Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2002 15:12:39 -0800 (PST)
From: Billy Jay Dee
Subject: COMING TO GRIEF by Billy Jay Dee

COMING TO GRIEF

BY Billy Jay Dee

Did I ever tell you of my Ketchikan fantasy-come-true from when I worked
there years ago?

Still in  my early thirties, still tan from summers in the Southwest and
sinewy from swinging a pjulaski on the fireline.  Oh, and I was still
carried just  185 pounds on my 6'1" frame. Grey strands graced my brown
hair but just enough to be distinguished.

On my  weekend, they flew me to Ketchikan from Prince of Wales Island and
put me up in the Super 8.  Didn't know a soul, so I didn't care much
what anyone around there thought.  I dragged a chair from my room.
Wearing nothing but a pair of tan velour shorts and carrying a
bottle of tequila, I intended to sit out back by the hannel and enjoy the
sunshine.

I took along a paper,  and between fanning myself, I studied it for
action that weekend.  Ain't much to doin Ketchikan, I surmised, and
started getting bored quickly.

I guess the flapping of someone else's paper is what finally got my
attention.  The guy was mid-fortif ies, buzz cut, stocky and pot bellied,
but he was big.  And I like 'em big.  I thought he'd been looking my way
before, but wasn't paying attention.  I retrospect I think he was
probably looking at my crotch.  The shorts were baggy and clingy.

The only way to  keep my crotch cool was toif shake my shorts enough to
shake out my bag and cock. My jewels could catch the breeze and may have
been fully exposed to the air more than once.  Like I said, I didn't
know anyone there so I didn't care.

"Need help reading that?" I said, indicating the unfolded map he
was holding. "I'm a professional
navigator."  I strolled over, naked chest puffed out.

"Nah, I'm studying for my pilot's license tomorrow," he responded, a
pleasant smile on his craggy face.

Alaska requires a local skipper to pilot the big ships into harbor.  He
told me all about it.  He seemed a little hesitant to expound upon the
subject until his brown eyes fell upon my tanning torso and seemed to
linger there unnecessarily long.  He took a deep breath and suddenly
warmed to his subject.

He stood closer as he spoke than men usually do for a casual chat.  He
had the smell of cigar smoke to him.  When he opened his chart to show
off his knowledge, the blond hair of his upper
arm rubbed against my belly.

We ended up having beers and dinner at the neighboring bowling alley.  As
supper wound down, I tried to figure out what to say next that would get
us naked rubbing nasties.  I was new to the sport of picking up big boys
on the street. (Yes, there's a story there but never mind.)

While I hummed and hawed, he drunkenly complained, "That test I got to
take tomorrow is so stupid.  You can't believe the stupid questions they
ask.  Do you know where Grief Island is?   Why should anyone know that?"

His question was rhetorical.  But the look of wonderment on my face must
of given me away.  His
tirade rolled to a stop.  "You know?"

"It's the south end of Duncan Canal.  You use it as a landmark, so as
not to confuse the mouth of the canal with Keku Straits.".

The look on his face!  The sudden pallor followed by if the embarassed
flush on his cheeks.  The cocky twist of his lips fallen into a mute open
mouth. The sudden emotion in his drunken blood shot eyes. That killed the
mood and we staggered down the hall to our coincidentally adjoining hotel
rooms.

I did chores, made calls, wrote in my journal and then crawled into bed
with a good book. The phone rang.


"This is Ed," he said.  "So, I got myself a bottle of whiskey and some
of them 'good' videos.  You like them, hmm, 'good' videos, Bill?"

"I'll say I do."

"Well, come on over."

"Okay.  It'll take me a minute to get dressed I'm in bed."

"Don't bother, I ain't wearing nothing but easy access boxers."

"But, I gotta go out in the hall."

"Nah."

I heard a thump against the wall between our rooms and the rattling of a
door knob.   What I thought was a closet was a couple of dual doors
between our rooms. When I unlocked mine he stood before me bottle in one
hand, videos in the other, his cream colored boxers pushed low enough
under his belly to reveal dark pubic hairs.

As we'd spoken, my six incher had started swelling.  It wasn't hard,
but about as thick and long
as it would get. A brief glance revealed that Ed's pole was just starting
to tent his saggy baggies.

He indicated I should sit on the bed then scooted me on across, turned on
the VCR and then sat next tome, both of us leaning back against the
wall.  He handed me the bottle.  I sat with my legs in front of me with
my ankles crossed.  As I went to sip the booze, his left hand pressed up
against my lose balls.  "Nice sack," he said while taking the bottle
from me.  "Thanks,"  I
said looking at his crotch with a questioning look.


He whipped out the whole package with his left hand. "Nice." I assured
him likewise.

 "Looks a little bigger than yours,"  he grinned. Then he looked in my
eye instead
of my snake eye, and continued:  "But it ain't big enough to hurt
anyone."

He kept stroking it with his left hand, while he watched the movie.  I
started rubbing my sparsley
haired balls and dick.

"Like this part?" he asked

I did -- two guys and a girl in a very hot three-way.

"Here," he started reaching his right hand over to me.   "I'll do
you, you do
me."

He wrapped his big paw around my now solid member and began stroking
before I could reply.   I
had to reach under his arm to return the favor.  His dick was hard as a
rock and rigid to the touch. Its thick veiny shaft rose to a large
mushroom-shaped head, which was dark purple and glistening in the room's
dim light.

He ended up twisting my shoulders and turning me so he could suck my
sensitized organ, already oozing a good bit of precum.   I was glad to
return the favor. His soapy dry cock soon lubed up under my drooling
tongue. Did I mention he was bigger than me?

He pushed himself off the mattress and turned me again.  This time away
from him. Then wrapped his hairy right forearm around my belly and pulled
my ass up off the bed, as he grabbed my left ankle and pulled me on to
all fours.  As he wedged his cock head against my brown bunghole, I heard
him say, "I'll show you where Grief is."

I looked over my shoulder. He was smiling.  So was I.  "Lead the way,
skipper," I said.

And he began working his plump cock in with short strokes, grabbing my
shoulders for better leverage. A few globs of spit and the sweat dripping
from his balls and my crack provided a slick entrance. Once his larger
head was past my sphincter with amazingly little pain, the shaft slid
smoothly through the passageway. "Uggggh, damn, feels good," he grunted.
He was soon pounding desperately at my ass while holding my hips in his
strong hands.  I was dripping precum like a lawn sprinkler as his rigid
cock knob massaged my prostate. "OOooh, man, that's it. Yeah, right
there...mmmmmmm." He managed to pull out before he came, and sprayed his
milky love juice up over my balls and cock to mingle with my own orgasmic
flood.

He slept soundly, but I aways wondered how he did on his pilot test. Did
everything come to grief?