major plans to hit the bars and forget about Rusty when my cell phone started chirping. An explosion had set off a big fire at the chemical plant southwest of town. I hauled ass and punched in the number for the city desk from my cell phone to order a photographer to the scene. Angry red flames shot hundreds of feet into the night sky. A tower of acrid black smoke rose into the billowing clouds. It looked like the end of the world. There was no loss of life, the fire captain said, because it was Friday night and only a skeletal crew was working. They all got out after the first blast. I called in the basics, assuring the night editor I'd stay on the scene as long as there was a story. We weren't sure if there was an evacuation order coming for residents in nearby housing. "And when's the shutterbug getting here?" I asked. "Should be there, Delaney" I was told. "No sign of anybody here. Who did you send?" "There was no one in the pool," the editor said. "So I sent out that new kid." I couldn't recall a new kid. Then, it clicked. "The fucking go-fer? Rusty?" "Yeah, Rusty. He assured me he could handle it." "Shit," I muttered softly under my breath. "What? I think your signal's breaking up." "Shit," I said distinctly like it was three syllables and hung up. I trotted back to the perimeter where a cordon of fire trucks faced the worst of the fire. Just then I saw someone slip past the barricades and head in toward the flames. I recognized the profile of broad shoulders tapering to a trim midsection. And, God, how could I forget that sweet firm ass? Rusty. Damn it! He was loaded down with equipment but still moving like a cat, shooting pictures and scurrying. He was snapping pictures of the fire, scrambling up and down platforms, acting like a reckless asshole. No one seemed to notice him but me. I moved down fire line, yelling and waving my arms trying to get his attention over the fiery spectacle all around. Just as he turned my way, a tank blew. The explosion propelled Randy twenty yards through the air toward me. More clouds of black oily smoke spread out low and smothered him. He lay motionless on the ground. I scrambled to him. The heat was terrific. I thought my face was melting. Rusty was still when I got to him. I was afraid to move him, but I knew we'd both fry or be overwhelmed by smokw where we were. With my adrenalin flowing, I picked him up and carried him away from the choking smoke and crackling flames. Once we were at a safe distance I gently laid him down. I couldn't find a pulse. With the roar of the fire and the popping of chemical detonations all around, it was impossible to tell if he was still breathing. I put an ear to his chest and to his mouth, but heard and felt nothing. Afraid time was running out, I cradled his head, put my lips to his and started mouth-to-mouth. I'd blow in, then pump his chest. There was no response. I saw firemen running toward us. They could do proper CPR. I tried to force in a few last breaths. Suddenly, Rusty heaved and sputtered and started breathing on his own. His eyes opened. He was dazed, but slowly realized what had happened. He stared into my eyes. Finally, he said, "You look like hell." He took a smoky finger and wiped away some oily soot from my face. "You, my friend, look like a survivor." He smiled. "But, you acted like a fucking jerkoff." The firemen took over. They couldn't find any obviously broken bones, but took Rusty to a waiting ambulance so the ER at City Hospital could check him out further. "Wait," he shouted. He motioned to me as he took his battered old Nikon from around his neck. "Get these printed. And don't forget my damn credits." He smirked his usual half-assed smile and was gone. Soon the fire was under control although it took another couple days to burn out. The evacuations were limited and not too disruptive. I raced back to the newsroom and handed in the pictures, then went home to bed very tired. And very alone. The next morning, I picked the paper off my doorstep and saw my story and three spectacular shots of the fire by Rusty. A few minutes later my phone rang. "Thanks. You saved my life." It was Rusty, sounding cheerful, yet reserved. "How ya doing, kid?" I asked. "Okay. They kept me in the hospital overnight for observation." "When are you getting out?" "About an hour," he said shyly, not at all like he'd ever sounded before. "What about your car?" I knew it was still down at the smoldering hulk of the chemical plant. "Someone will take me down later today or tomorrow." "I'll be glad to help out," I said. I thought I was just offering -- without any ulterior motive. "Why don't I pick you up at the hospital?" After a lengthy pause, Rusty agreed. He was subdued on the ride back to his place. He didn't even seemed interested when I showed him the front page. He sat way over on his side of my pickup and looked straight ahead. The experience had him scared shitless. His apartment was homey and spotless. I was surprised. "Get in bed. I'll make you some tea and honey." He started to protest but I cut him short. "I'll find it." "My honey's pretty old," he apologized. "Honey never spoils," I explained. "Putting it in water loosens it right up." "Thanks," he almost whispered. "I'm not really a big baby." "I know. Just climb under the covers and take it easy." "Okay," he mumbled. After I banged through cabinets looking for tea or coffee or anything, I went to the bedroom. "I tried to explain," he said. "I usually don't drink anything but water or juice. And I'm all out of fruit." "That's what you think." "What?" he asked startled. "Just thinking aloud." I told him to relax and I'd run out for some tea, honey and rum. "Please don't," he said. "I'm fine. Really." Just then I saw he was shivering violently. I put a hand to his forehead. He was burning up. Then I saw he was still wearing his clothes under the covers. "Scared?" I asked gently. He nodded in a shy, boyish way. I took my big hands and started to massage his shoulders. "It's okay to be scared. Fire like that's a nasty animal. Wild and untamed and very dangerous. You're lucky to be alive." "I know," he said, shuddering worse as I kneaded the knot at the back of his neck. "We may need to take you back to the hospital. Get you some therapy," I told him. He was shaking violently. "Please, stop," he said. Rusty was almost sobbing. "Please don't touch me." "Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to offend you." His eyes were still cast down. "After last night, I thought we couldn't get any closer," I joked. "You bastard," he said softly, not in anger but with an edge of despair. "You goddamn bastard." I was real confused now. "Rusty. I don't understand...." He turned and looked at me. His eyes swam in tears. I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss the tears away. "You gave me the kiss of life," he said slowly, "and I woke up and put my hand up to your face. And then I remembered. We're two men." He turned his face away from mine again. "When I knew your lips had been on mine, it was like a dream come true," he said. "I went out to that fire hoping to show you I was as much a newshound as you, as much a man, as much a....." "Lover?" "Yes," he gasped into convulsive sobs. I wiped the tears away. "And now I'm afraid to be near you because you KNOW what I am and how I feel and you'll find me repulsive." "Guess again," I told him as I cradled his head and brought my hungry lips to his. Our kiss was sweet and tender. His lips were swollen and blistered from the heat of the fire. They parted slightly and my tongue probed in, delicately at first and then more insistently. His eyes closed and he kissed me deeper and with more passion. We came up for air. "I wanted that a long time," he said. "So have I." "You never talked to me." "Because I was always thinking about you." "I followed you into the john to get close to you." "But acted as cool as could be." "We were at work for Christ's sake." "We're not now," I said as I pulled back the covers and slid alongside him. There was no need to hurry and I still wasn't sure of his condition. I kissed his forehead to cool it as I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, first the front and then the cuffs. I kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his throat in soft, wet smudges. We pulled the shirt off together and my lips and tongue continued their trail downward, moving up and down and from side to side. I nibbled at his armpits and I licked a trail across his chest, lingering at each hard nipple for a small feast of pleasure. The heat from Rusty's fever was moving south. I unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his jeans. My tongue bathed the valley where his navel made a dent in his firm, rippled stomach. "Oh, God!" Rusty purred as I reached in the waistband of his Calvin Kleins and tugged them down with his jeans. He let me do all the work and I was pleased. I was still gentle. I inspected the dark and purple bruises along his legs, much worse than the scrapes on his arms. I saw a rough, raw abrasion on his otherwise perfect, creamy ass cheeks. And I understood why he was called Rusty. His pubic hair was a shiny copper, brighter, rustier than the hair on his head which must have darkened to a burnished bronze as he grew up. My journey continued. My mouth played along his legs all the way down to his toes. I took a minute to kiss the soles of his feet before sucking on his toes, singly and in combination until he closed his eyes and tensed up in this sensation. I knew no one before had ever lavished that much attention on his feet. I rolled my tongue back up his legs to face the monster. By now his cock was engorged with his hot young blood and jutting straight up more than ten inches. It was long and it was fat but perfectly shaped and proportioned. The dark veins pulsed. The corona was a deep red, tending to purple. For a moment, I just studied it in awe, exploring its classical beauty. Rusty lifted his head, saw my wonder and smiled quietly. I began by rubbing his erection along the outside of my cheek, feeling its velvety texture before tasting its thrilling hardness. My lips kissed the tip. Rusty moaned. My tongue swathed the mushroom head, swirling across the surface, probing the slit. The first honeyed drops of pre-cum trickled out and I savored their sweetness. I was still taking my time. My tongue licked every vein, every contour on his fabulous prick. This was an experience to enjoy. I was very excited. My mouth was dripping saliva. Finally, I opened wide and sucked the top of his cock inside. His dick made love to my lips. "That's it, baby," Rusty sighed. "Take what you want. Take it all, baby." I opened wider and his mighty shaft pushed in. Rusty was rotating his hips now. He was doing a horizontal strut. The kid wanted to fuck my face and I was eager to swallow all of his thick and juicy hard-on. It pushed past my teeth and inched down my throat. Each time he made his thrust I bobbed my head and his love tube slipped further into me. "Oh, God," Rusty sighed as my jaws relaxed and I swallowed the whole damn thing. "Shit that feels good!" His hands ran through my hair, gently guiding me on as I turned up the suction. "You like sucking that big cock, Delaney?" he asked. I groaned in the affirmative. "Enjoy yourself, man, 'cause I love that head work on my prick." He was relaxed, soothed. I knew that few people -- man or woman -- had taken his big dong down to the root before. After what he'd been through, he had a right to enjoy first and shoot later. We rocked and we rolled in an easy, deep union. But I wanted to give him more. I switched my attention to his big balls, hairy balls swinging low in a sac still sharply scented by the hospital soap. My tongue washed his nuts, then sucked first one and then the other into my mouth. They were as huge and as delicious as his cock and I rolled them around while Rusty closed his eyes and arched his body in pleasure. He was getting more excited. I let his balls slip from my hot mouth and slid my tongue down the rough ridge to his waiting asshole. I licked greedily at the circle of his pucker. The rosebud closed tighter and I stabbed at it with my tongue in short, hot taps. Then, I let my tongue linger and rotate. It flicked in deeper and deeper. Gradually, his sphincter relaxed and the pucker opened in greeting. I nibbled more insistently at the hole. It opened wider for my tongue and lips. "Eat that asshole, stud. Fuck me with that mouth, Delaney. Let me know you're down there, right there, man." I strained to push my tongue in, to suck and slurp and punch his hole until he begged me to stop. But Rusty wouldn't beg. Instead, he took charge. "Get out of those clothes," he ordered. "You don't deserve all the fun." He helped me shed my clothing, wildly tossing each piece to a different corner of his room. He pushed me around so I hovered over him and he was staring up at my own slab of meat. It's not the titan his is, but it's not that bad. Hard, I'm just shy of eight inches, uncut but always clean, and rooted deep so I always point straight up. His mouth stretched and pulled me in all at once right down to my dark pubes. He was like a madman on a crazy mission. He sucked and slurped on my hard rod. One hand worked my nuts like crazy and the other hand played with my lovehole. He came up for air. "Suck me, Delaney. I'm not going to fucking break." He was breathless and frenzied. I plunged up and down his dick becoming a maniac, too. I caressed his balls, rolling them in my fingers until I felt them draw into his wrinkled ball sac and I knew he was close to blowing. Quickly, I licked a couple fingers and shoved them up his spit-soaked ass. He winced, but said nothing. Now, we were both close. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, beating in my head. I tried holding back. I wanted us to come together. He mumbled something. "Shoot, cocksucker," I heard. "Shoot your hot cum down my throat." Next, his words came loud and clipped; he roared like a rogue bull elephant. "Suck... that.... big... dick," he bellowed. "Take that load. You're gonna get my cum, man. Here it....here it....here it fucking comes!" His prick was as hard as brick. My tongue could feel the cum jump up his juice tube until it blasted out his cock. Each shot was bigger and harder than the last. I kept swallowing his load until his body shook and he tried to pull away. Just then, I started gushing. My own orgasm came wave after wave after wave, too, my load pouring out like I was still a teenage kid with a bucket of cum churning in my balls. Rusty was still rock hard when I shuddered to a stop and he let me out of his mouth. I still held him in mine. I slurped him clean and polished his knob. I didn't want to let his beauty go. But I wanted a kiss. I rotated back around and stretched out alongside him. "Thanks," he said, gently nuzzling his head under my chin. "That was like a dream come true." "You're the dream," I said. I leaned over and gently touched his lips. They were raw and red. The fire blisters had popped and he hadn't given a damn. I pulled him into me, his back to my front. I held him like a baby, but I kept my fist around his cock. It was still hard and throbbing when we drifted off sleep. When I woke, though, it was Rusty's hand around my hard-on. He was jerking my dick and I was swollen and anxious to go again. His front was at my back now and I could feel his prick probing at my ass. It wasn't yet like he wanted in or anything. It was just that he was ready for action and we were locked in this position. But I figured he had a good idea. After all, with his bruises, I didn't want to toss his legs in the air and pump my way into him. It might strain those tender spots on his beautiful legs and his inviting round bottom that looked too sore to bang. My mouth worked his cock up into a lather. Then I spit in my hand and worked it into my butthole as a lubricant. I positioned myself over his waiting rod and eased back until the red, hot crown kissed the pucker of my chute. Rusty had a big smile on his face. I let my weight down and his long, fat dick slithered into me. My sphincter gave a silent scream as that big dickhead pushed up inside. My ass is nearly virgin. It takes a special man to pack it. I knew Rusty was the right man. A BIG man. The pain was sharp and exquisite. Once his crown slid past the opening, things went great. The pain yielded to pleasure as I felt his monster dance against my prostate. "Oh, yeah, baby. That's where I want it. Give me that dick, Rusty. Fuck my ass deep as you can." I rode up and down, slowly at first and then I gathered speed. Rusty laid back. He was still smiling but his eyes were closed and his mouth was open in a kind of ecstasy. I picked up speed. Rusty used his hands on my nipples, working them like an expert. I longed for his tongue, but I was so far impaled on his hard dick that I couldn't lean over for a kiss. I reached back and played with his balls. They felt warm and good. He sighed as I squeezed them. I squeezed some more. My own cock was bouncing up and down on Rusty's chest, sliding around in our sweat so that I was close to coming without manipulation. I twisted around and contracted my butt muscles. "Man, you've got a tight ass," Rusty moaned. "I love that ass, man." "It's your ass, Rusty," I told him. "Fuck it, baby. Make it your plaything. Possess it. Make it obey." He slapped it once, twice, three times. It stung and the sting was good. "I'm gonna shoot man," he warned. "I'm gonna come!" "I want that hot jizz. Fuck me, Rusty. Shoot it up my ass. Make me feel your fiery love juice." I was bouncing furiously. His dick was pounding my prostate. "Give me that cock juice." I was going to explode any second. Then I felt him erupt in a steady hot stream up my ass. It was like he was pissing fire into my guts. I was flooded with warmth that put me over the edge. My rod started shooting. My dick shot and bounced. Cum rained over Rusty's stomach and chest. He was covered in puddles of cum. We kissed. We cleaned up. I stayed the rest of the weekend, attending to Rusty's every need. We made love again and again. In a few weeks, Rusty's wounds healed. By then, I convinced our editors of his courage (but failed to tell them of his foolhardiness). He got a regular job as a photographer we were teamed as a special disaster unit. We worked together -- a lot -- after that. Nobody thought it unusual that we were always together. We drew no notice when our heads were locked in conversation or when one finished sentences the other had started. Our lives were entwined and would stay that way. Our lives were changed forever. All because of the kiss of life. Or, was it the kiss of a lifetime? ****************** Copyright 2021 By Greylock Writer Remember, Nifty needs contributions to keep this great service afloat. Give what you can. The easiest way to find more of my stories on Nifty is to enter my name, Greylock Writer, in the Search Bar with the magnifying glass near the top of Nifty's main page. It should bring up my work published so far.