Date: Wed, 1 Mar 2000 20:49:47 -0500 (EST)
From: royale-ity@webtv.net
Subject: I, Matt - 2

This is a work of fiction depicting a sexual involvement between two
men.  If this is offensive to you, or if you are not of legal age of
consent, read no further.  Copyright of this material is retained by the
author.  Any requests to republish may be made to him.


New York City in the fall of 1990.  There was a crisp chill in the
autumn air as I strolled down Park Avenue at the brink of sundown.  No
matter how many places I'd been in my life, Manhattan was the one which
always held my fascination as the best city in this country----and,
quite possibly, the world.  Its varied boutiques, fabulous restaurants,
magnificent galleries, superb Broadway productions and trendy night
clubs made New York addictive, but it was the unique people of the city
which gave it character.  As I took my evening stroll I was privy to a
host of characters on the never-uninhabited streets.  From men in
three-piece designer suits to homeless beggars; from the Park Avenue
socialite in fur wrap to the legal secretary in skirt suit and Reebocks;
from the black to the white to the red to the yellow; from punk rock to
country; from the straight to the gay to the not-quite-sure-what-it-is;
they all existed on the streets of the city.  It was a thrill to be in
their company again.

It had been several years since I last visited the Big Apple and I
recalled a time long ago when I oh-so-briefly called it home.  I had
lived many places, but very few ever felt like home.  Orphaned as an
infant and tossed from one foster home to another left me feeling like a
nomad.  As I fleetingly glanced from one face to the other on the
crowded sidewalk, I saw a host of self-sufficient people and I readily
identified.  A thirty-three year old man all alone in the world might
look odd in some locales, but here I was the norm.

I was in the city on business, servicing Natalie, an old and trusting
client.  She was a handsome woman in her late forties holding down an
executive position with a leading pharmaceutical company.  A seminar was
being held in the city which required her attendance and her single
status required companionship for the after-hour
dinner/theater/night-club crowd.  Some women are comfortable attending
these sorts of functions stag, but an emotionally insecure woman like
Natalie needed the image of an attractive man at her side.  And that is
where I came in.

Rounding a corner of the Avenue, I wandered down a dimly lit side street
and was transported back in memory to a time almost twelve years before
when I first met Hannah.  It was at a cocktail party being thrown in
honor of my grandfather, a nasty, perverted, and wealthy old bastard.
My family situation being as convoluted as it was, I had only met him a
few months prior to that evening.  He had taken a liking to his handsome
young grandson and invited me to stay in his Hamptons home for  the
summer.

The party was attended by a group of his wealthy friends and business
acquaintances.  Hannah fell into the later category.  She appeared quite
popular with several of the gentlemen in the room and the subject of
hushed whispers by the women.  Every now and then our eyes would meet.
She smiled politely and I nodded in return.  Yet there was something
about the woman which totally captivated my attention.  She appeared to
be in her late forties with teased red hair stylishly cut to accentuate
her small patrician face.  Flashing blue eyes were surrounded by long
curling lashes and the rouge on her lips matched her perfect coiffure.
She was dressed in a designer gown with a fur shawl draped around her
thin shoulders.  Long tapered red nails clicked on the crystal glass she
held as she took an occasional sip of the bubbly, drawing attention to
her huge diamond ring.

Someone else caught my eye that evening and, after the all-too-familiar
seduction, the stranger followed me upstairs for a pleasant 69 session.
After our libido had been satiated, I suggested the man leave first so
as not to raise any suspicions.  Waiting an appropriate amount of time
following his departure, I left the room and bumped head-on into the
captivating Hannah.  Muttering my apologizes for the collision, I was
about to continue on down to the main floor and the diminishing party
when she handed me a business card and suggested I call.

It was nearly two weeks before I summoned up the courage to dial the
digits.  Hannah herself answered the telephone on the third ring and
invited me to her penthouse in Central Park on the vague hint of an
interesting opportunity.

The following week I made the trek to the city and easily found Hannah's
luxurious digs.  All I can say is that the lady went first class all the
way.  Lush tapestries adorned the walls of the high-ceilinged apartment
and objet d'art were scattered throughout the place.  The furnishings
were rich, yet comfortable and spoke of her individual taste.

She swept into the room in a pastel wrap which billowed in her wake.
Hair and makeup were immaculate as usual and one of those long brown
cigarettes accentuated dramatic hand gestures as she wove her yarn.

Hannah was a madame, of sorts.  Her clientele was elite and solely on a
referral basis.  The operation was more of an escort service than an
actual brothel.  Dinner and a night out on the town with a lonely
middle-aged wealthy divorcee was the standard order.  Absolutely no sex
was expected although, on a rare occasion, it occurred.  Hannah strictly
catered to a heterosexual crowd, although the majority of her male
escorts were hopelessly gay.  In me she had seen a young man with
immense potential with prospects much greater than quick sex in
grandpa's upstairs bedroom.

Taking quick inventory, I realized that my existence was stagnating.
Life with Grandpop, no matter how loaded he was, had grown boring.
Absolutely nothing loomed ahead  in the future other than this offer
from the red-head Hannah.    Without  hesitation, I accepted her
generous offer.

>From that moment on I was taken by hand and molded into the perfect
male escort.  A bevy of professionals educated me in personal grooming,
proper speech, gentlemen's etiquette and numerous other self-improvement
exercises.  For two hours a day, seven days a week, I was at the mercy
of a particularly brutal personal trainer whose duty it was to add
muscle mass to my already toned body.  A wardrobe befitting a young
handsome gigolo was hand selected for me.  And then, after several
months, I was released from the bull pen and placed into active duty.

For seven years I amassed an extensive clientele and became the
most-requested escort in Hannah's employ and she rewarded me
accordingly.  When a quick trip to Paris, or London, or any other port
was required, Hannah assigned the task to her favorite stud: me.  With
my new found wealth, I was soon living in a modernized loft in the artsy
district of SoHo.

And then the unexpected happened.  Hannah fell in love with an oil-rich
Texan, gave up her business, and left to be a range mama.  Having
developed a certain admiration for me, Hannah handed over her client
book and encouraged me to continue as a "free agent."   Taking her
advice, I continued to be quite successful as a global date for hire.
My transition from gangly teenager to hunky escort often amazed me.
None of the many relatives with which I had lived over the years could
ever have predicted my unorthodox, albeit lucrative, future.

The blaring of a car horn jolted me out of my reverie.  Casting a quick
glance at my Rolex, a gift from a French countess, I realized time had
gotten away from me.  I was expected to attend a dinner function with
Ms. Natalie in less than an hour.  Signaling a cab, I rushed back to my
room at the Waldorf and hastily prepared for the evening.

Dinner was a bore, as was the Opera afterwards, although I feigned
interest.  Afterwards, Natalie complained of a vicious migraine and,
after giving me a peck on the cheek, retired to her room for the
remainder of the evening, leaving me free to pursue my own interests.
This certainly was not difficult to do in the self-titled "city that
never sleeps."  Before venturing out into the cool night air, I decided
to step into the hotel lounge and enjoy a quick solitary cocktail.

The dark, richly paneled room was quiet at this time of the night.  A
few couples were scattered at tables throughout the lushly carpeted
room.  I sauntered up to the heavily polished bar and placed my order.
The elderly bartender went to task preparing what turned out to be a
fantastic martini.  Taking a seat at the bar, I sipped at the concoction
and gazed at my reflection in the smoked mirror which ran the length of
the bar.  Damn, I was a good looking son of a bitch!  What was such a
hot dude doing alone at a bar in New York City on a pleasant autumn
evening?  I resolved to finish my drink and find a warm body to share my
bed.

Nibbling on a tasty green olive, my attention was drawn back to the
mirror, which now contained the image of another man entering the quiet
lounge.  A vague sense of recognition overwhelmed me.  As he came up to
stand at the bar, three stools separating us, I took a closer look at
the stud.  He was not particularly tall, maybe 5'8" or 5'9" but  had the
command of a much bigger man.  His dark hair was buzzed close to the
scalp on both sides, but grew out about an inch or so on top.  Not a
matinee idol, he was nonetheless a good-looking man, with full thick
lips, squared jaw and dark impressive eyes.  A host of fine freckles
dotted his cheeks, softening his ruggedly masculine appearance.
Inconspicuously, I watched as he extracted his wallet to pay for the
long-neck beer the bartender had served up and observed his big working
man's hands and thick sexy fingers. a wedding band on the proper finger
of his right hand.  My cock jumped in the confines of my cotton
underwear.

As he took a swallow from the bottle, I watched his Adam's apple bob in
his heavily corded neck and caught the sparkling of even white teeth.
He wore a uniform of some military ranking.  I attempted to decypher the
name etched across the pin attached to his expansive chest, but to no
avail.  The jacket covered what appeared to be broad shoulders and a
strong, proud chest.  His body angled down to narrow hips and flared
thighs, to which the material of his military issue slacks clung.  The
folds of the jacket concealed his crotch and buttocks, but I was sure
they were as intoxicating as the rest of this gorgeous stud.  I wanted
him as badly at that moment as I have ever wanted anything.

Lifting the bottle to his sensuous lips again he tilted back his head
and took another long swallow, momentarily closing his eyes.  When he
reopened them he looked into the mirror and spotted me gazing at his
reflection.  Turning his tow-head in my direction, he nodded.  It was
then, with him facing me head on, that my memory senses clicked in.

"R-Rod?"  I stammered.  "Rod Tyler?"

He appeared momentarily confused, his thick brow furrowing.  "Yeah," he
responded in a deep resonating voice, "do we know each other?"

"Sure do," I smiled.  "We went to school together."

He peered at me sharply, not making the connection.  "High school?"  he
inquired.

I shook my head quickly.  "No.  Eighth grade.  I never graduated from
Montgomery High.  After the eighth grade I moved."  Seeing that he still
was not placing me, I added, "We were room-mates on the Washington D.C.
field trip."

That was all it took to unclog the memory block. His mouth opened in a
gesture of astonishment and he gave me a quick once-over with those sexy
brown eyes.

"No way," he uttered. "Matt Anderson?"

Beaming, I rose off my seat and thrust out my hand to him.  "One and the
same, buddy."

Taking my hand in his for a powerful handshake, he continued to stare at
me incredulously.

"Holy shit, Matt!  I never would have guessed!  You were a skinny little
tadpole in the eighth grade!"

I took that to mean he liked what he saw.  "I'm all grown up now," I
replied pointedly.

He invited me over to a table in the corner where we sat, ordered more
drinks, and spent the better part of an hour catching up on the past
twenty years.  Upon graduating from high school, Rod had begun a life
long career in the marines.  Now stationed in California, he was in New
York on a multi-state recruiting seminar.  Looking across the table at
the handsome hunk, I was ready to sign up for anything he offered.
Everything about him exuded raw masculinity, which was a huge
aphrodisiac to me.

When questioned about my own career, I faltered.  How could I tell this
macho stud that I was employed as a high-priced male escort to
middle-aged matrons?  Instead, I opted for the safer title of public
relations which, when I thought about it, wasn't too far off the track.

The overhead lights dimmed, signaling closing time but I was not ready
to part company with my former classmate just yet.  Throwing caution to
the wind, I invited him up to my room for a nightcap.  Rod accepted.

My room, more like a mini-suite, was on a separate floor from Natalie's
and several floors from the smaller room which Rod occupied during his
stay.  While I uncapped some beers from a tiny fridge under the wet bar,
Rod excused himself to use the bathroom.  Kicking off my shoes, I
settled back on a comfortable chair and propped my stockinged feet up on
the edge of the table, waiting for the hot marine's return.

He came out of the bathroom carrying his blue regulation blazer.  The
cuffs on his starched dress shirt were rolled to the elbow, exposing
well-muscled hairy forearms.  Tossing the jacket across the other chair,
Rod retrieved his beer from the bar and then, to my surprise, slipped
out of  his patent dress shoes and stretched out on the big king-sized
bed.  Positioning pillows against the headboard, he sat back and took a
long pull of his beer.  Wiping the froth from his lips, he said:

"You don't mind, do ya?  It's been a long day."

Fuck, no.  This hot man was exactly where I wanted him to be.  Now if
only I could figure out how I would maneuver myself to join him.

We chatted about a host of inconsequential subjects, discovering a
mutual interest in football.  I confessed I had attended every Super
Bowl for the past ten years, failing to mention it was a running date
with a wealthy closeted lesbian client whose family honestly believed
was my fiance.  One would think that after ten years some suspicion had
been aroused.  Personally, I didn't care.  I got to see the game in
style and was well paid for the weekend.

Rod quickly downed his beer and I served him another....then
another....and yet another.  He was quite the parched man, as I was
still nursing my first.  He told me of his marriage seven years ago to a
civilian girl and boasted of his five year old son, whom he already had
decided would join in papa's footsteps serving our country.  Reaching
into his pocket, he rummaged through a leather wallet and extracted a
snapshot which he extended in my direction.

Thankfully he was way out of reach, requiring me to rise from my chair
and walk over to where he lounged.  And, while I was there taking a look
at the happy family, I tossed a pillow up against the headboard and made
myself comfortable next to him.  The kid was cute, resembling the young
Rod I knew from school, but the wife needed serious help.  She was
overweight, wore those funky granny glasses on the edge of her nose, and
had brutally brittle peroxide-colored teased hair.  I wisely refrained
from sharing my thoughts with this man, but wondered what a hot hunk
like him was doing with such a mousey broad.

Rod got up to help himself to another brew.  His unsteady saunter clued
me in to the fact that he was getting a little stewed.  Twisting the cap
off the bottle, he set it down on the counter and reached to fumble with
the buttons on his shirt.  I watched, careful to avoid drooling, while
he removed the shirt, picked up his beer and returned to my bed.

Casting me a crooked smile, he said, "Getting a little hot in here."

Boy, he wasn't shitting!  My trained meat was doing a dance inside my
pants and I was praying that he would notice.  He wore one of those
Fruit of the Loom T-shirts with short sleeves, unlike me in my Calvin
Klein tank top. The material clung to his manly body, revealing the rise
of  twin pecs, the points of jutting nipples and the flatness of his
belly.  Big, muscled smooth biceps bulged out of the sleeves of his
T-shirt---muscles developed from years of basic training.  I longed to
trace the thick vein which ran down over his heavy biceps with my eager
fingers. As he once again put the bottle to his mouth I observed how his
thick, full lips circled the bottle to lustily partake of the
intoxicating liquor, and I feverishly desired those lips to do the same
to my aching cock.

After finishing his beer and some more converation, which was getting
difficult for me at this point with the beefy distraction at my side,
Rod decided to call it a night.  Slightly disappointed, I watched as
tried to get up but the beers and fatigue of the day had caught up with
the guy and he sat back down on the edge of the bed.  Rubbing his big
hands through the bristle on his head, he laughed nervously and cast me
a sideways glance.

"Don't think I'm gonna make it to the elevator.  What was in them
beers?"

"Dude," I responded, "the way you were downing them it was bound to
sneak up on you."

Shaking his head as if to revive himself, he gave me a sheepish look.
"Mind if I camp out here tonight?"

Did I fucking mind?!?!  Fuck no, I didn't fucking mind.  A hot fucking
straight marine ex-school chum whose defenses were left weakened by too
many brewskies sharing my bed was absolutely no problem!  The fucker
would probably pass out in no time, leaving me to take a peek at what
those pleated trousers held in storage.  And, if he was really out cold,
I might engage in a little playtime.

The big hunk slowly bent down and removed his socks, one by one,
casually dropping them to the floor at his bedside.  With his wide back
to me, I watched as his hands fumbled with the front of his pants,
obviously attempting to undo the fly.  I considered offering my
assistance but opted to curb my eagerness.  Eventually I heard the
zipper release and salivated as he lifted his tight butt slighly to ease
out of his slacks.  True to his profession, Rod wore khaki-colored boxer
shorts.  As he hoisted his legs up and under the covers, I had a brief
glimpse of beefy, muscular thighs.

Swallowing hard, I watched as the gorgeous stud let his jarhead rest
back on my fluffy white pillows.  Flitting his big brown eyes over
towards my sexually energized self,  he practically whispered in his
deep, husky tone.

"Aren't you gonna shut off the lights?"

"Sure, buddy, anything you want," I said as suggestively as I dared.
Reaching out, I flicked the main switch above the headrest which
extinguished the light bulbs.  Having failed to draw the heavy blinds
over the tall glass-paned windows, the moonglow cast its romantic beams
across the room.  In the semi-light I could easily make out Rod's prone
form as his breathing grew heavier, signaling his descent into sleep.

As quietly as possible I removed my outer clothing and tank top and
then, on impulse, hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and
pulled them off.  Stark naked, I slid my sculpted body under the covers
and situated myself as close to the sleeping marine as I dared.  My
thigh made contact with his and I froze, fearful that he might awaken,
but he remained still.  I inhaled deeply and allowed the musky scent of
his masculine form to permeate my senses.  How I longed to reach out and
run a hand under his T-shirt, to tease his fleshy nipples, to cuddle up
close to the macho stud and share the warmth of his hunky body.

"Remember that night in DC," he said into the darkness, startling me.
Having assumed Rod was asleep, I jumped reflexively.  He appeared not to
have noticed.  Hell, with all the booze in him the whole room must have
felt like it was moving.  "You and me and the Jimmys," he continued.

"Yeah," I managed.  "How could I forget?  My first time."

"Yeah," he sounded as though he were smiling. "Sure would like to relive
that time."

He was referring, of course, to the nocturnal masturbatory session to
which I had been introduced during our eighth-grade Washington field
trip---me in bed with one of the Jimmys; Rod in bed with the
other---young hands flailing up and down on each other's meat until we
eruped in orgasm (me for my first time).  We had carefully avoided this
subject all evening.  Now, lying shoulder to shoulder beside me in my
hotel bed, the desirable hunk chose to reminisce on that
before-forbidden topic.

His last statement certainly seemed like an invitation to me.  Resting
on one elbow, I rose and turned to face him.  My other arm lifted the
bed covers away from our bodies and  reached down to touch the fabric of
his boxers.  Finding the bulge buried under his drawers, I grasped it in
the palm of my hand and lightly squeezed his cock and balls through the
starchy material.

"Oh, yeah, Matt," he moaned huskily. "I've been away from home for too
long.  Help me out, old buddy.  Jerk me off."  His hips were grinding
against the matress and the bulge was beginning to harden in my grasp.

Rising, I reached over with both hands, took hold of the elastic band on
his boxers, and pulled them down his thick, hairy thighs, tossing them
over my shoulder into the darkness.  Placing a hand on each of his legs,
I caressed the outside of his muscular calves, working my way up past
his kneecaps and then kneaded those strong man-thighs.  I fanned my
talented hands out around his pelvis, digging my long fingers into his
thick pubic bush.  Grasping the base of his now-hard penis, I traveled
up the length of him.

The marine was writhing on the bed, his hips doing a wild salsa, arms
back behind his hand, hands frantically grasping at the pillows.  I
squeezed his man-cock, feeling the loose velvety skin stretch along the
blood-engorged rod as I inspected him.  His penis was no more than six
inches long, but what he lacked in length was more than made up for in
girth.  My hand could not wrap around the width of his stalk and the fat
bulbous cockhead must have been at least seven inches in diameter!

With my free hand I reached down and took hold of his big bull's balls,
pulling them down between his spread thighs.  This caused his cock to
stand up straight and proud.  I spat a healthy glob down onto his meat
and began to frig him in a constant up and down motion.  The way he
reacted led me to believe it had been more than a while since he'd last
had any attention.  He thrust his hips upwards, trying to fuck my
jerking hand, all the while moaning encouraging words.

"That's the way, Matt.  Just like that.  Jerk my beefstick.  Come on,
man.  Make me feel good.  Don't stop.  I want ya to make me cum.  Wanna
cum all over.  Don't let a buddy down.  Stroke that fat cock."

He was all mine, I knew.  Like putty in my hands.  There was nothing I
couldn't do with him now.  All my years of experience had taught me when
the ultimate power was mine, and this was that moment with Rod.  The
only remaining question was how I would use him to my personal sexual
gratification.

Kneeling between his spread thighs, I moved forward until my hard cock
was against his and, wrapping both hands around them, I jerked both our
rods together.  Rod's bucking hips caused his leaking dick to rub up and
down the length of my bigger shaft, sending volts of pleasure through my
organ.  Thick pre-cum flowed from my cockhead combining with Rod's
abundant flow to create a slick dick-fuck.

"Damn, Jimmy was right," he panted.  "You have a big fuckin cock!"

Leaning over until my face was within inches of his, I boasted, "Eight
and a half, Stud!"  With that I flicked out my tongue and touched it to
his puffy lips.  His head rolled from side to side, attempting to avoid
me.  Straight men don't kiss, your ass!  I pursued, finally trapping his
mouth and diving my tongue into his hot oral cavity.  At first
unreceptive, he quickly warmed to the kiss.  As our tongues sloshed
around in each other's mouths I felt, rather than heard, the low roaring
groan of ecstasy which started deep in his chest and reverberated
through his vocal chords.  His fingers ran through my silky hair,
holding my face closer and we sucked face like men possessed.  I would
swear that the man had never been french kissed before and was totally
enjoying his first outing.

His hips grinded madly, forcing our cocks to ride together in my
pre-cum-drenched hands.  The fat knob of his shorter prick rubbed along
the length of my stiff meat.  The guy had me lust crazed!  I went into
overdrive, devouring his lower lip and then sucking his chin into my
mouth.  I dove for his bobbing Adam's apple and planted wet, sloppy
kisses along his strong neck.  I rubbed the side of my face against his,
the bristle of our day's growth of beard a reminder that man was
pleasuring man, and then I attacked his exposed ear.  Sucking on the
fleshy ear lobe, I darted my tongue in the canal, breathing heavily all
the while.  This seemed to drive him over the edge.  His body squirmed
so frantically beneath mine that I feared he might buck me off.

Releasing my grasp on our cocks, I leaned heavily into his groin,
continually mashing our pricks together.  Placing one hand on each side
of him, I looked down into Rod's handsome face.  Even through the
moonlight I could see the look of unbridled lust in his eyes.  Smiling
lopsidedly, I zeroed in on the thin piece of material which separated
our bodies---the T-shirt which clung to his sweaty chest.  My hungry
mouth found his hard nipple as I sucked on it through the cotton
material.  Moaning more wildly now and mashing his fat prick against
mine, Rod arched his back as I chewed on his swollen nub.

Wanting him totally nude, I slid my hands under the T-shirt, pulled it
from his writhing body, and rubbed the palms of my hands over his hard,
strong hairless chest.  Taking hold of his pecs I leaned in close and
whispered into his face:

"I want to suck your cock.  Can I suck your cock, baby?"

"FUCK YEAH!" he roared.

Without a moment's hesitation I was down between his thighs, the musky
scent of his sweaty crotch filling my nostrils.  Spreading my jaws as
far as possible, I took the huge head of his hot cock into my mouth and
licked my tongue all over the crown, tasting his free-flowing pre-cum.
He was moaning so fucking loud, his hips shoving more cock into my
already stuffed mouth, that I thought hotel security would soon be
banging down our door.  I swallowed the entire length of his wide prick
and began a feverish cock sucking.  Rod's rod seemed to expand even
larger and his leaking faucet threatened to drown me.

And then, just when I thought this hot marine stud was under my command,
events took a sudden turn.  He ripped his slugger from my slurper, rose
up on the bed and, flipping me over, pinned his hard body on top of
mine.

"I can't take it anymore," he panted huskily.  "I've gotta fuck some
pussy!"

My answer was to raise my legs and plant them up over his  wide
shoulders.  He was totally gone now, acting on impulse rather than
logic.  Spitting down into his palm, he rubbed it over his wide girth
and then positioned that big cockhead at the doorway of my smooth
asshole.

This certainly was not my first time being fucked---he was not getting a
man-cherry---but the thought of that huge thing piercing my hole caused
me to take pause.  It was a pause one beat too many.  Before having a
chance to utter a word of caution, he had slammed his meat into my
shitter.  I do believe that is when I first comprehended the expression
"seeing stars."

"OH, MAN!"  he bellowed.  "TIGHT FUCKIN' PUSSY!"  And he began slamming
his entire length in and out of my manhole.  In his state of enraged
libido i honestly don't think he knew (or cared) what (or who) he was
fucking.  He was all cock now.

I considered reminding him that his big boy was ramming an asshole, not
a pussy, and perhaps he should take it a little easier, but decided that
I liked being battered by this stud.  It was obvious he hadn't had any
sexual release in quite some time and all that pent-up frustration was
being released on lucky me.

Gyrating my hips in small deliberate circular motions, I met his hard
and swift thrusts.  He was stretching my hole as few men before him had
ever done.  The tortured sphincter muscles relinquished their battle as
my asshole relaxed and allowed him to piledrive me to his heart's (or
perhaps I should say dick's) content.  His big hands began massaging the
insides of my raised thighs as he fucked my gaping hole, grunting like a
sex-pig the whole while.  His fucking was so fevered that drolpets of
sweat flicked over my prone torso as they fell from his heaving marine's
body.

Lifting my shoulders from the mattress, I slapped my hands against the
twin slabs of muscle that were his pecs and took hold of the painfully
erect nipples.  Twisting, turning and pulling on those nubs resulted in
that wide slice of beef jackhammering into my hungry hole wtih renewed
frenzy.  The huge head plunged into my man's channel again and again,
each thrust rougher than the last.  I could swear the hot Lieutenant was
trying to fuck me to death!

And then, all too quickly, his entire body tensed and his breathing came
in short, heavy gasps.  That fantastic fat cock withdrew from my
bunghole and began spraying massive ropes of man-cum across my body.
Load after load shot from his weapon, wetting my sweat-soaked body and
even reaching so far as to coat my face.  With one hand I scooped his
hot cum from my torso and sucked it from my fingers.  His jizz was
thick, rich and tasty---as I knew it would be.

While my hot friend went through the contortions of orgasm, I found
myself losing control.  With a few short strokes on my own meat, I came
like Old Faithful.  My load shot straight up, striking Rod's massive
chest and raining down to merge with his own cum on my jerking body.  I
beat my meat until the last drop of semen was spent.

Rod fell to my side and rested one big arm across his forehead as he
stared up at the ceiling.

"That was fantastic, Matt,"  he finally said.  "Where'd you learn to do
that?"

Chuckling inwardly, I replied, "The only importance is that twenty years
ago you and the Jimmys' taught me something brand new, and tonight was
my chance to return the favor."

He whistled, "Boy, did you ever!"

We fell off to sleep shortly thereafter.  I woke late the next day to an
empty bed and dried cum caked over my nude body.  Rising to go wash up,
I spied the note attached to the mirror.
Gingerly, I reached out and pulled the small piece of paper down.  It
read:

"Matt, old buddy -

Was great seeing you again.  You made my visit to New York extra special
and a time I won't soon forget.  It's great to know that while men like
me are serving their country, there are men like you to serve us.  Maybe
we'll meet again in some other port.   Sure hope so.

R"

There was no need to seek him out in the hotel.  His letter spelled out
the finality of our reunion, at least for now.  I, Matt, slipped into
the shower stall to wash the scent of yet another man from my body,
having known from the beginning that Rod would not be mine for keeps,
but comforted by the thought that perhaps one day our paths would cross
again.

* * * * * * * * * *

I appreciate the e-mails you guys have sent about Matt's teenage years
and look forward to your reaction to his adult exploits.