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Stick Shift

By: zackjack



Within seconds of hearing the latch lock into place on the plywood door, the mound jumbling the inside of the sweatpants nonchalantly positioned itself within eyesight of the 6-inch oblong cutout joining my stall to the next one. Darkly veined hands fingered the rope tie at the waist and with faked patience untied the loose knot, allowing them to drop silently to the floor over the worn, sockless and laceless cross-trainers. No clothing was visible on the darkly smooth stomach above the sexy bellybutton.

A frayed jock only partially tamed the s-shaped black snake within. Rid of pants, the long meat willed its way tentatively toward the hole, the same fingers further liberating the leg lizard from its frazzled strap confines into a supple, growing organ. Curlicues of pubic cover and smooth low-hangers of hefty size filled the view through the hole in the wall as I studied my dilemma. 

I silently grinned in contemplation of the problem 'unfolding' before me. Here I was, on my knees padded by shorts and drawers. My limber white dick dangled at half-mast between my muscled thighs, popper bottle within hand's reach. A beautiful fat black dick swung free through the cutout hole, inching higher in progressive engorgement, evidently hoping for some good head. And yet, I hesitated touching the over-sized uncut cobra swelling four inches distant from my lips...

*

...The same lips that had partaken of the fragrant herb so frowned upon by mainstream society only an hour before when a new brother had tempted me while out gathering my wits from the familial onslaught occurring inside the house. I was claiming a short respite on the back veranda when Coy had appeared, sauntering toward me out of the wooded shadows of the spacious backyard, sucking lazily on a fat blunt. 

The dark-skinned beefcake eyeballed me smugly as he asked if I were just a little bit freaked by the token white boy status I presently held amongst the gathering family. That made me laugh, but he persisted, letting me know that maybe I could understand the feeling black folk frequently confronted in a lily-white world they commonly navigated. Food for thought, for sure. Then, he proposed to increase my paranoia level by offering me a hit...

Really, now, what's a dude gonna do? I took the blunt and inhaled deeply of the smooth creeper weed, of course. We chatted amiably, sharing several tokes as my nerves calmed over the ensuing minutes. Coy's laid back manner indicated prior achievement of his desired mental state: basically blitzed. 

Breaking our quiet reverie, the door opened suddenly and we were busted by a sister who burst upon us calling her brother's name, in obvious search. In surprise, we exhaled the guilty evidence directly at her, my discomfort on distinct display by my abruptly flushing color. She surveyed the scene, asking, "Well, now, what you two cute stuffs' doin' out here?" Kindly opting to defray my visible angst, she smiled knowingly as my cheeks burned. Then she endeared herself to me further, signaling us to pass her the doobie. By taking a hit with us, she meant to let me off the hook. It worked. I loved this woman immediately.

My new favorite lady savior reminded Coy of the need for a run to the grocery store in town before the barbeque later in the evening, instructing him to, "take this here boy along, too, so your stoned selves both make it back home OK." Sealing my gratitude, she winked at me, flirtatiously stuffing a paper into my shirt pocket, adding, "Here's the list." And with that, she disappeared back into the house. 

Finding ourselves on the road into town a little later, Coy told me he had to stop in the bank for a few minutes, could I get the list? No problem, that. I stonedly floated from the car toward the store as he turned in the other direction. Breaking the age-old rule of 'no grocery shopping while high', I wandered every single aisle of the store, gathering the items listed, plus some... twice.

In stoned focus I collected the filled bags to the trunk and settled in to await Coy's return from his bank errand. And waited... and waited... and waited for the no-show Coy. After half an hour, my mind wandering, I picked up on a darkly shaded alley to the side of the store not noticed up to then. Had I been in the city, I never would have done so but here in the sticks my stone-faced curiosity bested me and I stepped out of the car.

Wandering down to the back corner, I turned it at the rear alley and spied an untamed bush-shrouded door with the sign above it weakly blinking the announcement, "VIDEO ARCADE". Wow, I thought, Mecca for the horndogs of the world invades Smalltown, USA. A few almost guilt-tinged minutes later found myself unsealing the fresh popper bottle and choosing a skin-flick video in the small cubicle locked by a slide latch. The scene was now set for the previous 'problem' sexily rising before me...

*

...The underground hip-hop music set a sexual beat throughout the seedy arcade as I kneeled before the glory hole, nasty lyrics suggesting my next move. I fought my instincts to do what I wanted to do: suck the pretty dick through the hole. Slurping sounds close by alerted me to the fact that the dick sucker in the booth on my other side was tripping on a fat piece which had no doubt locked itself into the adjoining cubicle for just such a purpose...damn.

I could hear the raspy, falsetto voice of the tranny two stalls down as she begged the long, hard, corn-holing cock to, "Nooo... please, Daddy, oh noo, please, Daddy, don't do that, it's too big... oh, please Daddy, Daddy, oh, please, please don't--- I can't take all that big dick, Daddy...ohhh, please Daddy, please...ohhh...ohhh... ...ooohhhhh...Yesss, Daddy, fuck that pussy, Daddy...give me that big cock...Slam me with that, Daddy, ooooh go, Daddy," in the timeworn refrain practiced so unfailingly one more time... double damn.

What the fuck, I thought? Where was I, anyway? And what was this pretty dick doin' here in front of me, too? It sure seemed to be under no illusions as the beckoning head reached an arching fullness, teasing me. This meeting must be preordained, I rationalized. By that totally twisted logic I succumbed to the subliminal aura of the sex-infused atmosphere, greedily sliding that big, fat, begging, spongy-headed, pre-cumming brother dick all the way past my tonsils. And there I sat, skewered and motionless, absorbing my big, fat sin for as long as I could. 

Finally having to breathe, I backed off the beautiful prick, exhaling as the thing cleared out of my throat until just the delicious spongy head remained between my lips. Looking down my nose at the long black shaft, I took the time to uncap the popper bottle and inhaled, so as to enhance my efforts. I teethed a bit on the head of this hot man's straight out 9-1/2 inches of delectable uncut dick as the rush enveloped me, then curved it back down my ready throat as Coy pressed from the opposite side. Hearing him audibly hit on his own jungle juice bottle, I spit the big thing with saliva and settled into a long, deep, in-and-out motion, sliding to the rhythm of the nasty music. Damn, this was good dick.

I always have love how my tongue feels when smoothly enwrapping the elastic cylinder on the underside of hard dicks. Repeatedly following this one's swollen 'undertube' all the way down the length from the helmet head to the kinky pubic pad and smooth balls, I gradually worked the foreskin back with each long stroke, liberating the pliant, rubbery softness of the curves on that extremely suckable head. 

Freed from the overhang and ten times more sensitive, I squeezed it hard between my lips and he shuddered. With each smooth swallowing stroke, I kept pulsing that squeeze and his knees buckled, nearly giving out. Boy, I got off on that feeling. Talk about the driver's seat...my mouth was on the stick shift.

He attempted to keep the entire length deeply seated, grinding his pubes as far through the separating wall hole as possible. I lightly bit down on the root while flattening the crown against the back of my throat at the same time, answering his pushes. My hard dick sproinged up and down in unison. Both of us tremored to the pleasure of this action and I lost track of everything but the ongoing connection between us. He could feel how much I was lovin' the dick and began reminding me of it... "ya' cocksucking bitch." 

The filthy synthesized music playing in the background kept my action on beat as we zoned with it. The dick thrusts set to matching my sucking with his pelvic gyrations into my mouth. He encouraged my mouth-only contact with his cock and demanded me to reach through to finger the asshole. Good fucking idea, I thought.

My slippery fingertips stroked and probed and slid to and from the wavy pucker of his manly asshole over the elastic swelling between it and the stud's scrotum in time with my mouth motions. I fondled his private contours and G-spots as I cupped those pendulous nuts and rolled them between my thumb and fingers. The added attention all over the area enhanced the thrill and his low moans couldn't lie. Uncounted minutes took us both slowly up that stairway to the breath-holding moment when dicks ooze that first glob of creamy cum and then rocket out four or five jets of sizzling, gooey jism. We both did that. 

I swallowed most of his, the rest overflowed down my chest; mine splattered the wall and my shorts. The downhill edge of ecstasy extended 'for-seeming-ever' as we lingered over slow, teasing strokes punctuated by jolts of bolting energy in that joined state, neither desiring it to stop. Letting him finally pull back and loose, I peered upward through the good-sized hole, catching the streaming picture of his sculpted cocoa body from that sperm-dripping, quivering cock up to the flat stomach, on up over those firmly nippled pecs to the hangdog smile smirking down at me. Eye-to-eye. 

At that moment, it dawned on me this boy just knew he had me cornered. After all, from his viewpoint, how could I possibly have known who was attached to the succulent dick I had just made cum? Like a low-down cheatin' slut...sucking anonymous dick.

What a stonehenge. Did he think I hadn't seen his sweatpants?

Coy embodied the personification of a horny devil. Tall, athletic and adorable-- a sensual satyr. The mischievous stance with fingers coated by long sticky webbings of his own leftover cum in need of wiping, the brother projected cocky certainty of his new control over me. 

The over-confidence persisted as he commented lewdly on my oral and lingual skills. Mistakenly, he as much as admitted premeditation of our present scenario. From the sharing of the joint to the opportune reminder from his sis of the store run, to his 'bank errand' and no-show appearance at the car, the objective had been clear. To him, at least. Little did this country boy know that he was out of his league... He next affected a sad-sack visage while informing me in no uncertain terms that he, "wouldn't be able to lie to Cal about what had just happened...unless...," and here he hedged his bet: he seemed to be mentally tallying my indebtedness, calculating what he might be able to extract from me. A complete crock, I reflected.

My wholehearted and immediate agreement about not lying left him totally flummoxed. "Just not sure when to tell him," I assured this Lothario. Reminding him that he may not be aware of the fact that though I may have felt some ambivalence for our unusual hook up, I certainly held no guilt over the job well done. On the contrary, I had enjoyed it immensely. As, I added, had he... This unusual tack monkey-wrenched his whole plan as it was not a strategy heretofore encountered. Coy's modus operandi had always been successful domination over his five brothers' extracurricular sex partners by first luring the unsuspecting prey then threatening to out them. Pretty cheesy, the tactic would not do in this instance, as he was now realizing. The boy just wasn't yet familiar enough with either his twin or me. 

Before tying the knot, Cal and I had been lovers for more than eight years. We'd been 'out of our closet' for all that time, and open to side thrills from the outset. By mutual agreement. No, that just would not do here...Coy had some learning to do.

I let Coy down gently by telling him that while I was uncertain which of us had experienced more pleasure by this bookstore blowjob, we could probably agree that rarely had bonding between new brother's begun better... I would be glad to provide him with more good head whenever he might choose. And, Cal would get off on watching. Win-win.

On the ride back to the house we were bombarded by the heavy scent of cum and poppers which we blithely deluded ourselves would be improved upon by lighting another skiff. Not really, but we enjoyed smoking it anyway. Opening paper towels and some Febreze, I attempted to at least reduce the odor. Confidence in my man's even-tempered reaction was one thing but I certainly didn't want anyone else guessing our lascivious deeds.

Be warned, Febreze does not substitute well for Handiwipes or disinfectant. Nevertheless, upon darkening the farmhouse door, the two of us managed to pull off a studied innocence worthy of Pope Frank himself.

I told Cal all of the hot details after the barbeque over sex-in-the-dark. He came three times, while Coy whacked his big piece listening from the next room.

Stick Shift: C.S.P.



I watched, rigid dick in hand, as the smaller man squatted in front of the handsome stud who hit the vape cig between his fingers in obvious expectancy of some good head. Both men's ebony skin aided their blending into the shadows which added to the mystique of my visual.

The diminutive dicksucker knew his way around dicks in general and this 'cocksucker palace' in specific. My nickname for the upscale bath house here in Atlanta was pretty apt as I had found out over the early part of the evening. Mucho communal and public dicksucking had been already observed as the hours had unfolded, amongst many other anonymous, gratuitous sexual activities. A total turn-on.



Cal had been correct in his description of the place to me as we drove to the big city the day before, taking a room at the Four Seasons off Peachtree Street for establishment of a base to pass our urban weekend bent on debauchery. 

Variety is the Spice-of-Life, as once originally stated...

We had enjoyed our first evening at the hotel restaurant on the veranda overlooking downtown Atlanta in casual but elegant fashion. And we smiled alot over our intimate discussions in anticipation of the hedonism-to-cum (sic). 

We sized up the waitstaff during dinner for our imaginative delights, along with the rest of the hotel staff, conjuring lurid scenarios and assigning pretend tendencies, preferences and down-low plots to them as we enjoyed the full-bodied Spanish red we both preferred. 

'Ecdemolagnia: lascivious acts experienced in cities of other than one's origins.

We always laughed at the totally ridiculous and strange word learned during Mardi Gras several years before from a jaded older gentleman. In the heart of the French Quarter close to Preservation Hall over a chance dinner at Petunia's on Toulouse Street. The retired gay professor had dined alone at a table adjacent to ours and suddenly leaned over to me, stating 'the word' out of the clear blue into my ear. He had sized up my lover, Cal, and me, apparently fantasizing on our particulars in his elderly mind full of dirty thoughts.

We were enthralled by the wiry old gent, accompanying him to his last-century, old-world apartments on Bourbon Street for an after-dinner glass of port and had kept contact with him ever since. He had grabbed a place in our hearts at that moment-in-time and we corresponded back and forth to the present day.



Pulling myself back to reality, I focused once again through the ready-made hole between the dark cubicles expressly cut for voyeuristic purposes. The two black men carried on with their meeting, well aware of watching eyes as they enjoyed themselves. 

The smaller dude settled contentedly on his knees and proceeded to lovingly deepthroat the tall, lean big-footed man who relaxed, naked, back on the wall as he exhaled the vape hash smoke. The beat of house music set his tempo and the experienced sucker fed himself a hit of amyl nitrate to 'up' his game. 

I could see through to the next booth over as I watched and saw another pair of eyes taking in the action, as well. My closed but unlocked stall door creakily opened and I felt a hand reach out tentatively, searching for my junk. Never the wall-flower, my knees spread to allow the probing and I sat up on the small bench above me to give better access. 

Greedy hands gave way to slurping mouth and I, too, reclined back on the wall to enjoy the oral work while I continued to view the ongoing masterful blowjob next door. My own cocksucker was well-versed for the task and I lightly shivered as he swallowed my shaft and pre-cum in a long, slow dive that ended with his nose nuzzling my crotch, rotating on it in pleasure of the feeling...for us both. His tongue worked inside the deepness of his mouth and throat while he stayed impaled there and I sighed at the ability he demonstrated. 

Getting to watch the sensual tactics practiced by the couple through the wall while I was being serviced was exactly what I had come here for and I reveled in the slow ministrations by my boy-of-the-moment. And, boy he was. The darkness kept me from the details of the mouth boy, but what I could see of him portrayed a young face with bushy 'fro topping it, and slenderness below his neck level bearing out youthfulness. He was enjoying my over-sized white prick as much as the black dick sucker I was studying next to us was liking that huge one. It seemed they were in sync with their rhythmic strokes and it increased my enjoyment by the fact. The boy offered me his popper bottle after a deep intake of his own and I accepted gladly.

Other eyes were watching the action between us and I heard various sex acts playing out close by in other stalls over the beat of the implicitly sexual music egging-on the activities. What a vibe. Beggings, dirty instructions, animalistic grunts and groans perfused the shadows and amplified the testosterone-saturated atmosphere. I could feel the blood-pumping hardness of many boners as I watched the one and felt the other. Hedonistic heaven.

The statuesque man next to us and the focus of my attention began an agitated increase in activity, locking his hands over the sucker's head to guide the efforts, finally unloading a nice load to the smaller man's tonsils. Keeping his big head lodged to the limit, the man pumped cum in multiple squirts, marked by the thrusts I saw.

After enjoying the climax, the tall man extracted and slapped the face in front of his prick by wagging it back and forth across those cheeks and nose. His little server loved the 'frosting' on his face and tried smiling up at him but couldn't quite do so with the 10 inch piece wiping the smile off with each swipe. Then, he was finished. Turning, he slipped out the spring-braced door to other pursuits. I was satisfied from his show and looked forward to running into him elsewhere. My bigfoot man.

My dick man continued on in ignorance of the exhibition next to us, oblivious to just about everything except for my dick and his popper bottle. Good for me. I leaned back and closed my eyes in enjoyment of the pleasure being delivered, slowly rubbing my palm up and down my stomach and chest. I wondered why I hadn't moved into this place years ago.

The little pro worked my piece up to shooting several times but the swelling alerted him and he disappointed the big dick over and over as he extended his control over it and me. Finally ready to let me loose, the skinny boy backed off, turned his curved little greased butt to my dick and plunged down on it all in one motion. He obviously had practiced this maneuver before as he squeezed until the dick couldn't handle any more and gave homie the prize he had been holding at bay until then. I released in bliss, feeling the baby-laden juice roll around warmly on my mushroom head, making me tingle by the heat.

The cute boy didn't want to give up the dick and stayed there, planted, while he stroked his own cock, easily bouncing up and back on mine for stimulation, then suddenly constricting hard as he erupted, hitting the opposite wall in an arc of milky plasm. Five or six more spurts followed as the kid gritted his teeth and butthole, adding to my after-effect. I was glad to have stuck around...

We lifted together and allowed the reappearance of my 8 1/2 inch piece, still turgid to the point of bouncing up and slapping my belly, then settling contentedly on his glutes. Dripping leftovers onto the sexy little small point of his lower back. He jumped like he was burning and turned around to me laughing, then hugged me and promised to look for me again later on--I stood out in the dark, he told me--so it was a 'date'.

Assuming he meant due to my yukky paleness in contrast to most of the clientele, I smiled and blew in his cutest little ear, leaving the cubicle in search of a hot shower and my husband...bigfoot.

Temporarily satisfied to voyeur my way through dark hallways lined by the locked private rooms, loaded with feet of turgid meat and audible by the hidden booty-traps, I wandered my way down two levels to the festive pool area and then on past to the humid, communal tiled shower room.

With the only light filtering in through the glass entry door, I could barely make out the multiple groupings of various partakers of luscious iniquity, variously peering low to see couples on the tile floor writhing in joined frenzy to steamy corners where orgies carried on their sexual tirades against the disapproving outside world, skin-to-fucking-skin, heads-to-tails, mouths to groins or other body parts, all while apparently forgetting the cleansing function that the shower had been meant for...not. This pleasure room was a multi-tasking buffet of a sexual Mickey-D's. With eat-in-only services.

Finally locating an unused showerhead, I feasted on the live, rowdy porn flick around me as I luxuriated in the cleansing steam and soap, half-hard throughout by the lewd party all around. 

I definitely over-stayed the recommended three-minute shower as several beautiful examples of suckable dickmeat meandered past my spot, some even lingering for a test-run, which I happily provided. A couple of mouthfuls of cum and a third or fourth shower later I sashayed past two phosphorescent cock-ringed boys in the midst of mutual explorative efforts-- almost a Cirque show performance in itself by their coordinated body movements-- and vacated to the next erotic 'bumper car'.

The darkroom on the level above had a constant streaming nasty video screen meant to trigger activity in that place dominated by the wall-to-wall mattress. Like a trigger was at all necessary.

I found clumps and piles of black-skinned hunks or black-on-white hydrox mixtures, all intermingled in snake-like, writhing bunches and joined in an amazing array of sexual didoes. The overwhelming odors of maleness on top of sperm pervaded all. The beat of the ever-present explicit lyrics and music blended the environs.

Inviting hands attempted to draw wanderers into various plots and schemes but I was curious to see if that tall slim man of exceeding manliness from the third floor cubicle was anywhere to be found. Hottest man in the place.

A huge dark hand fastened around my ankle and its viselike grip forced my attention. The attached man was a giant of a guy, seemingly endless in his length from the horizontal perspective he presented. No one else was with him and he apparently intended that as he brusquely shook off a hand on his own leg. Pulling me down to him, I just barely resisted, drawn to the man's size and girth. Jumbo. A towel loosely draped his crotch and his cueball head leered up at me. The big- boned wrist was equal in size to my ankle and his biceps easily out-sized my thighs.

His towel was tenting very invitingly as I hit the mattress. The plus-size dude didn't give me a chance to say anything, not that I really wanted to. The big body covered me in a split second. The man seemed to know what he wanted, for sure. 

His hands entwined and dwarfed my own, spreading them away from my body and successfully stifling any imagined resistance. Beautifully full, sensuous lips engulfed my own and his tongue snaked its way between my teeth almost gagging me by its size. God, I thought, what is between the man's legs if his tongue can do this?

In covering me his left leg had bent, kneeing my stomach as an anchor and his calf pinned my aroused piece against my smooth flatness. That did nothing but engorge me more so. I worked at getting enough breath into my lungs as his gargantuan chest pinned me beneath it. 

He withdrew his tongue and backed off a bare inch to peer down at me, eyeing me as he growled, "Who's your Daddy tonight, Bitch?" My obvious answer was squelched by the quiet vehemence and I gave in to the moment and the fantasy: "You, Daddy," I barely squeaked. I felt that muscled calf rhythmically spasming over my hard dick. To the music. Oh, wait...that was- not- the man's calf...

"Bitch, you gonna need to be tongue-cleanin' my ass, now," he informed me, and I trembled a bit as I contemplated both that and the size of what I had mistaken for his calf. I wanted a look down there but he guessed my thought and let me know, "You don't-Even-need to be nosin' around down there, pretty bitch, I don't want you passin' out-- at least before I get all up inside'n you, pussyboy." The sweet-talkin' gets me every time.

Apparently deciding against my eating him out, at least for the time-being, he loosed one hand, reached for his towel, unwrapped a folded corner and withdrew a small vial of white powder, rolling it between his fingers in front of my face. "See this bitchboy?" he said, 'I needs a bump before I remind you the trailer park, pimped-out, ass-lickin, punk-ass bitch that you are." 

With that, he warned me not to try getting up and raised his humongous set of pecs from mine. His knee stayed planted on me and he unscrewed the little bottle one-handed. A long, pinky fingernail provided a spoon for a small mound of the powder and he adeptly snuffed it into a flared nostril, inhaling deeply to get it all in, some escaping down on my nose and lips. I could feel the stuff as it lay on my face and noted the tickly prickle that was cocaine powder as it numbed my skin. 

Seeing my dismay, he assured my it was 'only cocaine-- nothing better' as if that should relieve me, but he then took the matter up a notch and rolled the fingernail over, emptying the residual directly on my lips and rubbed his pinky over, around and between my lips to my gums. Not good, I thought, but a little late to refuse. 

His smirk assured me of his deed as intended and he raised himself further, allowing a gap between my crotch and his. I got my first glimpse at the wrist-thick log hovering buoyantly an inch above my erect cock and would have been fearful, I think, had I not the beginning effects of the coke infusing me with a desire I hadn't known before. 

Even as I took the monster in, an anonymous ebony hand reached for it, slicking it thoroughly with vaseline. I was mesmerized at the seeming smallness of an otherwise large hand partially encircling it and buzzed with anticipation now as the big bull sprinkled an extra little pile of powder on the foreskin and ballooning head poking form inside it, using that multi-tasking pinky to spread it over the whole greasy thang.

The mystery hand disappeared and I felt my ankles being pulled apart by other unseen hands until I was spread-eagled under that prick. One foot had been pulled on by a foot fetish person who set to driving me crazy by sucking my toes. I watched as Jumbo, slow-motion, lined that thing up with my asshole and met the sphincter lightly, looking up at me as he held it there to allow a minute for the powder to absorb. 

"Are you ready for a good, deep fuck lesson, Bitch?" His steely breath filled my senses. Not waiting for nor wanting a reply, the giant pressured forward steadily with the object of my new-found need stretching my gut as I couldn't ever remember. The magic powder blocked any pain, but not the stretching feeling.

He drew my eyes to his and literally drooled on my neck and face, the both of us feeling the plugging in of that beautiful dick until I finally felt the tickle of his pubic curls and hot balls against my round butt. I also felt more than one unknown hand massaging and exploring that connection point and my whole ass was soon lubed up with vaseline as the Daddy-tonight re-inserted that huge tongue back into my mouth and proceeded to undulate those huge hips as we melded into the act.

The knowledge of observers to this and the feel of multiple fingers following our progress heightened my first-time experience of several unexpected sensations. Jumbo's tongue searched my mouth from my gums to my teeth to my own tongue to my tonsils and I silently begged for this to never end. My eyes were locked on his as we joined in a fucking of deep-in-my-gut places not plugged into before. Those dark eyes widened each time he dead-ended up inside me, and I faintly noticed outside sounds complementing the fingers feeling our fuck. Close-by but faraway voices play-by-played our action.

"Feel that big bare-ass bumped-up dick hittin' that slut-ass nasty-ho' pussy," one said, "this bitch be needin' that dick--he ain't never gettin' enough o'that pimpin' dick, is he? Everyone know what a low-rent, ass-slurpin' pale-butt slut cunt cocksucking, big balls licking, faggoty, cheatin' punkass, cum-smellin, raggedy, loose-hole cunt he really be, right?"

My racing mind and heartbeat dazedly registered the rant as I took that beast to the hilt and begged this big daddy for more. The hands increased in numbers and places visited and I felt familiarity to the nasty-ass 'conversating'(sic) going on around me as I found it hard to concentrate on anything more than the dick and tongue invading my married self.

Never wanting this to finish, the music registered dirtiness describing me to-a-T and I moaned in ecstasy amidst the wholeness of this coke-fueled fuck on so many planes.

A hand took my wrist and pulled it to a longdick pushing in-and-out a close by asshole, bare and slimy, while voices kept up the chanting gutter talk. I lay engulfed by that demanding muscle tongue and listened to the words between the raspy, whispering topman whose dick I was feeling hit the ho's hole next to us and the whimpering bottom needing the dick.

"Pumpin' this bro-ass pussy like it likes, aren't I, you cheap cunt bee-utch? That phat ass takin' this slippery cock you love so much with that deep, pimped-ass hole beggin' me to cum up in that while you feel that big dick plow that sissy-ass drug-up badboy cocksuckin' prissy-prancin' whiteboy nigger-lovin faggot over there, c-o-r-r-e-c-t. bitch?"

"I bet you thought this big dick faggot-fucking booty-bustin' throat and face-fucking sweet dick daddy forgot this black bubblebutt slut cunt cocksuckin',lipstick-wearin' sissy-ass bro-hole,huh? Well, I gonna tell you how I gone' to fuck you right here with these perv-lovin' bitch cunts wishin' they had this dick pumpin' their nasty slimed-up sissy pussys like this bitch be gettin right 'chere, right now, huh, babypussybitchboy?" 

The sexy perverted harangue made me feel at home in a weird way as I kept my fingers probing the slippery prick pushing on that begging hole. The couple obviously wanted my hand there as an extra hand gripped my own, encouraging it to enjoy the fuck-action with them. I was enjoying their fuck almost as much as my own.

Other fingers followed the giant's and my gyrations, finding spots to rub and probe, wrapping us two in a greasy sheen of whole-body slipperiness. My huge dick daddy took to fucking to the beat of the rap music and my pelvis responded by rolling into it with each punch back up to those tickly pubes and I listened to the rutting pair in my reach as they fulfilled needs obviously unfilled 'til now...

"I'm gone' put you back on that couch downstairs, bitch, and grab the back of your nappy-ass head with my large man hands and pump my massive nigger-bro cock in-an-out your bitch ass faggot sissy cunt throat, as my big beautiful cock start to swell in your throat with all these cocksuckers wishin' they was you. I will facefuck you harder and deeper and right before I cum I will pull my massive pretty dick out of your beggin' bitch-ass throat and slap you in the face and head with it and then spray cum all over your sissy ass bitch face and watch while everyone watch you enjoy the warmth of my juice splash all over yo' punk face."

"Then I will sit back and watch as you take your sissy bro hands and wipe it off your face and lick my sweet cum off your fingers then crawl your bitch ass over and suck the rest of my cum out of my large fat cock. Then I'm gonna command your punk ass to lick and suck my balls and lick my manly ass, all of which will give you as much pleasure as it give this man fuckin you now." 




Stick Shift: C.S.P.



"Little bro bitch nigger, you gone' discover why bitches are MY bitch for as long as I want them to be! I'ma turn your faggot punk sissy ass over and put you on your knees and you gone' lay yo' head on your folded arms with that sweet bubble ass in the air and your ass pussy fully exposed to everyone, you cheap-ass nigger-ho, the small of your back arched up and your belly touching the couch, nothin' but ass in the air."

"Then I slide up to your sissy faggot punk ass and rub my large fat swollen-up dick against the opening of your sissy ass pussy, and again I just put the massive head in that tight ass pussy hole and stroke you a inch at a time until you are begging for the 10's."

"I will fuck you slow and deep for awhile so everyone see what a punk-ass begging sissy you really are and then I pick up the pace and thrust my massive man meat into your faggot rear pussy and you will call me daddy like this white bitch next to you do for everyone that wants his cheatin' ass sissy white hole."

"You gonna be calling for all the gods you know, bitch, 'cause I'ma pound your punk sissy faggot ass just the way your punk ass dream of gettin' your ass fucked by every big dick you can get holt of, and the way I always fuck you. You are as near to heaven as any living being has ever been, and bro-bitch, that is why I am your big dick faggot-fucking throat-choking, sissy making, massive dick giving daddy, and don't you ever forget it, BITCH."

My butt-punching jumbo man was feeding off this hot-as-hell bitch-rant as much as I was and suddenly rose up, pulling his whoppin' big piece right out of me, shooting sperm all over my whiteboy stomach and chest and face, anonymous hands reaching in to catch it. Then those hands guided the motherfucking thang right back where it had been inside me and he lays down on me rubbing his cum between us while the duo with my fingers on them continue to fuck each other.

The big man growled throatily in satisfaction and then reaches a fat hand up to my chin and turns my cum-bespeckled face sideways toward the nasty-talking fucker next to us: husband of mine there, grinning at me as he rhythmically hits his little brother's ass. Doy-Al's. His real life younger brother. And my derisive brother...



{Doy had been condescending to me from the day I had darkened the family doorway in Rome, Georgia, eight years before and try as I might, he remained the single brother of them all that I could not win over regardless of my tack...here he lay, pincered by my loving manstud of a husband, Cal, my beloved true-me Daddy, and my only love, with his beautiful 10 inch mandick buried deep in the brotherly ass now so obviously being enjoyed.}



As my jaw slackened in disbelief, my man and Doy-man both stared over at me in my hard-on state, my big erect cock sticking out from the side of the gap between my jumbo fucker's belly and my own. In my coke-induced euphoria, I saw the brothers smirk in sexual satisfaction as they viewed my pretty dick start spewing cum all over the mattress and the two of them, while my rigid-dicked topman continued pushing his huge dick in and out my asshole.

The pleasure was indescribable so I will suffice it to say my man and my disapproving bro came at the same time, watching me writhe in ecstasy. My man, Cal's, own hand felt my ass with his fingers as I spasmed through my climax and the pretty dick of Doy's pumped juice, too, while enjoying the breedin by his older brother...satisfied smile written all over his handsome face as he stared me down.

Many unknown hands finger-painted all over the canvas of our four-way joint orgy and we four just lay, sagging in exhaustion by the sensate feast just experienced. Cal's big strong manhand slid sensuously up my slippery side to my lips in reassurance as I quickly decided to lick the juices from them rather than bite them. Doy was grinning ear-to-fucking-ear as he declared victory. 

He communicated a distinctly new vibe between the two of us as he fingered his full, cum-spattered lips then reached out and touched my mouth and Cal's fingers with family juices, smearing me thoroughly.

He had won the battle here, but we all had won the peace and I now relaxed in sated knowledge that Doy's disapproval would be forever in the past from here on out.

Good thing I am such a non-jealous, sharing bitch, I thought, as I completed the circle with my own fingers to my nasty, sharing, brotherly duo. 

Jumbo Man never stopped pumping me slowly and deliberately and we three basked in the afterglow while my temp-daddy methodically gave up two more loads to my probably pregnant hole. The feelings perpetuated sublime contentment and I felt fulfilled in more than a single way...Da-y-ummm!!!

Loving me some more of my family... and their friends. 

Atlanta rocks.



Stick Shift: Eagle's Nest



"So, you think that God is a civil engineer, Jake? Really?"

"Not what I said, Sophie." Bemused, I tried again. "It was just the joke I was telling you-- I was saying the contractor told the engineers that." The magic gummy bear may have been a bad idea for this girl, I thought.

The 10 mg THC infusion added to the sugary animal shapes up in Colorado must be made for those of thicker blood than these flatlanders. Aspenites became nice and mellow whereas several down here had acted out a bit strangely.

Two of Cal's brothers had taken three each during the ballgame and disappeared soon after. Without a word. That was three days ago and we had heard nothing from them since...hope they were OK.

"Well, tell me again, then. I didn't get it, boii," Sophie drew me back to reality. She glanced my way from behind the wheel and threw me an easy smile. The trademark effervescent smile of the Georgia Broadhearst family. I'd recognize it anywhere and saw my better half's face etched all over those perfect pearly whites as they flashed my direction. "OK, then. But keep an eye on the road, Soph," I told her, as we flew down the old farm-to-market road. She was a good driver but got easily distracted by animals, I had noticed. We were passing a herd of red angus on her side and they drew her attention more than the road sign on my side warning us of a curve and another announcing Opelika, Alabama, eight more miles. Puffy clouds pocked the sky as we enjoyed the comfortable harmony between the two of us, out on a day trip together. 

"Two engineers and a government contractor went into a bar," I tried it over again. "All three had agreed that God must be an engineer, but they disagreed on what kind he could be. The Electrical Engineer claimed that the electrical genius put into the development of the human body ---why, just look at the intricacy of the nerves and spinal cord and heart and the amazingly complex brain--- made it a given that he had to be an EE Himself; the Mechanical Engineer countered that, no, with the amazing make-up of the muscles and tendons, bones and joints and ligaments, He had to have been an ME to design that."

"Their government contractor buddy came back from the bar with three beers and overheard them. He then insisted, well, no, God HAD to be a civil engineer to design the human body. The other two looked at him like he was crazy and asked why he would think that?" 

"Well, he said, anyone could figure that out...who else but a civil engineer would plan a recreational area right through the middle a waste disposal unit?" I grinned inwardly as I remembered Cal's best friend first tell us the joke at the top of Ajax Mountain last Christmas morning. The first run of the morning-- nothing but fresh powder below us. A good day, I reminisced.

Soph looked stymied. "I still don't get it, Boii, break it down for a country girl." Hoo-Boy, I thought. It was a gay joke, after all, and we were in a deep red southern state. "OK," I said. "Think like a gay man, Sister Souljah. Three gay professionals. Talking about the complexity of the human anatomy over a beer. The cynical government contractor, who spends his days trying to fix the goof-ups by the engineers and construction companies he deals with overhears his engineer buddies talking and immediately links anatomy and how gay men have backdoor sex...recreational area...through a waste disposal unit...get it? "

"Eeeeewww," the pretty woman with richly red-spiked hair gags and puffs out her cheeks. "How gross is that? That is not funny, Jake." 

"What, do you mean to tell me your boyfriends have never taken the Hershey Highway, Sophie?" I laughed, because I knew of her sexual proclivities and her history with men was quite splotchy. This was the woman who swore she wouldn't get pregnant--"fo' sho' that"-- until after getting her degree and buying her own house, away from her brothers. But, she was very nearly as hormone-driven as any of the boys in the family. Can you say, 'hyper-drive'?

Something did not compute, here. But far be it for me to pass judgment, so I just changed the subject as she refused comment about the Hershey Highway-- I knew she got the reference, though.

{It was just last Saturday morning that I had come into the kitchen while Boy was reciting what he had learned at school the day before. Sophie and Vivian were intent on the pancake batter but were listening to the precocious boy at the same time. "Milk, milk, lemonade, 'round the corner, fudge is made." sing-songing the words while he pointed first to each boob, then to his crotch and then a round-house curve of his arm, finger pointing to his rear-end. 

Not awaiting their response he raced off to the other room , leaving the two girls to wince and Viv to point her finger down her throat. But they got it...hence, the Hershey Highway.} 

"There is the cut-off coming up, Soph," I said, as we approached the sign for the Auburn University turn-off. We had happily planned this day trip for a week, so we might get away and enjoy a somewhat culturally-oriented day alone together. No brotherly or spousal interference.

Cal, my lover for eight years and new husband , Sophie's older brother and mentor, had concurred with our plan while the other brothers, aunts, uncles, and family 'graciously' backed away from including themselves...go figure, we thought, snickering. 

*

Our trip day had begun rather tumultuously earlier this morning. I was just returning from my morning run, still before dawn, waxed and winded by the heavy humidity down here so close to sea-level when I heard Goldie, the next door neighbor's big boxer ramp up into a fit of barking over in the Brown's garden area behind their house. 

Next, I heard old Farmer Brown kick up a cussin' rampage that would have done a nickel-whore-in-church proud. Hearing a familiar bleating sound, I pretty quickly figured what might be occurring so went to jump the split-rail fence separating the two farms. 

Coming up behind the elderly farmer, I see Goldie in the setting moonlight backing down the Blackhearst family's pet goat, Aloysius (say: Al-o-Wish-us...). There were asparagus tips hanging out of the Nubian goat's cheeks and even though he was in a defensive posture of head down, front legs spread and ears hard back on his head, horns bristling, he was still munching those tender shoots. Both dog and farmer were having none of it, brandishing teeth and shotgun at the outlaw ungulate.

Aloysius suddenly saw the situation as a losing venture and whirled, leaping the small fence surrounding the backyard garden , lickety-splitting into the burgeoning cornfield behind and towards the pine woods beyond.

Goldie was off like a rocket after the thief and I managed to get my hand up on Mr. Brown's shoulder as he was leveling the shotgun for a a birdshot barrage at the miscreant, forgetting the fact of friendly fire for the boxer. 

Pulling back in surprise at my touch the old man swung the gun around on to my belly, calloused black finger close to the trigger. He charged up his epithetical bombardment again, this time at me.

"You nigger-lovin' rascal, what you doin' puttin' that varmint on my Elsie's 'gus patch?" Trying to settle the old fellow proved difficult as he needlessly explained, in detail, how it took three long years to get a good crop of asparagus, and "this damned devil of a goat was damn well gonna pay with his damnable hide this time. If ya'll wasn't gonna keep the damn critter on a damn leash than me and the little missus was just gonna be eatin' us some goddamn goatmeat pretty quick, here." 

The barking dog's fading sounds let me know that the two animals were out on a chase like to last awhile but at the same time, out of birdshot range. So I soothed the cantankerous old coot as best I could to get that double-barrel pointed away from my belly-button.

He did settle down after a minute, at least to a decibel range softer than a rock concert and I began helping straighten up the cherished asparagus plants when the 'little missus' stepped out the back door.

"A good morning to you, young Dr. Jake", she greeted me. Her ever-present smile won everyone over, without exception, and even her curmudgeonly husband quieted down in her presence. My profuse apologies elicited manual and vocal brush-offs of my concern from the tiny titan of a woman, saying that she had so much asparagus picked and pickled by this time of the season that the couple could exist on the delicacy quite awhile, now, thank-you-very-much. Besides, she said, that goat was a whippersnapper-- she loved her that big old goat. 

After making sure all was under control, she warned me against catching cold, which confused me, and extracted a promise to stop by for a coffee-chat soon. Maybe after I was able to dress, she added, which answered my confusion, considering my running outfit.

Then she warned her husband to mind his manners in front of me-- and his tongue, too, if he knew what was good for him. She had apparently overheard what he had called me a bit ago.

No problem on the name-calling, I mused. Old people had very few filters by their age. In their eyes, they had 'graduated' from the societal mores system, feeling no compunction to guard their thoughts as they once had done.

I had watched my own elderly father accost a departing restaurant customer, boring in on the man's size 50 waist, expressing hope that the man had left us some... food, I had supposed... as we entered to sit down to our own dinner. Ahem. Would I be the same upon reaching that point in life?

Mr. Brown and my father notwithstanding, the ladies of age tended more to matronly lenience/acceptance than older men and I hoped for my female hormones to pick up the pace in my elder years, as is common for older gentlemen... just not at the expense of my masculinity or testosterone levels, mind you. That was too precious a commodity to do without. Especially in light of my other half. 

Cal had about the highest level of libido I had ever experienced and it never ceased to amaze me at his wherewithal to pop a hard-on under almost any circumstance and in any venue. Desired or not...

One of the many things that endeared us to each other eight years into our relationship happened to be that we always tested our sexual limits, and then some. Hell, the man had grabbed me not an hour ago as I tried to sneak from bed to go for my run, insisting on his early morning blowjob before departing.

Not that I am complaining, one should understand. His handsome piece achieved rigidity quicker than any prick his size I had ever watched harden. And it came quicker than any, too, when need called for it. 

Then again, when we were not rushed, the stud could last three hours with a towering pipe, quivering in anticipation at three inches past his navel and two inches out from his ripped stomach, curving gently upward and usually throbbing to a beat of its own as it awaited further attention from yours truly. 

I loved teasing him. He was extremely careful not to offend people by the tenting effect he proffered the public in every day clothes-- his junk could not be hidden in most any pants or drawers, short of using a dragqueen's truss. 

I knew the exact buttons and triggers by touch and by voice which set the beast into motion...a fact of which he was well aware. Therefore, he insisted on ground rules for us when we went to public events. Ha on that, I told myself.

More than once I had seen him tent the front of his pants hugely, much to others' notice and his own exasperation...he suffered embarrassment at the expanded state while I simply reveled in the reminder of my man's prodigious capacity and staying power---just the thought of it made my juices flow. I would need to address that premise in a few minutes knowing his morning wood would not be sated by a single blowjob. I goose-fleshed at the thought.

Farmer Brown made his continued presence known to me again as I fantasized amidst the asparagus's phallic shapes, trying to raise the stalks from their hoof-flattened wilt. The thought crossed my mind that someone should market plant viagra.

"Boy, you musta forgot yo' drawers by the looks o' things," pointing the slightly diverted shotgun barrel in the direction of my crotch. 

Indeed. I looked down and realized my Cal-induced semi-boner had not done me any favors here. Nothing but running shorts and running shoes provided me cover, and as hung as I was, very little was being left to the imagination just now. Thank goodness Mrs. Brown had gone.

Attempting adjustment was futile without a jock and the old man chortled at the picture. "So, white boys might can't jump but at least some of them pack a bunch, huh? How d'you get that whonker out'n the way when the time comes? With that Cal-boy of your'n, I mean. Everybody knows what that boy's packin'. Matter o' public record since the state finals wrestlin' match back in high school, a- yup." 

With that he straightened up, looking off into the morning darkness with what would seem to be a sentimentally wistful gaze. Wow, I thought, what could that be about? 

Making promises for further amends to Farmer Brown I vacated the scene with dick flopping. Although mortified (Not! I live by the mantra, "If you got it, flaunt it") I reached the doorway to our bedroom and melted at the thought of climbing under those covers with my Daddy.

Cal's reproaches had been plentiful enough for me to believe he preferred me sexually in a semi-ripe state of hygiene. After my early runs, that essence did prevail...with the added aura of billygoat gruff at the present.

"If I wanted a woman or a damn ho', then I sure know where to look--don't be comin' on to your man smellin' like a flower, now, you listening whiteboy?" After several years of personal disgruntlement over that particular, I had finally acceded to his desires. Gotta admit that the musk odor certainly whetted his appetite.

As I snuck through the creaky door and just about reached the covers to climb in, he emerged from the still pre-dawn darkness, purposely hiding by the bathroom door.

Rousted earlier by the commotion, he had spied unsuccessfully out the window during the showdown. Only able to discern an approximate truth of what was occurring, along with the 'little missus' feminine voice, Cal decided to hunker down and wait.

He didn't want to barge out to save my ass what with his morning stiff in attendance and her presence sealed that decision...so I was instead waylaid only a short distance from my goal.

Muscular bicep suddenly materialized between my salty thighs from behind and underneath, forearm already flexing up to my stomach. In the doing, my half-mast cock was pincered between myself and his arm.

Feeling my anticipatory swelling he groaned with pleasure at our mutual need, whamming me down onto the mattress in one fluid movement. Trapped by ebony musculature imminently familiar to me, I succumbed easily to the 'foreplay' ,such as it was.

His full lips locked onto mine, his beautiful arm slid snakelike from on my stomach and crotch. That arm's attached hand matched its mate on either side of my head and he buried his long, talented tongue far into my mouth.

It always sucks my breath away at the intensity with which he undertakes the conquest of his custom booty. I often used the lust of Atilla the Hun after success in battle as comparison. Taking the spoils of war. 

The analogy aids in the understanding of the origin of "booty".

{Before my liason began with Cal and for the post-pubescent era of my youth I had styled myself a total top man. Being well-hung in the lily white world, I had no problem taking the dominant role and playing it to the hilt. 

I liked being in control and as a strong alpha personality, it befit my persona. All through undergrad schooling I practiced what I felt was my natural predilection.

Upon my introduction to Cal Broadhearst nine years back at a frat party, no less, I was introduced to his world of sex. In between grad school and med school, I was afraid of the man then. Concentration on my medical degree was not to be trifled with. Within the year he was in my pants, in my bedroom and in my Life. And he has never been fucked. To the present day.

Sure, my tongue had tested his virginity through the years and he melts to putty upon my ministrations-- I could've probably pushed the envelope and gotten into his ass had I tried at those times. But the last thing I wanted, once having tasted of his sexual prowess, was to perform that on him. The lustre would diminish and fade... 

He was a total man who wanted me, and, yes, other men on occasion, too--about which I was confident enough to be good with. Always and forever would he be My top. And I His bottom: any way he wanted.

While we both consummated sex with some others by mutual and non-jealous consent, my heart was ever with this man. Never could I have pictured that for myself, but the puzzle fit together and we were one by the fact. Our first and last rule was honesty. Nothing else makes sense. Millions of women would keep their men happy for a lifetime with that single tongue-to-ass maneuver if they could only do so. But it is a male thing-- this use of tongue in ass. Women have serious blocks at even giving good head, and ho's hired for the purpose wear thin very quickly: too trailer park. And too dangerous. Regardless, almost any top man would choose good tongue-to-ass action over even fellatio. A major G-spot hides there.

So take it from me, the way to a man's heart is not through their stomach-- it is by the lingual backdoor entrance. The Hershey Highway. Just remember your hygiene...smile.

Hopefully the fairer sex will never find enjoyment in this act as the entire gay world might be dealt a serious setback. Fo' sho'. Shhhh, don't tell.}

Anyway, Cal wended his smooth, sinewy legs in between my own, gradually inching mine apart, per his wont, never removing his mouth from my lips. Rock hardness ruled as our dicks entwined and our tongues fought one another. He gently bit my lips one at a time in the doing. Finally getting our legs separated from their mates far enough, his homunculus spongily probed for that opening. I always kept some Palmer's cocoa butter on the nightstand by the big bed within arm's reach and found it while he continued the teasing. The butter coated both him and me and I shivered at the feel of the giant piece about to take me, once again. His ebony arms hooked my knees as his dick entered my sphincter. Our animal grunts along with his stacatto instructions and pleadings took over as his prick slowly, incessantly slid up into the nether regions of my channel.

Upon 'bottoming out' we ceased rhythm and held close for what seemed forever as my ass accomodated its master yet again. His tongue in my mouth played the perfect decoy.

Cal knew the ecstasy of delayed satisfaction well, as he found my desire upped by a power of ten when he took the time like this to master me. Once there, he was aware he could proceed in any way he preferred from there on. This morning, he preferred chest-to-chest rubbing while his fingers wrapped through the spaces between my toes, extending my legs and his arms out to the sides. He knew toe spaces to be my #1 g-spot, and he growled deep into my mouth, suffusing us both with a vibrating buzz.

The rhythmic motion of our coupled state enfolded and held us captive by its power. Not a thin dime could have been fit between our bodies and with my legs and his arms out and away from our torsos, Cal took us to the place we knew as our own. Nobody and nothing could rival this consummation. Over the years our experimentations had perfected the various methods employed for mutual bliss. 

My fat dickhead pumped cum from its eye without warning upon one particularly long, throbbing, masterful stroke. I felt him pulsate inside me in release of the tension when my constricting prostate signaled him of my climax. His vibrating growl extended into a long sigh of total release, both of us sagging together as juices flowed. 




Stick Shift: Eagle's Nest



After long minutes our still interlocked tongues messaged each other of continued viability and we groaningly retracted from one another's bodies. His mischievous smile pervaded my vision by nose-closeness. 

Cal abruptly licked my face from chin to mouth to nose to forehead and sprang up off of me, shower intentions obvious. Dragging me along we disappeared into the steam for purification rites not noticing the small figure stealthily scootch out from under our bed and quiet-as-a-mouse, unlike a previous time, slink out to his own bedroom with the smuggest of smug looks across his face...

Things that make you go, "hmmmm."

A very laid back breakfast later, Cal revved up his tablet for the webinar he had scheduled for mid-morning with his board-of-directors and a group of new potential investors. He was business-like in his intent on the set-up and as I shouldered my backpack to depart he perfunctorily patted my butt and pecked my cheek on the way by him to the door.

In contrast, Boy bounded up to both Sophie and me, demanding lift-up hugs and little boy nuzzlings which hadn't been a part of his new, grown-up image for the past 6 months, as I was later informed. His aunt was tickled by his reversion and when he nuzzled my neck goodbye he whispered he "loved me my Uncle Jake", totally blowing me away.

The imp hadn't granted such a title for me up to then and my heart grew three sizes as my sis and I loaded into the Range Rover to head out. She was likewise surprised and heartwarmed by her eldest nephew's vocal acceptence of me into the family and we chatted amicably over the first half hour of the drive...

*

"Well, if he is , he is going to have a long hot wait," said Sophie as she bit into the panini sandwich over lunch at the Museum of Art cafe.

The young man had been waiting on the rock bench on the adjoining patio since she and I had sat down for lunch half an hour before. I had commented again on the very noticeable mohawked guy to Sophie upon our running into him for the fourth time in as many hours during our campus visit. 

At the Raptor center he had been locked-in and absorbed throughout the lecture on birds-of-prey which both Sophie and I had put first on our list to hear. Seated two rows in front of us in the small outdoor ampitheatre, his caramel skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat in the hot mid-morning sun. The deep red mohawk kind of stood out in the group of 20 as we listened to the ornithological expert discuss with us the raptor species in general and the Auburn War Eagle in specific. 

As the talk ended Sophie made note of the man as if he were a woman wearing her same dress at a cocktail party. "That color doesn't do much for him and the green and yellow tie-dye pants make him look like a Kwanzaa banner," she noted sourly. 

The hair color almost matched her hair tip color so I failed to see her point. I took in her waist-tie, full length draped caftan, the zig-zag pattern of yellow, black and green very attractive on the exquisite young woman I called Sis. It was startlingly similar to the outfit the young man wore. His muscle shirt was a black-ribbed, dressier type and the two could have been members of the Cirque cast travelling the southeast US who we had seen as a family in Atlanta a week and a half before. 

{Cal was a big follower of the Cirque du Soleil shows. We had spent a week in Vegas the previous fall just to see the four resident Cirque shows on the Strip. Zumanity had given us both raging hard-ons what with its emphasis on a sensual theme. The steel-barred set of the soft-core prison sex scene had burned him a boner that took me hours to put out after the performance.

The MC had been an amazingly well-put-together drag queen in hip boots and fluorescent sequined leather two-piece outfit who had wielded fluorescent whips which shot phosphorescent sparks into the air each time she had disciplined the next-to-naked Chippendale quality male prison performers...clad only in leather thongs and straddling sets closely resembling sex slings. It was extraordinary and left both of us horny for days. We saw it three times...}

This exotic boy had an uncommon air and flair about him. As we got up to leave the raptor talk he turned and smiled, half-bowing in Sophie's direction. She was aloof to the gesture, having taken affront to his outfit and I noted a strain of jealousy over the happenstance. Hmmm, surprising. 

When we visited the Arboretum next, there he was again, very convincingly absorbed in the flora and fauna of the exceptional garden, only acknowledging us with a quick nod as we walked out the exit later on our way to the Smith Art Museum.

Now, as we sat at lunch after touring the good quality 'Great Masters Exhibit' (where the handsome mulatto had passed us several times while contemplating the art) and discussed the man's sultry presence on the sunny outdoor veranda just outside the plate glass divider, sipping an iced Starbucks drink, Sophie was a bit more than put out. Not only did she feel that the young man had copied her look, stealing her thunder in some way, but he had made a point to shadow her at each stop on our day's excursion. As we finished up our light lunch we contemplated the odd situation.

While he wasn't threatening in any fashion and the venues we had visited were public, the fact that he had seemingly mimicked our schedule did seem somewhat weird. As she collected her things she wryly referred to the copycat-dresser outside. "If he shows up at the vet college I am going to call in the law," she declared.

Sophie was alluding to her appointment with the dean's office at the Veterinary Sciences college, the underlying impetus for our planned trip today-- she wasn't ready to announce her intent to enter veterinary medical school to her family yet, but I was honored that she had confided in me and requested accompaniment to her interview. My background in medicine and marine biology had been right for advising her in a course of action. Asking if I would be OK for the couple hours while she was busy I assured her I would have a great time wandering the campus and exploring the Ecology Park before meeting her at Heritage Park by the university entrance for our sojourn back home to Rome. I was quite comfortable on college campuses, my natural niche as I had discovered early on in life. 

Sophie left me at the Auburn U main entrance in the Rover and warned me to be on the lookout for the interloper, as she had now dubbed him, promising to be careful herself. On my own for a bit, I felt enlightened, taking the scenic route through the storied tree-lined campus of the old East Alabama Male College, as Auburn had been titled at its pre-civil war inception. The history was intriguing for me and I stopped frequently to study the many markers and historic sites as I made my way to the Ecology Park. 

On entering the Park I looked around only perfunctorily for the Kwanzaa man. I would expect to never run across him again. After all, it was Sophie who need be on guard. Checking my phone, I was relieved to see no message from her. Then I delved into the well-planned ecology park sequestered here on the old southern campus.

As it was in between summer sessions, the park was almost deserted . I enjoyed the solitude and removed my button down shirt in the afternoon heat, letting the warm breeze caress my skin. The well-known eagle's nest was where I was headed. The teaching replica had been specially designed and placed here for public enjoyment. It was huge. Five adults could act the part of eaglets and hide down in the deepness of the inner cup. The old oak trees overhanging the site shaded the nest. I had to climb in and check it out.

Its inner surface was lined with something like feather down, providing a super-soft surface for kids to experience a real-life eagle's nest. Very interesting. I settled back in leisurely repose and luxuriated in the softness, stretching and gazing up through the tree branches. The hot, still day and intermittent dazzle of sunlight through the overarching branches soothingly beguiled me with mental images of huge eagles landing on the edge, offering freshly caught eaglet delicacies for my culinary delight. Dappled sunlight sprinkled me with sunbeams...

Some of the downy lining floated loose and tickled my lips and I brushed it away in sleepy grogginess. I should check my phone for messages, I thought, in case the Soph or Cal had called. Fluttering my eyes open, I beheld a dark figure hovering above me, blocking the sun, and abruptly shook the drowsiness away.

There, directly above me, only a few feet away was the Kwanzaa boy. Curiously studying me as I lay asleep in the nest. Creepiness crept over me and I gawked at the mohawked male, my disturbance contrasting his curiosity.

"What the fuck are you doing, dude?" I demanded. He half-smiled without showing teeth then placed his now bare foot on the lump in the front of my shorts. I backed up on the upward curve of the lined declivity and pushed his foot off. "Dawg, you need to chill. Really, what is up?" 

There was no answer at all from him. He cocked his head to the side and reached forward, touching my curly dark hair, mussed and feather-flocked. The red-topped man raised up erect again, now bracing himself by only his well-developed arms on the sides of the nest, like a gymnast descending on the still rings apparatus we see in competition. Clearly athletically-honed to a peak of physical condition he poised in arm-horizontal position, supporting his body in performing a feat by which true Olympians could have been satisfied. He pointed his toes down targeting my slightly askew bare legs, aiming for the gap between them.

My disturbed feeling ebbed as I observed this amazing demonstration of bodily control, detecting no danger signals emanating from him. His feet reached my legs and he lightly nudged them further apart in a very seductive move. I allowed it. Noting my altered body language the silent gymnast remained suspended over me, a full smile slowly forming on his lips. Beautifully even white teeth flashed at me. Sensing an opening, he let go his arms to the sides of the nest and reached down again, unclasping and unzipping my shorts.

Taking hold of the lower hems he swept them off in one smooth motion, pulling my legs to vertical in the action. My briefs went next and my dozy endowment began swelling at the sensuous turn of events. Loosing my legs, he guided them to either side of his widely planted bronzed feet. Picking a few feathers out of my hair he stared down at me, naked now. That smile of his grew and so did my dick.

His foot came up onto my crotch again, this time bare skin contacting bare skin. It wasn't his foot that was engorging, though. Finally, the Kwanzaaonian pulled his black ribbed muscle shirt off and untied the yellow and green loose-flowing britches. They floated down to his ankles and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

His perfect caramel-skinned elegance was now proudly on display, posing over me. On his chest and stomach was enblazoned a naked black angel, wings and arms fully spread and covering those amazing pecs, wingtips disappearing into his deep armpits. The black angel's feet tip-toed on the root of his cock as if just alighting there... Green, red and yellow ink perfused the body art. I was both stunned and mesmerized.

No hair covered his skin even in his groin and pubic area. His tool phattened before my eyes and while not the size I was used to in Cal, the thickness was that of a beer can; the balls were tightly drawn and plump. It kept on levitating shamelessly.

And, the man definitely liked that I liked his angel...if you got it, flaunt it...

Mohawk Man's smile burst into a full-fledged grin and he raised hs head to survey the surroundings. It was mid-afternoon and though no one was around, who was to say that would persist? His perusal reflected that thought but he looked back down, arched his eyebrows upward and lewdly licked his lips. Then, he just about fell on top of me.

My guess was his concerns for interruption were allayed. Wide, flaring nostrils snorted in a breath of air and the aroused man raised my tanned legs widely up and over my head, burying his tongue in my ass. It made me gasp.

Kwanzaa stud didn't waste any time, spitting on my rectal sphincter and swabbing it in readiness for the coors-can prick I was now fixed on. How did we get to here, I thought?

Oh hell, who cares...the man was totally hot , slightly sweaty, and though not exactly handsome he exuded an animal magnetism that had me wanting all of him. Right here. 

Like I had a choice in the matter.

His big dick suspended itself at my ass pucker, prodding it in warning. Unlike my calm, careful Calumet, this wild Indian with the red mohawk mane blasted into my inner sanctum, brooking no dissent. 

Of course, I didn't raise any, but the shock of the painful entry made me shudder and I groaned out loud. He hesitated momentarily to allow my accustoming to the huge intruder. Even through the sex-infused wantonness in his black eyes, the man/boy managed to show me he wasn't trying to hurt me, he just liked it this way. He wound up and delivered me a pile-driver fuck, rocketing the massive thing in and out of my ass while pushing my heels up, toes touching the down-lining over my head.

I stroked and fondled my own dick and tipped his angel with my fingers as I focused on his whole figure, arms stretched out securing my legs, sculpted torso taut by exertion, over-developed dark nipples crowning the killer pecs, massive dark shoulders and neck muscles on magnificent display. 

The stud was supremely proud of his physique and his control of it all enhanced the effect. Ultimately, Mr. Mohawk pummeled me to the point of no return and making one final wind-up of a plunge, he exploded into my chute, delivering a copious load I could feel both sliming me and spilling out. My prick pulsed cum by response.

Collapsing on me, dick deeply implanted, he panted in the heat of the afternoon and I experienced the feel of his hard body heaving on me in sweaty euphoria. That prickly mohawk tickled my nose.

How. fucking. hot.

When he finally gathered himself and his breathing evened out to long, deep, cavernous intakes and outflows, he hoisted up off my stomach and chest, leaving our bodies enmeshed from pubes on down. Not even allowing that still-rigid cock of his to retract from my ass.

Rather, he reached over for his pants, pulled his iphone from the pocket and raised it up behind his head. Pointing it down on the both of us in our present state with just the thick root of his piece showing from its point of ass entry. How kinky , I thought. A new take on the selfie...

When he'd clicked several different-angle shots, careful to leave our faces out but unable or undesiring to avoid his trademark red mohawk, he settled back on to my torso, enjoying communal satiation while leisurely finger-painting in the cum pooled on my flat, tanned belly. His mouth, near to my ear, sublimely purred into me.

Raising up again, the mysterious male teasingly flicked my nipples. He then handed me his phone, still grinning, and purposely began rhythmically tensing his dick in my ass to prove his continued control over me and just to watch me squirm at the feeling. I was captivated. The moves this guy had...

As I wiggled under the spasmic onslaught, the boy pointed to the phone in my hand and mouthed the words,"your numbers" at me, intending for me to enter them to his device. Hesitating for only a moment, I acquiesced. Then, on second thought, I snapped the pic of his angel as it appeared to be coming to rest on both of us at the moment. The smeared cum imbued an impressionist painting effect... He sniggled his delight. 

Reluctantly, the sexy mulatto at last began gradually inching that girthful piece out of my hole, in direct opposition to his blast-like entry. A sensual pop announced our separation (as if I needed that to know it), inducing a great big grin of triumph from the suddenly very boyish fucker. With that, Bam pummeled my hard stomach with half a dozen play punches, looked me directly in the eye, pointed to his chest and mouthed,"Me, Bam." He touched my chest with his fingertip, evincing a 'pssst' sound through his teeth at the moment of contact, mouthing, "You, Sizzle." 

Bam sat back, gathered his clothes and phone , stood, nakedly waggled his dripping dick over my stomach to dribble a little bit more sperm on me, and rubbed his fingers through my sticky spunk, smirkingly licking it off.

He cocked hand to head, thumb at his ear and pinky at the corner of his mouth, grinned and lip-synced Carly Rae Jepsen's title, "Call me maybe", then lightly vaulted the side of the nest.

Gone.

A minute later, I heard a cacophany of elementary age voices and jumped from my reverie to don my clothes, picturing a mental image of a caramel-colored, red-mohawked, angel be-jeweled naked Indian flashing through the wooded environs of the Ecology Park, junk bouncing all the way...those kids would never forget it.

I knew I wouldn't.

Cal would totally cream over it.

*

When Sophie pulled up to the curb at the entry gates of Auburn University an hour afterwards I was greeted with a girly shriek and mouth-covering gestures, informing me of her successful interview at the dean's office. She would be notified for sure in a week or two but things looked good. We shared the giddiness as she exuded happiness, explaining the details.

On the road awhile later, Sophie suddenly spoke up, "Oh, Jake, I never saw or heard from that strange Kwanzaa boy again. I forgot to tell you. Did you ever hear from the weirdo?"

My phone vibrated and chimed at that moment, signaling me of an incoming text with photo attachment..."Not a single word," I opined.



Stick Shift: Fivespeed



Admonishing silence, Cal held his big hand over my mouth as his bent elbow kept my knee raised and trapped. Impaled on my man's 10 inch piece, flat on my back, both legs up and spread. Toes curled. His other hand sexily prodded my assring at the point of that big dick's entry.

His favorite way of getting off, he had told me. Locking to my eyes, feeling his dick slide in-and-out of my ready hole with his own fingers, climbing that ladder to eruption all in one...manly...motion. Over and over, of course. 'Til it delivered the babies...

Well, who am I to stop that action? My own dick hard and squashed between us, rubbing tantalizingly to its own climax with only morning sweat and now, my own cum, as lube.

Though a tad chagrined I settled back on the pillow and felt his palm follow as he enforced the order for quiet. "You'll wake everyone in the damn house, my good bitch."

Having just loosed my load, I smothered my misgivings and let him have at it. I could always feel the timing of his explosion by the swelling goin' on in there while it pummelled my channel and by the swelling goin' on, it was gonna be a fruitful one.

It had been sinfully fruitful for me, seeing what was happening now as I relaxed to follow my orders.

The creak of the floor alerted Cal to another presence, the same presence which had stimulated my own gusher and vocal pleasure moments before. He lifted up enough to turn his head and see Boy, that way too curious nephew, screaming silently, ear-to-ear grinning at the view of his favorite uncle's huge prick sliding in-and-out his white boy lover's stretched ass...

By reflex, Cal plopped his uncut meat out in surprise, though unable to stop the climax he had just achieved. Cum sprayed over both of us and like a man confronted by a suddenly bursting broken faucet, he did the only thing one could do- he plugged the hole to stop it. All the way back into my now really-lubed hole, throbbing pulsations squeezing his perineal muscles and pushing more sperm to the exit point...up me.

"Boy, what in Hell you doin' up in here? Shut the damn door, pissant!" Call never raised his voice- not ever- so the boy wiped the grin and pushed the door shut. With him inside...

And then stood still, watching us as Cal's cum trickled, squirted and dribbled all over the damn place- the bed , us, the window behind me and I think in my eye as it began to sting a little.

My inner grin matched Boy's.

Cal doesn't bother retracting the appendage now safely hidden from Boy's sight back in me, but looks down with recriminations covering his face as he asks what the hell was I thinking by not telling him we had company at 5 AM on a Sunday morning?

I lick his palm with my tongue in reply and he backs the hand off my mouth in sudden realization... a sheepish smile floods the big man's face and we giggle at the look of things.

But that dick didn't move an inch. Except to continue spasming. It felt good. 

If anything, it was more engorged upon the awareness of the young voyeur, it occurred to me.

Who, by the way, stood stock still, mouth now hanging wide open and eyes as big as saucers, locked on one particular spot. Cal's thick piece had oozed its slimy way out of my ass and now bounced lightly off my junk. What a visual that must make.

Typical Boy: sneak up on-*surprise-*shock-*Oh...Shit!-*Retreat! All one flowing emotion.

With a start, he came to his nubile senses and turned as red as a dark ebony boy possibly could, then raced out, bumping the door hard against the wall in doing. No telling where he would end up.

Well, so much for a quiet, leisurely Sunday before church "fuck and re-fuck". 

What we called, 'the early service'.

I eased loose, rose and brought a warm wet wash rag to service my man as we laughed about the present predicament and re-hashed my previous evening's eventful grocery run with Cal's twin, Coy.

Re-set: re-fuck...

As I had thought, when I relived the scenario with Coy to Cal last night in bed, he responded with a massive boner instead of jealousy. Three successive cums filled me as I related the story of how I had encountered Coy's pretty dick at the old video store while he slowly, methodically pumped... and listened.

Cal loved my voice and said he could get hard listening to me recite Bible verses.

A whole new meaning to gettin' religion, I guessed, as I conjured the image of Coy, spent, smirking down on me through the glory-hole the night before. Waiting for my reaction to the fact of his own bodily attachment to the dick just 'anonymously' sucked in the smut shop behind the grocery store. He had thought I was unaware.

How little he knew me.

Reality foggily descended as we had made our grocery-laden and cum-bestained way back to the house in the country. Blitzed and almost oblivious. But very sated.

Seeming to pull off the effort of covering our transgression upon arriving back with the barbeque needs, Coy and I acted just that-coy- about anything out of the ordinary during our trip/sexcapade. 

The womenfolk were bustling and prepping when we entered, only noticing the arrival of cooking necessities. Amazing how people see what they want, I thought.

When I declined reimbursement for the goods, wanting to help and belong, they were touched.

Saved by the bill...

Over a delectable soul-food dinner, Cal and I filled everyone in on our lives and doings. We were well aware that our elopement a month before had probably topped anything more possibly jarring to the family's sensibilities following that news. The downhill slope looked pretty good to us by that yardstick.

Though we had already 'come out' years before, the surprise of a new SSM couple in the country haven where Cal had grown up had proven startling to the oldsters, to say the least.

Our recent last minute decision to visit over the summer months had caused both tumult and happiness, but we felt good about it. 

The family members were accustoming themselves to it at various paces. Coy and Boy in the lead of the acceptance faction, the rest deciding their stances on the matter as they could. Or would.

The other five brothers of Cal were variously mute, smart-assed or, in Doy's case, derisive regarding our nuptials. 

It had been noted, however, that the married members: cousins, nephews, nieces, sisters and brothers were, to a person, accepting of the newest couple to the large family group. 

A few of the older generation and the single men were less so; the kids could care less. The younger generation were very simply electrified to have the presence of their idol, Calumet Alfredric Blackhearst II, for the present time. Their own local celebrity was secured by the personified tie.

The family had been gratified and mollified as Big Bro, Cal, the athletic, gregarious, successful 'elder' of the younger Blackhearst generation had established himself in the bigger world. Now controlling a software company encompassing five major metropolitan areas over the country, all had been beneficiaries to his largesse over the recent years.

Now, to have him back amongst them even for just three months made for a more direct coming-to-grips with the major 'elephant in the room' subject: his new marriage. By merit of both our self-confidence and self-acceptance, tinged by some endearing self-deprecation, we made it plain that we were good. What could, or should, anyone say? 

We had 'eloped' a month ago. It was because of our love of the mountains and desire to celebrate privately rather than any pointed attempt at exclusion. Mostly...

What with my unaccepting family ("He is a man, gay... and that black?") and the then-unknown reaction from his, we decided to honeymoon at our recently acquired high-country home and hideaway, far from any negativism.

Aspen had welcomed us. The rest of the world could put up or shut up.

*

"Are you and Uncle Cal gonna make oreos?" Five year old Vivian wanted to know. She had been informed by Boy of our liason that morning and now couldn't quite figure things out.

"No, honey," I told her, "we are not going to make oreos. I am much too young to be a mother."

Not solving her puzzle in the slightest, the little cutey went on, "If you do, will they be my family, or someone else's?"

"Viv, don't you have enough cousins to keep up with already?"

"Well", she replied, profoundly, "I just want to be ready in case I have to watch out for them when they come visit."

"Do you think you will have to watch out for them if that happened?"

"Well, Daddy told Mommy that if it happened a long time ago, they woulda been drowned in the creek."

Perplexed, I didn't really have a reply for that, on several different levels, so assured the tyke that should Cal and I have any children they would more than likely be orphans. Who didn't already have a home. That was the way people like her uncle and me sometimes made families, offering loving homes to strays and fulfilling one of our natural roles by helping the world with a tough problem.

"But will they be orphan oreos?" Vivian had to know.

"Well, honey, they could be oreos, I guess, but whether they were or not wouldn't make any difference. We wouldn't make a family on that basis. On purpose, anyway."

"So they might be oreos but for sure they will be orphans, right?" The little girl was persistent. Seeing my confused look, "I just need to know what is gonna happen here."

She sounded so adult I couldn't help sniggering.

"Help me out here, Uncle Jake, how 'bout?" Vivian was obviously very serious about this concept but I was just as seriously not the person who was going to discuss birds and bees with this five-year-old girl. My mental picture of her Boy-translated mental picture was disturbing enough.

"Skunks."

"Skunks?"

"Yes", I explained, "we are going to have skunks. They are beautiful, snooty and nobody ever messes with them."

*

I remained utterly intrigued by Cal's family's male names. We were all sitting in the family room one Monday evening watching baseball, the brothers here enjoying the Braves stink up the national airwaves. Thank goodness for beer and Bob (Marley's ghost). Cal and I were the popular ones, having come stocked from Aspen, where the green cross thrives.

Coy, Doy, Roy, Loy and Voy. All junior to their big bro (Coy was younger by two minutes), two married and three not. All could be mistaken for each other. They were all chips-off-their-Dad's block, the patriarchal head of their family, deceased these past ten years.

The senior Cal, or Professor, as he had been more commonly known, and his wife Cassandra had wanted a distinct but connectible link for their five sons following Cal II, and knew they would have the chance as the family lineage was over-populated by males and twins. Very few daughters.

Their solution had been simple enough. It was one they borrowed from Francis Ford Coppola's majordomo. The iconically prolific overseer for Coppola's Belize Maya Mountain retreat for more than three decades.

He was iconic throughout Belize for the fame of his marijuana production operation. Mr. Marley had been a common visitor to the estate over the years, among others. Snoop Lion, Sting, Prince, Seal, Iggy and Lenny all frequented the palapas-dominated compound and it was reputed that Anna Madrigal once stole fertile seeds during a stay.

Prolific because he had fathered seventeen children by two wives over twenty years. He had kept the whole family united through the passage of time, the two wives amiably co-existing.

Every child was named Fred or Frederica, as were both wives. No roman numerals; no added letters. Just the name.

Oh, and for good measure, so were his five Rottweillers. The local jaguar and tree iguana populations detested them.

Even his weed lines were Fred-derivatives: Fredling Fly, Fred Astare, Fred Flintstoned, Alfred Ganja Khan, Fred Jiggleitalittleitllopen, Fred-Lb rightover. And more.

Somehow it worked. Majordomo Frederick Lansing bragged that he never feared being ignored nor losing his mind- one name was all he need remember. If he lost memory of his own name, he figured, it was just. that. time... and, to top it all off, he was willing to wager at least somebody would carry on the name.

Cassie and Cal had employed their own peculiar twist on the theme by middle-naming all five successive sons Alfrederic. Therefore, Coy-Al, Doy-Al, Roy-Al, Loy-Al and Voy-Al.

Their only sister, Sophie, had the effrontery to be born into the world with indoor plumbing and paid for this by a lifetime of signing official papers as Sophonsiba Rill Blackhearst.

She called all of her brothers Al.

In contrast to the Belizean, she deduced that any sibling she might call would mix it up with one of the others and thereby thankfully ignore her. Worked to a T.

At the seventh inning stretch, all six brothers deserted the new 72-inch Samsung curved-screen to the starry night out back for their own game and update report. They did a better job than the pundits, and with their looks and (lack of) wardrobe, I opted to join them. 

Personally, I still missed marching bands at halftime. Oh, wrong season...scratch that.

Women-folk had long since departed the house for the safety of a baseball-sparse venue so a greek-like atmosphere ruled now.

Spitting, farting, burping, scratching, and such, prevailed in this period and we were all the more bonded as a result. Cal's and my original intent upon descending to the flatlands for the summer. Filial bonding.

Sophie was already won over: she had always wanted a sister-in-arms...ahem.

Peeing on the grass was acceptable, as well, and I heartily joined this exercise-in-one-upmanship from as close proximity as possible without being splashed. 

Nope, no better luck telling them apart by this method, I told myself. They were all hung like Cal and Coy: huge, thick and uncut. 

On the bright side, as drunk as they were getting, no one would likely fall down...third leg and all. Tripods are notoriously stable on their legs. 

Cal reminded us of the 10 mg THC gummy bears inside and led the sweet-lovers inside to test them. I was still studying constellations heavenward. Loy and Roy both preferred the freshly rolled joint to chewable and I watched from the back porch swing as they lit up.

The two middle twins not only looked alike, they also spoke alike, cussed alike, walked alike, thought alike and finished the other's sentences. When they were younger they had developed a 'language' of their own, as twins do, and were commonly found conversing heatedly or quietly together, nobody the wiser for the content. 

Their strange sounds and body-language soon caught my attention as I experienced the art firsthand and I watched, infatuated, as they discussed something of apparent import together. Both were clad in only cutoff jeans. My salivary functions could not keep from evaluating the handsome shadows they cast in the gibbous moonlight. 

Gesturing toward me, they approached with an offer to share the old-fashioned method of partying, as they called it: two-toking. Loy turned to Roy and demonstrated their unique take on the old shotgun toke. The innate sensuality exuding from the two during it made the tent in my running shorts rise a bit. What total unassuming studs.

With the 'demo' toke consummated, they turned toward me in tandem, Loy putting the lit blunt inward in his mouth between his lips, leaning to me inquiringly. Roy came up behind as we partook and parked his crotch between my asscheeks. Large hands wandered in hormone-driven search.

Pretty hard to miss that offer, and being a suck-up for muscled black dudes, brother status notwithstanding, I bent slightly into the sausage fattening back there and took a deeper hit from Loy as he braced my head with his hand, kind of pushing the issue.

My shorts lasted above my hips like two seconds past that. Loy did his best to keep me from noticing the ploy by keeping the shared lip-lock intact. Roy didn't just lower them. He ripped them off by brute force. One yank and I was butt naked between the two. The nice southerly breeze wafted northward over a lot of exposed skin. Their cutoffs slid to ankle height.

Loy took out the blunt but continued the lip-lock, joint-unaided. His tongue took over, stabbing my inner cheeks and throat in foreshadow to what more was coming. Roy hawked my bare ass with a glob of saliva, using his fingers to spread it up inside my chute.

Next move proved debilitating as he weaseled that big-ass ebony dick, recently evaluated under moonlight as it pissed earlier, right smack up into my white ass. I pushed back invitingly, arching the globes.

Loy's tongue still attempted distraction and I moaned as the mandingo pair set to a mutual gyrating dance very obviously practiced before this interlude. Hmmmm. My mental strings were picturing the two conjoined by dick as they practiced perfection in another time and place...who knew, I fantasized, what went on between them? 

They spoke a common private dialect. Why not fuck a common private dialect, too?

The unmarried state suddenly suited them.

They did, indeed, audibly purr while they pumped, in a resonating grumble, so similar in sound that I really couldn't tell one from the other, ending up in 'sense-surround' mode through their susurrations.

The men were absolute animals in the taking of the forbidden fruit (smile) out there on the moon-drenched lawn and as they shifted from one position to the other I lost track who was doing what to whom. I take that back. I was the one getting plowed. And watched, though unbeknownst to me...

The effect was aphrodisiacal, even without gummy-bears. I would have dearly loved to deep-throat the duo but they weren't having any of that. Copious loads rectally delivered over the ensuing minutes bore out their intent.

I felt like I had cum each time they bred me, but it wasn't so. My cock stayed rockhard, bouncing off my abs as they fucked, only settling down when we heard Cal call to us from his and Coy's seat on the porch swing that we had over-stayed the stretch...the top of the eighth was on...what the Hell were you bitches and ho's doing, anyway? My man asked, as he and his twin stroked to our beat.

Wow. Experiencing the boys' private conversational repertoire, I felt I had just solved the sexual Rosetta Stone. 

Damn, they spoke sensual well... 'Seeing stars' was just frosting on the 'cake'.

Was I lovin' me some new family...



Stick Shift: Nocturnal Writhings



My pace matched the underground, ethno-brother beat set by the synthesized fusion music from the evening before. It was powerfully evocative even now, as it had been through the recent dark hours after first having experienced it.

"Whyyyya'lookin'back, nig...I'ain'gon' kiss y'ass,

ya' ge'me out ma'drawers...ya'think y'playin' fas,

I migh'be fu-kin' youu, but gonna nail yo' bitch.

Def-nit a freak t'keep---in ya'back pocket...

fo' dat---late...night...creep..."

Don'be usin' those finga's, or I be makin'a fist..."

The raunchy, alluring, lyrical patterns were keeping me mentally hovering a few inches off the ground as I pounded lightly over the dirt path through the glade of woods which marked one of my running routes. The first path I had mapped out upon our arrival this summer at mys home, not then knowing my direction or destination.

Since college, this method of scoping out a new cityscape or countryside had been my preferred one for familiarization with an area. Running allowed both introspection and sight-seeing at a constant pace; good for getting the lay of the land and taking in the scenery. A person running didn't often miss things, good observation being a necessity, and it gets the heart pumping. My natural curiosity had drawn me to this loop winding by the river which I had followed for several miles that first morning at the Blackhearst homeplace two months before...

Familiar landmarks barely registered now as I fairly floated with the subliminal song of last night crowding my mind, tantalizing the memory. I had stopped by my younger twins' modest home then. The screen door had been closed but the heavy oak door stood ajar. I could feel the mysterious beat from the boys' synthesizer before hearing the music or making out their lyrics. The elusive rhythm inhaled me further into the hallway and toward their lair. Peering around that doorway, I had found the boys absorbed in a duet, a private performance of mind-bending seductiveness. Amidst their music-making, both were unclothed and in a mutual state of arousal.

The convoluted melody was now somehow difficult to describe to myself, disjointed and syncopated the way my mind had stored it. Fleeting yet memorable at the same time, it had a flowing tune like a deep, steady ocean current. Later on last night, upon returning home, I had drifted to sleep in the sensual reverberations, reliving the sultry scene in the boys' den where I had entered without their answer.

"Too high t'take a breath, too high t'take a step,

Two wrongs don'make a right, three rights--make a left...

Highway t'heaven, I'm takin d'scenic...foll-win' dat road, risin' like d'phoenix,

walkin' like a puppet, gots legs on ma'words,

Def' a freak t'keep--in ya'back pocket...fo' dat---late...night...creep..."

Their arching, bobbing cocks led their ebony bodies in the intricately complex caribbean macarena with a rap overlay. With only swollen dicks touching, then brushing, their arms and legs, heads and torsos, intertwined and writhed together--then separately--then together again. A dance of amazingly synced quality in the light of flittering candles. Their performance had enveloped me in a pin-prickling, whole body shiver by the visual. I had just stared. Transfixed.

"Tie me to the tracks by the train o'yo' thoughts, 

bellies touchin' skin by dat twelve-pack bought,

Trigga' finga' itchin', trigga' finga' itchin'...

trigga' finga' itchin', trigga' fixin'ta itch, ahhhh...nic...nic...nic."

They would not have seen me if they had looked--and their eyes did, indeed, pass over me--but the male-eroticos only had mind's eyes for their strongly libidinous choreography and synergized lyrics. The combined totality cocooned the two in a shared place only they knew. No one else was invited. Not sexual, yet entirely sexual. Their motions made a burlesque of libertine expressions, breathtakingly lustful by the display. I could not shake it.

I did not want to.

"Rest in peace, say d'gang... 'cause I'm fresh-- wit'---d'dev-il...

Rest in peace, say d'gang... 'cause 'dey kill------ d'emselves...

You- go, bro---try-in' 

t'get...fresh..like..this.."

I wanted to know more. The tiny pocket into which I had had but a brief glimpse was something special that only twins share. Just like the discreet dialect of which we, their family, were aware but not made privy, I had now stumbled onto this...this mind-blowing communal jive dialect. My senses had told me of something akin to it before now, but the manifestation was remarkable.

"I jus'can't see-ma'self...livin' in a house o'mir--rors...

put dat in t'place where... it bounce.off.d'doors.

Trigga finga' itchin', trigga finga' itchin'...trigga' fixin'at itch...nic...nic...nic..."

Cal and Coy, the older twins, had an awesome rapport as Cal had shown me. But nothing close to these younger boys. This performance demo'd that. It was not meant for anyone but themselves. Li'l Bow Wow would be proud to call it his. And hard. I was smitten and couldn't let go. 

Reluctantly, pulling myself silently away, I had left the pair to their private devices...forgetting completely why I had stopped in. I sure won't forget what I had happened upon.

Afterwards, upon arriving home, I had crept into bed next to my Cal and spooned over to his heated, naked form, my focus still bent to the psychic vibe pervading my consciousness. I had been absolutely mesmerized by that phenomenal aura.

I dreamed a strange sphere through the next hours with my husband. On the one hand, I knew he was there, feeling him respond to my body, turning and enfolding me in his long arms without reaching a completely coherent state, as he was wont to do.

But, I never left that ephemeral creation of Loy's and Roy's just barely 'touched' awhile before. As my man spread me open, entering me and making me whole, I vicariously experienced the young twins' certain culminative punctuation by combined hedonic climax. I knew they were surely writhing together, entwined in a carnal finale as I throbbed together with my Calumet. Erotic, metaphysical unions. Cal and me fucking while dreaming their fucking, while they were truly fucking...mmmmm.

Now, running in the pre-dawn dimness, I was like a man in a shadowy jungle filled by sensurround sounds, and fears, and longings. Perceiving some Haitian voodoo ritual acting out in a remote, smoky clearing. I could see and feel vestiges of the boys and the vibe they had unwittingly shared, but could only hoard the emanations, never reaching the source...

the midst of this continuing reverie, my head shrieked sudden pain. A low-hanging branch had scraped me, I thought, until the flapping of huge wings and swirling eddies of agitation informed me of a sharp set of talons within inches of a second strike. Ducking and rolling, instinctively, I sumersaulted away from the attack, shanking my ankle in the action. The huge set of wings flapped over and then upward, opposite me. 

Hal, the great horned owl, I quickly deduced, had just mistaken my head for an early morning snack. The hand-sized claws had raked me and I could feel the blood well up, dribbling down across my face, fuzzling my vision. Hal, as I had named him, was a hugely handsome male more than four foot in wingspan with whom I had developed a connection over the preceding weeks.

Able to mimic a barn owl since a child, I had called to the big hunter upon first hearing him hoot. The nocturnal hunter had replied in inquisitive puzzlement and a mutual interest ensued. The hunter appeared to be awaiting my pre-dawn appearances after that, commonly following as I signaled my routes via hoots and trackable foot beats...

This morning had been different by my silence. Perhaps the owl took insult at the snub. Regardless, I had to struggle one-legged to stand upon finding the inability to support weight on the twisted ankle. Removing my singlet to staunch the bleeding by headbanding, I gimped my way toward the riverside. Knowing it to be close by I desired orientation and refuge. Reaching running water in a few minutes, I adopted a good-sized fallen tree branch for a cane and a weapon, should Hal return. 

As I descended to the bank below, a low, menacing voice probed at me, "What the hell you doin' here? This here my spot." Scared shitless at yet another intrusion, I grabbed my crutch by both hands and raised it defensively.

The voice personified from the leeside of a huge bald cypress rooting into both dry land and river. I heaved a sigh of relief as I recognized Voy Alfrederic Blackhearst, my fifth brother, picking his way across huge roots toward me. "Damn, Voy, you like to scared me to death, man," I winced unsteadily at him.

"Is that Jake?" he queried, knowing my voice in a second. I lowered the stick, then myself, to the uneven ground, wobbly from the bleeding and blurred vision as well as my ankle. The muscular man, obviously relieved as well, came to me and squatted, quickly assessing blood, limp and weakness as a familiar, non-threatening form. 

Dawn still an hour distant, we compared notes and I figured out Cal's brother was setting out troutlines at this early hour. His cute wife, Winnie, had developed a pregnancy-induced passion for fresh fish with black licorice, I remembered. Voy was following very husbandly orders...I asked him if the licorice was biting this early.

A close copy of all the Blackhearst boys, Voy was tall and rangy. Darkly handsome and built like a brick shithouse. Reaching to my head, the baritone-voiced fisherman carefully unwrapped my makeshift bandage in the filtered moonlight. His deep armpit cupped my nose and face, overpowering me with the ripe smell of unwashed maleness. Despite my condition, this set my hormones to flowing. I readily drew in his essence as he bent over me to look at the marked scrapes left by Hal's talons. "What the fuck you been up to, boy? These cuts are purty bad-ass," concern shading his words.

More fully discussing my predicament, we decided it best to head over to the closest, and sole, farmhouse across the river. He knew the resident, he informed me, and before I could say anything, he rewrapped my oozing wounds, further contacting my mostly bare torso with his own. Then the limber black man lightly hoisted me over his shoulder in a fast rotating lift. I felt my junk grazing his upper back as he waded down into the chest high water. The coldness of it shocked me but didn't seem to phase the big guy at all. His unsure strides jostled me repeatedly as he searched solid footing over the several minute portage.

By the time we reached the far bank, the cold water, combined with his firm grip, left my body in a quandry. Should my stimulated package shrivel or explode? Like espresso braces creme brulee, the answer proved to be a bittersweet amalgam as the initial miniaturizing effect gave way to a burst of uncontrollable engorgement. My balls retracted inside me and a huge boner sprang up. It would have made me proud under circumstances not involving the persistent bouncing against Voy's shoulder.

I was startled to find myself twirled again in a half-gainer from his back to the ground. Way too much rubbing and jolting had gone on between my dick and his superb musculature. But the thoughtful man, not forgetting my sprained ankle, dexterously put out two very large, veined hands to cushion my landing. One supporting my muscled white butt, the other catching the frontside, covering and pinning my boned-up piece against my stomach. That damnably smooth shoulder buttressed my side and lower back.

Our abrupt absence of motion rendered me to a state of rigid mortification and him to a grinning, grasping support group made up of a single body. "You good, Jake?" he joked, as his hands rubbed up and down my anatomy. With him sizing up both my erection and retracted balls inside of one palm, my skewed running shorts were doing precious little to cover me. Along with his other hand on my backside, I could do nothing except grin stupidly, blushing at him. My typical ten shades of 'Jake-pink' as it had come to be known in the family. I was probably glowing like a blood moon. 

Voy separated us by straightening and blatantly scanned my disheveled form. Mud-tousled hair jutting from the blood-soaked edges around my makeshift headband, wedged shorts twisted far from my distended, ball-less junk and balancing awkwardly on one foot. "You keep in good shape, dude." he offered. "By the feel o'ya," teasing me with a wink.

My mental clarity wavered and I recognized a dizziness not felt before. The bad ankle disallowed my precarious stance and he darted a sinewy hand right between my legs to keep me from falling as he caught my teetering. While stopping a fall, this only stiffened the embarrassingly innappropriate response my sex organ so wrongly displayed.

If that wasn't enough, as his hand steadied me, middle finger astray in my buttcrack, the one-eyed betrayer spouted a viscous rope of pre-cum right on to Voy's wrist. "Well, at least you ain't bleedin from that, too," the teasing continued. Such the gentleman, I thought, through a crimson haze. He lifted my arm up high over his shoulder, cupping my hip with his pre-cummed hand and we made our way up the path to the cottage he had mentioned before.

In a minute, we were at a small arched cypress wood door, Voy's knuckles rapping heavily on it as he intoned, "T...T, wake on up, I got a patient out here needin' some tendin' to."

After a few moments we heard muffled shuffling from inside and the solid little door pulled open, revealing a sleepy-eyed young man wrapping a floral robe around himself, squinting through a stifled yawn as the porchlight clicked on. The red-hue of the sudden lighting cast an odd ambience over us three and I recognized TL, my youthful orderly from the free medical clinic where I volunteered.

Yup, it was, indeed, my recent after-hours 'co-worker-in-crime' gaping at me through his yawn. This man knew me better than I would've liked. "Well, I'll be. What is up with this?" He glanced from me to Voy and back, not missing the blood-soaked bandage, the connected condition of our contrasting bodies nor my persistent waggling, full-mast hard on. My eyes were definitely not down there, I ventured an unspoken cliche. "Seems there be need of some early-morning triage...or something," he quipped, now stepping aside to allow us entry, sweeping a petite hand backwards as he beckoned us. The look we got was priceless. 

If my mortification had been present before, this turn of events sure notched things up on the scale of humiliation. My stuff continued its unabashed, way-too-happy jiggling as Voy practically hoisted me inside to a big armchair. Thankfully sitting now, I was noticing the light-headedness again. Probably associated with my injury, I analyzed. Laying back, the two men bustled to the adjoining kitchen, and I closed my eyes in multi-levels of emotional chagrin, attempting to straighten the pitiful excuse passing for running shorts.

Through the wooziness I recognized ministrations of nursing and bandaging to my head wounds in the next foggy period of time. The 'aid workers' tended to wrapping my ankle as well, somehow mistaking my buoyant prick for the afflicted ankle several times... With TL's coaxing, I drank a warm tea concoction which I was informed would take the edge off my pains. It did relax me, and quickly.

I barely focused while I was lifted and moved to a more comfortably reclining position with ankle elevated, in a different room. Their soft conversational tones were both efficient and subdued, Voy's deep rumblings contrasting TL's higher pitched sing-song titterings. I drifted off hazily, basking in much less discomfort.

The re-emergence of the haunting beat and melody of the twins' jungle-rap suffused my being and I concentrated on the suggestive lyrics as I rested. They seemed so close as to be inside my head. I hearkened back to the starry night in the backyard during the baseball game when the twins and I had shared an animal magnetism fueled by magic mj-laced gummy bears. Loy and Roy had taken turns fucking me nasty, right there under the stars. My man and his brother, Coy, the older twins, had watched the whole thing from the cover of the porch. Unbeknownst to me. Until we came, anyway.

We had produced multiple loads of cum between us, all three collapsing in a sticky mess afterwards...I somehow knew we would repeat the hot episode and with the rhythmus in my brain now, it seemed the two had decided sooner than later would be good. I was gladly accepting of their attentions, pulsating dicks slowly inflaming my prostate and I moaned in the blissful stimulation. I could feel my own cock tensing and rising to their cadence of strokes, ready to erupt any time but desiring to hold off longer to stretch out the feeling. The provocative beat disappointingly diminished as I gradually realized the lewd activity as dreamful pursuits.

As the drumbeats receded with my fantasy delusion, my awareness surfaced and I awakened to the reason for it. The pace of slow, deep fucking persisted, but without the music or lyrics

My eyes flicked open from my lust-laden trance and I found myself focusing on the Chippendale-worthy form of not Loy or Roy hitting my boy pussy, but big,married Voy, instead. Adultery abounded... His hands were grasping my calves, splitting my legs wide apart, carefully avoiding my securely wrapped ankle.

I was swaying with his deliberate dick thrusts in some sort of sling and he was watching my gauze-wrapped head and eyes as he prodded deeply with his jumbo-sized prick, feeding off my half-conscious cheerleading. 

Measuredly pumping ass in a slowly methodical manner, the gentle behemoth made my erect dick rise and drop over my belly with each repeating entry. Voy's concern for any suffering was allayed by my see-sawing 8's-plus, which he himself had engendered. And perpetuated. Lightly finger-slapping it periodically for effect.

Coming up from the mental depth of the dream proved a timely return to reality as I felt my dick tensing, on the very verge of putting out. My hands were nowhere close to it. I heard Voy encouraging me toward that end, telling me he was about to cum inside my impregnable ass, and, 'Oh, shit, that shit feel Jood, boiii, that feel Jood!"

His head bent upwards like a wolf howling at the moon as he plunged into a massive eruption, flooding me with spermful gushes. Damn, married men fuck so good, was all that came into my head as I followed suit, emptying squirts of juice over my own face, chest and stomach. 

His feet planted far apart, pelvis thrust forward into mine, beautiful arms still restraining my quivering legs, this sixth and final linkage consummated me with the entire brotherhood of the Blackhearst family. My bleary, cum bespeckled gaze watched Voy descend from his silent howl and I heard a chipper little voice from under the fuck-sling, "Goddam, Voy, that is gonna be one phine fuck flick, baby."

Popping up from floor level, a now fully made-up TL arose, smirking in the flowing floral robe, assuring the married man that the angle of that fuck shot would be the best one yet. To be viewed on the occasion of their next plowing, he promised his black sancho...so much for TL's imaginary girlfriend--hadn't I said that once before? The man-girl was brazen, for sure true. 

Oh, and it was good thing Winnie was so hankerin' for that fresh fish and licorice-- her baby-making pole was presently otherwise occupied...

Voy, lascivious grin lighting his face, glanced from the drag queen to me, "Torchy Lane loves her videos, now, my bro..." And with that, he yanked that big dick outta my ass, spanking her right across the head with it. To her delight and my further stunned surprise.

Cal examined my head scrapes upon being delivered safely home in the next hour, kneading the hair apart tenderly as he heard the low-down about his younger twins' budding nocturnal musical skills and wondered at the full morning's happenings. "Hell, Jake, it isn't half the morning gone yet and you done been hyped, scraped and raped...whatever we gonna think up to do for the rest o' the day, my ever-ready dudeboii?" 




Stick Shift: Nocturnal Writhings



Smiling sweetly up at him, I inquired if there were any brothers left who I had not yet met?

That got a hoot in reply.



Stick Shift: Pancakes with Family



Lulled by the sonorous night sounds wafting through the open bay windows over the big bed, I lazed half in and half out of sleep. What a wonderful spot to exist in, I thought, knowing the dream I had been enjoying was actually a recent memory of the trip into the big city the previous weekend. Memories of which I would hope to carry a long time, what with the steamy and sultry happenings at the 'cocksucker palace' my man had turned me on to...

My early morning wood throbbed under the weight of Cal's leg resting on my groin as he slumbered, arm over my chest, face softly nuzzling my neck. His amazingly sweet morning breath sighing musically while he dozed in a protective half-covering position over my butt-nakedness.

A very endearing house rule, I loved the fact that he had set the hard-and-fast dictate from the inaugural night of our relationship for 'no clothing in bed'. He was a semi-nudist as it was, preferring only saggy boxers when home, never anything tighter, front opening usually widely gaped, and the freedom of air-cooled skin whenever possible. Big, wide bare feet a given.

My luck, as it were, considering the silky smoothness of his superbly toned body. With less than four percent body fat, the sight of him never went unnoticed (or unfelt) and my mind's eye contentedly pictured us tangled in skewed bedsheets as if I were peering down from a perch at the ceiling corner. What a lucky man I was.

As I gradually roused without any body movement other than some muscle stretching/ tensing-and-releasing- oh, and the boner, of course, pulsing against his thigh- he faintly responded by a soft, purring change to the rhythm of his breath, coming up from the deepness that was his sleep mode. Licking his lips, he "shooshed" a breath at my neck in exhalation and I felt his smile at the action, "You my sexy baby, dude-boy?" All I could manage was a muffled,"Hmmmmmm", from behind a closed-eye half smile.

"Baby, you gettin' me goin', now...you keep up that slo-mo down there and you gone' make me cum, you know that, right...? I'm 'bout ready-to-climb-on-up there, bay-bee", he whispered in my ear.

I loved when he reverted to the local patois of northern Georgia as opposed to his highly educated articulation. Made my dick harder...but wait...

Both of my hands were presently raised up over my head and I hadn't moved...we both tensed together and sat upright, surprised by the sudden realization of a nappy head between us down low.

"Small Boy-- Dawg!" Cal exclaimed, yanking on Boy's little arm to separate it from where his little palm slowly rubbed the hugeness that was Cal's woodness, "You little bugger, whatchyoubedoin downintherepissant?" 

The little nephew popped up, busted, and leapt out of the tiny gap unrealized between the two of us where the boy had sometime before snuck up to cuddle. He skiddled to the floor and raced out the cracked door, slamming it on his escape, giggle fading around the corner as he went...

"Damn," Cal hissed, "that little mess is gonna get on my last nerve, damnnn it!" As he reclined back to the mattress, drawing me down with him.

A few forced-hrrrumphs later, the swollen heat of my man's curving drippiness inched to my hip and rubbed hornily all up on me. It never took anything more than a brushing touch from any part of this man's body to raise my fever and the desire for a slow-ride before breakfast came unnervingly easy. My buoyant cock bounced expectantly as I stretched out my enjoyment, feeling my tubular underdick whisk rhythmically off the smoothly dark hard belly next to it. I nibbled the earlobe and blew lightly for effect. He shivered his notice, enwrapping my lips with his own.

It almost bothered me, this hold he held, but I smashed that feeling as I pushed his leg over and sidled up on to his flattened lap, intensifying the stud's already tumescent boinging state. His sexy-ass foreskin rolled sensually back from the sensitive phattened head. The imp that was Boy had readied him perfectly and Cal wasn't even gonna admit to that. He froze as I lifted up to get the ten inch pre-cumming monster-of-my-eye targeted to its preferred location.

Cal peered around my own bouncing, boned-up whiteboy piece to assure Boy's absence, then groaned as I descended down over the one-eyed 10's 'til our black-on-whites met and melded. Squeezing the cheeks strongly and deliberately-it made him nuts- I began a slow loping motion, all the way up, then down, in hopes of long, rolling spurts.

His large and manly hands cupped my rounded globes in a pretension of control but his rolled-up eyes told a different story. I had this man... It only took a few dozen full, slow, deep strokes before I was rewarded by a hot, goopy sliminess of a release. He rumbled at me, "puleeeze don't stop that honey, puleeeze don't..."

Fat chance of that. I kept up the motion, right through his vulnerable after-cum spasms while he winked one squinted eye open to see my own eruption-he perfectly well knew the effect his implanted, spewing dick had on my prostate- and my rotations roiled my sensation of climax for his added satisfaction. He reached the big-boned fingers of his hand to my mushroom head and swirled the goo marking me as totally dick-whipped. As he intended. 

We fit. And, we knew it.

Boy pogo'd up and down by the stove, impatiently demanding pancakes from his aunt's griddle. Holding a plate in one hand and fork in the other, ninja-turtle do-rag flapping hilariously, he was impossible to avoid laughing at as Cal and I exited our upstairs bedroom and descended after a buddy-shower wake up following the morning fuck.

The Boy's loose white boxers, in mimicry of his idolized uncle, provided the ball-of-energy's only other covering and the little man took satisfactory note of their like outfits as we sniggered at his antics. Cal's own sagging, over-sized boxers mostly hid his recently sated snake behind only a minimally gapped opening due to it's resting mode, now. God, what a hunk I had married.

Attempting nonchalance was not a tactic well-mastered yet by the lovable tadpole nephew and Sophie smiled at the seven-year-old's transparency, instructing the boisterous boy to hold his plate for delivery of the blueberry-stuffed flapjacks.

Even at the early hour of 7 AM, Cal's younger sis looked ravishing. Her short-cropped black hair, blood red-tipped and spiked, accentuated the two-piece red and black spiraled spandex body suit. Her ab fab abs smoothly accentuated the outfit and her make-up free beauty rendered regular mistakeness for Halle. The lithe young seductress was completely at ease in her skin and amongst her six brothers. My acceptance into the setting had pleased me no end. She and I communicated.

She was well aware of the effect she had on people. Those negatively affected were most commonly treated to a vamp-like act for the shock value. In our presence she exuded a motherly affection honed to an art since the loss of the family's matriarch several years before.

Cassandra had doted on her husband, Calumet Senior, and when he had succumbed to a horrific head-on collision with a drunk driver a decade before, the aristocratic woman had desolately faded without her soulmate, diminishing and passing in her sleep then, leaving an indisputable legacy of elegance rarely seen outside European aristocracy.

Boy concentrated on getting to the breakfast table without spillage and succeeded in joining Vivian, his little sister and mini-him version of unassuming liveliness who now patiently awaited pancakes like the small lady she could occasionally pull off.

Mostly, she worked at keeping up with her older brother and the two shared a curiosity and frenetic mobility typical for Blackhearst children. Soph glanced at Cal and me noticing her mannered patience and told us, "Viv just let me know she is expecting company any minute...she wants to be ready." Perplexed, we wordlessly asked 'what was up' by our faces and she added, "I have no idea-she just does this sometimes, you already know. I am sure we'll find out- she sees everything. So, just watch out, boys. Come get your cakes."

I gave my sis a cheek peck as I took the offered plate, scooping up a glass of oj as she poked me in the ribs playfully. 'You gettin' pretty used to the mood around here, aren't you, boii?" she teased, pointing at my Cal and Boy matching boxers, "only took a month... Welcome home, finally."

Cal grinned and quipped, "come on Sis, you know I'm keeping him barefoot and PG, and I don't want a lot of crap in my way when I'm ready, right?" As he bit into his honey-slathered breakfast jacks.

"Well, big Daddy, you sho' didn't seem to have any o'that problem an hour ago, now, did you?" She smirked in the direction of my tush as she waited. My expected face, neck and chest flush was a source of joking discussion and it surfaced right on cue. Soph loved doing this and as the token white member of the family, the weakness was regularly provoked. I should be used to it and wasn't mortified anymore, as in the beginning. Only embarrassed a bit. To everybody's amusement.

The Blackhearst siblings were all close and each exhibited elevated sex drives. The tendencies were recognized and accepted quite matter-of-factly. They all had been brought up understanding the healthy benefits of a full sex life. I, on the other hand, had been raised in a puritanistic household, sex existing only in a world of sinful nastiness.

Procreation was the only use my folks and siblings had for the frowned-upon pastime. The totally debasing moments when I had been caught in the act of jacking off had bred my lasting reaction at the mention of the subject. 

Cal's family had entered me into 'active rehab' through their ease of manner and I was gradually responding. But the blushing thing was a source of high hilarity, all the way down to the five-year-old Viv. While obviously never talking of sex (well, not intentionally), even the girl knew just how to cause me to redden by multiple methods. Damn it.

Just then, a bang and a crash followed by a rash of stringed cusswords erupted down the long hallway from the other brothers' grouping of rooms. Vivian straightened up and put her fork down, "Here it comes," was all she said, and we all watched the hall doorway. Within a few seconds, Doy's door sounded open and we all watched as a very naked and aroused unknown young hispanic man appeared, highly agitated and in a hurry. 

Doy came barging down the hall after him, cussing and waving, "You fucking asshole thievin' bitch! Get the fuck out my house! Steal my shit and I'ma tear that ass up- get the fuck out!" he insisted. Doy was a volatile personality and easily riled. Right now, he was hot. And naked. And, boy was his dick handsome when he was pissed off...I hadn't noted this until now. 

The typical overhung male family jewels waggled side-to-side, angrily, in mid-air, raising hell and dribbling spunk as it preceded the rest of the youngest brother's body and head through the doorway, making for a surprising picture to our breakfasting selves. He rounded the corner and we saw his face matched his weiner... Swelled up, pissed-off and blustering. The girls just lowered their heads but us boys were looking.

The olive-skinned young man twirled in angst, sputtering ill-attempts at apologies, all very noticeably unaccepted by the erect Doy. He spewed cusswords and saliva non-stop as we watched, enthralled.

The smaller visitor abruptly realized he was on display in front of us, kids included. He turned deep shades of purple (this feature warmed my whiteboy heart) by the knowledge, attempted covering the teeny-tiny up-pointing sprig of a dick and managed to seek out a stilted request for his clothes.

Doy was having none of it. He reached out and grasped the little wank of a cock, manhandling the trick to the back door by pulling on it and physically ejected the object of his anger, slamming the heavy old solid door on the little butt still filling the doorway as it closed, not comfortable in his outdoor nudity.

A high little shriek matched the clank of the door as it slapped his ass and Doy turned on us, dick still fully erect and flopping madly, low-hangers bobbing. "What the fuck ya'll starin' at? The little thief-ass prick tried to lift my wallet right when I was pokin' him, goddammit!" Had my iPad and iPhone already packed up and hid, too. I knew I shouldn't trust the bitch- anyone with a two inch, on-hard dick's always a thief. I always tol' ya'll that! Shit, I'm just glad I didn't give the ho' but two loads or he woulda' got the damn TV." 

Suddenly remembering, he turned back and yanked open the door, "Where'd you hide my damn phone, wench?" But the boy seemed to be gone already.

This, all the while dripping an obviously interrupted load-dumping moment. We couldn't tell which was pissing him off more- the thievery or the messed-up cum. His thick nine inch piece continued haranguing us by its wagging and upward arch, and the cum-laden 'cussing' it was still spewing was demonstrative.

Sophie reached over and handed her brother a dish towel, Cal and I and Boy couldn't stop staring between both erupting heads, trying to understand. Viv just shook her pretty little head sagely at Boy and opined, "I know, I know." 

Doy disappeared, still pissed, down the hall and into the bedroom. Emerging again a minute later, hands filled with the trick's clothes and shoes, he strode barefooted to the door, exited, pretty bare ass bouncing cutely behind him and calling loudly for Aloysius, the family's nubian goat.

We tried to finish our fast-cooling pancakes and make sense of the situation in the post-tirade calm but found the blow-up too funny to ignore, all but Boy and Viv losing our appetites. We were roaring over the happenings and I was particularly vocal about the mini-dicked boy's blushing episode. Cal and Soph allowed that his was worse than my own, by far. I was satisfied.

Cal left for his study to do some work and the rest of us cleaned up. Little Viv thoughtfully worked on her iphone and Boy went outside to find out the happenings there.

A half hour later, Soph was on her way out the door to several of her day's errands, still smiling at the episode. Viv hadn't looked up once from her phone, completely absorbed, so I thought to see if the goat friend of mine was still alive.

Nobody answered as I descended the backporch steps so I headed over to the neighbor's yard where the social goat commonly slunk off to for "talks" with the Missus Brown. The two had an understanding of some sort and I had overheard some amusing goat-on-woman dialogues more than once.

I found Aloysius tied to a tree on the side of the house, pawing at the little trick's clothes as he dug asparagus stalks from the pockets and inside the wrapped clothes where more had been stuffed. In digging out the delicacy, of course, the clothes had been very thoroughly pawed and gnawed to shreds. Clever, I thought, but why hadn't Farmer Brown had a fit over this, per usual?

Sticking my head around the front corner of the old farmhouse, I noted the absence of the Missus' car, so that answered one of my questions. Stepping back between the hedge and the side of the house heading back to the goat 's picnic site, I heard a muffled sound from the open window and drew closer to see in it.

There, lazing back in an easy chair, spread-legged, head lolled all the way back, arms on the armrests, was a still naked Doy, moaning to the tempo of an ongoing blow job being expertly administered by a totally busy Farmer Brown. Ha, I thought. You Go, old boy. The man was amazingly bent over Doy's full dick, slow-sucking the thing, seemingly oblivious to anything but that good hard-on. Can't blame the old guy for that, I thought. Doy had no problem with it by the look of things.

Interested, I decided to watch a bit. Another surprise, I told myself. These country folk sure were innovative. And uninhibited. At least the menfolk were proving to be. The older man knew his way around a dick, now, to be sure. He worked the thing for several minutes before Doy finally warned the old gent to get off it, and they and I watched as that dick popped off several good arcs of cum while Doy gripped the chair and I quietly backed off, returning to our house. Things that make you go, "Hmmmm."

When I entered, there was Viv, now busily punching buttons. She looked up as I opened the door and waved me excitedly over. "Hey, Viv, I didn't even know you had a phone. When did you get that," I asked her. She grinned at me conspiratorially and pointed at the screen, "Uncle Jake, this is Uncle Doy's. I took it out of that man's pocket when I saw him put it there and I set up the iPad for skype- look what came up."

I was amazed as I came over and viewed Doy's shadowy bedroom the hour before breakfast. The five-year-old tech wizard had ably set the scene. As I watched, Doy and the kid awakened from the night, some inaudible pillowtalk going on; the boy went into the bathroom awhile, then Doy did so afterwards.

The trick proved mighty curious while alone, poking through various drawers and pockets, just spotting Doy's pants as the younger brother opened the bathroom door, re-entering to his desired pusuit of hitting the little butt noticeably distracting him. Doy missed the trick's cleverly strategic drop of the pants close to where he placed his head for the upcoming reaming.

Doy got lined up behind and slightly out of the picture frame. The proceeding fuck was heard but not seen and the next minutes showed no hard core porn shots (thank goodness) due to poor positioning, but the backdoor work Doy was doing was quite audible and at the 9 minute mark, we watched as the boy reached out for Doy's discarded pants. Carefully covering his act of removing the wallet, just as Doy had accused. As he put it into his own shorts pocket, Doy apparently opened his sex-blinded eyes and saw the action. All hell broke loose as Doy knocked the kid from the bed, crashing to the floor, and we all knew the following occurrences.

Wow. No wonder little Viv had predicted the future. She had watched the whole set up by the scype connection.. I could never have thought of it, let alone carried it out. The 'why' of the matter didn't occur to me...

A little later, with Viv disappeared to her next plan for her five-year-old agenda, Doy swept in the back door looking much relieved and much quieter. Still completely nude. Happy to find his missing iPhone, he settled at the kitchen table, half-hard dick lolling to the side on his thigh, uncaring for his uncovered state. He told of his packing of the little thief's clothes and shoes with the asparagus. Aloysius had thoroughly enjoyed the filling treat, he informed me.

Unable to help myself, I had to ask how he had convinced the old farmer to part with his precious crop. Doy smugly replied, "we bartered for it."

Unashamedly nude and at ease in front of me, I should have figured his openness. As I looked at him funny, he replied to my unasked question, "Hell, Jake, that old dude? That wasn't no deal. He gots those blue pills and I let him suck my dick for trade on the greens so it was all good. He was wankin' that big ole' man dick off when I left, like he likes to do, so..." He winked, stood up, wagged his happy dick at me, slapped playfully at my crotch and disappeared for a shower. With his phone...

Cal wasn't going to be interrupted, as borne out by his brush-off of my shoulder rubbing when I tried to tempt him a little later into conversing, mumbling about deadlines and such, so I retreated back to the kitchen. Viv was in her room singing along with some Nickelodeon kid's show and I suddenly wondered about the erstwhile Boy. Hadn't seen him since he had left out the backdoor awhile before. I better find the imp or he'll have gotten into something no good, I figured.




Stick Shift: Pancakes with Family



Perusing the backyard surround and the barn, as well as Aloysius' picnic site, and still not finding the boy, I untied the goat and was about to search the front yard when I thought to peek in on the farmer's blue-pill morning progress. Doy had left him jacking earlier and I was curious. As I peered in the window where Doy had previously enjoyed the 'mature' blowjob, I was disturbed to find Boy standing in front of a masturbating old farmer who didn't seem bothered by the fact in the slightest, stroking while he and the tidbit talked.

"Well, that ain't happenin', I said to myself. I scurriedly went around to the old farmhouse's backdoor and let myself in. Coming around the corner, inside, to the room where they were, I found an outreaching hand toward a seven-year-old boxer crotch and busted up on that action, right quick...

"What the Hell is UP, Mr. Brown?" I said loudly as I burst through the doorway. The old gent withdrew his reaching hand and a surprised Boy jerked his thankfully embarrassed little face up at me as he stepped back. No contact had been made. The old guy justifiably stuttered a bit as Boy dashed from the room and I looked at the man, arms akimbo, waiting for the screen door to slam shut. 

"Where's the Missus this morning, Mr. Brown?" I demanded. "She'd probably have something to say on this, is my bet." He rather sheepishly leaned back in the chair Doy had previously warmed a bit ago and let go his blue-pill fueled erection, thinking through a response. 

"Look, Sir," I kept it formal now, "I'm just good if you want to get rocks off in your own place here, and I am even good when I see you swallowing my brother's prick like I saw, but the line for proper conduct is drawn for the under 18 year-old crowd. And you damn well know that. What is up with that?"

After a moment, the chastised man's own big ole' dick drooping some, he looked up at me and brazenly hang-dogged right at me. Amazed at his lack of humility, he simply said, "So you's watched me suck that big boy black dick, huh? Your white stick raise up while you seein' us?" 

"Hmmph," I responded, even as I realized that, indeed, my dick had phattened while I had voyeured through the window. "Well, my bet's on it ya' did, you pretty nigga-lovin' whiteboy. That little tyke sho' nuf was a-lookin' atch me workin' it, from right over in that corner there." As he pointed across the room.

Lascivious smile perfused the face as I inadvertantly adjusted my boxers to make sure nothin' was poking through. "You know that's just wrong, now, Mr. Brown, right?" I warned him.

His impudent comeback made me to know he was of the age when nothing really embarrassed a person much and the dirty old man's dick was hardening up even as I tried to stare him down. Not working. And what was worse was the fact that my piece wasn't listening to my good sense, itself filling up with blood like I was embarrassed, or something, which I was. 

The lecherous old hand shamelessly now reached out and fondled my whiteness through the very thin boxers and drew me to him like nothing at all unusual was going on. "You know I been saw your'n whiteboy cock last week, now, 'member that, boy? No use to let a good wood got t'waste now, is there?" as he opened the gap and extruded my now arousing dick. 

This was just weird, I told myself, but I allowed the old lech to draw it over to where his begging mouth engulfed it without hesitation.

Not knowing why I didn't bolt and run, and wondering where all my righteous indignity had disappeared to, the old gent took his cue and went to gumming my now rigid piece with his toothless old mouth. Damn, that was good, as I warmed up to the man's ability, thinking back on the look of bliss filling Doy's face not long ago. The man's black dick was now standing up straight and proud as he took to stroking himself while he mumbled through his filled mouth, expertly doing me. Amazing.

No more words passed between us as I now allowed my boxers to drop to the floor, stepping out of them and inching closer to give the experienced dicksucker a have at it. I lost myself in the smooth, undulant motion he used and almost jumped out of my skin when a warm hand grasped my buttcheek from behind.

Looking back, I found Cal kneeling at my ass level, slightly smiling at it as he closed the gap between his face and my asscrack. He glanced up at me as if to say, "just give it up, boii," so I did, and luxuriated in the concomitant blowjob and tongue reaming now edging me up toward a too soon peak.

My man got that ass nice and lubed up as the farmer deeply sucked my long whiteboy shaft. Then Cal arose, letting his totally hard 10 inch curved mandick rasp all the way up against my leg until it reached my butt crack.

Still wordless except for my soft murmurs of startled and slightly guilty delight, Cal entered me familiarly, and I stayed standing as straight as possible so as to not inhibit the seasoned expert on my dick, giving in to the fulfilling feeling of the thickness of Cal I so loved and knowing that this state wasn't going to last too much longer. 

As I thought this, I looked down to see the old gent's engorged dick, big in its own right, start pumping his juices over the huge head and his own grizzled hand, while he deepthroated me. He put his other hand back to the point where Cal's dick was slowly pushing in-and-out, getting his feel on at the height of his climax.

That was just too much for my enveloped and tonsil-tickling dick to handle and I felt my prostate contract nicely. So did my man as his mandick noted it, too, and he smoothed his big hand up and down my belly and chest as I let go, feeling the familiar rush of cummed heat impregnate me yet again. We both raptured together and the farmer encircled the honker dick erupting in my guts, experiencing both Cal's and my own joint pleasure, swallowing mine.

Stilled moments in time passed before any one of us changed the picture there on the cool summer morning suffused with both rushes of pulsing afterglows and the smell of three sperm emitting men. Cal tensed his big boy rhythmically to extend the feelings as well as secure his dominance, sending paroxysms through me as the farmer took note of our good fit.

The older gent finally let go the turgid dick that was my manlover, reclining back in Doy's recent eruption chair, gazing up at the black-on-white visual before him, contemplatively wiping my jism off his lips. He smiled, knowingly, as he reached over and reinserted his false teeth and in an unusually demure voice, intoned, "You boys do belong together, now, y'hear me?"

Cal raised off my back, lightly wiggled his phatness inside me and rested his chin on my shoulder, looking satedly down on the cum-speckled,wrinkled visage of the elderly gentleman and replied, "Mr. Brown, we will be doing this here thing until we look just like you, Sir." The man took this for the compliment it was intended.

A moment later, we all chortled together as we heard Aloysius bleat in agreement outside the open window, and The Doy-man exclaim gruffly, "Well, I will be Got-damned..."



Stick Shift: Storge



Cal leaned over me, rippled chocolate stomach muscles sweaty on my lower back and buttglobes, ten-inch manmeat throbbing fixedly inside my cum-glistened bare ass. My arms extended straight down on to the bed, supporting us both as I kneeled before the greek god fucking me. 

His long dark thumb still wrapped around my dickroot as my piece pulsed out a final few globs of creamy, burning cum and his long fingers massaged our joined dick and ass connection, maximizing our velvety buzz. His long tongue still massaged my ear, deep into it, as his other hand slowly contoured my tanned pecs down over a taut stomach to pubic shorthairs. 

I could see his luscious mahogany gluteal muscle masses rotating in sensuously slow undulating arcs, interrupted by intermittent spasming, as he watched me watch him in the mirror peering at us from the wall. His low, gnarly grumbling resonations were fading as the tenseness in his releasing cock relaxed.

The amazing swell from his manly abs up to the prize-fighter quality pectoral muscles so sexily crowned by the sensitive nipples I loved to suckle were all combining to polish my arched backside. Those hard nipples pinpointed themselves as they waved over me. The congruence of our forms pleasured our afterglow.

Neither of us attempted withdrawal from our conjoinment and the soft nuzzling continued for minutes as we luxuriated in this state that we both cherished. Love is a word so overused, yet so ill-equipped to describe our contentment with one another. Slow-growing natural affection is the basis for all long-lasting, loving relationships. Love based on natural affection takes time. It requires genuine liking and understanding of the person. 

Signs of mature love include acceptance, emotional respect, consideration, commitment, friendship, calmness, kindness and caring. There was a term for this in ancient Greece and Rome. It was called storge. Affection stronger on the day one dies than on the first day.

Storge is the reason our ardour never lessened, even after eight years of experiencing it and four months of post-elopement matrimony. Of course, our innovative variations as well as our allowance for extramarital hijinks aided our ventures together. Cal's ability to surprise never ceased and the ways he came up with, in the doing, convinced me of my luck. All the time and daily. 

When we had first hooked up, Cal and I had discussed the major fault in most relationships and agreed to avoid the trap. Monogamy is such an over-valued trait. Americans are obsessed by it. We understood that honesty is the first tie that binds when two people match up, and if the age-old provocateur, jealousy, can be dealt with then the fruits of a longterm abiding relationship may be bound. Storge.

When episodes developed outside the two of us, rather than compartmentalizing and hiding from the other, we chose to employ the natural hormonal stresses commonly pulling on most persons as a trigger and catalyst for our mutual rhapsody. It worked well for us and the fantasies and variety renewed our mutual adoration to a wholeness that few understand...an epic poem was unfolding before our blended eyes.



From the outset, when I first spotted the tall, sinewy stud up on the bar at the frat party nine years before, jiggling his barely covered, coveted booty, of which he was totally aware, he locked on my eyes while sweeping a gaze around the riotous party room and never relinquished his stare until the DJ changed the tone to one less raucous. The erotic performance beguiled me.

After it, the six-foot six lean athlete had bounced nimbly down from his perch, gliding ably past grabbing, grasping hands all hoping to seize his attention. I marvelled at the fact that he stopped an inch before bumping me in the far corner from where I viewed the revelry. "Hey, sexy, come here often?" He cliched purposely through a wide toothy grin as he fingertipped the small hollow where my neck met my chest. I had nearly died of embarrassment and burned to a human crisp all at once. 

Propping his outstretched fingers on the wall behind my head, he leaned over and down to my only six foot frame and made a sizzle sound through his teeth. The man exhibited hutzpah, confidence and cockiness enough for three men. His musky smell floored me. The neophyte that I was, inexperienced in the ways of social interaction, let alone male-on-male action, I sought as quick a way out of the scenario as I possibly could. My girl friend passed him my digits on her way after me...



The drive for a medical degree completely enshrouded my psyche at that point in my life. Only for the fact that spring break had offered a rare lapse in the tunnel-vision used in attaining my goals had I reluctantly agreed to accompany a close female classmate to the frat party in the first place.

Cal recognized both my angst at his forwardness and drive for set goals almost immediately. After the unbelievably sensual come-on from his bar dance intro, the nubian giant plied me patiently over the succeeding year until I finally succumbed at the 'finish-line' of a cross-country track event I was entered in.

Long distance running was my only physical release and could be practiced anywhere. Singly. And/or with my dog. Though neither talented nor driven enough to make the university track travel squad, I was allowed to compete at home meets, thereby holding my studies to strict set rules.

Him being the campus stud and b.m.o.c. amongst both the male and female student bodies, it mightily baffled me that he kept up his attentive yet respectful onslaught toward my late-blooming, loner, bent-on-achievement self.

It was more than eleven months after our meeting before physicality struck us. Right between the eyes. And legs. He fucked me slow and deep against a tree beyond the backdoor to the gym after my clean-up following a half marathon. Calumet had accosted me as I exited, alone, on the way to my spartan Austin apartment. Physical satiation after the long run mixed with his endearing congratulations for my mid-pack finish proved too much that day. A sex-starved body finally couldn't hold out longer and Cal, sensing it, piggy-backed me to the hidden spot by the burbling little creek he knew. 

The ebony adonis sucked my face while he stripped me. His hands lightning-bolted my body by strategic finger-brushings and teasing explorative swirls. Long, limber biceps and hairless forearms lifted me by cradling my bent legs effortlessly off the grass against that tree as he masterfully sank the snake residing in his groin up into me for the first time. 

His ranging fingers marked the surround of my virgin butthole, both tangibly titillating and mating my anus as well as rubbing his own magnificent prick. We felt our last remaining wall of separation dissolve in a slow rush of euphoria. The agonizingly patient, almost reluctant act blossomed the sweetest pain I had never imagined through every synapse. From my tailbone to my brain. My toes extended and curled in one arcing motion and our commencement marked the ending and the beginning. Our eyes never once lost contact. 

He and me became we.

Cumming simultaneously almost immediately, his sexual prowess slowly seconded our roiling orgasm over the succeeding moments. Never once releasing my legs, my mouth nor my tear-streaming eyes, his movements inked our pact. I had been his dick-whipped mignon ever since.

Thankfully, I didn't get pregnant. Smile.

A blown up, framed picture of the memorable beech tree adorns the wall above our bed to the present day, lower branch harboring a chance bluebird, thus manifesting our meme. 

Nobody else knows its story. Well, until now.

Anything close to acceptable looks, personality and unrequited id had overtaken me very late in maturation. Evolving slower than my classmates, I awakened to life outside a solely-known evangelistic upbringing only upon Cal's determined assault. My parents detested him, and by extension, me, for our unfathomable union. Our eternal damnation had been sealed, said they. The parties in Hell were hot, said I.

My ego was a vestigial thing until he came along and the super-ego that the man nourished in me had imprinted solely on him as I grew into myself. Lucky for me, my wild, dark ringleted hair and pug-nose had captivated this stud who could have taken anyone. He told me it was my mysterious nature but that is hard to fathom. Wallflower, more like...or nerd, I felt. But who the hell is complaining?

Cal grew up in a locally well-known family with a tenured university professor father and worldly, refined mother who thrived in their graciously bohemian lifestyle. The couple imbued Cal with the natural flare he now evinced as an adult. His swarthy good looks enabled by an astutely imposing mind opened doors that propelled his establishment in the tech world of software development. By his thirty-third and my thirtieth birthday the two of us were comfortably set in our own right.

Cal's loving, growing and accepting family nurtured my eccentricities, showing me a 'joie de vivre' never once anticipated. By me, that is. Cal told me he knew of our coming together long prior to our first meeting and Cassandra, his doting mama, reinforced this to me. He just didn't know what I looked like, he teased. I bought into the idea slowly but now hold it dearly as my enduring rudder. 



Cal grudgingly pulled up off of my well-oiled, fucked frame, still viewing us through the looking glass as he did so. The day was afoot and we had schedules to meet. "So, J-man, do you think he will show up today?" His humongous dick lumbered its way gradually backwards as he asked me again about my new patient from the week before who had piqued our curiosities by the bemusing story 'Samuel' had stiltedly shared with me during that appointment. And which I had shared with Cal.

"He may, or may not," I replied, wincing, "Oooooh, baby, Bay-bee, that is a long dick, don't take it ouuwwtt...," I begged him. He sniggered and held still, half of the log still inside. Tensing it several times, teasingly, he grinned at me in the mirror. This man knew I couldn't get enough of him, having witnessed my appetite hundreds of times to date. I pushed back on it, enjoying some more. "That man is a puzzle," continuing my answer to the question. Samuel Hodge had been my last appointment of the afternoon last week and it took the nurse and me an hour just to get him undressed. "No trust level at all. He wanted me to prescribe him 'the pill' without an exam, said that was all he needed." 

Cal continued studying me in the mirror, caught between pleasure and perplexity, while massaging my butt lightly as we listened to the rain pattering on the window ledge. (Rainfucking: the absolute best.) "A pill? For a broken toe?" He plopped the monster out abruptly, without notice, knowing it was the only way... I registered the expected complaint. 'Day-umm', I felt abandoned. 

Turning over and spreading my legs, bending them around his while he leaned down over me, nose to nose, we continued. "What did you do?" he asked. I had to focus as I felt his manjuice dribble out back there. This manboy of mine was copiously prolific: we could bottle and market the stuff.

"Well, the man apparently knows and likes Keesha, the nurse, so I got her to tease him into getting stripped down while I left the room. It worked-- but I think she's going to have to probably bone him to get him out of them today. He doesn't trust her after I came back in and took over.

I had been enjoying a third day volunteer practicing at the Rome Free Medical Center after tiring of the vacation mindset six weeks into our summer stay at Cal's family home. My presence had taken the load off the stressed-out, over-worked staff and I loved getting back ino a quasi-clinical mode. Pro bono work. Good for the soul, I thought.

A middle-age 'boy', for lack of better description, Samuel had come into the free clinic the week before. He was 40 years-old, prematurely graying in his temples and goatee, stoutly built and well-equipped for the farmwork by which he sustained himself on the small piece of land outside this town of Rome, Georgia.

Never having finished high school, he had helped around his uncle's land for the first decade after dropping out--school just wasn't for him, he'd stated. The nephew and orphan that Samuel was just went along to get along, it seemed. His uncle had left him the parcel after passing away of untreated diabetes a few years back, and I wanted to test this blood relative of the deceased man. 

Not dumb by any means, he was distinctly close-mouthed and unforthcoming. I had figured that out by his first two minutes in the exam room, sitting on the exam table. Fully clothed. He kept his eye on the window as if it were an emergency exit. "Doc, I need 'the pill' for this dang toe I done bent," he had informed me. Doc Scott always did that for him, he had insisted, very plainly uncomfortable in the medical setting.

After sleuthing for twenty minutes, searching for what might have happened to 'bend' his toe, it finally came to light that his milk cow had 'stepped' on his foot a few days before. Guessing that wasn't the whole story, I asked if the cow had had any other contact with him. He shook his head, "No, Doc, she just landed on it for a second, accidentally, after kicking me in the nuts...she din't mean nothin' by it." Ahem, I had thought. This was apparently a repeating occurrence. 

So, pretty young Keesha flirtatiously coaxed the shoes and clothes off, cleaned him up a bit and drew a blood sample while I had conferred with Dr. Scott down the hall. The older doctor let me know he had only examined the man one time, years before, and had never treated any 'bent' toes up to now.

Re-entering the room and signaling the nurse to slowly make her way out, I sought to put Samuel at ease in his now bare-ass state with some of my runner's travails, having broken more than one toe and spraining more than one foot over the years while on the running paths. 

I had a bent toe, myself, I told him. And it just so happened mine had resulted not from running, but ironically, kicking my horse in the butt to get him out of his stall as a teenager. I was in a hurry, the stubborn horse was not. That big toe remained bent to this day. And ached when the weather changed.

He looked up at me at that and after removing my own shoe to prove it, we compared notes for awhile as he gradually opened up. Naked was not a state he liked in what he considered a public setting, as he let me know. I could see at least one quite swollen and bruised testicle slathered in remnants of some dark, thickly greasy substance. Old, used axle grease from the tractor, I was told. A country cure.

Keesha had been disallowed or unable to clean the site and I decided to jump that hurdle in a bit, instead squatting to attend the very bent second toe, also purple and yellow with bruising. Palpation proved it to be only dislocated and we agreed that he would let me to realign it if I would agree to no sedatives.

"OK, big man, if you want to be a hero, fine with me," I concurred. Grasping the toe with one hand while bracing his foot with the other, I quickly extended and rotated the smelly thing in one quick motion, seating the small bones back to normal places. Flexing it afterwards to assure proper joint alignment, I looked up at him and his surprised look made me laugh. "That's it?" he exclaimed stoically, while flexing the toe himself, further testing it. "That's it," I assured him. 

As I stood back up, I gestured to his crotch, stating the obvious. "I need to look at that, Samuel," I said. "There could be some damage there." It must hurt like a mo-fo, I figured.

"Naww, Doc,It be a'ight in a couple days, the grease'ud fix 'em," was all I got, but I insisted. Very gently reaching down and cupping his hugely swollen and rank scrotum, he exclaimed and brushed off my hand. This caused him further pain and I had to sternly instruct him in my most severe 'doctor voice' to lay back and let me examine them properly.

Not liking it at all, the man did so, and I was able to check things over. Finally. His uncut but sizeable dick was shriveled and somewhat bruised black and blue itself but both testicles were what concerned me. Three times the normal size and very tender. There was also a possible small inguinal hernia next to them on his pubic area. Luckily no intestine was strangulated in the swelling and I reduced it by manipulation back inside easily enough, proving my diagnosis. The action gave Samuel immediate relief and a heavy sigh came from him, "Whoa, Doc, what'd you do? It don't hurt near as bad, all sudden." 

Not unusual under the circumstances, I told him, the pressure had been relieved. But a temporary truss and a week of epsom salt soaks with honey and lemon on those testicles would let us know if we'd need to do any surgery on him. That word scared him sufficiently enough that we were then able to get the instructive soaks started. A truss and some prescriptions were ordered through the pharmacy next door.

He had looked ready to bolt after it all, again eyeing the window, but changed attitude when the herniating tissue popped back through upon his sitting up. He agreed to pick up the meds and the modified 'jock' on his way out after dressing, through wincing discomfort. I had called the pharmacist to make sure he did so.



That was a week ago, and Cal was now wondering whether I would see him for the recheck in awhile. I finally let my man arise and we drug ourselves to a shared shower where we made sure of no missed spots... After a quick coffee and toast with my sis, Soph, I bade 'bye to them on my way to town and the clinic.

As usual, the place was thrumming with activity, staff readying first patients, entering histories and filling us doctors in on the schedule. About forty appointments, including two minor surgical procedures later, Dr. Scott and I sat in the break room comparing notes. "It sure is good to have someone to share with, Jake," he admitted, "things run alot better with two than one. And you big city med-center practitioners know how to move, now," he grinned. I ego-preened, respecting the seasoned practitioner's pragmatic, homespun approach to medicine.

The afternoon went well, too, except that Keesha told me Samuel Hodge had not shown himself..."Doc, he's a good man but he don't know what's good for him." In agreement, we just hoped the man was better and that that was the reason for the no-show. City or country, I mused, patients tend to the same foibles and home remedies. 

Come 5 PM, we were just cleaning up, closing records and books, turning off lights and locking up when who should show up but Mr. Samuel Hodge, himself. He just about knocked the cute, young orderly, T.L., down as he was locking the door. Mr. Hodge was not limping, even using the formerly afflicted toe as a wedge in the door, and demanded to see me. Keesha attempted to intervene and reschedule the farmer for the next day, but I heard what was occurring and went up front to see how he was faring. I was glad he had come in, after all.

Afraid he would not come back again, I assured Keesha I didn't mind checking him but the nurse scowled that she had evening plans and needed to leave. Dr. Scott and the other staff had skidaddled a bit before, leaving me alone but for the helpful nurse and orderly. Texting home to let them know I would be late, I let the orderly and Keesha leave for their evening and put my smock back on.

No big deal, I thought, I didn't need the computer system and no controlled drugs would be necessary, requiring duplicate keys and such, so I took the much more animated Samuel back to the exam room for his check.

No sooner than I got the exam table rotated for him to use, the man asked, "Doc, you been in town a abou'a month, right?" Six weeks, I let him know, and was glad he was acting so much more amiable this visit. A bit curious, but good nevertheless. I asked Samuel if he would let me check the toe and the hernia. Only a grunt in answer. 




Stick Shift: Storge



I busied myself calibrating an instrument to avoid scrutinizing him during his (hopeful) disrobement and upon turning around was pleasantly surprised to see my previously erstwhile patient seated, totally naked. Waiting expectantly. One leg dangling and one knee bent, leg raised with a heel up on the exam table edge. An exceedingly straight toe was just about pointing at me.

Actually smiling, he commented on the successful 'surgery', figuratively pulling my leg as an awkward attempt at a joke. I examined its mobility, noting a freshly clean scent and newly clipped nail, complimenting his quick healing. And, loving the improved hygiene. 

His smile persisted as I released his foot and I glanced upward to check the formerly triple-sized swollen balls of mutiple hues. Now, I perceived much less discoloration and a much less shriveled sausage nestled between the pair. I thought Samuel was going to point the almost healed 'junk-package' at me as his palm encircled the bottom of his scrotum, but he just made note how much better it all felt now, jiggling a fat scrotum in his palm.

"Wanna check it out, Doc?" he asked. "Well," I answered, smiling back professionally, "Yes, I will need to check those out. But the swelling appears to be significantly reduced." I cupped the duo as they buoyed the nice espresso-colored penis looking at me. 

Manipulating the ballsack and palpating the previously protruding pubic mound which was presently much more flattened, I noted a nicely healing area overall. "You heal quickly, Samuel," I told him, "Another week and your whole groin should be back to normal function." 

"Could you check it a li'l bit closer, Doc? It's still sore when you do that," as I continued manipulating the fat eggs. What I had initially taken for some residual swelling now appeared to be just well-fatted balls and I was impressed, again. The rise and phattening in his prick proved to me the lessening of pain and I turned it over to check further.

Samuel's jewels now contracted as I jostled them and flipped the nice piece. The healing patient changed tack, asking me if I was familiar with "Torchy Lane"?

"Afraid not, Samuel--should I be...?" Thinking of a London skid row alley, I was pretty certain he wouldn't be familiar with that. He drew my eyes to his face by a light snort and informed me 'she' was a cross-dresser at the only gay bar in Rome, 'Jugs'. She performed there every Friday and Saturday night at midnight. Maybe I should check it out sometime. Letting him know that I wasn't a night-lifer, I thought to keep the conversation on track. The now markedly engorging dick was rising from its nest of hairy balls and they were not only improved, clinically, they looked to be functioning quite well. It was distracting me.

A leer flashed across the man's face as he now proceeded to describe to me the inside of an arcade behind the local grocery store. The back of my neck prickled. He went into detail in telling me about his own visit there about a month before where he had met the notorious transgendered dancer, Torchy, where he had, as he put it, "put the hurt to that tranny bitch's pussy." He furthered it by describing how vocal she liked to get, begging for the daddy dick she liked. Which was conveniently staring up at me at the present moment. 

"Doc, she likes to check out those booths around us while she be taking this big black dick...funny, she swears you be down on yo' knees suckin' some fly poker the night we was in there hittin' it." He was staring straight at me now, steely gaze wordlessly challenging my denial. And, demanding unprofessional treatment...

I was stuck, hand still palming and rubbing the fat nuts down there. The very pretty cut dick was bouncing right up at my face, quivering it's hopefulness. Reading my hesitation, Samuel gambled on my reaction by adding, "Y'know, Doc-Boy, I was just thinkin' t'myself on t'way here how I din't that much mind comin' in for check-ups now that I'm a-trustin' the pretty man doc. And, besides, lookit how happy Clyde-d'-Glide is rightchere..." glancing right down at the now-changing connection between us.

Never having had a situation like this happen until now in my still young career, I calculated the pros-and-cons a minute. It was true, I had been in that arcade the night he had just described. I had given my brother, Coy, a long, slow blowjob, on my knees while indeed hearing this Tranny doing exactly what Samuel had stated. 

Admitting the sexual being that I had become, I found myself sinking slowly down before the surging prick. The fatty just about launched into my mouth and I too easily let go, sinking down over the helmet-headed, sproinging eight incher. His hands almost immediately grasped my doctor head, lowering my rank by so doing to that of a "cocksuckin' bitch faggot."

My dick was straining at my slacks so I unzipped, freeing my white dick to get some air and a look at what I was sucking... Samuel definitely liked this as he pushed and pulled on my head. My slurping mouth got pubic hair caught in my teeth as I bottomed down on the over-fat prick. 

He put me into a rhythm of his liking, reaching up to my dick with his sexy foot, rubbing and slapping the thing as he warned me not to get too comfortable because I was about to get a taste of 'Torchy dee-light' as he pronounced it. My very unprofessional junk was dripping pre-cum while I thought this over.

Coming up off the table suddenly, the horndog yanked down my pants with the boxers, twisted me away from him and got down on his knees to sniff and tongue my Cal-hole. When he'd done lubing it, he stood up, turned me around, pushed my bare, soupy ass up onto the exam table just vacated, pulling shoes and all off, tossing them aside.

His fat hard-on listened intently while it's now nasty-mouthed owner told me just what and how he was gonna own my hole "rightchere", as he liked to say. My smock and shirt were pulled over my head and I found myself looking up at my patient, through the V of my nakedly spread legs, his hands targeting the pole-to-the-hole. I groaned as he punctured my pucker, proceeding to rocket that thing all the way in-and-out as he kept up the chant of perverted ideas playing out in his brain. Sounding peculiarly as if they had been previously thought out before the check-up.

As Samuel sped up the already fast pace, I found myself stroking along with him at half speed. He pulled out, only momentarily and nodded over at a shocked orderly peering through the door who had returned to pick up a phone left behind. Right in time to see the beginning cumspray disappear back up inside me, having proved himself. Very pleased with his performance, my buttfucker slowed his pace to one allowing the even spreading of his farm-man's sperm around and up in my lovin-every-second-of-it ass.

I knew I was in deep shit as I looked over my shoulder at the young male orderly. That is, until I saw the hands lower the zipper, digging out a very interested-looking piece of his own. So much for the steady girlfriend he spoke non-stop about.

Answering the beckoning motion by Samuel, the young orderly soon replaced the patient's nicely healed dick with his. The youth lewdly conversed with Samuel about my cum-loving, dripping asschute, primed and ready for a second load. It took only a few minutes before his diluted the first one. Samuel propped up my legs from behind my head, rubbing a still dribbling dick in my hair and face.

Slowing to a more leisurely rhythm, my staff member compared notes with the nasty voyeur/patient regarding my "damn worried" yet "filled-up" butt, agreeing the two may need to test run it again to get it right. "Doc, you should oughta stay ready..."

Pulling ourselves back together---aka, cleaning and dressing---we more sanely agreed to keep this tete-a-tete more under wraps than we had been able to do with our collective junk, parting our ways at the front door of the Free Clinic of Rome.



Arriving home to dishwashing, having missed Sophie's dinner, Cal took one look at me, grinned knowingly and commented, "Full schedule today, Jake?"

Leaving the kids and Soph downstairs, my man piggy-backed me up to our bedroom and after locking the door as a safety measure, proceeded to teach me the error of my ways...to my play-by-play... of course.



The storge of it all.