0 comments/ 37377 views/ 3 favorites Three Day Pass # 01 By: BennyBlank Twenty years old and just out of basic training, I was given a three day pass form Ft.*******. It was the first one that I had ever gotten one and I wasn't sure where I was going to go. A lot of the guys just took off for the town closest to the camp but I had heard a lot about that place and really didn't want any part of it. It was just two long streets of sleazy beer bars—it was a dry county except for beer and wine—and those were jam packed with rowdy, randy GI's. Most of the girls in the town that went to those places were just plain old hookers, not the type I was really interested in meeting. On top of that, I didn't really fit in with most of the guys that I knew in the service. They were a pretty crude bunch and I had been raised in a fairly refined home. They were pretty tough and loud but I was just the opposite. Most of them were just out of high school but I had put in a couple of years at college before I decided to enlist. They liked whatever music was on the radio but I preferred classical music and opera. If they read at all, they read Playboy and I liked nothing better than to absorb myself in a good non-fiction history or serious fiction. ALL of them bragged about their numerous sexual experiences with the girls but I really hadn't had but one or two not very satisfactory ones--certainly not anything that I would want to brag about—and on top of that I was a terrible liar. So, I decided to take off and go to a large city that was about 200 miles away where I knew there would be some enriching diversions that were quite different from military life and worlds apart from the redneck town outside the camp. It was more than four hours by bus to the city and I spent my time reading a book about the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg. There were some girls on the bus but I didn't even try to talk to any of them. They were either old, or married with kids, or fat. One or two were old, AND married with kids, AND fat. When I got to the city, I checked into an inexpensive hotel near the bus station. The place was a five or six story building. It wasn't exactly the Hilton but it wasn't a flea bag either. I stowed my gear, got a newspaper, and looked up the local theaters. I figured I could catch an art film. The theater that was showing the type of thing I wanted to see was within walking distance of the hotel. It was showing double bill, both films were documentaries—one Melanesia culture and the other on neo-classical art and architecture. I enjoyed both completely. The show let out at about 9:00PM On the way out of the theater, a fairly non-descript middle-aged fellow--probably thirty-five years old of medium build--struck up a conversation with me asking me what I thought of the movies. He said he was in the film business and was trying to get some ideas from the viewing public about content, pacing, and the like. I allowed as how they were both good but, as I knew a little about neo-classical architecture, the treatment of that subject could have been a little more technical rather that simply artistic. He also asked whether or not I would be interested in seeing some clips of his upcoming film and giving him some comment on it. I was flattered that he would be interested in my opinion so I agreed. When he asked if I could do it that night, I thought, "Why Not", and agreed. He walked with me over to the very hotel in which I was staying. He said he had a room there on the sixth floor where he kept his videotapes. When I mentioned that I was staying at that very hotel too, he acted surprised but commented that it would make the whole exercise so much more convenient. We got up to his room and went inside. He asked me to turn on the TV and the VCR while he got his tapes. He headed for the bathroom and returned a couple of minutes later with six or eight videocassettes—but he had also taken off his clothes and put on a white terry cloth bathrobe. He asked if I minded and said he did that because he just couldn't stand to get his pants and shirt all wrinkled. I said it was O.K. with me. He turned the lights off with the exception of the small end table lamp and put in the first video. We had to sit on the end of the bed because the room didn't have any chairs or a table. The first film that was about twenty minutes began with a series of clips about art and sculpture—nudes from Greek and Roman times all the way up to the contemporary. Interesting, I thought, but rather prosaic. The next film was a little more explicit showing pornographic paintings and sculpture from many cultures. I began to get more than a little aroused when I saw a series of very graphic pieces showing female/male and male/male couples having oral sex. In fact, I felt my cock getting very, very hard. The next video was a live action, out-and-out porn film. It masqueraded as a documentary about the making of pornography as an art form but it was just plain old porn—women with men, women with women, and men with men. But by this time I watching with interest—my cock was throbbing. He "accidentally" knocked one of the cassettes off of the bed onto the floor and, as he was kneeling down to pick it up, leaned his hand on my leg. As he gently eased his hand toward my crotch, he found out two things he wanted to know: one, that I had a raging hard-on working, and, two, that I didn't slap his hand away. He was on his knees in front of me and had abandoned any pretense at retrieving his videotape. His hands moved up to my waist and began to unbutton and unzip my pants. I raised my butt off the bed enough for him to allow him to pull off my pants and underwear all at once. He slipped off my shoes and finished pulling off my pants as he gazed at my erect penis. Now my penis is about average—I guess—eight or so inches long and maybe an inch and a half thick—but he said it was simply magnificent. I have to admit it was about as hard as I can remember it being for a long time. It was so hard that the head was a shiny red and there was a drop of pre-cum beginning to bead up on the hole. He leaned his head forward and licked the pre-cum off the tip of my cock and then gently slid his lips over the head. He moved his mouth slowly down the shaft until I could feel the end touch the back of his mouth and then, with a little more pressure, got the end into his throat. He held it there for an instant and then withdrew my cock almost all the way out of his mouth. His left hand cupped my testicles and gently massaged them as his right hand moved up and down the shaft of my penis just ahead of his lips. And then he repeated the movement a little faster this time. And then again, and again, and again, each time a little faster than before. His mouth was warm and slick and his hands were firm but gentle. It only took a minute or two but I let loose a load of cum into his mouth like I had never done before. During my orgasm I was leaning back on my hands with my head thrown back screaming at the ceiling. I felt my cock pulse six or seven or eight times before it calmed down. He swallowed every drop of cum that I produced. He gulped and cooed as if he were slurping down a milk shake. During the afterglow phase, he continued to move his mouth up and down on my penis licking up every last drop of my cum. When he had finished, he pulled back sitting on his haunches looking up at me with this super-satisfied look on his face. In fact, I would call his look ecstatic. He asked me if I knew how good that was. I said that I knew it felt good for me but I didn't really understand how it could have been good for him. He assured me that it was good—very, very good. As he stood up, his white terry cloth robe parted in the front revealing a small—perhaps four inches--but erect penis. He grabbed hold of his erection with his right hand and began jerking himself off. He wasn't looking at me but at his penis and after about thirty seconds he brought up his left hand and cupped it in front of his cock. He shot his load into his left hand. It only took about ten seconds for him to cum. There wasn't much of it—I'd say only about "half a shot"—but it was semi-milky and semi-clear. He held out his left hand for me to see and then brought it up to his mouth and licked it clean. He acted as if it were a delicacy. He said that he hoped that I would be able to have the same kind of enjoyment someday. He made me curious... Three Day Pass # 02 I was so spent from my orgasm that I just laid back on the bed and went to sleep. I suppose I should have been worried that I was in the room of a degenerate who might just have well been a serial killer but somehow I felt that it was O.K. to fall asleep there. Actually, I was too tired to really care. In the morning, I woke up to find that my new friend was sitting on the edge of the bed reading from a book of meditations. He looked over to me and must have noticed that I seemed a little apprehensive at waking up in the room of a strange man. He commented that Marcus Aurelius had a lot to say about character and contentment. It was then that he began to explain himself to me. I found out that his name was "Paul"--probably not his real name--and I found out that it was not exactly by chance that he had "bumped into me" at the theater. It turned out that he had been sitting in the hotel lobby when I checked in and sensed that I might be someone he would want to meet. He waited until I came down from my room and followed me to the theater. It seems that theater was a place he went to frequently to meet young men—how opportune that I would go there. I also found out that he had been gay since he was a teenager. He couldn't explain it except that he loved everything about young men—especially the taste of their semen. He talked at length about the different flavors he experienced: tangy, bitter, fruity, salty. His own semen, he said, tasted like fresh oysters. It turned out that he was a vegetarian mainly because he liked the effect it had on the taste of his cum. And he talked about penises. He loved penises—all different shapes and sizes, circumcised and uncircumcised. He said that the feel of a cock in his mouth was more of a turn on than anything else he had ever experienced. He had never had sex with a woman—so he couldn't compare it with that. He didn't go in for anal sex—it hurt and there was no reason ever for sex to be painful. He just loved sucking cock and swallowing cum. He said that in twenty years or so he had probably had sex with a thousand different men. He was careful in his selection, though. He really didn't like to have sex with gay men. First of all he wasn't effeminate—at least he didn't strike me that way—and he didn't like "out" queens. He loved men, real men. Second, he didn't like the odds that he could contract AIDS from gay lovers whereas straight men, though they might have some other problems, weren't likely to have AIDS. And he was not indiscriminate about the men he picked up. He found his lovers in places that attracted clean, upscale, young men—bookstores, theaters, museums, and the like. He always had a brief, but to his mind, reliable interview process that culled out the "nice" boys from the sluts. He was 100% against any drugs—he said it dulled the experience in him and made others selfish and insensitive--and he didn't use alcohol personally and didn't think it was particularly beneficial for others. He didn't need either for his "seductions" and he also felt it increased the risk that—especially with drugs—there could be some Venereal diseases present. He was also emphatic that he didn't demand any sexual "quid pro quo". He didn't need anyone to feel that they needed to "service" him simply because he got them off. It wasn't that he minded someone doing him, he just was clear that he didn't demand or require it from his partner. He also understood that the men who he sucked off might not be exactly inclined to return the favor. His pleasure was from giving blow jobs. And so he left it at that Aside from his sexual proclivities, he was an extremely cultured person. He said he had graduated college with a degree in liberal arts, and was working on a masters in ancient art and architecture. This explained the first two videotapes full of classic nudity and pornography that he had compiled. He didn't tell me what his job was but I could tell by the cut of his clothes and other tastes that he made good money One thing that he did was to assure me that he wasn't just out to take some sort of advantage of me, that beyond enjoying sexual pleasure he genuinely enjoyed getting to know me. He put me at ease. The next thing he did in the morning was to repeat the sexual ministrations of the night before, in broad daylight, without any sense of lechery or exhibitionism. As I lay there on the bed with his mouth around my cock again, I experienced not only a full orgasm but also a sense of relaxation that I could enjoy it without somehow feeling soiled or guilty. I actually felt the joy in giving another person pleasure because of their having sex with me. That was a novel sensation. We spent the day together going through a couple of museums and having lunch at a very nice restaurant. He loaned me a coat and a tie so I could eat there. My wardrobe was sadly deficient given my current circumstances. I agreed to meet him that night for "a night out on the town". I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that but I didn't exactly have a full social calendar so I agreed. The "night on the town" amounted to this: he gave me a tour of his "hunting grounds" and an explanation of his methods. As I said before, he seemed to have a sense for young men that might be susceptible to his approach. And he plied that approach in places where he might find such young me. Add that to the fact that he was a truly friendly person, and one could see that it would be hard not to fall in with him. But he said that it was only on one out of four or five nights that he would have success—sometimes more and sometimes less. We went to a gourmet coffee stand that was adjacent to a bookstore. As we sat at the table, he watch the customers and commented on them. He was a very perceptive person indeed. For example, he said one single woman there had to be on her period. He pointed out that her abdomen seemed puffy and she seemed to be uncomfortable sitting on her chair. And she was clearly single—but acted very unapproachable. I don't know if he was right or not but it seemed like a good explanation to me. Another couple, he said, had just had a fight and had come to the coffee shop to make up. How did he know that? He couldn't hear them talk. He said that her body language indicated she was hurt and indignant and his body language indicated that he was trying to be conciliatory. I suppose so but I really couldn't tell. Finally a young man walked in alone carrying a book. He ordered a coffee and went to a table in the corner to read. I noticed the book was the very same one about Gettysburg that I had been reading on the bus, He got up, walked over to the man and had a few words with him, handed him a card, and then came back over to the table. I asked him if that was a "prospect". He said that it was a likely one but to be sure he had given him a card introducing himself as a rare bookseller. He would wait to see if he got a call. It wouldn't be proper to try for a "pick up" with someone else in tow. We repeated this exercise in three more places, another bookstore coffee shop, at an art gallery, and at a jazz club. He didn't hand out any more cards that evening. When we returned to the hotel, the desk clerk—who obviously knew "Paul"—summoned him over and gave him a message. Paul seemed pleased to see it. It turned out that an old "friend" of his was in town visiting and wanted to see him. Paul told me that he would like to do that and that would probably mean that I would have to be on my own. I said that would be O.K. with me, though I felt even at this early stage that someone was cutting me out. Paul came back from making the call and said it would be fine if I were there to meet his old friend. We went up to Paul's room. After about fifteen minutes there was a knock at his door. Paul opened the door and in walked a very good looking young man, perhaps five years older than I, who was about my build but very blonde. Paul introduced me as Gene—not my real name—and him to me as Brad—probably not his real name either. To my astonishment, as soon as the introductions were made, Brad commenced to take off his clothes. He stripped all the way down to the buff—off went everything. Paul asked me if I minded and, frankly, aside from not being in any position to protest, I really didn't mind. Brad had a very good body, not flabby but not overly developed either. He also had a eye-catching cock, a full seven inches flaccid and, as I would soon find out, an impressive eleven inches erect. As Brad disrobed, Paul also disrobed and then Paul motioned for me to do the same. This made me uncomfortable but I complied. So, after a few minutes there we all were in Paul's room, three guys stark naked with two of us—Brad and me—with a running start on rock hard erections. Paul reached over and took my cock in his right hand and Brad's cock in his left hand. Paul got to his knees and began to suck our cocks, first mine and then Brad's. Back and forth he went with his mouth each time taking more and more of our cocks into his mouth. Finally, Paul motioned for me to sit on the bed as he went to his knees to work on my cock exclusively. As I sat there, Brad turned to face me and I was at eye level with his massive erect penis. I couldn't restrain myself. I reached up and took the shaft in my right hand and began to stroke it. It got even bigger and harder. The head began to have that same shiny look that mine would get and I could see the same little drop of pre-cum forming as would form on mine. I took a chance and leaned forward and touched my tongue to that little droplet. It was warm, slick, and a bit salty but not at all unpleasant. I squeezed his cock a little more and a more pre-cum oozed to the surface. I licked that off, too. Now I was for it. I took Brad's cock in both my hands and began to move my mouth down on it. I managed to get the head into my mouth and some of the shaft but it was just too big to do much more with. I moved my mouth a little and tried to press my lips together to get some suction. That seemed to work a little but I knew I really needed to use my hands so I began to massage the shaft with one hand while I fondled his testicles with the other—just like Paul had done to me the night before. It didn't take Brad long. I wasn't quite sure what was happening but I felt his cock swell and felt the first spurt of warm semen shoot into my mouth and across my tongue. This made me pull my head back as I gagged. That is when I got most of Brad's load across my face, into my nose, and over my lips. His ejaculation must have been a half of a cup. It seemed to never end. When he was finished, I began to wipe his cum off my fact but thought, "What the hell", so I licked my lips and used my fingers to spoon his cum into my mouth. I expected that I would gag like I did when he first began to shoot his load but I didn't. In fact, his semen tasted sweet—a bit salty but definitely sweet. I got what I could off my fact into my mouth and then went back to Brad's cock and licked it clean. Meanwhile, Paul was finishing up on me. I shot my wad into Paul's mouth just as I was licking the last of Brad's cum off his softening penis. And then I saw something that I never had seen before. Paul stood up with his cum in my mouth, went over to Brad and kissed him sharing with him my semen. It wasn't the passionate kiss of lovers; it was the efficient sharing of my semen between the two men but both clearly enjoyed it. And, while this was happening, Paul was jerking himself off. I sensed that something more was needed. I got to my knees and took Paul's tiny penis into my mouth as he shot his load. It was not much but it did have the flavor of---fresh oysters. I spent the rest of my three day pass with Paul...