Date: Tue, 29 Aug 2006 10:54:46 -0700
From: Michael Gleich <mgleich@earthlink.net>
Subject: Chronicles of a Cocksucker 3

Chronicles of a Cocksucker. Written my Michael Gleich

Third Entry:

     When school ended my parents wanted me to attend
college. I had earned extra money with my typing and editing
skills. Classmates needed their reports and college
applications completed. I did a good job and had a steady,
but small income from appreciative students.
As word got around about my skills I had to turn business
down. I told my parents I wanted to try making it on my own
rather than enter college myself.
     "Mikie, you're too young right now," my mother said
when I gave my parents the news.
     "I'll be eighteen soon."
     "You haven't started shaving yet, Mikie. Go to college.
Get a degree," she replied.
     It was true; I hardly had peach fuzz, looking more like
fourteen, and I liked it that way. Most boys can't wait to
shave, but not me. Most boys also liked girls, but I knew
what they really liked-blowjobs.
     "I want to try and get a job first."
     "Let him try," my father said. "It might do him good.
Make a man out of him."
     My dad was concerned about my lack of interest in
girls. He fretted about my penchant for reading mother's
magazines before she read them, and my habit of looking at
the pictures in the sports page but not reading any of the
articles. Your father is such a worrywart, my mother would
say.
     "I'm going to apply at a legal firm, perhaps for a
position as a paralegal."
     "Good show! Best of luck!" my dad said and then
chuckled.
     I thought at the time, oh ye of little faith, for I
knew what I wanted.
     "Why with a law firm?" my mother asked me before she
grabbed the latest `Good Housekeeping' from my hand.
     "Oh, I like the idea of the challenge I suppose," was
my reply picking up her new copy of `Vanity Fair'.
     When I was very young, before I knew what sex was
really like, I did know whom I liked. My dad, on occasion
would have friends over for cards. Mother played bridge. Dad
played poker. On poker nights, I knew the rules. If I became
a nuisance, in any way, I would have to leave. My job was to
do my homework next to my father and bring them beer on
request.
     It was wonderful, a room full of men and me. One of the
men was an attorney my father met in his business. He was
the best looking of the men. Tall and tan, he always wore a
suit and tie, impeccably dressed. His hair was perfect,
never out of place. He had a good build too. I didn't know
how old he was, it didn't matter at that tender age. He was
just the best thing I had ever seen at the time. He also
liked me.
     One night, while doing my homework cross-legged,
sitting on the carpet near my dad's chair. I looked beneath
the table at Mr. Glazier, the attorney. He had his legs
spread. I could see in his pants leg, held tight to his
inner thigh, the outline of an enormous cock and balls. At
that age, men's equipment held a particular fascination for
me. I guess I had been staring, for when I looked up he was
looking at me, just for a moment, but he smiled and reached
down to pull on the pants leg so I could have a better look.
It grew some more while I stared.
     When my father asked me to have mother open some
bottles of beer and bring them back on a tray, I hesitated,
not wanting to miss the view for a second. I also knew the
rules and decided to go straight away. On my return with the
beers on the tray, I stood between my father and Mr.
Glazier. As my dad picked up the beers and handed them out,
taking the empty ones and putting them back on the tray, Mr.
Glazier's hand patted my little boy butt. His fingers
pressed into my bouncy butt cheeks, while his middle finger
tickled my butt hole. I never felt anything so wonderful
until then.
     After that, I wore the smallest most loose cotton
shorts I could find on poker night, and Mr. Glazier filled
my eyes with the greatest show on earth.
     I knocked on quite a few doors that summer after
graduation. No one wanted a kid fresh from high school, but
I was determined. One day, reading job opportunities in the
paper, I ran across a law firm looking for an office-aid.
     "What is an office-aid?" I asked my father.
     "A gopher. Someone who does all the odd and end jobs,
goes for the mail, sandwiches, that kind of thing. It's a
bottom entry job," he replied.
     "Perfect," and circled the ad.
     I called right then and had an appointment for an
interview the following day. One of the things I spent my
money on were a few quality suits. I found a clothier that
had a very handy gay tailor. He knew exactly how I wanted
the pants and jacket to fit. He got a good feel, and I got a
well-made suit that showed my best assets. I kept a
portfolio of papers, showing my work and the business I
built up, I felt I had a damn good chance, and with a little
luck, my well-tailored suit would cinch the job.
     He was a young attorney, Mr. Stearns, hired by an
established law firm. A Harvard law graduate fresh from
college. He was also very handsome, very distinguished. I
loved the black curl of hair that bounced on his forehead
when he moved. It looked exactly like Superman's and I
thought the curl well-super. His office had trophies in
sculling at Harvard that sat on the shelves behind him. One
picture on his desk with him smiling holding a trophy up
wearing his crew's tank top and shorts, and the biggest arms
I had ever seen, boned me immediately.
     "You're? How old?" he asked after reviewing my resume
and portfolio.
     "I'll be eighteen next month." I replied.
     He looked at me again, and I thought he was looking at
my pouted lips quite a bit.
     "You don't look a day over fourteen." He then went back
to my application, reading my date of birth again.
     "I'm small in stature and haven't started to shave yet,
but earnest in seeking employment."
     He put down the paperwork and said, "You have
remarkable abilities. I'm impressed by your attitude and
business endeavors for someone your age. It will be long
hours. I'll need an assistant I can rely on without question
or complaint.
     "I'll give you my best, sir."
     He thought a moment, stood up and walked around his
desk. I noticed that his suit was very well tailored as
well.
     "Fine then. Can you start this Monday?"
     "What time?" I said with a smile.
     "Seven. I'll need to show you a few things before the
office opens." His handshake told me everything. This man
knew exactly what he wanted and sent an electric jolt right
to my dick.
     I couldn't wait until that morning and showed up ten
minutes early. He was there waiting for me.
     "Prompt" was all he said, and opened the door.
     Our walk to his office was brisk. I followed, trying to
catch the layout of the tenth floor that consisted the whole
of the law firm. The view was stunning. My boss, Mr.
Stearns's office, had a fantastic view from his desk.
     He showed me how the layout worked, where the law
library, the conference rooms, meeting rooms, office supply,
and lunchroom were located.
     "I expect you to find your way around quickly, any
problems, see my secretary, Miss Hobson. She'll know what to
do. Until the office opens, you can file these." He handed
me a stack of folders. "They go in those files over there,
they're current or important clients, remember that."
     "Yes sir." I said holding the folders and walking to
the cabinets he pointed at.
     It was easy to figure out how the file system was
operated, once I opened and reviewed a few drawers. By the
time his secretary arrived I had finished.
     I did, whatever Miss. Hobson gave me to do, rarely
seeing my beloved boss, Mr. Stearns. The week went by and
than a month. The only noticed he made of me, outside of a
corridor, "Hello," was a raise in my paycheck.
     I wanted to thank him, but not wanting to disturb him,
I waited for the right time and it came a few weeks after my
raise.
     He called me into his office and asked me to work
overtime, Miss. Hobson was getting married soon, and
couldn't stay, and he needed to prepare for a case.
     I said, "I'll be glad too, and thank you for the pay
increase, Mr. Stearns."
     He grinned, that wonderful, Harvard crew grin and said,
"You earned it."
     I rolled that over while jacking off that night. "I
earned it,"
     I caught on quickly. It was important, because Miss.
Hobson was getting married and I wanted to prove myself
before any competition showed up. After three nights of
working late, Mr. Stearns tapped me on the shoulder as I
typed at the keyboard. "Would you have dinner with me?"
     My heart stopped, "Tonight?" I asked.
     "Yes, tonight." His grin showed that cleft in his chin
and sent my dick twirling.
     "Yes. Yes, thank you," was all I could get out.
     He asked if I wanted to follow him, or have him drive
me back to the parking structure. I told him that I used the
Metro, so he offered to drive.
     It was the most beautiful Italian sports car. A classic
he restored himself. It looked new when he opened the door
for me and I slid onto seats soft as a fine leather glove.
On the way to the bistro he asked about myself, what sports
I enjoyed.
     "I have to tell you, I really don't keep up with
sports, but the pictures of you sculling looks terrific."
     He placed his hand on my thigh and said, "I'm glad you
think so."
     I looked at him smiling at me, and noticed his hand
didn't leave my leg. It gripped felt so strong on my thigh,
I couldn't help think of his bicep in the picture and how he
was able to easily wrap his hand on top of my upper leg,
grazing my crotch for a lingering moment before he went to
shift into a gear and then placing it back again, higher up
and nearer my groin.
     I was beside myself. His touch was making my dick ache
from being so hard. I didn't know if I should place my hand
on his leg, or on his hand-or what?
     "I've. I have never been in a sports car before."
     "Want to see what it can do?" He had a wicked grin, and
I knew he wanted to show me.
     "Sure!"
     The sports car took off, pinning me in the seat and I
grabbed his hand. He picked it up and put it right on his
crotch and then shifted the gears. While the speed increased
and we went through turns and intersections, passing cars as
if they were standing still, I held on for dear life to
something I couldn't get my hand around.
     "Well what do you think?" he said, when we skidded up
to the parking valet.
     "It's the biggest cock I've ever felt," I said.
     He laughed a moment and then said, "Glad you like my
pal, but what did you think of the machine."
     "The machine? Oh, the car. It's. well it was wonderful,
we flew here I think." I was a bit dizzy from it all. The
sports car, racing through the city holding on to his cock
as big around as his wrist, what more could a boy ask for?
     Dinner was divine. He knew the maŚtre d' and the waiter
by first name, and they knew his.
     Back in his car, he placed my hand again on his
equipment and off we went as if spies were chasing us.
     "When I'm driving, I expect you to keep me
entertained," he said.
     "Then let me entertain you." I fired back and pulled
his zipper down. It took both of my hands to get the damn
thing out and when I did, that monster slapped midway up his
pressed shirt and tie.
     It made my mouth moisten in anticipation. The cock was
thick from the head to the base, beautiful as an alabaster
vase with a big fat head. There was a pearl of pre-cum
waiting for me at the tip.
     I bent and savored the offering, letting my tongue
spread it around on the head before digging for more to coat
the rest of the cock head. Once I had the head coated my
lips wrapped around his dick and I sucked. I sucked that
fucking big head, bathing it with my tongue before moving
down the shaft. Each time I came back to the tip I licked
more pre-cum to coat my lips, tongue, and the entrance to my
throat. I corkscrewed my lips around the shaft, sucking hard
each time I did. In a few minutes I was halfway down and
still coming up for more fluid to coat my cock sucking
mouth.
     He moaned, and I felt the car ascend a hill as the
light dimmed inside the car's cab. We must be in hills or
mountains I thought as the car skidded around curves with my
mouth working his cock. My one hand wrapped around the back
of his waist so I could steady myself and the other held his
balls that filled my hand and then some. I twisted my mouth
up and down his rigid pole, sucking that fucker for all it
was worth when suddenly my face made contact with the zipper
of his pants. I could now smell the masculine smell of his
crotch and it drove me on. I held on to the base with my
lips and pushed my head up and down on his cock, letting the
head go in and out of the back of my throat.
     "Oh, fuck baby, you are good," he said holding my head
down for a moment on a straightaway. "You are one fucking
good cocksucker. Suck me. Suck my cock, baby." He let go to
shift and I came up, grabbed some air and went right back
down to the base and up again. I covered the whole length of
is big fucking cock over and over.
     His rigid flesh was slimed and easy to work in and out
of my hot mouth. He gave out a cowboy yahoo and pushed my
head down hard while he drove his hips up. The car careened
around a long curve, squealing the tires as he shot deep
down in my gullet. I held on, not wanting to miss a drop or
have that dick out of my mouth.
     He kept shooting. I could feel his cock like a cannon
sending volleys of semen into me. Even when he pulled my
sucking mouth off of him with a plop, that bad boy kept
spurting and I lapped at the head oozing cum with my tongue
like it was an ice cream cone.
      "Damn, that was the best God-damn blow job of my
life." He said slowing the car.
     He parked at the top of a mountain pass overlooking the
city and held me in his arms as we gazed out over the view.
I blew him again in front of his car and once more on the
way home. It wouldn't be our last either.

     Let me know if you like the stories, Mike at
mgleich@earthlinklink.net