Date: Sun, 13 Nov 2022 09:31:09 -0500
From: Michael Wisser <mikeewisser@gmail.com>
Subject: Barracks Bitch - Chapter 35

Hey Readers:  If you like this story, please consider sending in a
donation to Nifty so that this site can keep going.  Just use the
link: https://donate.nifty.org/)   Thanks

LAMONT


Private Nathan Lamont knew he had to be careful, but he had a plan.  He
was overjoyed when the Charlies were given a four day pass after their
Airborne graduation with the big city of Atlanta, Georgia so close by.
He'd checked with everyone to see what their plans were and wasn't
surprised when everyone else decided to stay local to party and relax.
He could get a hotel in Atlanta in Midtown and no one he knew would be
around that he had to avoid.  He would stay in the Cheshire Motor Inn, a
place with a particularly seedy reputation within walking distance of the
new bar The Heretic.  He also wanted to hit the Atlanta Eagle, another
bar that catered to the Leather scene.  Two of those places were on the
restricted list the Army maintained to keep soldiers away from unsavory
and illegal activities.

Lamont was well informed about how to avoid notice and it was never any
problem to keep under the radar.  His dick remained hard from the moment
he decided on his plan, but he had no outlet for his sexual frustration
at the moment.  His usual go-to, Valentino, had been avoiding him ever
since the first week at Airborne and he'd come to the conclusion that
the pretty, agreeable, and energetic blonde soldier found another dick to
fuck his amazing ass.  That was a shame, because Valentino was a fun
fuck, simultaneously submissive and eager.  Even so, Valentino was
strictly a bottom, and Lamont had his cum-filled balls set on getting
fucked as much as he did the fucking.  His opportunities for sex were
rare and he had to get as much as he could in the next three days.

Lamont easily found the bulletin board at Benning on which rides were
posted that were available to Atlanta, both official and personal and he
selected one at random.  A Corporal Etlinger wanted $20 in gas money,
which was a little expensive, but the ride met Lamont's other
requirements.   He didn't want an official ride that would put him in
Atlanta, and a Corporal was low enough rank that a Private from a
different unit riding with him wouldn't raise eyebrows.  And hopefully
the Corporal wouldn't have a lot of questions about his intentions even
though he had a story prepared about visiting a friend who had moved
there.  His last task was to check his kit, gear, and equipment into the
storage depot on post where soldiers could drop off their stuff when they
went TDY or to a special course elsewhere that didn't require them to
have their gear.  He was only going to bring his small backpack with a
couple changes of civilian clothes.

Corporal Etlinger's glittery metallic brown Mustang with white
pinstriping down the side pulled up to the curb two minutes before 1400
hrs.  Lamont saw an arm wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt reach out to
the passenger door to open it.  "You Lamont?" The voice called out.

"Yeah, that's me."  Lamont answered, stepping towards the open
passenger door.

"Get in, let's get on the road."  Etlinger said.

Lamont pushed his backpack behind the passenger seat into the back.
"Bucket seats?  Nice!"  He commented.  "Bitchin ride, dude." He said
as he climbed in.

"Thanks.  Only reason I signed up for this bullshit."  Etlinger
responded.  "Don't slam the door."

Lamont had lucked out.  Etlinger was a fucking fox.  His loose fit,
straight leg Levis looked new, and under his open front plaid flannel
button down, a crew neck black tee shirt hugged his somewhat muscular
chest before tucking into his jeans.   He had a heavy gold chain
encircling his neck.  Etlinger's brown hair and brown eyes gazed at him
with intensity.  Handsome, but not pretty and just rough enough around
the edges to look like good blue collar stock, the look was enhanced by
the five o'clock shadow on Etlinger's jaw.

Hmmm.  Now that he was inside the Mustang, Etlinger's five o'clock
shadow looked clipped, edged and cultivated rather than natural, which
was a turn off.  Lamont didn't like it when guys tried too hard to look
good, or affected stuff he considered decoration like some loud and
flashy bird doing a mating dance.  He did have great teeth and a nice
body, but his eyebrows looked sculpted and shaped.  Lamont revised his
earlier assessment, Etlinger obviously thought of himself as some kind of
player, some hot shit asshole.  The gold chain, eyebrows, stubble,
glowing white Nike high tops with the laces loose rather than tied, the
tongue pulled forward - fucking Ugh.  The only thing missing was a cut in
the eyebrow to mimic a scar, and some line patterns etched into the
buzzed hair just above his ear like Vanilla Ice.  Lamont imagined the
only reason he didn't see any of that was grooming regs wouldn't allow
it.  He wondered what Etlinger did in the Army, he seemed to have way too
much time to focus on how he looked, plus a shit corporal getting a
Friday afternoon off?

"Seatbelt.  I don't need any MP bullshit."  Etlinger ordered.
"Where's the $20?"  Probably some admin job, command staff, his CO
away for the week for one reason or another, his Sergeant or LT taking
the opportunity for a short day, long weekend for themselves.

Lamont scrambled to grab the belt and secure it.  That was another thing,
Etlinger was talking to him like he was irritated, ordering him rather
than asking.  And fucking Corporals didn't get to order fucking Privates
to do fucking anything.  They could, sure...if they wanted to get a
reputation as a dick, but it was unlikely that the Private wasn't going
to call their bullshit.  But Lamont was just here for a ride so he pulled
out his wallet and fished a twenty out and handed it to Etlinger.
That's fine, it was just a couple hours or so.  They didn't have to
talk.  Lamont looked out the passenger window.  He didn't miss that
Etlinger hadn't said `thanks' when he handed him the money.  His
opinion of the Corporal fell even further.

The drive to I-85 went by fast, neither of them saying anything.  Even if
Lamont wanted to say something, the unrecognizable hip hop group blasting
through the stereo speakers made it impossible, with the thump of a
subwoofer (probably in the trunk) buffeting his body.  He couldn't even
decipher the words or what the song was about.  Lamont wondered how much
Etlinger spent on all this image bullshit.  Probably everything he made.
Well, they didn't have to be friends.

Lamont relaxed his attitude.  Who cared anyway?  He realized he was being
bitchy because Etlinger disappointed him after his initial assessment and
went from fox to fuckwad.  The Army was full of Etlingers.  Young idiots
with the first real steady money they'd ever had and poor financial
choices quickly followed. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.  It
had been an early morning.

He didn't really sleep, just dozed.  He was in an unfamiliar car, with
someone he didn't know (and didn't much like) which meant his training
wouldn't let his brain let go of all awareness.  Infantry never rests
unless your brothers are around you to take watch and let you collapse
unconscious for a couple hours of good sleep.  Worst way to fall asleep,
and the best sleep you get.  Nothing better than your lights just going
out and you remember nothing until you get shaken awake two hours later.
So yeah, he wasn't sleeping but he didn't need to.  Another thing you
learned out on patrol was how to close your eyes and rest your body and
brain without actually falling asleep.  It could bring you back to almost
human when you were too exhausted to even move.

He felt the car slow and opened his eyes.  They were coming to a traffic
light, on a street crowded with buildings.  Probably downtown Atlanta.

He reached over and turned down the radio a bit, receiving a dirty look
from Etlinger.  "Hey, any chance you can drop me off near my hotel?
It's off of Cheshire Bridge Rd, near Piedmont."

"Sure, give me a roadie and I'll drop you off." Etlinger replied with
a smirk.

"Seriously man?"  Lamont said with a scowl.  "I'm not sucking your
dick, dude."  Rule Number One:  No military.  Well, except for
Valentino, but Lamont knew Valentino wasn't going to say anything.  This
guy?  Absofuckinglutelynot.  It wouldn't be the first time he had to
walk a few miles.  Hell, walking an actual sidewalk was a luxury compared
to rucking over terrain.  Just the thought of getting near this fake-ass
poser's dick made his stomach turn.  Lamont was proud to be a slut, but
he was a slut with standards.  "Let me out here."  He said.

"It was a joke man."  Etlinger complained in sullen accusation, as if
it was Lamont who crossed the line.

He reached behind the seat and pulled up his backpack, then leveled Hip
Hop White Boy with a look that promised violence.  He could take this
asshole apart with one hand without breaking a sweat.  "Pull over,
fuckface.  I'm not asking."  Lamont's patience was gone.

"Okay, man.  Relax."  Funny, Etlinger's entire tone and demeanor
changed completely.  His cockiness was non-existent, his face no longer
held that cultivated jutting jaw, one eyebrow raised, no fake snarl on
his lips.  He literally deflated.  Now Lamont could see the actual person
Etlinger was, and he looked sad and pathetic.  Without his image act, the
corporal was not impressive at all, just some poor kid (hah!  Etlinger
had to be three or four years older than Lamont, but Lamont couldn't
help seeing a kid).  All veneer, no substance.  What the hell was
happening to the Army?

Lamont also felt a little shook with the realization that people older
than him, with more rank, weren't necessarily better people with their
shit together.  He shouldn't be surprised by now.  The worst was
realizing that about a superior officer in your chain of command.  When
that happened, it really stung because without competent leadership you
were surely dead, and you began doubting your training, which in turn
undermined your confidence in your missions and objectives.  And those
were the BIG 3 in Infantry:  Training, Mission, and Objectives.

Etlinger pulled into a parking lot, some fast food place called The
Varsity.  He'd eaten before leaving the base, so he wasn't hungry.  As
soon as the Mustang stopped, he popped the lock and opened the door to
climb out.

"Look, dog..." Etlinger started.

Lamont just about threw up in his mouth.  Dog?  Was that some kind of
insult?  He ignored the idiot.  He made sure to slam the door before
walking away.

Back at Benning Lamont had studied a map of Atlanta, and the area he was
going to be staying in, so he knew roughly where he needed to be.  All he
had to do was figure out where he was currently.  He walked to the
nearest intersection, which was not far.  He was on North Avenue and the
Interstate wasn't far away, about a block or two.  So, he was Southwest
of his target location.  He started walking.

He reached the Cheshire Motor Inn at 1830 hrs just as it was getting
dark.  The walk was pleasant.  Neighborhoods, a huge park, strip malls,
offices, historic homes, just like any other American city.  He checked
in using his fake I.D.  He was 22 year old Abel Calloway, from Fort
Wayne, Indiana.  His fake was professionally done, and had cost him $1100
but it was money well spent as he got a birth certificate, a social
security card, and a driver's license, all valid.  Abel Calloway was
real, or at least he would have been if he had lived past the age of 8.

The Cheshire Motor Inn was a relic of the 1950's, it had a couple two
story buildings side by side, then one single story row across the
parking lot.  Your room opened out onto the parking lot, a single big
window beside the door.

But Lamont didn't care about any of that.  What he did care about was
that the Motel was cruisy.  And close to the bars and other places he
wanted to hit.

As he was walking to his room, he noticed a man in his late 20's or
early 30's unloading a suitcase from his Chrysler LeBaron.  The suit and
tie, the LeBaron, the Motel, a worn suitcase... salesman most likely,
saving money by getting a cheap Motel room.  The man caught Lamont
staring and nodded in greeting.  Lamont nodded back.  Not bad.  Not the
best looking guy, but hey, dick was dick, and he wasn't gross or ugly,
just out of shape.  Besides, the gold wedding ring on his left hand made
him a desirable target all by itself.  Lamont didn't necessarily have a
thing for married guys, it was that they were clean and safe for the most
part.  Married guys were just as worried about catching something and
bringing it back to their wives as Lamont was.  Plus, married guys were
primarily straight guys who just needed a little relief, or to get their
freak on once in a while.  Whether they were suppressing actual
homosexual feelings was something Lamont didn't think about too much.
It didn't matter why, what mattered was there was an awful lot of
otherwise straight married men out there who didn't mind getting off
with another guy.  But there were two other things Lamont appreciated
about married guys - first, they almost always topped or wanted a blowjob
and rarely reciprocated, and second, they were usually older guys.  He
guessed it took some time for your marriage to become boring enough to
find some way to get that thrill again that wasn't happening with your
wife.

The salesman was a possibility, but later.  First order of business, get
a shower, make sure he was cleaned out, then something light to eat.  A
restaurant called The Collonade was nearby, but it looked expensive.
Real restaurants where you sat down and a waiter brought your food were
all too expensive for his Private's pay.  On his way to the motel just
up the block he had walked past a mom and pop Italian place he'd try
instead.  He could probably have dinner for ten bucks.

After eating, he popped a couple breath mints before walking inside the
adult novelty shop across the street.  He needed lube.  It was a shame
he'd have to throw out whatever he didn't use, for one practical reason
and one personal reason:  Carrying an unsecured liquid in your gear was a
recipe for disaster.  You may as well just take the top off and pour it
all over your stuff yourself.  And second - he sure as hell didn't want
anyone seeing him with lube.  All sorts of questions would come up.  The
whole idea of lube was still a new phenomenon for the average normal
American.  Deviants and perverts were the ones who found it necessary to
use assistance for sex, like toys and lube.  It was getting more common,
but still one of those `better not anyone know' type of things.

While trying to decide on which brand to buy, he notice a sign behind the
register that said `$5 minimum purchase for tokens' and asked the clerk
what the tokens were for.

"Video booths behind that door over there."  The clerk indicated a door
off to the side of the shop.

Lamont perked up at hearing that.  "I'll take $5, thanks.  And the WET
with the blue top, small bottle."  He preferred Wet, just seemed a
little more slippery and long lasting.  There were other lubes that just
became sticky or dried out in the air.  Once his purchased was made, he
went to the door.

It took his eyes about ten seconds to adjust fully from the glaring
fluorescent lights out in the store to the darkness of the area behind
the door.  A dark, seedy Candyland awaited.

The place was moderately busy, with about sixteen or so booths arranged
in a small maze.  There were some guys leaning against the wall near the
entry door, but Lamont could see more bodies wandering around further
back.  The sound of porn could be heard from somewhere nearby.

He decided to just walk the place first, get an idea of the layout, as
well as check out the clientele before he made any decisions.  He felt
the eyes of the three guys near the entrance checking him out, and he
gave a mental smile but ignored them.  He wouldn't have to chase anyone
down, not in here.

The entire place was painted black, with the only light being an `EXIT'
sign and small lights above the booth doors indicating if one was `In
Use', as well as the ambient glow on the ceiling from the tvs playing
porn in the booths.  Just enough to see someone's basic features.  The
hallways were small, making it difficult to pass by another person
without touching.  The smell was familiar, and his body had a now
automatic response of surging heartbeat, increased blood pressure,
shallow breathing and an instantly hard dick.  It was the smell of sex,
exclusively male sex, an underlying scent of men, and cum mixed with
basic antiseptic Lysol.

Every single Adult Theater or place where multitudes of men had sex
smelled exactly like this, and the scent became associated with sexual
thrill, orgasm, the hunt, hard cock, grunts of pleasure, hunger,
thrusting anonymously with strangers, complete abandon and fifteen other
now automatic reflex thoughts and feelings.  Smell was one of the most
powerful human senses in terms of automatic nervous system response.
Smell was what warned you a predator was near, spiking your adrenaline
immediately.  The smell of food spurring hunger.  Rot or death indicating
possible danger, disease, revulsion.  Perfume or cologne signaling
seduction and your guard relaxed.  Every single smell in the entire world
forced your body to react before your mind even translated what the smell
meant.  Before you knew what the world was, as a newborn infant, the
smell of your mother instilled comfort and safety.  Smell could trump
rational observation.

It was why they were taught very early on that deodorant and cologne
weren't used when you were on mission, on patrol, or out in the field.
The enemy could catch the scent on the wind, and a smart enemy could
determine your location.  Simple human sweat could be anyone, including a
fellow enemy or soldier, but created scents were very specific.  You
still didn't want to get too ripe though, but dirt, sand, some leafy
plant with a strong odor usually took care of the worst ripeness.  Part
of their field training included using scent to recon and track.  Smoke
from a fire, oil and metal from heavy machinery, a cigarette, food
cooking.  They were taught that cigarette smoking was forbidden in most
situations for that very reason, and that frequent smokers had a deadened
sense of smell that couldn't pick up subtle clues that others could and
that the smell of a burning cigarette traveled a very long distance.

As with the guys by the entry door, Lamont felt the eyes rake over him in
the dark and the focused attention sent a single message:  fresh meat.
He'd have to be careful.  The pushy ones sometimes made it difficult for
others to approach him.  A slut with standards chose the daily special,
rather than being chosen by them.  Sometimes Lamont was direct, when he
wanted to fuck.  Being assertive and dominant sent a clear message who
was taking care of who.  Which mean the opposite behavior signaled a
willingness to get fucked or suck some dick.

It was always better to draw the nervous ones in with a little shyness,
but repeated looks that darted away when you were caught looking
indicated interest, and promoted increased assertiveness by your target.
Sometimes Lamont wanted eager, desperate and hungry.  But today he wanted
reluctant, nervous, doubtful.  He wanted the ones who were picky, and he
knew he could get them.  There were always two or three in places like
this.  Guys who hated the necessity of having to resort to anonymous sex,
who hadn't yet reconciled the feelings they got from trashy anonymous
sex with the regretful thoughts of self recrimination they had for not
liking vanilla sex as much.  Lamont knew he could inspire desire, just by
being young and in incredible shape, for men like those.  His youth, at
20 years old, indicated he was relatively pristine, they'd read it as
inexperienced, and if there was anything that type wanted it was a fresh,
young, clean body.

He'd learned sex club etiquette not long after he turned 18, but there
were additional rules in Adult arcades and theaters.  A direct look
before entering a booth said `follow me in, or take the next booth for
gloryhole action.'  Once in a booth, if you hadn't checked out the
person in the adjoining booth first, a quick glance through the hole
would tell you the level of interest, whether you were interested
yourself, and what type of action they might be looking for.  Stroking
your hard dick indicated you wanted your dick sucked or to fuck.  Just
being in a booth with a gloryhole indicated you wanted to be watched at
least, and were potentially looking for action.  If you wanted to
provoke, all you had to do was choose a movie and start rubbing your cock
through your pants.

There actually were booths that were completely private if you were just
there to watch Schoolgirl Vixen III take it up the ass while you beat
your sad, neglected meat in a place that would get you excommunicated
from your church if they knew you couldn't even bring yourself to
ejaculate on the floor and instead held a wad of paper towels you'd
hastily grabbed from the bathroom to hide your shameful orgasm.  After
all, Jesus might watch you jack off, but flaunting your pleasure weakness
by spraying your seed everywhere was stepping over the line.  There were
plenty of those types that frequented places like this too.  They could
be spotted by the avoided eye contact, nervousness and the way they made
a beeline towards a booth.

But cruising had it's own unwritten rules, developed over decades of
secret, hidden places that catered to the world of men who didn't want
intimacy or involvement.  Even back when homosexuality was against the
law there were places men could go for anonymous sex in which neither
party knew who the other was, thereby avoiding exposure.  Masked parties,
back rooms, secret clubs, abandoned buildings, infrequently visited
locations like parks at night, wharves and piers with cargo creating dark
and hidden areas, truck stops and gas station bathrooms.  Lamont figured
a man's sexual needs invariably drove him to find any outlet for his
desire, and while a minority percentage of men were devoted to women in
general, and eventually to one woman in particular, the vast majority of
men just wanted to get off with anything that had a hole.  They'd settle
for a women to provide a family, comfort, and taking care of the home.
But for them, it was only a matter of incentive and desperation to
determine the degree to which they'd sink to have the primordial thrill
of spilling a load of jizz from their balls into just about anyone,
whether it be a whore, a mistress, a cocksucker or some random stranger
they'd never meet again.

In video arcades, once in a booth, not pulling your dick out, or sitting
on the bench or chair meant you were the one looking to service cock.  Or
it could mean you were just passing time in a booth, or waiting for just
the right guy.  Lamont hated the ones that just sat in a booth without
doing anything.  It basically took two booths out of commission.  If all
you wanted to do was sit there, get one of the booths without
gloryholes.  He'd once thought maybe they just wanted to watch another
guy jack off without any interest in actually having physical contact,
but fuck...everyone that came to these places wouldn't just want to have
someone watch them jack off, would they?

Up ahead stood someone that immediately drew Lamont's interest.  The way
he was leaning against the wall, affecting a casual boredom and
disinterest piqued Lamont's curiosity.  The low visibility didn't
reveal a lot except the guy's basic build which was decent enough to be
suitable for Lamont's needs - trim waist, average but developed
shoulders, just slightly smaller than Lamont.  As he got closer he saw
short, close cropped dark hair and a goatee, along with a very proud
nose.  Handsome, maybe blue collar, kind of rough looking.  Somewhere
between late 20's and mid 30's.   Something about him started Lamont's
cock dripping.  Damn, he had to reel this one in.

He knew the play, the guy's boredom said Lamont would have to seduce.
Lamont let his eyebrows relax and opened his lips slightly as he passed
him, putting out an innocent vibe.  He changed his shoulders from
confident to uncertain and meek, he slowed his stride.  When the guy's
eyes met his, Lamont looked down.  Looking down was `damn I was caught,
I'm scared'.  Looking away was sometimes dismissive and sometimes
uninterested, but it always signaled confidence.  Lamont wanted this one
to think he was prey, so confidence was the wrong play.  He waited a
three count before performing a quick look as he passed.  That was
important, the second look.  The second look said `I really liked what I
saw.'

Lamont turned the corner and stopped.  His heart was beating.  He loved
the game, the hunt, the chase, the uncertainty and potential.  Would the
guy follow?  Lamont suddenly thought if the guy was following, giving in
too easily would make the guy dismiss him.  His intuition was something
he could rely on, it had never failed him, and it was finely developed
from the time he was 12 and began learning the ropes of seducing his
teammates on the swim team, and some of their dads.  But his proudest
moment was seducing his coach when he was 16.

Lamont inhaled.  He could smell the scent of someone's recent orgasm,
probably from the booth at his back.  Cum, that heady odor a man exuded
as he was driven to shoot his seed, it all floated in the air around
him.  He pushed off the wall and walked slowly.  He didn't look back.
If the guy was following him, it would be better if he thought Lamont
didn't know he was being followed.  Hunters wanted to catch their prey,
feel powerful doing it, getting a thrill from an unexpected attack.

Lamont heard steps behind him.  He moved aside to the row of three
booths, trying to make himself small.  He was a scared little baby
animal, unsure of his environment, seeking safety.

"`Scuse me" a deep voice came from his left.  Lamont let himself
shrink further towards the wall.  He pretended to be startled, flattening
himself against the booth door behind him, which gave way and opened.  He
shot a shocked look to the man with the voice.  It was his target.  He
darted inside and closed the door.

If he was right, the booth next door would open in few seconds.  Lamont
reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple tokens to feed them into
the machine.  A porn started, some pretty blonde was getting SuperDicked
by a black guy wearing a white tee shirt.  She looked so small, his cock
was fucking huge, stretching her pussy to the absolute limit.  The scene
panned out and there were four other huge black guys surrounding her.
Lamont thought her pigtails were a nice touch, it made her look like
she'd just turned 18 if not younger.  Damn, that dude was giving it to
her hard, and she was yelping.  Poor little white girl, she was going to
get fucked full of so much black cock.  She probably wouldn't make her
Chemistry test tomorrow, so sad.  She was going to get kicked off the
cheerleading team!  Lamont kind of hoped this was the kind of video where
they fucked her full of cum, leaving her pussy dripping.  But he knew the
scene had just started, so he hit the `NEXT' button while he waited for
hot goatee guy to commit.

Lamont bent over to look through the gloryholes on either side.  Nothing
yet on his left, where he expected goatee guy to come in.  On the right
was an even older guy, hard to tell, as all he saw was a decent six inch
cock being stroked through the zipper fly of the guy's jeans.
Definitely straight.  Straight guys loved pulling their cocks through
their flys, as if exposing themselves more meant they wanted to do gay
stuff.  Still, the wedding ring, heavy watch, hairy arms, and large gut
put the guy on Lamont's list.  Dick was dick, and clean married dick,
even just six inches, was dick worth sucking.  Guy probably wouldn't
fuck, Lamont knew the type.  But a nice thick load of mid-life crisis and
empty nest dissatisfaction would energize him for his night out later.
Daddies were always so grateful.

He heard the creak of the door to the booth to his left, and the latch
click.  He darted a quick look, noting the white tee shirt and Levi jeans
matching goatee guy.  Lamont immediately stood up and felt himself
through his own jeans.  Fuck, or get fucked?  Goatee guy would decide.
Lamont waited ten seconds, didn't see the guy's fingers come through
the hole, so he bent over to take a look through the hole.

Fucking Goddamn holy shit!  Goatee guy had his pants pulled down to mid
thigh stroking a thick eight incher.  Lamont was done playing games, this
was a cock prize, fucking FIRST PRIZE in the cock contest.  But he
didn't lose his cool.  The game was the game, the hunt was the hunt.
Too forward, and the stud would bolt.

He tentatively put his index finger on the rim of the hole, then pulled
it back quickly.  Hard to miss if Mr. BlueCollar Goatee was looking,
which Lamont knew he was.  Hell, Lamont could hear the lame dialogue of
the porn BlueCollar Goatee was watching, and he sure as hell wasn't
watching Mrs. Bigtits tell the Plumber that her washing machine was
leaking and all she wanted was to put another load in.

But BlueCollar Goatee was playing the game too.  Lamont watched while his
stroking slowed, and he grabbed his balls and dick together, shaking it
up and down.  He expected Lamont to be watching, that's what made
Lamont's heart skip a beat.

Lamont felt his salivary glands release a gush of saliva.  This dude had
waited patiently for just the right guy to walk in, wanting someone who
would appreciate the beauty of his perfect cock, his big hanging balls.
Well, BlueCollar Goatee had hooked the right fish with his bait because
Lamont knew exactly what this guy needed.  And at that moment, Lamont
knew if the guy wanted it raw, he would have it.  His intuition was
thrumming.  There was a thrilling confidence, almost arrogance to this
guy that Lamont loved. This one loved to fuck, loved his own dick and
wanted to push it inside someone worthy.  This was a guy who chose who he
had sex with carefully, who didn't just fuck any hole he could get, and
Lamont knew he could get any hole he wanted in this place.  He dripped
masculinity and aloof confidence.

Lamont knelt down in front of the glory hole and hooked his finger,
keeping it there this time.  He put his face close, so the guy knew what
he was getting, a mouth, available, waiting and willing.  And he knew
which mouth it was, he'd seen Lamont dart inside the booth.  There was
only one reason BlueCollar Goatee was doing his dance.  It was a message:
show me you want it, because all eight inches wants you.

The guy kept stroking slowly, obviously enjoying the tease.  He squeezed
towards the tip, producing a clear drop of pre cum before pointing his
dick toward the hole.  Lamont stared watching the thick fluid gather then
start to descend, dripping in slow motion.  He did the only thing he
could, he opened his mouth and put his tongue out.

BlueCollar stepped closer and wiped the head of his cock across Lamont's
tongue.  Lamont was beyond the game now as his tongue retracted to savor
the salty flavor of this magnificent man.  Fuck, his fluid tasted
unbelievable. He was lost now, succumbed to the wanting, the desire.  The
game was over.  BlueCollar was going to sink his dick into his waiting
mouth.  His eyes barely saw through the top of the hole, but the hunger
had a hold of him and the tease had him tunneled, everything in his focus
was this man's naked hips, his hairy wild bush, his thick rigid dick and
the turgid penis grasped tightly in a masculine fist.  The presence of
tiny black hairs on the knuckles of BlueCollar's hand sent Lamont into a
spiral of lust.  This was a man, a tough fucker who knew the value of
what he held.  He considered his cock as a trophy to be acquired,
something for a winner, an achiever.

Lamont knew that every cock he lusted after was on this pedestal, and
BlueCollar loved the game, the hunt, just like he did, which only
heightened Lamont's lust.  This was a competitor, and the challenge
demanded he make the interaction as competitive as he could.  So Lamont
did the unexpected.

He stood up and pushed his own impressive dick through the hole...because
BlueCollar was being a tease, and this was the moment that would
determine how their meeting happened.  If BlueCollar was going to hold
back, Lamont would press.  Oh, he understood the value, the allure, the
seduction of holding back, but it was time to engage, to breach... either
BlueCollar wanted direct engagement or he wanted more.   Lamont had
decided a dick was penetrating one person or the other.  And a young 20
year old iron-hard 7 inch curved cock would force BlueCollar Goatee to
decide what he wanted more... hot young innocent mouth or hard dick.
Lamont was ready for either but his preference was to be the one taking
BlueCollar's cock.

He felt a hand stroke his cock, a good sign.  BlueCollar wasn't afraid
to touch a dick.  The stroking was... amateurish... perfunctory.
Definitely a `not interested in that but still willing to play'
message.  Lamont withdrew to find BlueCollar pushing his cock in almost
right beside his.

Fuck, here it was.  Lamont dropped into a squat, pushing his mouth onto
the hard dripping cock in front of him.  He swallowed it half way, not
wanting to send the message that he was experienced...yet.  He let out a
deliberate choke, gagging.

"Fuck, you better suck that dick, boy.  That's what you wanted." He
heard BlueCollar say from the other side of the wall,.

Lamont did another dive, as if he was eager to please, and choked again.

"Yeah, choke on that cock. Go deeper, faggot."

Fuck...Lamont had hit the jackpot.  A dominant, abusive straight dude in
denial.  Right off the bat he hooked a dude who was just waiting for some
faggot hole to force his dick into.  If there was any God looking out for
him, this BlueCollar Goatee would fuck his raw dick violently up his ass
as deep as he could force it and spew a healthy load of baby batter guts
deep into Lamont's willing and receptive fuckhole.  In the age of AIDS,
a raw fuck and ropes of straight cum were rare commodities.  It almost
never happened.  Lamont's intuition told him this was a guy who was
either between girlfriends, or had decided fags would take his cum when
women demanded a condom.  The sexual world for straights had changed just
as drastically after the mid 80's when they figured out AIDS wasn't
just a gay disease.  Now everyone was scared.  Everyone was putting on
condoms.  Fucking dental dams were being used just for cunnilingus.
Porn was changing, cumshots were never internal or near an opening.  AIDS
had changed everything.

The throat slime was all over Lamont's chin, and he had to back off the
huge cock to take a breath.   He looked over his shoulder and saw that
six inch cock shoved through the hole.  Guess that guy was watching the
action after all.  That was the benefit of being the middle booth in the
glory hold triplet.

What the fuck, why not.  He stood up and went to suck old dude's dick,
bending over.  BlueCollar could wait.  He was hooked.  Might be good for
him to sit in frustration.

Lamont didn't play any games with six incher...he swallowed that whole,
all the way down.  It wasn't too thick or unmanageable.  Nice size.  A
mouthful.  He knew his ass was facing BlueCollar's gloryhole,
deliberately.  BlueCollar would have to make a decision.  His cocksucker
was otherwise occupied...what would he do?  Oh, how unfortunate, there was
only the untouched butthole of a 20 year old inexperienced youngster
right here ... what should I do?

BlueCollar did what every hormone laden hardon encumbered male would do.
He spit on his cock and pushed.  Lamont was penetrated at both ends, the
booth perfectly dimensioned for him to press his ass to the hole behind
him and at his head.  Fuck yeah.

He had a moment of pure bliss.  Cocks at both ends, and his favorite one
in his ass, another in his mouth.  If they came at the same time, in his
holes, he'd cum without touching himself.

He knew BlueCollar didn't put on a condom, which frightened him and
thrilled him at the same time.  Fuck, what was he doing?  The guy was a
stranger.  He couldn't stop himself, even so.  He knew if BlueCollar
wanted to fuck his jizz deep in his ass he wouldn't stop.  He wanted
that guy's cum, he wanted it deep up his ass.

Fuck, old guy in his mouth was welcome to shoot too.  Old married guys
who were gut-laden, wife and three kids, cock through his fly...he got
relief maybe a couple times a year if he was lucky.  Lamont would gladly
swallow every swimmer the guy pumped out.

BlueCollar was pumping head to balls when the older guy unloaded with a
series of grunts into Lamonts mouth.  It was sweet and thick, every
successive volley heavier and more voluminous until Lamont's mouth was
filled with cum.  Damn, the guy must have been saving that up for a
while.  Spit or swallow?

Reason prevailed, and Lamont spit the wad of jizz out onto the floor.
The fantasy was fine to entertain, actually sucking down a stranger's
load was something else entirely.  As disappointing as it was, Lamont had
to be careful.  But the thick thrusting cock stretching his asshole was
sending him into a state of abandon.  It had been too long since he'd
felt a raw dick up his ass.  8 months to be exact.  He knew he was
playing with fire and the danger element contributed to his heady,
heightened arousal.

BlueCollar was bouncing against the plywood wall of the booth, thrusting
hard, not caring about the damage he might be doing to the young pliant
hole on the other side.  Fuck, BlueCollar was so deep.  Lamont kept
still, pressing his ass back against the hole, mentally willing the man
to lose control and shoot.  He could hit the bathroom after and expel the
man's seed, he told himself.  That would reduce the risk, right?  Yeah,
that would be fine, no different than spitting a load out from his mouth.

Lamont had always loved that place in between, the thrilling indecision
where what your mind wanted disagreed with what your conscience told you
should be done.  It was the choice, the potential for complete
satisfaction that remained just out of reach.  It was leaving the
decision to the very last minute, would BlueCollar pull out or would he
seek to force his cum deep inside Lamont?  Would Lamont even know the
moment it was happening or would BlueCollar ejaculate silently without
providing a clue?  Had the man already cum and was he just fucking his
deposited load into a frothy foam now?

Lamont realized then that he didn't care.  The man was sexy, hot, virile
and being inseminated by him was what Lamont craved.  Fuck, he couldn't
help it, he couldn't resist his basic nature.  The game he played with
himself was the most fun, how he told himself he wouldn't be a complete
whore when the real him understood he had no true control and that he
would always take the risk.  No, he'd say, not this time.  This time
I'll be careful, I won't do what I did before.  But then he'd do it
anyway because caution, safety, protection were just not ultimately
satisfying.

Most of the time in this day and age, the top made the decision for him,
putting on a rubber before fucking, which did sooth Lamont and he did
honestly love the rest of the sex, the kissing, the sweaty bodies, the
grunting and feeling of a full, stretched ass, of being dominated and
submitting himself to a man.  All of that was wonderful and satisfying.
Very few interactions resulted in what Lamont would term `bad sex'.
However, raw, risky dangerous sex was in a whole different universe,
whether it be a risky public location that could result in being caught,
a person who was supposed to be untouchable because of their position
like his swim coach, or having unsafe sex without a condom.

Sometimes he thought there must be something wrong with him that he loved
it as much as he did.  Why couldn't he like plain, straightforward
vanilla sex as much as he loved the other kind?  Why was something
illicit and forbidden such a thrill?

But those were questions for him to ponder AFTER he committed the act,
not while the most incredible dick he'd had in a long time was fucking
him so good he didn't even care that another dick had come through the
hole in front of his face.  Not a bad dick, but he hadn't had the
opportunity to see the guy attached so he wasn't going to touch it.  He
was a slut with standards, and the new dick didn't meet his standards.

Lamont raised his left leg to put it on the bench in the booth, giving
his ass a better spread and allowing him to feel BlueCollar's awesome
cock in a different way.  Fuuuuuuccck, the dude knew how to use that
cock, deep long strokes that alternated between brutal and deep, to slow
and shallow thrusts.  He'd been at it for more than five minutes and
Lamont knew the guy was holding off, determined to enjoy the young 20
year old hole as long as he could.  Quality recognized quality, and
BlueCollar probably understood something like this young hole didn't
come along but rarely.

BlueCollar paused in his thrusts, and Lamont knew the moment was near, he
was trying to keep from shooting.  This was the moment, the time for a
decision.  He could pull off, let BlueCollar shoot all over his ass, feel
the warm, sticky liquid spurt over the sensitive skin and drip down.

He knew he'd already made his decision the moment he saw the guy's cock
through the hole, he wouldn't pull off.  Besides, he told himself,
untold amounts of precum had already been fucked deep inside him, who
knew how much was already pooled in his guts, so what was the harm in
more?  A simple rationalization that he might regret later, but regret
had no place in the present.  Regret was a future thought that considered
the past, always, restricted by its own rules of operation.

Now that the choice was reconciled, Lamont's bloodstream was flooded
with all the adrenaline, serotonin and endorphins his nervous system
needed to send his head into a maelstrom of sexual pleasure that rivaled
an orgasm.  Lamonts balls were fully retracted, his dick as hard as he'd
ever felt it, dripping with its own surging young pre-cum.

He started moving his ass up and down on the dick, fucking himself back
onto the shaft.  BlueCollar began shoving even more violently and they
met in a perfect rhythm of synchronized lust.  BlueCollar had made his
own decision, just as Lamont had done on numerous similar occasions, the
decision to inject his hot load inside the hole beneath him regardless of
consequences.  It was the ultimate feeling of sexual release when a top
and a bottom agreed on how it all would end, when they merged as a single
rutting beast with one goal: FUCK to IMPREGNATE.

Lamont let out an involuntary moan, he wanted it so bad that he'd lost
all sense of his surroundings.  His brain was fully focused on the cock
in his ass, the vision of this rough, sexy man's muscular ass propelling
his thick hairy cock into Lamont's willing asshole, pounding against the
booth walls and sending the unmistakable sounds of violent sexual release
out into the rest of the arcade which were more apparent now that both of
their video tokens had run out of time.

In an instant, Lamont felt the wall behind him shake, the cock inside him
stop and spasm, the motions of the man behind the wall became erratic,
breaking the rhythm.  Lamont closed his eyes and pressed fully against
the wall.  He was being inseminated, milky white sperm shooting out deep
inside his guts in ever increasing jerks of the hyper masculine fuckpole
so beautifully designed by genetics and nature to commit this very act
inside a warm bodily cavity.

Lamont never felt so rewarded or complete as when his hole achieved this
purpose of bringing another man to orgasm, as if he'd fulfilled his
purpose, that he'd done everything right and giving release to a man
filled an emptiness inside him.  When he bottomed it was almost
completely about allowing the man to use him fully, he almost didn't
even care about his own dick, or shooting his own load.  He knew how it
felt to cum inside another man's ass, to fill them with his seed, to
give them that potent genetic fluid meant to pass along a part of himself
to a worthy partner.  It was as if a part of him would then live inside
them for the rest of their lives. It was a form of procreation,
inseminating another, and it didn't matter if it resulted in pregnancy.
Some form of his genetic material would fertilize the membranes it
found.  Sperm had an infallible directive - wriggle inside and
disintegrate to disperse your payload for absorption.

It was this that he wanted from certain men, from specific cocks.  He
wanted part of their attractive masculinity to be implanted in him, just
as he wanted his to mix with specific other men.  And he knew he would
feel all the best attributes of BlueCollar merge with him making him a
stronger, more capable man.

BlueCollar had slowed his thrusts, almost completely stopping in motion,
before pulling his cock out of Lamont's ass.  Lamont hurriedly turned
and looked through the hole.  He wanted one last look.  Fuck, that was a
beautiful cock, something about the dark hairy busy framed its now shiny
length perfectly.  BlueCollar was in the process of using a papertowel to
wipe it clean before pulling up his boxers and jeans quickly.  He seemed
in a rush, a feeling Lamont knew all too well.  The act was completed, it
was necessary but now that it was finished the urge to leave trumped
everything else.

A quick check of the hands on each of BlueCollar's pockets, probably to
assure himself that nothing had fallen out, like his keys, money, or
wallet, before he unlatched the door and left.  Lamont liked his style.
No thank you, no words exchanged, no final look.  In fact, every action
indicated that Lamont no longer existed.  That comforted him, another
indication that BlueCollar had resorted to this for one purpose, to get
off and nothing more.  Lamont searched himself for any sign of
disappointment, regret or fault for what he'd done, and found nothing
except the desire to allow that man to do the same thing again.  He ran a
couple fingers over his freshly fucked hole and played with the sticky
reminder of his conquest.  Fuck, if he didn't have another dick his
entire weekend he'd still be satisfied.  A fuck like he'd just taken
was going to make it difficult to enjoy any other men for weeks, he knew.


He realized he was done here.  He had no desire to troll around to find
what was likely to be disappointing after that, but he'd keep the rest
of the tokens because he also realized he'd probably return here at some
point over the next couple days.  He also needed to get a couple hours
sleep before going out tonight.  The hunt at a gay bar was a different
kind of game involving flirting, tease, projecting a persona to bait
interest.  Along with that came the ability to completely relax among
others of his kind without looking over his shoulder at who might be
watching.

Lamont imagined the disappointment in the men positioned along the halls
of the arcade as he walked out the exit