7 comments/ 71125 views/ 14 favorites Jake Explores By: sam8 Jake took Michelle's hand as they walked down the hallway to her dorm room. The slim college freshman looked down, and demurely smiled at him. He couldn't help but smile back. This charming young woman had touched his heart. And the date, their fifth, had not only gone well but had given them both the chance to open up to each other, sharing vulnerabilities and hopes, each of them a little surprised at their own bravery. It was easy to be brave around Michelle, which helped Jake a lot. He hadn't dated in a while and had had a bad experience just two months ago. A crowded cafe had given him an unexpected tablemate, a confident, forward woman in her mid-thirties. She'd smiled broadly past her cellphone as she sat down. Jake had had a chance to take a good look at her as she finished her phone call. She'd been dressed well, not office attire, but comfortable, stylish clothes, cheerfully bright but not garish, accessorized with a hint of panache that had made Jake wonder if she was an artist. Her hairstyle struck him as unusual, which he later realized it wasn't -- not for thirty-something soccer moms, but then the styles of many of the girls in his college classes would have been unusual, and age-inappropriate, on her. And if maybe she wasn't a corporate vice president, she had the air of a woman who could negotiate with one without being the least bit intimidated. Her necklace had drawn his eye to her cleavage, and as she'd turned to the side, he got to see all angles of her breasts nestling against each other. They were large, and tanned, and they crowded together naturally, making his view quite enjoyable until she turned back and, he was pretty sure, caught him looking! He'd looked down at his coffee until she hung up the phone, and then they'd taken up talking while they relaxed. She was, in fact, an artist, a potter, who'd worked in the town for years. But he'd only gotten started asking her about her work when she began asking him questions about himself, with genuine interest. When their coffees were gone and she was still asking him what's-it-like and what-do-you-think, he remembered that there was such a thing as a "cougar" and that maybe a college senior had become prey. He was flattered. He was interested. He'd stepped up his conversation a notch, and he grew sure her lean-ins and smiles were flirting. The two of them had had such a good chat that he'd asked if he could see her sometime. She'd paused for only a second before saying she was married, and when he looked confusedly at her left hand, she held up her pendant, which, he realized, was a diamond ring. "It's the clay," she'd said, "I only put it on my finger for special occasions. Sorry, hon." At least she'd said she'd been flattered. He hadn't even gotten her name, and that was the closest Jake had come to picking anyone up recently. Until Michelle. Who was so different. She was reserved, quiet, and on a bad day you might say mousy. She had feelings and opinions but he'd had to pry gently to get them out of her. She was an artist too, a dance major, only just a freshman, small, graceful, slender and strong. Dark hair and eyes. She wore slightly baggy clothes, even on their dates, so he'd guessed like many dancers she was insecure about her looks. But he'd seen Michelle dance, in a leotard, and he was aware of what she must look like under those clothes, and the awareness was a fire within him. He'd had a dream, once, of performing ballet with her, grasping her hips between his hands and lifting her. No sex, just that one image, but he awoke instantly, devastatingly hard, and unable to sleep until he'd taken a nice constitutional and read a textbook for a while. This date, the fifth, ended much like the first four. A walk to her door, then a few quiet words. The niceties about the date had become unnecessary: they both knew they'd had a good time, and they both knew they were more than just having fun. The kiss started tender, turned passionate, then the passion lasted longer than they'd expected. He laid his hands on her hips and gently guided her back against the wall, where he kissed her with all the ardor that had built up in him these long months. She kissed him back, hard, first with a hint of tongue. Then as he slowly sucked her into his mouth, she surrended herself to her feelings, and their tongues caressed each other, intimately, like lovers: a preview of how their bottled-up desire would play out through other wet, sensitive places, and of the delight they would bring each other. Then she withdrew, and looked down, and said she was sorry. When he said it was all right, she said she'd like to invite him in but she just wasn't ready, and sounded like she was about to tell him something important, but instead kissed him, fast, then loving, then fast again, and disengaged, and looked at him through the crack of her closing door, and then the date was over and he was walking home. At some point on the walk, he inwardly swore, and thought "why am I dating a freshman?" -- longer to wait for sex to enter the relationship -- but erased that thought with a reminder that Michelle was really something quite special. Three years younger, but still: special. TV, then tossing and turning until midnight. Then got up, room dark. A stretch of internet porn, a dick growing hard in his shorts, and a glum face as he pondered, and discarded, and pondered again, the idea of grabbing it, stroking it, and making a mess. That just wouldn't have felt right to him. Instead he dressed, and got in the car to drive his thoughts away. Nowhere in particular to go. But getting off-campus, drifting under streetlights and past dark buildings, helped him forget the pretty brown eyes that were still looking at him through the closing door. Helped him try. Drove through downtown, glancing here and there at brightly-lit gatherings of people -- a Starbucks, a bar with a patio. Drove under the gaze of office buildings, over the railway, through the industrial park. Drove a spell through not exactly a bad end of town. Drove past the sex shop. And not one of the upscale ones -- the sex shop with no windows and no door on the sidewalk. But everyone knew what it was. Jake remembered a block later that one of his gay friends had mentioned that there was a sex shop on Oakley Street where guys sometimes went to get a quick handjob when they were in the mood. He glanced at the next street sign: Oakley. Well, wasn't that something. He drove for quite a ways out of town, then told himself of course he would have to go back exactly the way he came, to avoid getting lost. It wasn't until he braked to turn into the parking lot that he'd decided. Bored, the clerk examined his ID, took the cash and waved him in. Head down, he pushed open the door and strode into the dark room. Thumping music playing just loud enough to discourage conversation. Dim lights, barely there. Each wall lined with small alcoves, some the size of a large closet, some just a phone booth. Curtains hung only halfway down, enough, he realized with a start, to hide faces and little else. A dozen men milling around. Half in their 20s, half older. Mostly white. Most looked... ordinary. Dressed unremarkably, looking average. Few direct looks. He scanned them all, quickly, furtively, not wanting to draw attention. Not yet. And a bouncer, or something like a bouncer. Also bored. All the booths had video screens. Two of the booths had someone in them. Each man staring at his screen. One's hand was slowly moving in his pants pocket. An opening led to a darker, more claustrophobic room, with a movie playing on a large screen. Large enough for Jake to see it held two naked bodybuilders, showing the world what passed for enjoyment, as they fucked. He withdrew and walked along the wall, parting curtains with one hand and peering into a few of the empty booths. All had video screens. One showed a man kneeling, and suckling at another's dick like a calf at an udder. One was simply a muscular man, reclining, masturbating. Surprisingly, one showed a man fucking a woman. Not exclusively a gay hangout, apparently. Or... well, he didn't know. He looked at the straight porn for a moment, and if he listened carefully he could hear the actress's tinny praise over the room's thumping bass. He turned to walk into the large-screen room and drew himself up short. There was a man in his path. A young man, short, slim, wearing jeans and a dark vest that hung open. Straight black hair. Mexican ancestry, Jake thought, or was it Asian? He couldn't tell. Their eyes met. Nothing was said. The smaller man took a half-step to the side and watched as Jake walked into the video room. Tiny. Barely over a dozen seats, just enough to be almost private. The room was empty -- except, he now saw, the light of the screen silhouetted two men's heads in the front row, corner. Were they just sitting? Watching? What happened here? Not knowing what else to do, Jake walked to a middle row and took a seat against the wall. He'd try waiting a while, see what happened. The two men onscreen just kept fucking. On a patio in the bright sun, apparently outside a villa overlooking the sea, they wowed each other with the excitement of their fuck. One bronzed, hairless, muscle-bound man was bent forward, face-down over an incongruously comfortable-looking easy chair, legs spread. He held one ass cheek back for the camera to get the perfect angle of his asshole as the other man's cock drove in and out, clean and smooth as a chrome piston. The other man, bronzed, hairless, muscle-bound, held his partner's side at an unlikely angle with one hand, twisting for the camera. Jake stayed seated and watched. Over the next few minutes, he noticed with amusement, it was that other free hand that was the most creative performer in the scene. It took a tour of the set. It rested jauntily on a hip, pulled its owner's butt cheek aside so the audience could see what an asshole looked like when it wasn't getting fucked, it pulled on balls, and it delivered several hard spanks to the other man's toned rear. This was not the kind of thing that Jake found exciting. He'd watched porn movies before and he remembered grimacing when the camera showed only the mens' equipment, without a woman prominent. But there was something hypnotic about the surreal beauty of it. Despite the cheap viewscreen, the saturated colors of sky, tree, brick and skin provided a superficially rich cinematography. Men's muscles flexing and bulging were attractive in their own right, like all healthy, exercising human bodies. The organic tension of thrusting hips and flexing knees turned what could have been a monotony of ritual into a celebration of energetic flesh, drawing Jake in to witness a portrait of the motion of two bodies compelled by desire. As he studied the scene, Jake allowed his eyes to travel over the hairless bodies, across the strong backs, up to shoulders, down to thighs, and... eventually... to scan the part of the movie that was probably the main attraction for anyone else in the room at the time. They called themselves "top" and "bottom," everyone knew that. The top's buttocks squeezed as he thrust back and forth, steady as a metronome, plunging a long, thick penis into the bottom's ass. The bottom lay across the arm of the easy chair. His head turned to show his contorted face, eyes squeezed closed, mouth open in disbelief as he moaned and moaned. His balls and his penis, erect, swung below. They were splayed downward against the fabric, dick pink, swollen, and begging vainly for a caress as his balls dangled astride. A short strand of pre-cum hung from the tip, swinging as the metronomic plowing swayed it back and forth. Was he moaning from the pleasure of the ass-fucking, or the pain of his cock's unmet need? Or vice versa? Jake's own penis lay soft in his jeans. He was mesmerized and stimulated but not aroused. Still, something was there. The video was just a fuck-movie on a loop in a sex joint, but any two people in the throes of passion were compelling, attractive, if you spent even a minute looking. Jake kept looking straight ahead as a man walked up and sat right next to him. His heart thumped. This was a turning point, he knew. He knew what was happening. He wanted to fuck. He could have what he wanted -- almost. Or he could stand and walk out and never look back. Jake half-turned, and looked without looking. It was the short Mexican guy he'd walked past. No, wait -- Jake guessed one of his parents was European and one Korean. He had big eyes, a pursed mouth, and stylish, boyish hair. A slender frame and delicate hands... ...one of which was now lightly stroking Jake's knee. Jake turned back to the movie and watched more. The top's long, thick cock was still pistoning into the lubed, red hole between the bottom's sculpted butt-cheeks. Nothing to obscure the view. A cock plunging in and out of a moist tube, to a soundtrack of ecstacy. The hand on his knee was ever so lightly dancing its way up his thigh. Jake's soft penis, as it happened, was nestled in the leg of his jeans on that side. The hand got closer and closer. His dick wasn't exactly getting hard, but Jake felt anticipation start to course through him. The hand reached it. Jake stared straight ahead at the moaning men as fingers touched his dick through his jeans leg. It had only taken a few seconds. A man's fingers were playing with his dick. He couldn't look. Silence as Jake felt himself slowly begin to react. Out of the corner of his eye, the other young man was studying his face, not the movie. He was caressing, not groping. Jake couldn't bring himself to look at him. Jake thought of how he'd grown hard when he and Michelle had kissed goodnight. How he wanted, needed her body. Without looking, he thought of this young man's cock and belly and back and butt. He was a person too, with a body and needs. "Go easy on me," he thought to himself. His only reason to scramble out the door was his nervousness and fear, and the fear worked instead to anchor him to his seat. Touched through denim, his penis had begun to engorge almost immediately, fattening itself. And when the slim fingers started petting him, the fear leaked away and the battle was over before it started. Pleasure was there. The pleasure Michelle had refused him. Jake took a breath and let it out. Was he expected to do anything? The man was still looking at him. They couldn't just sit here forever like this, right? Were they going to say anything? Were they going to try to seduce each other or had that already happened? Nothing was said. It seemed silence sufficed. Jake's cock stretched, extending to its full length in his pants. Down his leg and to the side, the tip surfacing pocketward like a breaching submarine. The young man used both hands now, one petting and pinching the sensitive head, the other rubbing down-shaft to touch his balls and back up, like a genuine massage, back and forth. Jake spread his legs just a little to give him room, and was rewarded with a hand that began gliding down over his balls, cupping them through his pants before sliding back up. And that other hand was flicking over his sensitive dick-head, nipping at it, pinching, petting. This wasn't the slow baby steps of foreplay he'd grown to expect with women. This man's hands had gone straight in. The pounding music and the moaning movie made it feel like another universe. A bizarre planet where men took care of other men's needs. A place where a man could reach orgasm anytime he wished, with just a glance. Rules didn't seem to apply here. Still frozen and nervous, it seemed like forever to Jake. But it was just a minute before the smaller man reached over with both hands, popped open his jeans button, and unzipped him. The awkward extraction happened so fast. His straight, girl-loving cock was standing tall in a man's warm, strange hands while its owner stiffly watched gay porn. He'd never had a sexual encounter without words. Every single time he'd had sex was after a date. It was dawning on him that conversation and the later, sensitive, whispered affection weren't... necessary. He leaned back and tugged his jeans down just an inch to avoid the zipper. For some reason he'd thought a jack-off in a gay movie theater would be hard and quick. But the hands playing over him in a chaotic dance of touch were sensual. The young man leaned closer, but it was only to improve the angle, to worship the dick with more reverence. His hands formed flower petals, feathers, and rings. He buffed, gripped, and squeezed. His hands slid, twisted, and pulled. And under his care, Jake felt a strange passion rising. Surely not love, maybe not even lust, but the passion of needing satiety, release, completion. This wasn't like kissing his girlfriend or watching porn. This was a proud, full erection raised and loosed by a stranger and meant to be used. It wasn't artificial or an unwanted reflex. It was real. It was ready. An animal had come forth and it wasn't going back into its cage. There was a prize at the end of this hunt and, in Jake, a primal demand that the hunt be seen through. Was this sex? Was this even sex? Or a raw exchange of ecstatic hurt, a painful and lonely rite of passage which men endured to emerge triumphant and revitalized? His mind was focused, but Jake's eyes grew heavy as his head was teased and his shaft stroked. His penis was on full view, and he could see at least one other man observing. Go ahead and look, he thought. He was being a voyeur himself: he could see the two men onscreen, standing-missionary now. The bottom lay on his back, legs spread, his lustful, lonely erection bouncing on his abs as the other man thrust lubricated joy into his butthole. Projected on-screen in an endless loop, his manly chest and biceps flexed, cords lifting and falling in his neck as his head rolled with unending arousal. For a long moment, Jake was frozen with him, pulled into that same oasis of joy and held there, suspended. It couldn't last forever. It wasn't that the effete stranger was expecting reciprocation, though the thought had occurred to Jake. It was variety that Jake wanted. The next level. Jake looked at his partner, finally, as the stroking waned. The man leaned close to Jake's ear and said, barely audible: "you're straight, aren't you?" Jake could only nod. How--? The man stood and held out his hand: come with me. Jake buttoned and half-zipped as he left the room, hand held, in curiously-intimate tow behind his masturbator. They didn't go far. With murmured words, gestures, and a gentle touch to his hips, Jake was guided into the video booth he had left, the one showing the woman getting fucked. But he was led to a specific side, and, confused, was turned to face the wall with the flat-screen TV. He looked down as his new friend unzipped him, and saw a hole in the wall. Oh. A circle large enough for a volleyball, maybe. Just at the right height. His friend disappeared to step into that next booth over. Why did he want the separate booths? If he'd wanted he could have done anything before. Surely not privacy. Maybe for the opposite. Maybe Jake was on exhibition. Maybe his friend was showing off. He didn't much care. No one he knew was here. With a deep breath, half-conscious of their small audience, he stepped forward and, cautiously, positioned his erect penis at the glory hole. A small movement, and just the tip passed through. And already, the tip slid into the shocking wetness of a warm mouth. He gasped. His friend was already waiting. Knew what he wanted. The touch, the feel of a mouth slowly sucking his cock-head, was unbelievable. A man denied sex for months cannot resist a blowjob. He's made helpless by the sheer pleasure. Jake Explores Somehow getting a leash on his need, Jake pushed himself into the hole, but slowly. Into the mouth. The gay man's mouth remained fixed, accepting the cock without protest or judgement. He slipped in, to the hilt, effortlessly. Cavernous warmth as his entire cock slid across a hot tongue. As he found himself pressed against the wall, eyes wide, there was a gentle adjustment on the other side. His friend's soft lips pursed and, stretching, grasped another quarter-inch of his shaft. He leaned in. The man's mouth snuggled closer to his pubis like a kitten getting a better grip on its mother's teat. The mouth gave his cock a slight pulsing suction, but mostly just held it, savored it. Almost his entire cock was encased in a slippery tunnel that, obscured from view, he realized, could have been a vagina. It wasn't, but it felt so like one. Shockingly like one. Looser, perhaps. But the illusion was enhanced by his position. Cheek against the wall, his ear was next to the flat-screen TV. Over the thumping music, he could easily hear the moans and pleas of the woman in the video: "Oh! Yeah! Oh! Fuck me harder! Oh! Fuck! Fuck it! Harder! Ohhh..." Squinting in concentration, Jake held his pants up with one hand while he slowly extracted, then reinserted his penis. The uncomplaining mouth let him go and took him back, its tongue providing a long, slow passive lick on the way out, and a long, slow passive lick on the way back in. The sensation was irresistable. He stroked out and in again, and then again. And then, the fifth time Jake thrust his hard cock through a glory hole into a man's mouth, he forgot himself and was overtaken by exhilaration. Flat against the wall, the hole became a vagina, or the essence of a vagina. The moans by his ear were for him. Now he understood why his friend brought him to this booth. His hesitation slipped away when he realized this didn't have to be "gay sex": it could simply be sex. Masculinity reasserted, he set his jaw and began a steady thrusting into the slippery fuck-hole. His eyes closed. He hadn't forgotten it was a man, he simply stopped caring. He let out a groan and worked his hips. His long-neglected penis, hard and stiff, had finally earned what it needed. "Oh! Ooh! Oooh! Oh," he heard. "Fuck my pussy! Yeah! Baby fuck me! Fuck me! Ooh ooh ooh. Yeah! Give it to me! Harder! Fuck it harder! Oh, oh, ohhh..." His eyes opened and he saw a half-dozen men in the room, looking right at him, watching him screw a glory hole. He reached up with one hand and drew the dingy curtain closed. The curtain hung down to about his chest. He knew the men were still watching, but now he didn't have to look at them. He turned his head the other way, nose to the girlishly ooh-ing TV, and closed his eyes again. In, out. Sliding, sliding through the soft lips and wet hole. He wasn't close to cumming. He took his time and enjoyed the fuck. The lips and tongue lubricated him and were driving him wild with excitement, but weren't a powerful stimulation. He didn't care. He fucked the wall because his cock needed it, because he wanted it. Because he was a man and -- while the caresses and teasing in the other room were titillating and fun -- sometimes a man needs to position his feet, grit his teeth, and bang his hard cock into a human being like a hammer. Was this deep-throating? Was he getting deep-throat? He couldn't tell, didn't care. The young man knew how to take a cock in his mouth. Jake slowed and shoved himself all the way in, his entire shaft nestled on a gently flexing tongue. Then pulled out and began slow partial strokes, out and halfway in. The mouth began properly sucking, the lips squeezing around his cock, tongue waggling over his sensitive head. Jake dimly realized his slow strokes gave the men in the room a good long look at his cock. He didn't care. The sucking was intense. Hard thrusts into a loose mouth were satisfying, but now Jake poised his cock in careful position, holding himself still as he got worked over. Lips, puckered, wet, slipped on and off his dick tip, a fast mild sucking rubbing that would instantly have driven him out of his mind had there been more friction and pressure. Instead the lips showed him a heightened state of pleasure, a fleshy encircling caress from a brazen, nasty lover. The tongue began to circle his dick-head in a dizzying blast of carnal power. He'd never suspected a blowjob could be like this. A rotation began. Around and around as the lips bobbed halfway down the shaft. A frantic eel squeezing its long slippery body on a primed button. A wet pulse rocking around and around him. A fat slug of lava grinding around the mountain peak. But then the treacherous tongue lost its path and began dancing, sliding, pushing wherever it pleased. Slow massaging and quick licks. A teasing of the most intimate kind. Jake began to push and twist his hips, chasing the maddening glimpses of slickness the other man provided. He'd begun to lose control of the blowjob. Jake thrust himself into the hole, but he found he would get only what the young man chose to give. One thrust would earn him a hard, long, sweet suck that brought a gasp as the cum rose in his balls. The next, only a teasing touch of the lips. Jake's breathing grew ragged and he found himself twisting from side to side, trying new angles to try to find the tight squeezes and hard licks he knew were there. The gay man's hands began patrolling the glory hole, guiding the dick wherever he wanted it to go. The ghostly brushes against his new lover's skin -- his cock-tip touched by a hand, a cheek, an outstretched tongue, the playful loose grasps at his balls -- these tantalizing tortures were becoming as common as the gentle but lusty sucks he craved. Jake was no longer a strong man taking what he pleased, he was getting hotter, and hornier, and soon he would be growing desperate with the need for a good hard stroke. He found himself simply pressing his crotch firmly into the glory hole, while the hands and mouth on the other side took their time. The young man was eating him slowly like a banquet to be savored. He ran his tongue up and down the shaft, testing its hardness at each inch. He made an ice-cream cone of Jake's cock-head, his lips wetly pinching together to taste one morsel after another. The tip of his cock-head, each yummy side of his cock-head, the top and the bottom of his cock-head -- and then working their way around the hot red skin behind the cock-head. Then down and up the shaft, each part of his penis receiving the slow tasting treatment. Then the man's fingers joined in, petting and stroking the shaft, gently squeezing its now-aching stiffness. Fingers and tongue fighting to see which could tease the head the best. Jake groaned as a slicked fist slowly worked its way down, stretching his sensitive skin to its limits and making the hot hard-sucking mouth, when it clamped onto him, the most erotic stimulation he'd ever received. And when the only touch his dick got was a five-fingered octopus slithering up and down, giving him the lightest of caresses, he could only press his crotch more firmly into the wall and pray that the tease would soon end. The girl moaned in his ear and told him to fuck her. Jake was brought to a height of raw sexual tension he'd never have imagined. His dick was rock-hard. It bulged like it was squeezed in a cock-ring, the small ridges on his shaft grown tight under the skin, the head swollen with its spongy flesh gone glassy-stiff. But even worse was the pressure he felt his whole body now had to endure. He was like a drawn bow waiting for release. The sleazy room didn't matter, the men he knew must be watching didn't matter. None of it mattered. Only making it to the other side. Only the fucking, and the cumming. He thought of Michelle's soft, graceful, girlish body, and how lovely her face was when she smiled. And he found that now when he thought of her, mostly what he thought was that he needed to sink his giant hard cock into her pussy. He wasn't surprised. He only wished he'd seen her pussy, that she had spread her legs for him, that he'd seen it up close, so he could picture it better. He pictured it anyway. Pictured her, virginal, telling him to be gentle as she shyly spread her legs for him. Her soft curls gracing her tender, warm sex, and her gently-puffy, pale vulva parting, to reveal just a hint of pink... her moist slit... ready to be pierced by... His thoughts came back to the gay young man sucking him and how his hairless chest was smooth and touchable. The porn starlets in his ear and the man with the expert mouth had converged. Gender seemed irrelevant now. Femininity, relationships, love, were memories. Only the cock's need mattered, only the need to, finally, sink his meat into slickened flesh and pound out his cum. The sucking and fondling drew down to just one hand, and withdrew, and then abruptly a tightness gripped his cock-head. Holding him from the tip and sliding on down, it felt at first like a tightly-squeezing hand, but, he realized quickly, it was a condom that had been rolled onto him. The short young man stepped around the corner and ducked under the curtain. Suddenly he was here, a man's presence. Jake withdrew from his position prone against the wall. They faced each other, really, for the first time. He reached out and caressed Jake's latex-gloved cock. Jake reached out and ran a hand across his chest. Just for a moment. Then his gay lover was turning and lowering his already-unzipped jeans. He turned his back, bent at the waist, and put his hands on the wall Jake had just abandoned. Jake took a step back and looked down to see his lover's legs spread and his asshole, already lubed up, spread and waiting. Jake already knew he was going to do it, but he took a moment to reflect. The thought of walking away never occurred to him. A glance up at the TV and he could see a man fucking the blonde girl from behind, on her knees. She moaned and shouted, and the camera cut to a close-up of a cock sliding in and out of a hairless, spread pussy. That was what Jake wanted, raw, wet pussy. A rush of power and lust filled him. Jake looked down, stepped forward, pulled a butt cheek aside with one thumb, and positioned his wrapped dick with the other hand. With five forceful, determined pushes, he worked his impossibly horny cock into the young man's ass. Someone pulled the curtain aside as he began his thrusts. He looked dispassionately at his audience, five men, all rubbing themselves, two with their stiff dicks out. He didn't care. He turned back to his partner. His lover began shoving his small brown butt into him, impaling himself on Jake, demanding a hard fuck in a wordless language. There was moaning, but whether it was the TV, his audience, or his new fuck-toy, Jake didn't know. His mind clouded. He pushed, and pulled, and pushed again, feeling the squeezing, the pressure, the baking hotness, the faint friction of a well-lubed ass. Dazed, he looked up at the TV again, and watched the girl's puckered asshole jostling as her pussy got plowed. On her knees, ass cheeks held apart, it hovered, pinched shut, just above the pistoning cock in her cunt. Jake drifted between what he saw and what he did. He'd never had anal sex before. He fantasized about sticking his cock up the girl's ass, into her body's fuck-tunnel hidden beyond that round entrance, when he realized suddenly that he knew exactly what that would feel like. Exactly. Fuck. Yes. This was the fuck. This was him fucking. He took a grip on his lover's slim waist, and as he stared at the huge tanned cock plunging in and out of the sloppy pale pussy, he worked up the speed and strength of his own fuck-thrusts. Pull out until the man's tight anal ring gripped the sensitive skin just behind the cock-head. Push in until his shaft was buried deep inside him. Building up speed. Fuck in, push hard, ram his cock up into the effeminate young man. Then pull out and in one smooth motion slide back in. Jesus, he was hard. Tiny ass ring spread wide by his cock, squeezing him so fucking tight. Plunging again and again into that incredible heat, that deep, wet heat inside his lover's body. Oh fuck -- His release wasn't far off, and he already knew that was all that mattered. His mind wandered as his ass clenched and he started to feel the familiar full feeling in his gut. Michelle, and her enchanting shyness. The swellings of her beautiful, perfect breasts under her leotard, slim and pretty just like her. The married woman's flirtatious smile and the way she had leaned forward, to tease the young student with her deep, forbidden cleavage. The video slut with her pristine asshole, crying out now as the cock she wanted so badly was giving her all the pussy-pounding she could handle. And the needy, manipulative gay man, ass split by a prick he'd known was straight and had teased into helplessness anyway. That stiff dick now sliding up inside him like he'd wanted from the beginning. He'd known Jake wanted a wet pussy. And he'd known after his merciless teasing, poor Jake couldn't resist his lubed asshole. He'd known Jake would be pounding him, like he was now, gripping his hips with both hands and ramming into him over and over. Jake's pants had fallen to his ankles and he didn't care. His imagination went back and forth between pussy and asshole, man and woman, was it really so different -- the slender hips he was gripping even had a slight waist. His lover's chest was as smooth as Michelle's, and her breasts not that much bigger. Her nipples, he'd seen, were gently nubby much like this man's. He reached forward and pinched his nipple, holding it between his fingers. Then gripped the man's breast, feeling only the swelling of muscle where Michelle would have had... Jake shook his head and breathed harder, feeling the man's tight ring squeezing his sliding shaft like a vice, feeling his balls bouncing against the young man's balls. They were begging to unload. Ready to unload. He'd get what he came for. He took one last look at the blonde on-screen, and her tempting, unreachable, impossibly desirable body. Her creamy smooth pussy, split by a tireless cock, her flesh being pushed in and out, it was beckoning him. From behind cold glass. Then he looked down at the penis he was thrusting into the man's anus. He ran his hands up and down the man's graceful, light-brown back, rubbed his palm over the baby-smooth roundness of his butt cheeks, set his grip in the soft, gently yielding, flesh at his waist, and grunted, as he fucked the hell out of his lover. Rammed, and rammed his pelvis again, against the stranger's rear, the hot, helpless asshole giving stroke after stroke to Jake's demanding cock. He was swept away by the sensation, forced onward by it, control gone. He fucked. He slammed his cock into the wet, tight, burning-hot hole, and lost himself as he fucked it, fucked it, fucked it hard. Oh, shit, here it is, take my fucking cum, he thought. His body quivered and his tired muscles grew taut. He was shaking-weak, half-paralyzed, and the only thing that kept him moving was the instinctive need to shove his cock again and again into the hot, slippery, tight-stretched asshole. His fingers clenched. His hips banged forward once more, again, and then one final time. His loud groan, when he pushed his full weight in and filled the condom with spurt after spurt of his cum, in the most explosive orgasm of his life, let the whole room full of men know he'd surrendered himself. Two of the men jerking off to his lewd display shot their own cum onto the floor. He'd put on a hot show. He didn't care. He was drained, completely exhausted. He slid out, and his stiff prick, draped with its netted load of semen, drooped, done. A prick that was satisfied and grateful at last. When his human fuck-toy turned around and guided Jake's hand onto his hard little cock, his pubic hair neatly trimmed, his sweaty pleading face like an angel's, Jake gave him the dozen strokes he needed. His new lover screwed up his face and stood stock-still, hands at his sides, and those empty hands gripped only his own thighs. He pushed his penis into Jake's fist and moaned twice, then mewled an "ooooh" as he shot his cum onto the floor. It was Jake's way of saying thank-you, really: thanks for reminding me I'm a man, and men fuck. He was sure he'd come back. He was falling for Michelle, and he looked forward to the day she could fully share herself with him. Until then, he had a cock, and the cock had needs. And now that he knew that an incredible fuck was just a glance away, plenty of men were going to make his cock squirt its cum.