Date: Sat, 12 Nov 2011 11:02:38 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Ho! Ho! Ho! 2

Ho, Ho, Ho!  2
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex.  If this offends or
bothers you DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a
discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com

I stayed at the party another couple of hours.  I didn't do that much
sexually, but I saw more sex than in the previous 40 years of my life.  I
was shocked. Later, I realized I wasn't shocked by the sex; I was shocked
at the men's approach to sex. I thought of sex as a deep, dark secret that
you hid form the world and your friends and acquaintances. I thought of sex
as a disruption to my normally well-ordered world. Sex was rare sort of
like seeing a comet. I knew it was a natural phenomenon, but it was so
unusual it was hard to think of it as anything but an evil portent.

The men at the party didn't see sex like that at all. I had an academic
interest in archeology and anthropology, so I knew about fertility
festivals. I never thought I would ever participate in one.  Rusty's party
was a celebration of male fertility. It was in honor of the cock and its
pleasure giving capabilities.  Everett, my old, slightly stogy banker
friend, had been in a sling with his ass wide open in invitation.  I had
watched five of six men answer the invitation and all, including Everett,
enjoyed it.

Everywhere I looked in the room, there were happy men. Some sported erect
cocks, some semi-erect, others were still drooling the remains of their
last orgasm. The men were tall, short, fat and thin.  The only common
feature they shared was a smile.

Rusty's party was a revelation for me. For years, I had told myself I was
looking for meaningful interpersonal relationships. I disdained casual sex
and one-night-stands. For the most part, I didn't have any sex at all, but
the need for deeper, meaningful friendships justified not having any
relationships other than with my mother.

I'm not sure how I was planning to find a relationship when I was unwilling
to meet people.  Some of this was due to my mother. She was happily married
and had a son. That was all she needed. She went to a bridge club and
attended the PTA meetings, but her life was pretty much complete and
satisfactory. She never moved outside of her comfort zone.

I was a classic good son. I was never bad and always did what my parents
expected. I slipped into my mother's life and expectations.  I didn't
actually choose it, I accepted it as a given. Life with my mother in her
house became my life.

When you lead a life like that, it is easy to become afraid of changes and
new experiences. When my mother died, I was shocked to discover I had no
life of my own. She had been very sick towards the end. While she wasn't
demanding, her illness was. I had no problem doing everything that was
needed because I had no real life to get in the way. It was easy for me to
do it, and that was good. My mother would have hated to impose on me. She
never wanted to be a bother.  It was effortless for me to accommodate her
needs.

She had been dead for a year and a half now and I first had jumped into bed
with a crude looking plumber, and now had been to a sex party at his
house. I think, in the back of my mind, I had been looking for potential
partners who Mom would have thought were nice boys. She never met any of my
sex partners, but if she had, she would have approved.  I don't think she
considered the possibility of sex, but she would have thought the men I saw
were neat, handsome and well groomed.

I was genuinely shocked at my reaction to Rusty and the party at his
house. I felt nary a twinge of guilt or remorse. My non-sexual gay man
persona flew out the window without me looking back in regret for a moment.

My previous forays into the gay world in college and right after college
had been with men who were similar to me. It had seemed like a complicated
ballet of effete young men.  Many were picky and catty. We were all young
and pretty. I was pretty enough at 21, but some hormones kicked in around
then, and I stopped being a smooth youth and acquired a hairy chest,
treasure trail and worst of all, back hair.

Most of my friends looked down on the old queens and trolls.  A few were
looking for a sugar daddy, but most were looking for Mr. Right. Several
friends had very detailed specifications for Mr. Right. None seemed to
realize that the six-foot tall, tanned, blue eyed, blond who had a good
job, a vacation house in the Caribbean and drove a Mercedes sports car was
a rare creature indeed.

If such a man existed, his dance card already was filled. There probably
wasn't room for a recently graduated music major from a small school in
Virginia in the man's life. When I found a job as a music director in a
church near my parent's home, I was out of the running anyway. I eased into
my comfortable, low stress life. I had an apartment for several years but
when Dad died, I moved in to help Mom. She was so lonely.  In retrospect, I
should have told her to move on and get a life. That was a near total
impossibility for me.

When I came onto work on Monday, disaster struck. Our Rector, Rev. John
Cheviot didn't show up for an important meeting. We called the rectory and
no one was there. Mrs. Cheviot was away visiting their daughter. I drove
over and found the house locked with the car in the driveway and no sign of
life.

I had the key and let myself in John was on the floor in the bedroom,
unconscious, I called 911and then the church. John had a massive stroke
that morning. The Senior Warden came and I accompanied John to the hospital
in the ambulance. When I tried to talk with him, he had moved. He
recognized my voice but no others. I got in touch with Mrs. Cheviot and she
said she would return as fast as possible, but she was in Boston.

The church had a staff, but John had a taste for employees who were
pleasant and well meaning.  He was a natural leader and took care of all
the decision-making, with the Vestry. I was the oldest employee of the
church and tend to be a natural busybody. I knew everything. I knew where
to order flowers from, when to order candles, how to get our Sexton, Willy,
to vacuum the entire carpet, not just the areas he liked to vacuum.

When John was out or on vacation the Senior Warden and the diocese asked
for me to get information. I am a good choir director.  You do not become a
good choir direct by letting the choir be free and be beautiful. While I
look ineffectual, I am a bit authoritarian when it comes to music. I knew
how to run the day-to-day operations of the church.

The situation with John was bad, but not dire. He had suffered a major
stroke, but had hit his head when he fell. They did a quick operation to
release the pressure on his brain and the situation went from terrible to
deeply concerning.

It was the Christmas season. Everyone was busy and fully occupied. The head
of the Vestry, Elizabeth Mills was a trooper and helpful. I took charge of
the running of the day-to-day operations of the church under her
overview. She had been a choir member and she knew my approach to life.

The next day the Bishop came to the church to cheer us up. The assistant
rector was an elderly man who visited the sick. The business manager was a
recent widow who needed the money. The bishop met with the Vestry and put
me in charge as the interim administrator. My workload tripled. There was a
brief discussion of cancelling the Cantata, but the vestry thought that
suggested the church was in crisis and would be too alarming.  Work wasn't
hard; it was just time consuming. Arranging for substitute priests for the
period around Christmas was a pain. Everyone was busy. We got one man to
agree, but he told us the anthem had better be long, because he wasn't
going to fill the time with the sermons. When I heard that I thought, "Oh
Shit! More music!"

I was shocked. I don't even swear in my mind. Two things saved the
day. Elizabeth was knowledgeable, decisive and one of the oldest members of
the parish. She was also calm and reassuring. Rod McMaster was an office
volunteer. He was a former captain in the Navy and had been recently
widowed. He knew nothing about the church operation, but if I explained how
things worked, he could get things done. He was also good on the phone with
worried parishioners. Rod had a soothing voice and manner. He also hit it
off with the building contractor and the architect and could handle those
problems.

Mrs. Wollcot, the Rector's secretary was quite the opposite. She tended to
fall apart when a stapler malfunctioned. When she heard he had a stroke,
she took a "leave-of-absence," and went to Florida to stay with her
sister. That bothered me greatly at the time, but was a
blessing. Mrs. Wollcot needed constant attention and direction. We were
better off without her.

Normally the choir rehearsals were the high stress part of the day. They
seemed relaxing to me compared to running the church.  Everett mentioned I
seemed more relaxed than I had been before. Rusty asked if I needed some
help. I didn't, but I did give him long list of problems and difficulties.
At the church, I had to be consistently upbeat and cheerful.  He wasn't a
church member and I could tell him the truth.

"Well if you need special Christmas music I can send some men over, we had
a quartet that sounds good and they have a good Christmas type repertoire,"
he said.  I jumped at the chance, and then got cold feet.

Rusty was a smart man. "Don't worry, I will tell them to be on their best
straight behavior," he said.  He had guessed my problem. The men showed up
and did a wonderful job with a medley of ancient carols. The congregation
was thrilled and the substitute priest was pleased. My choir got a Sunday
off.  Everett invited the quartet to his house for lunch
afterwards. Everett was a gourmet cook and the lunch was wonderful.  I was
invited too, as was Rod. Everett and Rod were about the same age and they
were both widowers.

At lunch, I discovered that I possessed the worst Gaydar of any man in the
world. The quartet, Roy, Dean, Fred and Phil were conventional looking
men. Phil was an Irish tenor type, Roy and Fred baritones and Dean a bass.
Their voices matched beautifully.

Everett was a close friend of Fred. Roy took one look at Rod and was in
love. I was shocked, but was even more shocked, when it was clear Rod liked
Roy too. Everett knew what Rod liked and used this lunch to introduce
them. Since his wife died, Rod had been able to explore other aspects of
his personality. Dean was a computer programmer and he seemed to hit it off
with me. Phil liked everybody. He was a florist and had been on his very
best behavior at the church.

The food was so good we had no problem talking and getting to know each
other. I knew Everett was a prosperous banker. I had no idea exactly how
prosperous. After lunch, he took us down to his recreation room. I assumed
he was talking about a wide screen television and a ping-pong table. I did
not expect a complete collection of exercise equipment, an endless pool,
and a full steam room-sauna. It looked like a facility at an up-scale
hotel.

"Damn, I've never used an endless pool," Roy exclaimed.

Well, jump in, this is your chance," Everett said. "It's a nude pool, so
don't worry about the trunks. I'll turn on the steam room too.  it's a good
way to relax. " Roy wasn't the shy type, nor was Phil.

Dean was a classic geek. He was a nice man, but socially inept. He was
better looking naked than clothed, but I don't think he knew that. I think
he might have been a fat child. He converted much of that fat to muscle,
but he was a big, rather clunky man, who still thought he was fat. You
could make that mistake when he was clothed, but not when he was naked.

We all played in the pool and then I went to the steam room. The steam
worked wonders for me.  I was always tense and keyed up.  I actually
relaxed. Dean came in the room and sat across from me.  Computer
programmers are usually not people persons, and that was true of Dean. He
stared at my cock and me. I had the impression he wanted to say something,
but he just stared.

Rod and Roy entered.  They were more relaxed and easy going. Nude men have
a problem hiding their emotions.  Roy like Rod and you could tell. They
were just talking; their cocks were having a more intense, silent
conversation, Rod was well named and he held up his end of the conversation
well. Dean had massive balls, but not much cock until he saw Rod and Roy.
They seemed to inspire him. He glanced from Rod, to Roy to me, and then
back again. He had a boy in the candy store look on his face.

I discovered something about myself I hadn't known. As Dean's cock grew, I
became more interested in him. It seemed to have been telescoped into his
body. It seemed little, then it got big and eventually it was large, both
thick and long.  He hadn't interested me before, now he excited me. I was
both shocked at my superficiality and excited by Dean.

Roy leaned over and began to suck Rod's rod. Dean looked at me and I
smiled.  Came to me and swallowed my entire cock in a single gulp.  I knew
of things that fit as a glove, but Dean's throat was a perfect fit for my
cock.  It was lovely. I knew it was a good fit for him too.  We played a
little, but the Everett said he had to go to a party, so our party broke
up.

Dean followed me home. Inside the house, I asked if he would like a drink.
He said he would rather suck.  We went to my bedroom and stripped. I am a
fair, evenhanded man. Dean had sucked me in the Sauna, I thought I would
suck Dean a little, a courtesy suck.

Dean didn't expect that. I soon found that his cock was incredibly
sensitive and that he possessed a hair trigger. Dean later told me he
jerked off regularly, but at the time, I was sure he unloaded a year or two
of stored sperm. The cream filled my mouth, drooled down my chin and onto
my chest. The excitement of the moment made me forget that I didn't like
semen that much.

Dean tried to pull away, but I wouldn't let him. After he stopped
ejaculating, I stood up and we kissed. He discovered his sperm filled my
mouth.  Dean was shocked, and then got into it. I mean he really got into
it.

After things calmed down, we talked. Dean was a nice person without many
social skills and a bad self-image. He was the youngest of six children and
got not attention as a child. He was deep into Star Trek, Star Wars and
Harry Potter. He had a good job, and a great salary, but he had a
problem-finding friends.  Dean had no gift for gab.

It was like pulling teeth until I reached over and began toying with his
genitals. I fondled his balls, and that seemed to re-inflate his cock.

"Damn, you're getting hard again," I said.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Dean, I wasn't complaining.  It was a compliment," I said. "It takes me a
good half hour or more before I can get it up. If I shot a load like the
one you just shot, I would be out of commission for a week."

"I get hard really easily," he said. "I usually shoot a lot.  It's
messy. Are you into it?"

"What? Sucking?"

"No, taking the sauce," Dean said. "Most guys don't like it. They get man
when I shoot and make a mess."

"I don't do it often, but I enjoyed yours," I said. "Actually, I don't have
enough sex to be really clear about what I like and don't like.  Sex has
been pretty rare and sporadic."

"Rare a sporadic describes my sex life well too," he said. "No one wants to
have sex with a fat, hairy nerd like me."

"I don't think you've looked in the morrow recently," I said. "You aren't
fat. You don't look like Justin Biber," I said. "I like men who look like
men.  Every inch of you is a man." I stroked his cock in emphasis. You have
a big one.  Lots of guys like that."

"Do you like that?"

"I do," I replied. "I like manly men too."

"I like everything about you," he whispered. "I'd love to suck you dry."

"Do you like cock sauce?"

"Not much, but I'll do it if you want," Dean replied.

"Why don't you tell me what you like to do, not what you are willing to
do?" I asked.

"You might not like what I like?"

""Don't worry about that. Everyone had different tastes and preferences. We
don't need to like everything the same," I said. "There are some things I
like, so I don't like, and others I am not sure about and am willing to
try. That just the way things are."

"What don't you like?" he asked.

I thought for a little while. "I don't like being forced to do sex. It
seems to me that sex is good enough on its own not to need to be forced," I
replied. "I know that some of this is play acting, but it does nothing for
me."

"Has any one forced you to do it?" he asked.

"When I was a college student one of the men on the hall, found out I was
gay and came by for some fun." I said. His idea of fun wasn't mine. It
wasn't good, but it wasn't bad. Actually, it was bad, but not awful. He
fucked me, but he wasn't well equipped. He sort of shot off at my ass
rather than in it."

"Did you turn him in?"

"No, I was too embarrassed," I said. "I wasn't unwilling, and he knew
that. If he had taken his time, it would have been all right. A few years
later I was with another guys and it was fine."

"It didn't hurt?"

"Well, it hurt some, but he was a nice guy I liked and he wasn't trying to
hurt me. The third and fourth times were tried it were fine. Have you had
bad experiences?"

"Shit yes!" Dean replied. "I was a sad fat boy and some guys treated me
like shit. Part of it was my fault. I was desperate to find friends and was
willing to do whatever it took."

"Did any of the guys turn out to be friends?"

"You know the answer to that," Dean replied. "Looking back, I can't
understand why I wanted to be friends with assholes anyway. I did have one
friend, Stan. He was nice. He lived way out of town so we only got together
three or four times." He paused. "Do you want me to suck you? Do you like
to fuck?

As we talked, Dean's cock reached full erection and his ball juiced coated
his organ. It looked as if it was glazed in pre cum.  I straddled it and
sat back, slowly easing his cock into my ass. My ass fit his cock like a
glove. The expression on his face was what Rev. Cheviot as an "I have seen
Jesus and his is my Savior" look.

Dean went straight to heaven as soon as my ass rested on his pubic hairs. I
met him there a minute or two later when cock tenderized my prostate. About
ten minutes later, Dean had an orgasm suitable for Guinness book. It was a
whole body orgasm. His cock must have bloated still further during the
orgasm and I began to shoot.

Dean was worried about messy orgasms. His climax was deep in my quivering
ass.  I made a mess. His hairy chest and gut were coated with globs of
sperm, from his neck to his navel. Life was good.