Date: Fri, 8 Sep 2017 19:42:05 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Smuttateers

This story and its characters are fictitious representations of Boy Mercury
X and myself. Everything here exists only in the author's imagination, as
inspired by the incredible talent of another author. If any character
resembles you or someone you know, I WANT DETAILS, you lucky fucker,
preferably with photos! It is, of course, copyrighted by the author with
all rights reserved and very, very negotiable. Do not re- or cross-post
without permission from both the author (orson.cadell@gmail.com) and
boymercuryx@gmail.com

This involves sex between consenting adult males; if that is illegal for
who/where you may be right now, get thee GONE! I like hearing from people
but I also hate spam. If you get off on flaming people, please know that
you will HATE the results. I will read your missive and weave you and your
comments into my next story to the point that you cry like a little
girl. Bullies get as bullies give.

Also, keep the cum coming -- Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at
donate.nifty.org/donate.html! I'm an old guy (>30). I know what it was like
when you had to BUY porn. Five miles uphill both ways in the snow just to
GET to the XXX store. You whippersnapper don't know how good you've got it.

*****

Fuck, I hate Los Angeles. But, once a year, it's a required stop on the
Smuttateers party circuit -- porn author events, officially called the
Worldwide Erotic Arts Community with the unfortunate acronym, WEAC, that
makes everyone call them "weak". One bright spot this year was a
get-together that had nothing and everything to do with eroticism. I'd
finally get to hook up with Boy Mercury! Sadly, not until tomorrow; his
flight wouldn't get in until noon.

We'd collaborated on stories for over a year and our kink-level and
interests were damn near identical. Mercury and I worked well together, my
snarky irony offsetting his smart-assed flippancy. He could be something of
a prick when he wanted... but face it, so could I. He also had a way of
critiquing my contributions in ways that left me wondering if he was
quietly laughing at me. So, all told, this should prove to be a very
enlightening weekend. I doubted we'd, you know, have sex, but it would be
fascinating to see if our online chemistry translated at all to the real
world.

What made this especially exotic was that we'd never actually met. We
didn't even know what each other looked like to tell the truth. Of the four
major events of the year, I'd missed two for health reasons and Mercury
missed the other two for a wedding and a funeral.  We never exchanged
pictures, even. I don't.... well, I don't do pictures. I'm short, chubby,
hairy and wear thick glasses, no frames for which have ever been less than
hideous. I also have curly brown hair that, charitably, made me a look a
little like a hobbit. I'm just not good looking. I never asked why Mercury
didn't do pictures.

I'd gotten here a night early (I'm OCD about being late so I always get
everywhere way too early) and was nervous as a cat. I decided I needed to
take the edge off. I went down to the hotel bar and ordered one of the few
things that they can't fuck up -- Cruzan dark rum with a side of coke. Even
the cheap fuckers who run hotels (and conventions) can't light-poor a shot,
something I learned long ago. Myra, a older woman who writes seriously
amazing gay bondage porn, was local to LA so she came today as well and we
shared a drink, but her lover was antsy so the two women went up to their
room to "take the edge off."

'Fuck,' I thought, 'I wish I had something to take the edge off!' Unlike my
characters, I'm not the type to even start a conversation with a stranger,
much less pick someone up in a bar. Conventions, though offered a unique
opportunity, since guys would approach me and I could build up to
intimacy. I was nursing my third drink when I noticed a guy at a table
maybe thirty feet away. I don't know why, but something inside me went,
'That's Matt from Raven's Claw, exactly as I fucking imagined when I wrote
him.'

The guy wasn't gorgeous, but hot as fuck. Well over six feet tall with a
lean, lanky, runner's build, he had beautiful chocolate-brown,
silky-looking hair. I hate my curly hair and always have. You can't do
anything with curly hair no matter how hard you try. You ever see a shampoo
commercial with a white person who has curly hair? No. That's cuz it sucks!
He looked up at me and smirked. I was so busted.

I looked down, blushing furiously (add that to the catalogue of shit I hate
about my looks). I got the wait-creature's attention (this whole
androgynous trend makes me fucking insane -- what do I call the person,
it?) and signaled for another Cruzan as I still had some coke. It
jingle-jangled over, looking for all the world like someone who'd been
caught in an explosion between a tattoo parlor and a hardware store, and
deposited my coke (that I didn't order) and a shot of rum.

I took a sip and nearly spit it out when a rich, beautiful voice spoke up
right at my elbow. "You looked lonely. Mind if I join?" It was the Matt
guy! Fuuuuck. He was even cuter up close. Impossibly-long lashes framed
heavy-lidded, seductive hazel eyes of brown and green (mine are hazel of
green and gold). His lips were full and mischievous, his olive-skinned,
long, narrow face beautiful and ending in a pointed chin just like Puck in
A Midsummer Night's Dream.

"Uh, S-S-S-Sure!" I pushed a chair out and he sat down.

"So, why so frustrated?"

"F-F-F-F-F-Frustrated? Me? No, just a bit bored. Meeting someone tomorrow
so I'm a bit at loose ends tonight."

"So, if you're meeting someone tomorrow, you must be here for the
convention?"

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. Yeah, I could see it. He could
easily be a porn actor. Straight porn, though. Gay porn seems to do either
twinks, hunks or bears, and very little in between. "Yeah. You?"

"Yep. I thought I saw Myra earlier but when I looked up she was gone."

"Oh! You know Myra?" Myra didn't hang with assholes, so there was a chance
this guy was nice.

"Yeah, but I'd never the her whatever, her Significant Other? Are they
married?"

"Nope. And Myra hates the term, 'girlfriend', and the whatever -- her name
is Di'Tanya -- hates 'Significant Other'. I just mentally think 'lover' and
try to find ways to avoid using any word in conversation."

"It kinda sucks, you know, in the gay world. It's not as easy. Like, for
instance, you're wearing a ring on the third finger of your left hand. A
straight woman would see that and know pretty well that she was approaching
a married guy."

I laughed. That's one thing I do like about myself. I have a nice laugh,
low, belly-deep and fun-loving. "Yeah, you're right. And I'd know from your
grin and lack of ring that you either like married guys or are just
flirting."

"But with gays -- Oh, shit. I didn't ask: you are gay, right?"

"We both know Myra. I don't think she tolerates totally-straight people."
He smiled at that. His smile was breathtaking.

"So, with gays, that ring might mean you are or just were in a relationship
that might or might notbe open and you might or might not have a husband
that's going to come into the bar and kick my ass, or you might just like
flirting with guys to get him jealous just for the makeup sex."

"True, true," I said. He really was right about that. There are so many
variations of gay families that it it's incredibly hard to know what you're
getting into unless you're in a meat-market bar where everyone is looking
to a nightly 'husband'.

"So, which one is it?"

"P-P-P-Pardon me?" I'm trying to swallow my rum without choking and lunge
for my coke.

"I was just wondering which one of those it is. You never know. I might be
and of the 'girls' you described first, you know."

"You are rather forward, aren't you?" I was not at all comfortable with
where this was headed. Let me rephrase. Ninety percent of me was
uncomfortable. A rapidly-grown part and the two eggs hanging below it were
far, far more than merely interested.

"Let's just say that... well, first answer the question."

'It's none of your business!' I think and try to decide the best way to
tell him that.  "I'm married to man with a few rules. I can't bring anyone
home unless the plan is to share; I can't go to anyone else's home unless
he's with us; and I can't arrange to see the same person on future trips."
What the fuck? Why did I answer him?

"Well, this isn't your home. It isn't my home. And we're not arranging
anything. And I think you are the cutest little cuddly bear I've seen in a
long time."

"W-W-W-W-What? M-M-M-M-Me?"

"My god, you even talk like a porn story. Do people really get flustered
enough to stutter like that?"

"Apparently." I am now blushing toward crimson. I can feel it.

"I'm sorry." There was real contrition in his voice. "I didn't mean to make
fun of you. I really do find you attractive. What's your name?" I thought
furiously. I wasn't willing to tell him who I was. What if he'd read my
stories? His expectation would be waaaaay out of proportion to what I
really was. I picked one of my characters.

"I'm Taylor," picking a name from my Culberhouse Rules series that I
wished, at the moment, I actually resembled. Well... I was hairy as fuck,
but damn I wished I had his 'fuck it; let's get down to business' attitude
right then, "and you?"

"Well, 'Taylor'," you could hear the air quotes, "call me David." I blushed
more, knowing that the next embarrassment would likely lead to me bleeding
from my pores.

"So, your room or mine?" This time I did spew a little of my coke. David
chuckled and handed me napkins, then bent to retrieve my cocktail straw
which he set on the table.

"What makes you think I want to go to either room? With you or anyone
else?"

"Welllllll," he drawled leeringly, "you were all doe-eyed when you were
cruising me. Don't look like that. I could see you in the bar mirror."
FUCK! I hate mirrors. I cheat constantly in my stories with one characters
using a mirror to see if someone might be interested, but I never thought
about it in real life! "And you kept glancing at me as we talked. And, when
I bent down to get the straw, I noticed that you are either sexually
attracted to me or you're smuggling a zucchini in your jock strap."

"Oh. My. God." I dropped my face into my hands and moaned, "this isn't
happening." How the fuck did he know I had a jock strap? And why was he
looking?!?

I felt his long-fingered hand on my shoulder. His voice was soft, beautiful
and maybe a little worried, "It can be. You know. If you want it to be
happening."

I looked up and saw a real fear of rejection in his eyes. I heard a little
voice in the back of my head screaming, 'What the fuck are you doing?' and
sent my libido off to stick a ball gag in it. "M-M-M-My room?"

We had barely made it in the door when David pulled me into a kiss. He was
good, but so was I. I poured my fear and need and lust and passion into the
kiss, making David, for that moment, my entire world. He finally pulled
back.

"Holy fuck but you can kiss!"

"You too, but you're also very tall. I have a crick in my neck. We'd both
be the same height, though, if we were doing this on the bed?" That made
him actually laugh, a musical, ringing sound that set my innards squirming
with delight. I'd go a long way to get that laugh again. We got to the
bedside and I started to pull off my shirt.

"Oh, no, Taylor. I want to take my time unwrapping such a beautiful
package." The 'beautiful' thing was way over the top, but I'd take any
little ego boost I could get right then, even if I knew it was a flat-out
lie. I sighed as I watched his hands slowly unbuttoning my shirt. 'Okay,' I
thought to myself, 'this is the moment of truth. When he gets toward the
bottom he'll see just how flabby I am. I will NOT cry if he changes his
mind,' I lied to myself.

When he got to my disgustingly-hairy chest I heard him suck in as
shuddering breath. Good sign? Bad sign? I don't do a lot of hookups, even
with my husband's permission. And when I do, it's always someone I'd talked
to for a day or so, giving me a chance to make sure that chubby
hair-monsters aren't a turn off. He got to the last button and I literally
held my breath. He pushed my shirt off my shoulders.

With my arms temporarily locked behind me by the sleeves, he moaned and
suddenly was licking and sucking my left nipple. I groaned like a man
possessed and threw off the restraining shirt, bringing one hand to the
back of David's head and the other pulling his shirt out of his pants. I
pulled him back just enough to whip the shirt away and brought him to my
right nipple, which he began to feast upon.

He suddenly yelped and I pulled him up. "What?"

"Um, I'm kinda, well, uh... this is embarrassing. I'm kinda nut-locked in
my briefs!" His blush, unlike mine, was absolutely adorable. I was on my
knees in an instant and he whimpered as I got his pants open and reached
into his briefs and extricated his boy bits. He sighed deeply then emptied
his lungs with a long "ahhhhhhhh!' when I started to lick the
previously-imprisoned orbs. He was rampant, as was I. His cock was dark,
long, thin, with the slightest curve where I was shorter, thicker and
uncut. Whoever had cut him had left a generous fold behind so his cock had
plenty of room to grow, which it had.

I finished with his delicious, musky balls and licked up to his leaking
tip, suckling just a little in preparation for taking as much as I could,
as quickly as possible. The taste was nice, softly-salty with a hint of the
same musk I'd sucked out of his balls.

"No-no-no-no-no!" He pulled me up with a power I never expected in his
runner's frame, turned and pushed me back onto the bed, kicking his shoes,
pants and briefs off as he clawed open my belt buckle. I love 501s, but
they're a bitch when you're desperate. He made short work of them and I
lifted my ass so he could pull them and my jock strap (I don't know how he
guessed that in the bar), but it was only the jeans that hit to floor.

David then proceeded to give me a *literal* blow job, wrapping his lips
around various parts of my jock-enclosed package and puffing his hot breath
through the cloth as he nibbled and tongued me. Now, I write porn. It's
what I do. But I still can't tell you what the fuck sound I made then. It
involved syllables for which there are no letters on my keyboard! I'd
written about this, but fuck if I didn't do the sensation a terrible
disservice. NOTHING could really explain what that felt like, the warmth,
the ego-rush, the sexual high it built. I clutched at the bedclothes,
wringing them in my fists.

I don't know how it happened. It was like David owned a fucking
teleporter. I was suddenly on my knees, chest to the mattress. I had about
one second to register that fact before my ass exploded in delight. David
was giving me a rim job for the ages. I luxuriated in that for minutes,
soaking my jock with dogwater. I heard the telltale ripping of a condom
pack and suddenly his tongue was replaced by a lube-slicked, inhumanly-long
finger.

"FUCK YEAH!" I have never believed in quiet sex; it's one reason I try to
get corner rooms -- less neighbors to call the front desk. My motto has
always been, "Let your lover know when he's doing it right." His finger
slid into me effortlessly (I'm not exactly a virgin) and his
t-t-t-t-t-tongue came back and started to tease the fleshy lips around his
digit. A second finger joined the party and I nearly launched off the bed
when one of them found my love nut.

I was thrusting myself back onto his fingers and cussing like a sailor's
whore. He got me loosened enough for a third finger, at which point I,
well... I lost it.

"Get that fucking cock into me bitch! Now! Stop the fucking teasing and get
to work, stud! Breed my ass, motherfucker!" And appropriate similar demands
surrounded by fuck noises, but I went utterly silent when his knob started
knocking at my back door. I held still, terrified it might not happen, as
he thrust into the canal between my ass-rings. I yipped at the pain then I
moaned deeply, "Oh, GOD! Fuck me David. Make me your bitch! Please!"

That first long thrust took some getting used to. I bit a hole through the
comforter. I actually budget for that, you know. I tend to end up with
slightly-tattered bedclothes after a convention. He started slowly and kept
changing the angle until I screamed, "YEAH!" as he tripped my prostate. I
heard him growl above me and start pummeling that spot, which he did for at
least five minutes of ecstasy. I grunted, whine, whinnied and howled
through his masterful fuck.

"Um, Uh, Ummmmmmmm -- DAVID! David, if you want this to
l-l-l-l-l-l--l-l-last, you need to stop! I'm gonna, gonna, gonna, ah, ah,
UHN! FUCK! Uhn-uhn-uhn!" I shot into my jock as he pile-drove the cum out
of me, keeping perfect rhythm with my eruptions. I collapsed forward and
felt David pull out and flip me over.

I squeaked like a startled rodent when he started to suck the cum out of my
jock. He had the most talented mouth I've ever encountered in real life. He
had me hard and leaking again in no time and hoisted my legs up. I grabbed
them instinctively and cried out when he started rimming me again. He
didn't waste a lot of time and I heard another rubber-wrapper rip. He stood
looking straight into my eyes, his becoming a green ocean into which I
would have loved to drown. He bent forward and started to kiss me, gently,
then with passion. I screamed into the kiss when I felt him reenter me, his
thrusts now deep, slow, erotic.

I felt myself getting close just as David lost his battle to keep a steady
pace. He started to shake and I pulled him into me, wrapping my beefy
thighs around me. "Breed me, David. Show me you like it. Fill me up, you
fucking stud!" And he did. He came for, well, a long-long-long time and was
shuddering with aftershocks, but he left himself lodged in there. He moved
his torso back up as if reading the need in my mind. My paw thrust into my
jock and jerked myself maybe six times as he lazily thrust in and out to
keep my ass in heaven. I erupted in both sound and jism as I shot for the
second time, then we both fell to the bed, side by side, utterly spent.

"Jesus fucking Christ, David. That was amazing." I was huffing and puffing
like the little engine that could. "Are you one of the, um, actors? Cuz you
are amazing! Sorry -- reusing adjectives is bad. I know that. But I've
never even written sex like that!"

He laughed as he panted. "Actor? Like porn star? Far from it. Wait, are you
saying you're a writer? Cool. So am I. I wonder if we read each other."

"Well, I lied about my name. I picked one of my characters. Taylor."

"Hmm. Taylor. What story?"

"It's an incest piece called Culberhouse Rules." David went absolutely
silent. Okay, what the fuck did I say?

His voice was a little husky with perhaps a tint of mirth, "Culberhouse
Rules, huh? Well, I, um, lied about my name too. I took it from one of my
own stories. David is the reporter in a thing I wrote with a few other
called Bearding the Lion."

I sat up. "Seriously? The incredibly-hot boxing piece which nearly made me
need a new keyboard since I barely got aimed away in time? That too cool. I
fucking love that story. One of your collaborators is a favorite of
mine. Are you sharkb8sonroids? Or Graham Groans?" He shook his head and I
frowned. "I know you're not Jeff cuz I know Jeff. WOW! You're, like,
Brooding Muscle?!?"

"No, but I know all of them." I scowled. I couldn't remember anyone else in
the credits for that one other than Boy Mercury, who wouldn't be in town
until tomorrow. He started to laugh, then doubled over at the look on my
face. I blushed hard. I hate being laughed at.

"Well, then, who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the guy who was planning to meet Bear Pup tomorrow but I flew in early
because of weather. I'm Boy Mercury X and you... you're Orson Cadell!"

<eof>

This story is readable because volunteers pre-read and offered fixes to my
fuck-ups. Special thanks go out to Zach, Jack and the selfsame Jeff mention
near the end of the story, as well as the star of the show, one of my
absolute favourite Nifty authors, Boy Mercury X.

*****

Now on Tumblr: Bear Pup -- Beyond Nifty https://orsonbearpup.tumblr.com/ -
Now including INSTA-PORN, sexual vignettes based on pictures that appear in
my feed

If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY
feedback that could make me a better author, e-mail me at
orson.cadell@gmail.com

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 35 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 26 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 28 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Culberhouse Rules: 12 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 10 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 5 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/
Maybe Next Time: 5 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/