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David

By: 1cueball1



You're sitting in a nice warm, plush hotel suite. The front room in which you are sitting has a chair, bar, table, and the futon couch on which you are sitting. The adjoining room has a double bed, TV, night stand, closet and the attached bathroom - oh yeah, and me! Whilst you are sitting there you are thinking of the night to come, but oddly enough you feel very comfortable knowing that I am just a room away. The planning is perfect and you think to yourself "This is going to be exciting."

You are wearing a white silk nightgown with fringes at the bottom. On the side there is a split in the nightgown clear up to the middle of your back. Your hair is blow dried straight down your back - "just the way I like it!"

Then a gentle yet nervous knock at the door startles you. You glide across the room and peep out to see who it is. A young man standing on the other side lets you know that this is who you have been expecting. As you open the door for him he peers at you nervously; now at this point you think he is going to run away. You invite him in.

"You must be David," you say.

"Yes ma'am," he responds as you invite him in.

"Come over here and sit with me on the futon; we can get to know each other for a while. How was your drive over, did you find it alright?" you ask as you both sit down.

"Yes ma'am," he responds.

"Please don't call me ma'am, hun; you can call me Brandy," you tell him.

David is about 5'8", maybe 200lbs, brown hair short all around and kind of long on top. He is not too skinny but not fat either. A nice looking young man, you think to yourself but at the same time he looks very nervous.

"You are a very beautiful woman, Brandy, if I may say so."

"Thank you very much David; why don't we take a minute and relax a little."

You get up, go to the bar and get your cigarette pack; you pull out a small joint and return to where David is sitting .You light it and you both take a few puffs before you put it out.

"There David, how are you feeling now?" you ask him as you return it to you cigarette pack. You then return to his side and sit down beside him crossing one leg over his to try to calm him down.

"So David how many times have you done this before?"

"Well, I have never met anyone like this before. I have had sex a few times before with other girlfriends but I have always been attracted to older women."

"How old did you say you were David?"

"Well I will be 22 in two months but people say I look 25 or so."

"Well David, I say we give this a try and see how it goes; you stop me at anytime if you feel uncomfortable."

You never bother to tell him I am in the other room listening to everything.

"May I touch you now Brandy?" David asks.

"Yes darling, like I said we should get this started," you quietly respond to him.

He reaches over to touch your side; you think he is going to touch your boob but he surprises you and gently rubs his hand across your side and directly over your belly. You quiver as you rapidly learn he has a very gentle touch. You are now starting to rub his leg and slowly up his thigh. You reach up and pull his t- shirt over his head and are surprised to learn he has a nice hairy chest, not too hairy but just enough that it turns you on. You are both doing some heavy making out by this time and you manage to get his jeans and boxers off. You are very surprised to learn he is very well endowed, not very thick but quite long in his semi erect state. You slowly start rubbing his cock, trying to bring it to life. You are delighted when his cock responds to you very well. You are slowly jerking his cock off and enjoying the warm fingers that are circling your clit and, every now and then, slipping into your warm and by this time very wet pussy.

You now get on your knees between his legs and take his cock in your mouth; half way at first, then slowly swallowing the whole thing. He starts to moan as you pick up rhythm and then get into a groove with his hips as they hump back at you. After about 15 minutes or so of this you decide you can't take much more and you have to have his cock in you right now. You get up and ask him to stand while you lay the futon down into the bed position. Once you have laid him down you straddle his cock, pulling your nightgown up to your slit and slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. You only get him in about halfway before you stop and question if you are going to be able to take him in all the way. Then you slowly sit down on him, balls deep in you now. Once you get used to his size you start rocking back and forth with a nice gentle rhythm.

"Oh Brandy, you are so warm and so wet," he tells you.

Your rocking picks up a bit now because you can feel a tingle coming from way down deep in you.

"David I am getting close, but I should warn you first baby, I am a very wet squirter!"

"Cool," is all he can manage between breaths.

"Oh god...oh god...David I am going to cum!"

"Cum for me ...cum for me Brandy!"

"Oh goddamn...oh god! ...fuck me harder...oh god..Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"

Your body shudders as your first orgasm rocks through you and you feel you are now soaking him completely. You barely catch your breath as you feel another one coming.

"Fuck I'm gonna do it again. Fuck..fuck..fuck...shit...!"

Another orgasm blows through you harder and deeper than the first...as you come down you think you have time to breath and....

"Fuck me...fuck...yes, here it comes!"

Yet another one hits you. This time it won't stop and as he pounds you from underneath, you just can't stop soaking him and your muscles will not relax. You come and come and come again. Finally you reach a point where you can breathe.

Now it hits you; all this time and you have not let David have any control.

"Get up baby," you tell him as you climb off him. You bend over on your knees on the futon and ..."Fuck me baby!" you tell him as he glides in behind you on his knees. You feel his length again but this time you are ready for it because you are soaking wet and tingling from head to toe.

"Oh my god David, you are so big...fuck me David, fuck me good.

He starts pumping in and out of your pussy, faster and harder now.

"Oh my girl, you feel so fucking good. I love your ass, Brandy...it bounces fucking perfect."

"Yes David, fuck me, fuck me hard...oh goddamn...oh shit!"

You feel another orgasm coming on and then it hits you, almost taking your breath away and at the same time... "Fuck! I'm gonna cum Brandy"...and at the very exact time you both cum and moan and scream loud enough to wake up the entire hotel floor we are on.

You both pull yourself together and have a cigarette. You tell him where the shower is and he leaves the room. It's not until he walks right by me sitting on the bed as he goes to the shower that he realizes I am even there. When he finishes we both thank him for the night and you assure him you will be calling him again. 

David



A Tale Of Sechs City

For Dianthus

***

Charlotte Thompson sighed deeply. She was not satisfied.

She appreciated the irony of the situation but she didn't exactly want to dwell on it.

"You don't like it?" said the man next to her unhappily. It was more of a statement than a question. 

Charlotte shook her head. "It's not that, Mike. It's just...I don't know if it means anything."

Mike's eyes boggled slightly. "Mean anything? Why the hell does it have to mean anything? It's a red square painted onto a white background. The public are going to lap it up. They always do."

Charlotte frowned at him. Much as she admired her Assistant Director at the Museum of Art History for his credentials, his expertise and his own paintwork, she had always differed with him on their opinion on the subject of modern art. He found it crass and vulgar; she often found it exciting and intriguing. 

They were currently looking at a new piece by a young local artist, Troy Newman, who Charlotte had thought was an emerging talent in a pretty lacklustre couple of years for the art world. Judging by this piece, however, she was beginning to wonder whether or not she'd made the right choice. She worried that, having spent a large proportion of the budget she had on this new exhibition of this new work, she'd wasted it on a load of squares, circles and triangles. 

"What's it trying to say?" Charlotte pondered out loud, stepping closer to the painting to try and examine it fuller. "It must be saying something."

"It's saying bull shit," replied Mike, sighing impatiently and tapping his foot. "Do you want to go ahead with this or not? We've got five more to look at before lunch, and I want to get back in good time for the Italians this afternoon."

Charlotte breathed out slowly, running her hands through her long black hair. Mike was right, of course – the Italians' visit was a huge deal, particularly for him. It had taken him nearly eight months of negotiations, long transatlantic phone calls and video conferences, and a very large sum of his own budget, but Mike had finally been able to obtain one of the most famous pieces of art in history – Michelangelo's David. The months had been so stressful for him, Charlotte could have sworn he'd aged ten years at least, but nothing could compare to the happiness on his face when he'd burst into her office a month ago with the biggest, most relieved grin on his face, shouting, "We got it! We got it!" at the top of his voice.

This just wasn't big for Mike, Charlotte knew; it was big for the Museum. They were a relatively young establishment – only around fifteen years old – and they had never had such an exciting coup as this. 

In honour of it, every important public official in the local area had been invited to attend a gala ceremony in a couple of days time where the statue would be unveiled; and an exhibition of other work by the famous artist plus pieces inspired by his work was also being set up. 

Sadly, it was destined to overshadow the exhibition of this new artist's work – a complete balls up of a scheduling by the overall boss and Chairman of the Museum, a pompous twit called Rupert Gold. Correction – SIR Rupert Gold; though Charlotte was sure that, if any members of the Royal Family back in England ever heard about what the Knight of the Realm enjoyed doing on a Saturday night in what could only be described as "animal houses"...well, bye bye, title. 

Charlotte and Mike spent five quick minutes choosing the last of the works to include in the exhibition before agreeing to meet in half an hour after lunch. Charlotte went into her office, her stomach rumbling right on cue as she grabbed her bag and a smart, black jacket to go over the rather expensive work clothes she had dressed in especially for the arrival of the Italians. Though it was spring time in the city, a cold breeze occasionally blew through the streets; the last thing she needed was to catch a cold.

She walked out of the Museum and started the three minutes twenty-seven seconds walk to the local deli, her favourite place to get lunch. She chided herself as she walked for being so sad that she actually knew how long it took to get her there – it was just another example about how pathetic her life had become lately. 

There was nothing wrong with her career, that she was certain. At only twenty-eight years of age, Charlotte appreciated just how lucky she had been to rise up the ladder of the Museum so quickly. Both a degree and a Masters in Art History had certainly helped, plus years of hard work and essential experience gained by working in museums across her home state of Florida. When the Museum of Art History in Sechs City, California, had contacted her first about the available Directorship, it had seemed almost too good to be true, like an amazing dream that she would be cruelly awoken from at the pivotal moment. More amazing was that it wasn't; it had all been for real, and she had now been happily working for a good year and three months. 

No, work was fine. It was her personal life that was bringing her down. She'd put so much effort into her work and career, Charlotte very rarely ever had time for any kind of dating, let alone a proper relationship. 

Her last one of those had been way back in college, towards the end of her final year, with a wonderful guy named Alex, who was a couple of year younger than her. Meeting at a shared friend's party, they'd connected quickly, brilliantly, with their love for the same kind of art and artists, weird Indie films that not many other people really understood, and the all important music of The Smiths. The sex hadn't been bad, either, when they'd got round to it. Alex had been a virgin, so Charlotte had had to teach him what to do for the first few times. She hadn't minded this at all, obviously; the power trip had been an immense turn on. 

The relationship had ended when Alex got the opportunity to go to Paris for a year to study and work there. It had been Charlotte's idea to break up; Alex had been dead against it, but Charlotte ahd told him he would have been crazy to give up such a fantastic opportunity for her. As soon as he had left, after one last glorious goodbye session of lovemaking, Charlotte had cried and cried for two days straight, eventually taking a week off her studies to go home to lay all her troubles on her loving mother's shoulders. She hadn't realised how easy it could be to fall in love like that, and she'd never experienced it since.

Over the last few years she'd had more than a few flings, though nothing to really feel amazing about. Drunken one-night stands and a dirty weekend away weren't exactly the most scandalous of things to write to Penthouse about. The last of these had been a good four months ago. For someone who enjoyed sex as much as Charlotte did, it almost felt like four lifetimes.

She reached the deli and found herself at the back of a small queue of three. This wasn't unusual; though hardly insanely busy the deli had a good reputation among its small number of clientele and treated them brilliantly. The smell of hot pastries cooking, along with the fragrances of mixed salads and various cheeses made Charlotte's stomach rumble even more. She began to wonder if she would order her usual Tuna Melt or if she would try something different today. Oh, the tribulations of her life.

"Charlotte? Charlotte Thompson?"

Charlotte's eyes opened wide at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. Oh god, she thought, it would happen, wouldn't it? Right at lunchtime, too. God damn it. 

She turned round, fixing her most polite smile possible, to see Troy Newman, a broad grin on his handsome, chiselled features. He was dressed in a simple faded grey t-shirt and tight fitting denim jeans. Holy shit, he looked hot.

"Troy, what a surprise," Charlotte said, trying to keep her eyes focussed on his face and not on his amazingly toned body. How could he find so much time to work out and still create the amazing pieces she had been viewing that morning? It didn't seem fair. The only reason Charlotte looked as good as she did was due to a large stack of exercise DVDs which she worked out to after work most nights.

They kissed politely on the cheek. Charlotte felt her skin tingle from his lips. His after shave smelled incredible. 

"So how's the exhibition coming along?" he asked. "I'm really excited about it, I've gotta tell you. I know I shouldn't be displaying any kind of happiness 'cos I'm a serious artist, but fuck that, you know?"

Charlotte laughed out loud, causing the people in front of her to turn round slightly to gaze at her curiously. Oh crap, stop laughing like that, you moron! He'll think there's something incredibly wrong with you! 

"It's going really well; actually, we've just picked the final pieces that are going on display."

"Wow, that's great. Can I see them, or should I wait for it to be a surprise?"

The line moved, causing Charlotte to almost stumble as she tried to concentrate on five things at once, one of them being Troy's crotch area, another her mind telling her not to look there. Was it warm in here? She was beginning to regret wearing the jacket. 

"Erm...sure, I don't see why not. We've, er, we've got a pretty big meeting this afternoon, though, so I'm not gonna have much time really...it's the Italians, you know?"

Troy's eyebrows rose with interest. "Oh yeah, of course, David's coming to town. Any chance you can get me first in line to see that bad boy?"

"Well...let me see what I can do. The world and his wife are waiting to see this so I may have to pull a few strings...a lot of strings actually...but...we'll see."

Troy's grin grew wider. "That would be amazing, Charlotte," he whispered back. "Seriously, I would owe you forever if that could happen."

Very, very naughty thoughts at the prospect of Troy owing her favours started to play in graphic detail in Charlotte's mind. She felt a familiar tingling down below, and she cleared her throat to try and focus on being a professional and not a horny, sex-starved slut. 

"Okay," she said, stammering slightly, "right. Fine. Excellent."

"Er...you're next, by the way."

Charlotte turned round to see a rather impatient looking clerk waiting to take her order. Apologising three times, she quickly ordered her usual Tuna Melt on brown and, after saying goodbye to Troy, hurried out of the deli and into the cool air. She could feel her face burning, her body warm with such a glow that she'd felt for a while now, ever since she'd laid eyes on the handsome artist, when she'd met him at his studio on a research trip for the museum. 

She walked quickly back to the Museum, feeling the breeze hit her face, ignoring everyone and everything else. When the security guard on duty in the entrance hall bade a cheerful, "Good afternoon," she merely smiled politely, heading straight past him and up the two flights of stairs to her office. 

She threw the Tuna Melt onto the desk; it wasn't important any more. She was hungry for something else. Locking the door and drawing the blinds of her window, she relaxed into the large leather chair behind her desk, running her hands, slightly trembling now, through her hair. They returned to the arms of the chair, stroking the rough plastic lightly. Her mouth and lips were dry; her heart was pumping fast. 

Slowly, not hurrying, Charlotte began to feel out the fabric of her tights, up and down. She loved how she felt in them. She knew she looked damn good in tights – her long legs were beautifully accompanied by any piece of clothing, if at all. 

Did Troy notice how good she looked in tights? Did his eyes – those wonderful eyes that seemed to be so innocent yet had that certain wisdom hidden beneath them – did they scan her while her back was turned, before she'd realised he was behind her in that queue? Had they devoured the very sight of her – her legs, her ass, her long black hair? Had he imagined what she would be like against his warm skin? 

Oh god, please, let that be true. : the thought of him lusting after her with the same intensity that she lusted after him. The very first time they had met, she had had to excuse herself from her other guests to lock herself in a storeroom and play furiously with herself. 

She felt that wetness once more, sitting here in her office. The excitement was beautiful – she had only succumbed to the urge at work a surprisingly low amount of times. Well, surprising for Charlotte, anyway. This afternoon would now have to add to her collection.

Her hands went up and under her skirt, feeling the dampness of the black silk panties she was wearing. They could be easily replaced, she thought with a wicked grin.

Keeping a hand on that exquisite wetness, slowly, softly playing in and around it, she reached forward to one of the drawers of her desk. Opening it, it wasn't too hard to find what she was looking for. So smooth, so small, and yet so seductive. A work of art in itself. 

Switching it on, she moved it quickly to the area it was needed most, peeling back the sticky material of her panties to give it a clearer path. Almost upon impact she gasped out loud, quickly clasping her free hand over her mouth as she tried to catch her breath. It pressed in and upwards, down and through. Every jolt sent a tingle through her body. 

She stifled another cry; she was becoming frustrated at the rubbing of panty material on her roaming hand. If only she could fucking scream – she wanted to so badly. But there was no way she was going to fall into the trap of blindly following her horny brain's desires to the max. This was as far as it was going to get. God, if she were caught...? But she had a Plan B. She always had a Plan B.

Reaching over to the desk again, she picked up a grey ruler. It's more frequent role was betrayed slightly by the odd tiny marks here and there along its plastic body. Placing it between her teeth Charlotte leant back into the chair, taking her now free hand back to its more important job of path clearing. Placing her feet on top of the desk, she opened her legs wider, letting her beautiful toy go deeper still.

She bit hard into the plastic of the ruler, felt it already start to get wet with the drool forming in her mouth. She closed her eyes – screwed them tightly shut – as pleasure completely overwhelmed her. 

In her mind it was Troy pushing her buttons, driving her wild; she could almost feel his warm breath on her skin, his tongue on her neck. In her mind she started to call out his name, urging him to keep going, begging him not to stop.

And then, with a final whirr and a kind of splutter, reality decided to throw itself at Charlotte. She felt the vibrations lessen quickly, heard the high pitch buzz drop octave after octave after octave. Her eyes sprung open, spitting the ruler out of her mouth as she did so. 

"Oh no," she whispered frantically, "no, god, please, no! Not now!" She had been so close – so fucking close! But it was too late, and there was nothing more she could do. The battery gave one last brief feeble attempt to breathe, and then it died, suddenly and terribly. To Charlotte, it felt like the death of a beloved pet.

She gingerly removed the pink vibrator from her still soaking pussy and, in immense frustration, threw it at the opposite wall of her office. It bounced off with an ominous crack. If it hadn't been broken before, it almost certainly would be now. Charlotte half-wondered why they didn't make them stronger, the amount of usage they were probably put through around the world. Or maybe it had just been a really, really unlucky throw.

As she pushed a few strands of her long black hair from in front of her eyes to behind her ear, she could easily smell her juices on her hand and fingers. God, she smelled good. She knew from experience that she didn't taste half-bad, either: kind of salty and sweet at the same time. 

It made her feel more miserable; arrogant as it seemed, she couldn't believe that she was wasting all of this on a stupid toy, and not on someone who would actually appreciate it. The only obvious answer was in big, bold letters right in front of her. She needed to get laid. And right there and then she determined that she was going to get her man. She was literally physically aching for him – it was for her own good.

She shifted about in her chair, making sure her soaked panties were back in a comfortable position, before she started to concoct a plan. Within half a minute she had all the ingredients outlined in her mind. She smiled mischievously. It was all so obvious, when you began to think about it.

Taking out her cell phone, Charlotte whizzed through the contacts list until she found the number she was after. As she pressed the dial button she glanced briefly at the clock on her wall – unless he'd gone elsewhere there was definitely a chance that he would be back from the deli by now.

The other line was picked up after the third ring. "Hello?"

Charlotte's breath caught in her mouth when she heard that wonderful, sexy voice answer. She replied quickly, not wanting common sense to get in the way of desperation now. "Hello, Troy, its Charlotte Thompson."

"Hey, yeah," replied Troy warmly. "Wow, twice in one day – how luck am I?"

Charlotte's heart thumped to the beat of a samba. "That's very sweet of you," she said softly, before shaking herself. Don't let his charm distract you from his cock, she thought. "Listen, I've been thinking about what we were talking about earlier and... well, how would you like to come and see the statue tonight, completely free, with no crowds or anything like that, before anyone else has a chance to really see it?"

Troy whistled down the line, impressed. "You could do that for me?"

"I think I can pull a few strings, yeah," said Charlotte, starting to relax a little more. "If you come to the Museum at...say, eight-thirty? Everyone will have gone home by then, and I can show you it myself. What do you say?"

"It's a date. Thanks, Charlotte. This is incredible. You won't regret it, I swear. Thank you!"

"My pleasure," said Charlotte, grinning from ear to ear. Inside her head she whooped loudly, and then she did it out loud after he had hung up. This was it – her plan was in play. There were of course a few minor details to sort out, but the important thing was she was going to be alone with Troy Newman. Tonight. It was like Christmas and Birthday all wrapped up into one.

After gobbling up her lunch quickly and checking herself in the bathroom mirrors to make sure she looked presentable, Charlotte went to find Mike, who was just literally greeting the Italian visitors as she arrived.

"Ah, and here's our Director, Miss Charlotte Thompson. Charlotte, this is Mr Gregorio, Mr Verdin and Miss Jupo."

Charlotte shook them all warmly by the hand and, after a brief Q and A between them all about the Museum, invited them to go on through to the Main Floor Gallery, where drinks would be waiting for them. 

As the Italians walked behind them slightly, Mike caught up with Charlotte. "You left it very fine," he hissed at her. "The statue's already been brought in and put in its place for the exhibition. I was looking for you everywhere! Phil told me you'd passed him at security, so I knocked on your office but there was no reply. Where the hell have you been?"

Charlotte smiled a little sheepishly. "I was caught up in a meeting," she offered as an excuse. "Sorry."

Mike snorted. "Wouldn't be anything to do with this Troy Newman showcase, would it? Can we please just concentrate on our guests for this afternoon – then you're free to drool all over red and white squares to your heart's content."

Charlotte hoped she wasn't blushing; she certainly felt warm. But even she was impressed when they walked into the exhibition room and saw, for the first time, the genuine masterpiece that Mike had been babbling about excitedly for so long now. Sure, they'd seen photographs; they'd seen replicas and drawings. Nothing compared to seeing the real thing standing before them. 




David



The seventeen-foot tall statue practically shone of history and genius. Charlotte had heard of it being described as the perfect man: a well built chest and muscular limbs, with a hard steely gaze to its left, sling thrown over the shoulder ready for action. It seemed, in short, the original hero. Yet, probably because she was still so aroused, Charlotte very quickly found her attention drifting downwards. For the perfect man, David didn't exactly have the perfect appendage. Maybe they were more of the opinion back then that it wasn't size that counted, but what you did with it.

Mike seemed at a complete loss for words. When he did manage to finally speak they were jubilant, enthusiastic words of praise and thanks to the Italian visitors. "Beautiful," he said happily to Charlotte. "Isn't it amazing? Makes all that fucking hard work so worth while!"

Charlotte nodded. "I'm pleased for you, Mike," she said. And pleased for me too, she added in her mind, especially if Troy was as happy as Mike had been to see this. She squinted a little now, focussing up on the face of the statue, under the chiselled curly hair. "What's he looking at?" she wondered out loud. "What do you think, Mike?"

"Some say Goliath, either alive or dead. I think there's something more in it, though. I think it's slightly arrogant. Its saying: 'Look at me, and look what I've done. Aren't I amazing?' And isn't it just?"

Charlotte smiled, amused at her Assistant's excitement. "Don't get attached to it," she said to him as kindly and playfully as possible. "You know we've only got it for a limited time. That doesn't mean you're going to start camping out by it every night, though."

Mike frowned. "Hardly," he said. "Think of the money, Charlotte. How much the Museum is going to benefit from having one of the greatest pieces of art in history?"

Yes, thought Charlotte. Though the more people who come to see David, the less people may want to come and see Troy Newman's work.

***

For the rest of the afternoon Charlotte attempted to make as much polite small talk as seemingly possible with the Italian visitors to give Mike the impression that she was solely committed to the project. But all the while, both in the back of her mind and at times, as if she were swimming in it, were the thoughts of what would happen later that night. How she'd bring Troy into the room, show him the delights of the statue before showing him the delights of her beautiful body. 

How was it going to happen? How would she seduce him, bring him to that moment of complete surrender, that state of desire to do anything and everything to her? She'd spent so many months daydreaming, fantasising about how it would go. Now she had the opportunity right in the palm of her hands, and she hadn't the first clue what to do with it. Finally, after hours of wracking her brain, two simple yet perfect answers popped up: alcohol and gorgeous lingerie.

As she left the Museum that evening, Charlotte could feel the excitement building inside of her – it was as if she was hungry and needed a really good meal to satisfy it. Before she went out the door she stopped to speak to Todd, the Night Security Man.

"Todd, I'm probably going to be back later tonight with an artist whose work we're exhibiting. He wants to look over the final layout for the show. Is that going to be a problem?" As she asked, she casually placed a fifty dollar bill in front of him on the desk, which he quickly covered with his hat.

"Not a problem at all, Miss Thompson," he said, smiling broadly. "Have a nice night now."

I intend to, thought Charlotte as she walked out.

Evening had turned swiftly into night. The city was surrounded by a blanket of black enmeshed with tiny blinking lights. In the centre rested the largest and fullest moon Charlotte could ever remember seeing in her lifetime. It was bright and luminous and could possibly have lit half the city if the power suddenly went. As Charlotte gazed up towards its face, for some reason she shivered slightly, and focussed her attention on getting home quickly and safely.

Charlotte's apartment was on the top floor of a building about fifteen minutes walk away from the Museum, but the Italians had stayed a little too longer than either Charlotte or Mike had been anticipating. Charlotte checked her watch as she started to run up the stairs two at a time – she had about an hour to get ready before she really needed to leave and get to the Museum in time to set a room up somewhere for the magic to happen. She didn't want to bring Troy back here – she was so desperate she wanted it to be there and then. 

As she ran down the hallway she nearly knocked over her neighbour in the process.

"Hey, easy, Charlotte," the woman laughed. "Where's the fire?"

Charlotte laughed as she shoved her key into the front door lock. "You have NO idea, Di," she replied.

Charlotte's apartment wasn't that big – just an open living area/kitchen with a large skylight in the centre of the roof, a bathroom and a bedroom. It was all she really needed. If she'd ever had anyone stay over, why would she need an extra bedroom? It was all very modern in its design, with the main colour being cream for a lot of the furniture and practically all the walls. 

Her large bed had beige sheets to match the simple blinds over the windows that looked over the street below, and her prize and joy – an ancient looking wardrobe that had been left, among other things, to Charlotte in her grandmother's will. What would dear grandmother think of her now, thought Charlotte, grinning wickedly, to know that half the wardrobe was full of the most exquisite looking and feeling lingerie from Goodinsons, the greatest Lingerie designer in the world?

After ten minutes of searching she finally found the set she was after: it was one of her favourites too, which was always a bonus. Simple yet she knew it was always, always effective: a black silk bra and thong set, frilly round the edges of the strings. 

Quickly, Charlotte stripped herself naked, removing lastly the wet panties she had been making wetter throughout the day. God, they were a mess. Even now, as she stood proudly naked in front of the full length mirror installed inside the door of the wardrobe, she could feel the wetness between her thighs. It had to be tonight. No more going on feeling like this.

She studied herself closely in the mirror. She was very proud of her body. Her breasts may have been small, but they were very receptive to touch, which she found more often to be a blessing than a curse. All those workout DVDs had helped her keep a flat stomach and muscular legs. Everywhere down there was smooth, almost as smooth as the material of the lingerie she held in her hands. She had always shaved her mound almost as soon as she started having sex. It had just made sense – she didn't think it was wrong or anything for girls to have hair down there, but for her it was the obvious thing to do. Nine times out of ten men she had slept with had commented how much they enjoyed a smooth, bald pussy.

Charlotte pulled the thong up over her legs and onto that smoothness now. The material felt so good on her skin, though she was a little more concerned about getting these in as much of a mess as her previous pair. When she added the bra over her stiff nipples, she gazed with proud satisfaction at the goddess looking back at her: sexy, alluring and absolutely fuckable. How could Troy resist her?

She picked up a remote control from one of her bedside tables and, pressing a button, set a CD in motion in her radio on the other side of the room. After a second the heavy, ominous stuttering drones, followed by the high-pitched whine of a guitar, set one of her favourite Smiths songs in motion – "How Soon is Now". 

Closing her eyes, she started to sway to the music, slowly at first before gradually getting more and more into the rhythm of the piece. Morrissey's lyrics about loneliness and the need for human affection rang through the speakers and into the room, and here she was, almost the personification of those words. 

She moved her hips back and forth, running her hands through her black hair and along down her body, her breasts thrilling to the feel of the silk of the black bra. The frills along the material lightly tickled the skin at the top of her breasts. It was an incredible turn-on. Already she could feel herself getting wetter again. 

Smiling, controlling herself, she stopped her dance, sitting down on her bed and, keeping her eyes closed, immersed herself in the music. This would be her victory tune when she returned satisfied, exhausted and full. 

When the song had finished she chose a long, simply brown jacket from the wardrobe that went down to just between her thighs. Wrapping herself up in it and doing up the big, chunky buttons, she was pleased to see it was hard to tell whether she was wearing anything at all underneath it, let alone this beautiful lingerie. 

She tied her hair up in a bow and grabbed a small make-up bag, shoving it into one of the deep pockets of the jacket. She would apply the finishing touches of seduction at the Museum. 

Content with how she looked, Charlotte switched off the lights and, grabbing the Holy Trinity of phone, purse and keys, made her way out of the apartment. 

As she was locking the door, her neighbour Di came back up the stairs towards her own. "Out somewhere nice?" she asked, making pleasant small talk.

Charlotte smiled back; inside she thrilled to the possibility that Di had no clue of what she was wearing underneath the jacket. It was cold enough outside to get away with for definite. "I hope so," she replied.

"Well, wherever you're going, have fun," said Di, putting her key in her own front door. "Enjoy the effects of the moon tonight while they last."

Charlotte looked back at her neighbour inquisitively.

"It's often said, on the nights when the moon is this big and bright," her neighbour explained, "that it supposedly brings some kind of magical properties with it."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Make of it what you will," laughed Di cheerily, "but I like to think there's a little truth to it."

Charlotte said goodnight to her and made her way down the stairs and out of the building, into the night, onto the streets. As she began to walk she glanced up once more at that bright circle in the sky. She shivered slightly again when she remembered Di's words. Well, maybe some magic would happen tonight. Who knew?

She stopped off at a supermarket on her way, knowing she had about five minutes before it closed, but knowing exactly what she needed. She went right up to the wine section and bought two bottles of the most delicious red wine she could allow herself to afford and a corkscrew. As she paid for it, she carefully scanned the face of the clerk – a bored looking young man who looked like he couldn't wait to get out of there fast enough. He didn't seem to notice or realise she was wearing next to nothing under the jacket, just as Di hadn't. 

Charlotte felt an excited bolt trip up her spine. This was all such an incredible rush. She hadn't done anything like this in so long – the last time was back in college when, during a naughty game of truth or dare with Alex, he had dared her to run around the campus completely naked, the result being her naked ass – and that was all it was, thank god – appeared on the college network the very next day from some dumb guy's camera. That wasn't to say it hadn't been exciting to see her naked behind being ogled by so many people, but she'd thought that those days were behind her. Obviously not.

There was nobody around outside the Museum when Charlotte arrived. She glanced at her watch – 8:07. Perfect. She nodded to Todd on the Security Desk, who tipped his hat with a grin as she passed. She made her way up the shirt flight of stairs into the main exhibition hall; stopping for a moment to make sure all the dim lights were working that surrounded the magnificent statue. 

There was a room to the right that contained a soon-to-close gallery of art works concerning gardens, in the middle of which a simple seat was waiting – long, wide, and surprisingly comfortable. Charlotte grinned; this would be the setting for it tonight. 

Placing the bottles of wine down on the seat, she walked back through the main hall and towards the public restrooms. As she did so, she had to pass Mike's office. A light blazing through the window sent a horrible sinking feeling into her stomach, but she sighed with relief when, trying to door, she found it locked. He must have left it on by accident – something he was actually prone to do many times. 

In the ladies, she removed the jacket and took the make-up bag from out of the pocket. Brushing a few stray strands of hair away, she applied a little blusher on her cheeks, some mascara on her eyelashes and a velvet red lipstick onto her lips. She didn't want to put too much on – she wanted her own natural beauty and the beauty of the lingerie to do all the talking for her. 

A little impatiently, she waited back in the gallery room for time to move quicker than it seemingly wanted to. She opened one of the bottles of wine and sniffed its contents before cheekily sipping a little straight from the bottle. It tasted divine – not too dry, but with a slight kick. Your head would probably be swimming after only a few glasses of this. 

Her watch beeped to signal the half hour. Almost singing with delight, Charlotte quickly, though as calmly as she could went back though the Museum towards the entrance hall. She walked past Todd, ignoring his sitting up and the raising of a hand and opened the door to look out onto the street.

Nobody. No one and nothing. No sign of anybody, either here or on the other side of the road. Maybe she was being a little over-eager, she thought. After all it had only just gone eight-thirty. She just needed to have a little more patience; that was all. 

She almost jumped when as she walked back into the museum she saw Todd standing a little way behind her. 

"Sorry, Miss Thompson, I didn't mean to startle you. Your friend – the artist you were meeting – he's already here. He came in and I said he could go on through. I'd have thought he'd have found you by now."

A slight panic filled Charlotte's nervous system. "Thanks, Todd. I'll go find him." After all, it should have been obvious where he had been headed – so why hadn't she bumped into him on route?

She made her way back to the main exhibition hall and to the statue of David. Nobody else was around. Confused, Charlotte glanced all around her. Had he got lost? There was no way that could have happened. The exhibition was so signposted it could have been on a SatNav. 

What was that...? She thought...no, she was being stupid. She was hearing things. Maybe he'd gone to the bathrooms to freshen up? Or maybe he'd walked in when she hadn't been looking, seen the wine and put two and two together. Maybe he'd been scared off by that. Oh god, what would that mean? Not just to her, but to the Museum too – a thought that had actually escaped her mind throughout all this. 

There it was again – that noise. A low, soft sound. It was coming from a little way down a corridor to the left. There were several galleries down there. What if it was thieves? The Museum had been getting a lot of extra attention because of the David Exhibition. Maybe it had sparked someone else's interest in a very negative sense. 

Trembling slightly, telling herself it was because of the cold air conditioning hitting her bare legs, Charlotte tentatively crept down through the corridors. The murmurs were becoming more audible with every third step – and it was plural murmurs. It sounded like there were two of them. What would she do if it was thieves? Scream for Todd? Even then it may be too late to save her own skin. 

There was another sound now, adding to the murmurs. It sounded like a hand clap – every so often it would echo around the walls of the corridor. Curiosity getting the better of her fears, Charlotte crept forward until she reached the last gallery. There was a corner she could hide behind and she carefully leant a little way forward to look inside the room.

It wasn't thieves. There was what Charlotte had been fantasising about for the last few months: Troy Newman's naked ass. Yet it was pounding in and out, in and out, Troy grunting as he did so. The recipient moaned every so often in ecstatic response, more so when Troy's hand lightly slapped the flesh of the ass he was fucking.

Charlotte's stunned eyes zoomed over to see the rest of the body that was enjoying Troy's attention so much. Bent over onto the bench that was similar to the one Charlotte had commandeered in the other gallery, a hard, fat member pressed up against the wood, was the unmistakable face of Mike. He groaned more as he moved to the rhythm of Troy, occasionally grinning wildly, licking his lips. He stood up at one point as straight as he could in order to grip the back of Troy's head and pull him in for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues obviously exploring.

Charlotte didn't know whether to cry out, laugh absurdly or burst into tears. She quickly moved away as silently as she could, her head swimming, heart thumping in her chest. Had it been obvious? Had she missed it completely? How could she have? She'd known Mike for so long now, yet had never realised he was gay. As for Troy...

She felt stupid. She felt utterly foolish and a complete moron. Finding herself back in the gallery she had hoped would become her little love nest, she took an almighty swig from the open bottle of wine to try and calm down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand – it felt sticky from the alcohol. Right at that moment she was miserable and incredibly angry at herself. She should have known she would never have got a break like that. Of all the dumb luck...even if she had got to him before Mike did, obviously it would have made little difference to how her evening was going to turn out.

Gulping another chug of wine, and picking up the unopened bottle, Charlotte sadly wandered out of the gallery and back into the main exhibition hall. As she passed the statue of David she stopped and glared at it. She didn't want to keep making herself the victim in this. She needed something to blame and this was it. If it hadn't been for this wretched statue, this oh-so-important piece of art, this chunk of dead, cold marble, then maybe Troy would have been able to let her down gently; break his sexuality to her in a quieter way. But no – he had to see this piece of shit!

Anger, frustration and alcohol mixed in an uneasy, dangerous and stupid way. She wouldn't have done it if she weren't high on that cocktail of emotions. But she wasn't thinking straight. With a grunt of hatred, Charlotte hurled the unopened bottle of wine up at the statue. To her immense satisfaction it shattered right on top of his manhood. There was irony for you.

Breathing slower now, pulling herself together, she turned round to walk out of the building with a little more dignity. After a few steps, however, she froze, eyes widened. Something behind her had fallen onto the floor with a heavy thump. What the hell was it...?

Turning slowly back round, her eyes wandered all over the place until, with a growing sense of horror, she saw what was missing. A very important piece. 

Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

She ran over to the statue and, her hand shaking slightly, picked up the marble penis from its new resting place on the floor. She was completely confused. How the hell had this happened? It looked as if it had come clean off – balls and everything, like an apple from a tree. Where it should have been looked as smooth as the rest of the statue, as if manhood had never even been chiselled there in the first place all those centuries ago. How was this possible? All she'd thrown at it was a bottle of wine. A bottle of wine should NOT have done something like this. 




David



Oh, fuck!

There were voices – Troy and Mike. Oh, shit! Mike! What the hell was he going to say when he saw her holding this thing? In blind panic she did the first thing she could think of: she hurriedly placed the chunk of marble in one of her jacket pockets and walked quickly away, not looking back, waiting for that cry from behind her of shock and outrage. Thankfully, it never came. She sped past a confused looking Todd on the Security Desk – had he seen anything on the monitors? If he had done he was staying quiet about it to her. The power of a fifty dollar bill.

Ignoring everything and everyone else around her, Charlotte walked as if in a daze back towards her apartment block. The gravity of her situation was weighing more and more on her mind. She had just desecrated, vandalised one of the most famous and important works of art in history. She knew that this would mean an immediate sacking. Her name would be a disgrace in the art world. It would take her months; maybe years to find someone willing to hire her now into this kind of work again. 

She stumbled a few times, but never fell over. Occasionally she would take light sips of the contents of the bottle, almost half-empty now. Yes, half-empty – pessimism was going to take roost in her life for a long time.

When she somehow made it up the flights of stairs to her floor, she half-wondered if she should knock on Di's door and cry on her shoulder, but she was still sober enough now to know that probably wasn't the best of ideas. So she went into her apartment, locking the front door behind her. As an extra precaution, she also did the latch of the door, something she very rarely did at night time. Sechs City was a safe enough area, and she felt it was just a hassle. Now she did it twice just to make sure it was still working. 

The moonlight was just peeping through the skylight of her living room, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on. She unsteadily removed all the items from her pockets, leaving the marble cock and balls for last, placing it on the coffee table in front of her white sofa. She gazed at it miserably before grabbing the bottle of wine and once more taking a huge gulp of its contents. 

***

She must have passed out sometime after that. She remembered strange images – faceless people, a deep shade of scarlet. She woke groggily on her front on top of the sofa, one arm hanging off the edge. Her hair was undone from its bunch and hung lazily over her pretty face. The jacket was lying on the floor, and a loose bra strap told her she had probably tried to take off the expensive and wasted lingerie earlier. An empty wine bottle lay on its side on the other side of the jacket.

The moonlight was now pouring in through the skylight; its brilliance providing a surprising amount of visual aid. Yet it was also calming, relaxing. It was just what Charlotte's head needed. Sadly, as she slowly shifted her body so that she was on her back, she felt the wetness below – the itch, the craving was still there. 

The marble penis was bathed in this light. It almost suited it rather nicely. Charlotte sat up, hugging her bare knees. She'd have to face the wrap tomorrow – no point in denying what she had or hadn't done. There'd be a fair bit of explaining to do as to why she was there in the first place, obviously. Oh god, that would be embarrassing. Worse still, she was petrified that Mike may not be ready for the world to hear he was gay. Yet how was she going to explain why she did this stupid, horrible, pointless thing?

She reached over to pick up the piece of marble and almost immediately dropped it with a clatter back onto the coffee table. It was warm. The marble was warm all over. She shook her head. It couldn't have been. Impossible. It was just her hands – she'd been laying on them while she'd slept. That was what it was. 

She picked it up again. This time, when she let go, she did so with a high-pitched yelp. No, she had been right the first time: that thing was warm. What the fuck?

Gingerly, filled with a burning curiosity, Charlotte picked it up one last time. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she studied it closely. It felt as warm to her as her own flesh and blood. It was crazy. Lightly she traced her left index finger along the side of the marble shaft. Her eyes widened as, almost as soon as she had made contact, the head lifted itself up. It was the tiniest of distances but it was still noticeable.

Mesmerised, almost hypnotised by this absurdity happening right in her hands, Charlotte raised it up to her face. Staring at the tip of it, she could swear she could see something glisten. Hardly daring to believe it, she put a finger right on the tip. As she took it away, for a brief second, a thin strand of something like a cobweb shone in the moonlight before vanishing. Looking at her fingertip, she saw something sparkle. Hesitantly, she sniffed it then placed it on the tip of her tongue. Salty. Familiar. There was no doubt about it, ridiculous as it seemed, but what she had just tasted was cum.

Charlotte's head was swimming. She had to be dreaming, she just had to be. This was all the after effects of the bottle of wine she'd drunk. And after all, who would ever have...holy shit, was this thing getting bigger?

She'd been absent-mindedly stroking the marble while her brain had been going into overtime. Now she was sure it had gotten bigger in its length. The head was slightly further up now. The tip of it glistened more. It fascinated Charlotte. It called out to her, drew her to it. She brought it closer to her mouth and gently, very gently, planted a kiss on the top of its head.

It didn't taste of stone or marble – the taste of pebbles at the beach that Charlotte used to put in her mouth when she was a little girl. It tasted salty and warm. It tasted of flesh. It tasted of cock. 

Her insides buzzing all over, a loud purring from below, Charlotte kissed the cock again, longer this time. She felt it move more, expanding, raising its head again. All her fears, her worries – all her anxieties about what had happened that night vanished from her mind. This was all that mattered right now; this precious gift that she held in her hands. 

Slowly, very slowly, Charlotte's lips wrapped themselves around the marble hood. Her tongue thrilled to the taste of hot white saltiness. Keeping her left hand under the balls, which now seemed to be made more of some kind of rubber than marble, Charlotte guided her free hand along the base of her neck and down, lightly stroking the material of her bra, feeling her nipples stand rigidly to attention, more like stone than the cock she was sucking. And she was sucking it. It responded amazingly to ever kiss, every lick, every suck; deeper and deeper it went into her mouth. It tasted wonderful.

Her hand went under the black silk, flesh touching flesh. She squeezed and toyed with her nipples one at a time, sending a volt and shudder through her body every time that, in turn, made her suck just a little bit harder. She squeezed her thighs together as she writhed on the sofa, letting her own juices really make their mark on the thong. The smell was unmistakably the equivalent of food being cooked in the oven – it was time for the carving. 

She let her free hand trail down her smooth stomach and under, loving the wetness that her fingers found there. There was no time to waste. She kissed the marble penis goodbye and, in exactly the same way she had with her vibrator earlier that day, lifted the material of the thong to one side to allow easy access. 

She gasped out loud as it went in. It seemed to have more and more a life of its own, getting excited by the wetness surrounding it. She slowly moved it in and out, in and out, licking her lips and sighing contentedly as she felt at last the pleasure she had been craving for. She laid back, head on the large white cushion of her sofa, her hair all over the place. She began to play with her breasts again, shivering and moaning softly at the touch of her free hand on them, adding to the thrill she had down below.

Suddenly Charlotte's eyes widened and she spat out, "Oh shit! Oh...oh fuck! Fuck!" Her hands scrabbled, their aim thrown by the sudden flood that had fallen upon her body. The marble had leapt out of her hands, out of her control, and was starting to bury itself deeper and deeper inside of her. It began to pump harder and harder, as if it were being controlled by some invisible being.

Charlotte started to pant, her heart beating quicker and quicker. She had never known anything to be as intense as this. She wanted the control back. She wanted to go at her own pace.

"God....fuck...please, no...ohhhhh....mmm....shit!"

Her attempts to beg and to retrieve the marble became half-hearted very quickly as pleasure overwhelmed her. She surrendered totally, throwing her arms back and writhing around on the sofa under every thrust. It seemed to go even deeper, even deeper. Yet, when she felt down there with hands that trembled, she could still feel the end of the balls, the bottom of the shaft in between her soaking lips. The only thing she could possibly think of – which even then was a difficult task to manage – was that it was increasing in size still inside of her.

Tears formed in her eyes as she began to cry out in broken whimpers. This was pleasure on a whole new scale, as if it was trying to make up for all those wasted months where a vibrator – a pithy little pink plastic toy – had been a weak substitute. 

The orgasm built as she squeezed her thighs tight, gripping the pillows for dear life, crying out to the moon shining above her. When it hit her, it was as if it was her first ever real one, like all the rest she'd had in her life had been rehearsals for this one blissful moment of pure ecstasy. 

She shuddered as it bounced around her body, before collapsing onto her back, sweat trickling down her forehead, deep breaths of air sucked into her heaving chest. The marble, true to its nature thus far, made no more sudden movements, though very slowly it began to shrink back to its original size and slid out of her soaking wet sex without any trouble. It landed on the sofa just under her lips and remained there, moving no more.

***

A week went past; still no answers. Mike was flabbergasted, the Italians were beyond themselves with outrage, and Todd was fired. 

It was late one evening, as Mike sat in his office, trying to work as he had done so many times that week. A knock on the door awoke him from his confused thoughts and he smiled the first genuine smile that day.

"Thought you might want to see a friendly face," said Troy, closing the door behind him. He walked over and kissed Mike deeply. "Still nothing?"

Mike shook his head. "Haven't you seen the news? It's rolling 24/7. We're the laughing stock of the art world, when it's not too busy screaming bloody murder at us."

"It seems just so impossible. How could it have vanished like that? It's almost as if you guys never had it here in the first place. And then there's your boss..."

"Charlotte? Well, that's slightly understandable, though I can't think why she would have had any part in it."

"She's definitely missing too?"

"The police went round to her apartment yesterday afternoon. Nobody. But all her clothes, her belongings, and her luggage – they were all still there. They haven't a clue where she could have got to. She's not gone back to her family. They're frantic, as you can imagine. No one I know has seen her. But that's not the weird thing."

Troy put his hands on Mike's shoulders. "What's the weird thing?"

"The door to her apartment: they had to break it down to get into the place."

"So?"

"It was bolted on the inside." 

***

The sleep this time was deeper, less restless. She was untroubled by dreams. Yet when she woke, she didn't open her eyes. She could tell she wasn't alone. She could sense that other presence in the room. Another body. Another being. She didn't want to open her eyes, afraid at what she might see, but she found now she had no control over anything. Even her breathing was being manipulated by another person: it was deep, soothing, almost trance like. 

Her eyes slowly opened. There he stood, in the moonlight. There was no question of how anymore. No question of why. She knew why – all the answers had formed into her head while she slept. It was all to do with vengeance, but it was the vengeance of the gods: forever and ever lasting, just as they lived. They were in another world, now. Another place. 

He looked at her with those unseeing eyes, that arrogant glare. Here I am, it said. Look at what I am. You tried to defeat me – to break me apart. But nothing can stop me. As if to prove a point, her eyes were moved downwards – yes, there it was, back on there, as if it had never been broken off in the first place. Good as new. Good as the day he was made.

He was shorter now, a more human-like size. But his body was the same as it had been: the ripples of the muscles on his chest, the bulges of the biceps, the strength of his posture and stance. Smooth and perfect in the moonlight.

Charlotte felt herself stand up. She didn't try to resist. She knew now. This had to happen. What she'd done – that stupid, petty thing she'd done out of spite. This was her punishment. She felt the heat move through her body; felt the nipples under the bra tingle with anticipation. 

Her movements were slow, calm. Her controller didn't want to rush anything. Unhurriedly, her arms were moved to behind her back, her face remaining fixed upon his serene features. Her hands undid the clasp of the black bra, carefully slipping it off her shoulders as they returned, letting her small breasts free in the cold night air. They moved down to her hips, the two middle fingers slipping under the thin string of the thong. They carried on down, taking the silk with them along her smooth legs. She was stood back up straight. Now they were both naked.

They stood for a moment, observing each other, before her sex was taken under control. It moistened and began to ache, to yearn. As Charlotte watched, all reality now a blur long forgotten, as if in a mist around her, his piece moved once more; a steady rise up to just above horizontal, beginning to stretch out. 

A buzz flowed through Charlotte's body now; the wetness below increased. Her legs were moved one step, two steps, three steps towards him. She was turned round and gently, gradually, tenderly her back was arched forward, her arms stretched out in front of her, her palms rested on top of the cool surface of the coffee table. 

She felt him move behind her, resting his hands – warm as flesh – on top of her smooth behind. As he entered her she felt a sense of pleasure multiplied so many times. Her eyes closed and she sighed with delight.

There, in the moonlight, that night and forever more, David fucked her.



David



My first time with a guy was a great experience, even if I wasn't trying to be gay. We were best friends, Dave and I. I never considered myself gay, nor did I have feelings for Dave other than we had fun chatting together, and spending the night at each other's hours playing video games as we were growing up. 

When we went off to college, we got the chance to be roommates. We were freed to do as we wanted together. One night, we were discussing sex, and looking at the Playboys and Penthouses we had saved up . It was a warm summers day, and school was just starting. 

I was sporting some wood. I could tell Dave was having a 'hard' time too, so I brought up how some of our other friends always joked about 'being gay' with each other. I asked if he wanted to try "being gay" as long as we held some ground rules. No kissing and no butt sex. 

He seemed to want to do something to relieve the pressure of his hard on as much as I did, so we knelt in front of each other and slowly exposed ourselves to one another. 

He was more developed than I was, longer than me, and way hairier. I reached over to stoke his penis and he did the same, we slowly pulled on each other, unsure of what we were doing, and not sure if we liked it or not. His hand on my cock was sensational, the only person to ever touch me, besides myself. It was amazing, and very hot. We were both sweaty and breathing very heavily, and it was very quiet. 

It was a slow stroke from both of us, and sort of awkward. You're not used to the angle that way, and it was sort of clumsy. Eventually we got into a rhythm, and as one of us went a little faster so did the other. 

We were looking down and not at each other, when all of a sudden; he made a moan and started cumming. It sprayed all over my shirt. It smelled different than mine, and I wasn't brave enough to taste it, yet. Meanwhile he kept stroking me and I was overcome with the need to let loose. I closed my eyes and had the most intense orgasm ever. After 4 years of doing it myself, this was wild. I convulsed like never before, and I actually shot cum out. It usually oozed out when I stroked. This was totally different. 

We cleaned up our mess and got dressed again. Dave wasn't too please afterward and seemed put off by what we had done. I was still quite aroused. That night in bed I tried to quietly let another one loose like that, but it wasn't the same as when he did it.. 

We continued to be as friends, never really speaking about what we had done, and one night we were busy studying and it was late. It was time to hit the sack, and I got in my bed and he crashed in his. I hadn't tried to bring up "being gay" again, and usually waited till I knew I was going to be alone to jackoff. 

I waited a few minutes and thought he was asleep, and started stroking, I was feeling really horny. All of a sudden, he startled me by asking if I was playing with myself. Busted, I sheepishly said yes. He looked up from where he was laying down, and said, he too wanted to masturbate, but was afraid to bring it up again. 

It wasn't my intent to do this again with him, since I figured it was a no-go, but I wasn't letting this chance pass me by. I suggested he get into bed with me, and we lay next to each other and slowly started stroking each other, him on my right. 

Luckily, he is left handed and I am right, so it worked out that it was not as awkward as the first time. After a few minutes and almost getting close, he stopped and leaned up on his side. He told me to do the same, and we were facing each other. 

Our dicks were touching, and he grabbed them both in his hand. We were both breathing heavily at that moment and looking down in the pale light at or erect cocks together. He slowly started pumping them both and that was getting me hotter and hotter. 

I could feel my balls tighten and that tingle start that told me I was going to cum, but I wanted this to last. I looked over, smiled and said, I want to try something. He didn't have to do it as well, but I wanted to suck his dick. He thought about it, and finally agreed. 

I grabbed his cock while I started licking and sucking his nipple. I circled it a couple of times and then worked my tongue down his stomach and toward his cock. I reached the pubic trail at his navel and then started kissing my way down to his cock. The heat and the smell were rising up to my nostrils and I took it all in. His skin tasted different than if I licked my own hand, and it was very heady. 

I was getting ready to put his cock in my mouth when I decided to tease him. I am not sure what came over me, but it seemed like the thing to do. I kissed and licked around and all over his thighs, balls especially underneath. I slowly worked my way kissing up his balls, and then let go of his cock as I slowly ran my tongue up his shaft. When I reached the head, I put my lips around it, swirled my tongue around the head, then opened my mouth wide as he slowly thrust his meat into my watering mouth.

I sucked for as much as I could, slowly moving my head up and down. As it was my first time, my teeth got in the way several times, and he let me know. But otherwise we were both enjoying it. I didn't know it at the time, but as I was cupping his balls, I could feel them tighten, and he let out his load. 

I gagged a little and spit out some, but then swallowed what I could. I didn't enjoy it like I thought I would, but then my own cum never tasted good to me. His breathing finally slowed down as I lay back next to him, and I started stroking myself off. He stopped my hand, and what happened next was unbelievable. 

He bent down, and while he didn't tease me and lick me all over or anything as I had him, he took my cock in his mouth and started sucking! I was floored, but didn't want to ignore the fact my cock was in a soft, warm mouth. He too didn't know what to do, and of course, I had no idea this crappy bj was crappy, I was in heaven. He sucked for what seemed like forever, and I finally started feeling the urge, he seemed to tell as he let go with his mouth and finished with his hand. It was awesome. We went to sleep and got up the next day but didn't speak much about what we did.

As fall progressed, and we would study or whatever in our room, we would take a quick jack break, and look at Hustler and Penthouse and then race to see who came first (who knew that was the wrong game to play...), but we never really touched each other like before. 

Then came February, and a streak of cold and snow that ultimately shut school down for a week. We hung out almost the entire time together, but it wasn't till the third night, we had the video games going again, then we watched Late Night with Dave Letterman. 

We discussed some of the penthouse letters we were reading over the week and both of us lamented that we had yet to score with any pussy. He said it would be so cool to slide his dick in a nice warm hole. 

Lightbulb. 

I asked if he wanted to try sticking it in my ass, which of course he didn't have to reciprocate, I said that it violated one of our rules, but as long as we didn't kiss, it wasn't really gay. He thought about it for a while as we stoked ourselves and finally said yes. I got some petroleum jelly from the closet where I kept my stuff. 

When I came back he was totally naked. We got on the floor and I laid on my back and stuck a little of the lube on my asshole, and he stroked some on his dick. He positioned himself above me and put his dick in between my ass cheeks. I moved his dick around until the head of his cock was targeted and whispered to go ahead and push. And push he did.

He pushed so hard my eyes started watering, then he finally got the head of his dick past my rim. Man, that hurt. When I masturbated, I never stroked or even really touched my ass, so this is the first time of really using it in a sexual way. He slowly pushed back and forth and finally got all the way in. 

I kept him very slow, till I could finally figure out how to relax and let his dick do its thing. And actually, it was kind of cool feeling his bush tickle my balls. After a few moments I slowly pushed and let him rock back and forth, and after a while he got a nice rhythm going, and was really going smoothly. He then started to increase his pace, and I wasn't feeling near the pain, if anything an intense pleasure as his cock rubbed me hard and his balls slapped against my ass cheeks. 

I started stroking myself in time with him and it felt so good. He finally arched his back and came inside me. I let him gush all the way and he laid on top of me just as I was cumming. It felt so good to have him there, I didn't want it to end. We fell asleep, and got up the next day and hung out all day. 

It was bitter cold and snowy, so it was all indoor stuff. 

That night after we watched a movie on HBO and it was time for bed. I again waited till he was asleep, or so I thought, and started jacking, this time he grabbed my hand, bent down, and started kissing my dick. Then licking and sucking me. I got totally hard in his mouth. I never expected this from him. I always figured he was doing me because it got him off, but that he really wasn't into it that much. 

He reached from under the bed, grabbed some jelly and I thought, oh man, another ass fucking. What I didn't expect was that it was my turn on top. He started lubing my dick then he got on all fours, and said, "your turn, go slowly please." If I was never hard before, I was hard now. I never had such a raging boner. Just the thought of sticking my dick into a warm hole was unbelievable. I kneeled behind him on my knees, and guided my dick up to his asshole. 

I smeared a little lube on his hole. I let him push back on me to get comfortable. I pushed ever so gently to try not have it hurt him as much as he hurt me at first, cause I so wanted my shot at this. I slowly worked my head past his tight hole and slowly he moved back and forth and we started slapping our bodies together, but then, he stopped.

Oh, man, it was too much for him. I waited, and he was breathing hard, but didn't say anything. I then felt him cup both our balls together and he squeezed his ass around my dick to kind of suck it in. it was wild. 

I almost came right there. He then said "nice and slow, let's do this." We started moving together and it was the greatest feeling ever. His ass was so hot and tight, my cock was feeling so good, every stroke getting me closer and closer, and just as I was about to cum for all I was worth he pulled my out, and said it was all he could take. Arg. 

It was dark so he probably couldn't see my face, but I lied and I said it was alright, I knew how much it hurt, but then it would give way to pleasure, just ride it out, I told him. I kept going for a while, then I figured, why not, and asked if he wanted to fuck me again. 

So we switched positions and he got his dick inside me. Two nights a in a row, and I was a regular ass fucker. I stroked my dick for all I was worth. And the feeling of his balls slapping up next to mine were priceless. When his balls stopped slapping against mine and finally tightened I could tell he was going to go and I pumped for all my fury so I could cum with him. I felt his hot semen gush in my ass and seep out and down my thigh as I let out a huge load on the floor beneath me. 

The smell of our enjoyment still lingers with me today. . He rested his chest on my back for a few minutes as we caught our breath and his cock finally slipped out of my ass. I reached back and patted it and said, "thanks." I don't know why. I wasn't in love with him, nor did I want to kiss him, really. 

Not even to practice because I had at least kissed many girls. And the few minutes I did stroke my dick in his hole would have to hold me over till I finally broke the pussy barrier.

That was the last time we got together for the remainder of the school year. 

Again, we never spoke of our deeds outside of the initial rule making, and never did we share secret moments outside of our bedrooms to touch each other or anything. That summer he was busy with his job and football, and I was busy with my job and getting ready to go away to a different college. 

I went over to his house the morning I was to leave and we talked about life, and his second year, his football, my job and my going away, and all those big plans kids our age had. I kept looking at his body. It had developed nicely since we started "playing gay" with his football and all, and I was admiring his shoulders and noticing how well he filled out. He must have caught me checking him out, and he did something surprising. He stuck his foot out and started rubbing my crotch. 

I did the same with my foot and before you know it, we were both hard as a rock and ready for some action. He took me up to his room, and no sooner did he close the door but I dropped my shorts, landed on his bed with my legs up and demanded to be taken by him. His dick was much bigger now, and I was hungry for it to stuff my ass. He pulled out some lube and we went to town. It was the middle of the morning and I was in heaven. 

I can still see his face as he fucked me hard, those eyes as they lustily took in what was happening down at our crotches, and the look of total satisfaction as he came in heap on top of me. I cleaned up, said good-bye, and I never laid eyes on him again, never having the chance to cross paths, as he avoided me the few times I got to come home from college. 

I hear he is married with kids somewhere near where we grew up. I too am married with kids, in another part of the country. But I still get off to that glorious year of "playing gay."



David



Chapter 1 

It all started on an unusually balmy autumn Chicago day near the Buckingham fountain replica in Grant park. Jeff was polishing off the final greasy bites of a Vie-enna chili cheese polish sausage, hurrying because he had only seven minutes remaining of his stingy half-hour lunch, when a figure sped by on a bike. Merely a flash he barely saw, but even clothed and wearing a nerdy-looking bike helmet, the cyclist reminded Jeff of Michelangelo's statue of David. 

Jeff turned, reaching, instinctively grasping as usual, for what he could not reach. Cursing aloud, he spent the rest of his lunch period trying to remove chili from his pearl gray Henley. 

Back in his minuscule office, where he crunched numbers all day for a major accounting firm, Jeff neglected his work for the remainder of the day, concentrating, trying to remember exactly what he had seen, searching his memory for any clue to "David's" identity. The bike rider had been small, young, under twenty-five, thin and tight. At that age, he was perhaps a student from nearby University of Chicago. Something about his demeanor, or the photo like flash that remained imprinted on Jeff's eyes, shouted "student". If that were the case, or if he worked in Chicago's Loop as did Jeff, then there was a good chance to see him again. Jeff vowed he would be ready. 

All week he stalked the park during lunch hour, hoping for a glimpse of the mystery boy. When his "David" finally came, he damn near ran right over Jeff. "Wait, Stop!" Jeff yelled into the wind off the lake, jumping off the path as his "David" peddled rapidly away, oblivious to Jeff's wanton desire. 

The lakefront off The Loop became Jeff's regular cruise then. Haunted by that spectral presence,he became a man possessed, as if he were the one hunted. Lunches were completely forgotten. If Jeff sat on a bench, he feared his "David" would pass behind him. He kept close to the lake,on that one side, the rider could not pass, but then Jeff worried "David" might pass on Michigan Avenue,too far away to be seen.

Three more weeks went by. The weather was turning blustery. Winter would soon be here. "Da Hawk", the bitter wind in Chicago's Loop, would come roaring in off the lake. Jeff's chances of finding his mystery boy would disappear until spring. That could be four months. Jeff could not shake the feeling he was in the grip of something larger than himself; providence, fate, kismet! He felt driven. His intense reaction to a fleeting glimpse seemed totally exaggerated. His despondence was deep. 

It was a Friday lunch hour, they were pretty loose about that at his place of employment, so he sat a bit longer; sat on a bench near the crashing waves coming in off the dark and violent lake shore, subconsciously listening to the swirling slapping sound of waves on concrete. He was lulled into a state of lethargy akin to sleep, head bowed, almost dreaming. 

Jeff would never know what force made him raise his eyes a fraction at that moment. A flash of bright blue, a color never seen in nature, caught his downcast eye. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. L About thirty yards away, a bicycle lay carelessly overturned in the grass. Jeff looked more closely. A bicyclist's helmet lay in the grass nearby. It was his all right. Jeff's enigma, his David. But where was the boy? A nasty thought crept into Jeff's brain. Dodging around the protective barriers, he moved as close as he dared to the gray frothy turbulence that is Lake Michigan where the great lake meets The Loop. He stretched his eyes, scanning, searching for -- anything. Yes. There was -- something. A head! A human head! Jeff knew in a flash that it was he, his enchanting mystery lad. Jeff knew his "David" had thrown himself in the lake. What foolishness. Didn't he know how much Jeff wanted him! The tiny form was disappearing quickly, being sucked out deeper and deeper, further and further by currents similar to California's wild undertows. 

Without hesitation, Jeff kicked off his shoes, discarded his jacket. He could not dive in for fear of bashing his head on the many huge rocks, so he eased himself into the frigid waves. His body reacted immediately. Blood thrummed in his ears. He laid on his face and began stroking strongly. A strong and competent swimmer, though not very fast, Jeff had, in his younger days, swum alone and unassisted about four miles, across Choctawhatchee Bay; a successful but foolish endeavor that had taken the better part of a sunny Florida day. But that had been a long time ago. That had been the balmy Gulf. This was Chicago. Lake Michigan was near slush. "Da Hawk" whistled around his ears as he stroked and stroked, desperately ignoring the icy waves sometimes washing over his head. 

From time to time, as he swam a rescue stroke learned in the Boy Scouts, Jeff checked that the bobbing head was still afloat. For a very long time his efforts seemed to draw him no closer. He struggled on, checked again. Yes, that golden bobbing head of curls was still there, closer, he thought. He was winning. Or was he? The piercing cold was shutting down his systems. Desperately, concentrating only on stroke, stroke, stroke. Jeff looked up again. The sodden golden locks bobbed inches from his outstretched fingers. 

Jeff knew not what to expect; was David awake? Would he fight? Submerging as he had learned in lifesaving merit badge, Jeff felt his way around the small, slight body, turned it. When they surfaced, "David's" curly head lay against Jeff's chin, Jeff's fingers tucked firmly under the lad's left armpit, the slim muscular body lay about one third atop Jeff's. In the water he seemed to weigh nothing. He started to struggle so Jeff shoved his head under. Once more and resistance faded. 

Now Jeff was cold, deathly cold, had only one arm to stroke with. Long ago summer camp had trained him; now that training served him well. Jeff laid into the sidestroke, always his strongest, kicked and kicked with his powerful legs. His mind was blank, but he knew his blood was near freezing, shutting him down. He figured he had mere minutes before he lost consciousness, existed only in his lonely lovely frozen dreamworld. He and his "David", dream lover. His thoughts drifted. He forgot to stroke. This world was so nice, so nice, so soft and peaceful. . .

"GRAB EM! GET EM OUT! HURRY! HURRY, GODDAMNIT!" 

"Mmm," soft lips were kissing Jeff, warm, warm, soft lips on his. Hard hard blowing. Pushing on his chest. . . painful. 

"Hey, hey, quit it!" Jeff cried, sputtering, struggling to draw his face, his body away. 

Inches from Jeff's face, someone yelled, "I got this one. This one's back!" A firm hand on Jeff's chest, held him down, but no longer hurt. 

"Take it easy, buddy, just relax, you almost bought it there," a deep voice resonated.

"He, he, how is he?" Jeff managed to murmur through lips that felt cryogenic. 

"Touch and go," a deep, kind, quiet voice answered, "touch and go. You stupid or heroic?" the same deep gentle voice inquired of Jeff. 

"Seems to me you're the hero," Jeff said. "May I sit up please?" 

"Yeah well, I went in a few feet. Some folks here saw you struggling way out there. Notice 

THEY didn't plunge in after you." 

"Different strokes," Jeff said, at first not realizing he had told a joke, then laughing soundly. 

"I guess you are okay," gentle giant continued, "you made a joke, even laughed." 

"Not a very funny joke, I'm afraid," Jeff said, pulling himself to his feet with the aid of an outstretched arm. 

"I'm Jeff. Jeff Hunter. Thank you for your brave help." 

"Howard, Howard Breen. And you are the brave one." 

"Howard. I don't mean to seem ungrateful," Jeff said, "but I need to see how he is doin'." 

"Sure, sure, how stupid of course," stepping back, making a sweeping arm gesture. "Who is he?" 

Jeff started to answer that he had no idea, but glancing over at the supine form, he said simply, 

"David, Michelangelo's David." 

About twenty yards away, a tight gaggle of bystanders was bent over "David's" prostrate form. 

Jeff bullied his way toward the center. The young man could tell by the crowd's deference that the man standing over him was his rescuer. His eyes bore into Jeff's with a look near hatred. But he was alive! And Jeff was grinning. The beautiful young man's Aegean blue eyes scanned the crowd. He gestured with his head. Jeff knelt close beside him, a spot of blood matted his golden hair, where a huge red lump had formed, just above the left temple. 

"Come closer," he whispered. "This is your fault. Get me out of here, no cops, no ambulance, please just help me get away from here." 

Jeff stood. "Has anyone got a car down here? Anyone?" It was a far bet, for, though the streets were crowded with autos, no resident of The Loop would be so crazy as to drive. Once again, the hero, Howard, stepped up.

Howard was a near giant of a man, at least six-six, tipping in at close to two-fifty, but not fat, not even sporting that little belly football offensive linemen carry. 

"Come with me," Howard said simply, throwing one arm over Jeff's shoulder, extending the other to the blond god on the pavement. 

"Uh, that's his bike over there," Jeff said, pointing. 

Howard spoke up. "Somebody grab that bike and follow me." 

Apparently, when Howard spoke. People listened. Several people moved in that direction, but one won out, grabbing the bike and helmet and following. 

Howard's Cadillac Escalade was up on the biking and hiking trail, emergency lights flashing, but miraculously, no cops were in sight. He quickly trundled everyone inside, stashed the bike, and took off north up Lake Shore Drive. Despite traffic, within a few minutes they were waved through the security protected garage by a uniformed guard. 

"Where are we?" Jeff asked. 

"Home," Howard replied, "Lake Shore Apartments. You guys okay with coming up stairs to my apartment? It's not, well never mind, come on up if you wish, or there's a red line station half a block that way," he said, pointing. "Though I strongly recommend that you both change and warm up. So, cumon," he said, swinging himself out of the Escalade, flinging the back door open for the two young men. "The bike will be safe here until later. Cumon, hurry, it's freezing. I'll make us all some hot soup. Well? Cumon."

Resisting this force of nature would be akin to swimming up Niagra Falls. The two young men followed him like a pair of trained puppies. Jeff could not take his eyes off the gorgeous youth who strode beside him. He was short, maybe as short as 5'1", with longish, very curly blond hair that shone with radiance even matted and sodden. His eyes were a color Jeff had seen only once before, in the clear blue Aegean off Mykonos. He longed to pull him close, to hug him. The bridge of his nose was crossed by hundreds of tiny freckles the color of cherry blossoms, his cheeks strewn with thousands more. He resembled nothing so much as a tiny man fairy that might at any second sprout gossamer wings and flutter away. 

Jeff's very dark skin flushed brick red when he noticed Howard watching him watch the little fairy man, as they entered the elevator. Jeff was taken aback when the elevator opened directly into Howard's apartment. All the visible walls of the place offered magnificent views of Chicago's skyline and lakefront. 

"Okay, let's stop right here," Howard said."First of all my name is Howard Breen, this is my humble abode. You are welcome to come in, stay in aslong as you want. I will not be here much of the time during weekdays, but feel free. I will let security know of your presence so you will not be disturbed." 

"Hang on, just hang on," Jeff put in. "First of all, this 'abode' ain't so humble. And here's what I really want to know. What's up? What are we really doin' here. What's in it for you?" 

"Can we at least have introductions before fear and paranoia set in? Please?" Howard said.

"Okay fine. I am Jeff Hunter. I have my own apartment about two miles west of here that costs about one tenth of this. And, well, this morning anyway, I had a job at Parker Lynch in the loop. Now I am about two hours late coming back from lunch with no excuse." 

"You can tell 'em you were busy fucking up my life," the little man finally spoke up, his voice rife with bitter resentment. 

"You mean fucking up your death, you ungrateful little prick!" Jeff cut in.

"Yeah well it's my life isn't it.And if I wanna." 

"Take it easy son, no one here is your enemy," Howard said. "We are sixty-nine floors above the ground here. There is a terrace right out through those French doors. You can solve all your problems in about six and one half seconds. But it's my house. Nobody's ending all his problems while I am here watching. And yes, I can stop you if I choose. Now stop being such a shit head. Let's start by having your name, okay son. We need to have something to call you." 

Looking down shyly, one foot flat, one knee bent, toe touching the floor, he finally answered: "Neal, Neal Downs. Now you can laugh!" 

"Why would we laugh? Howard and Jeff asked in unison. "This is not junior high," Jeff continued alone. 

"Now I will answer Jeff's questions," Howard said. "I am a man alone with a lot of money and a lot of time. I have amassed a fortune in my life, but lost most everything else: several wives, my friends, even my only child. I was returning from a personal trip having to do with changing my life; driving along, minding my own business, watching Chicago's beautiful waterfront when I saw this fucking idiot throw off his shoes and jacket and jump in the freezing lake. Now unless he was hypnotized, unless someone said, 'go jump in the lake', like that great scene with Lawrence Harvey in 'The Manchurian Candidate', something serious was going on. So I stopped my car and ran over. Several very stupid or very cowardly people were shouting and pointing at Jeff struggling in over the rocks bearing you, Neal, to safety. 

"So what could I do? I had to help. No one else seemed willing. So I took charge. Went in myself, shamed some others into helping. I heard Neal asking for no official involvement, I had my car nearby. And here we all are, playing out our parts like two-bit actors in a Shakespeare play. Shall we play it to the end and discover whether it be comedy or tragedy? 'To be or not to be?' or 'What fools these mortals be?'" 

At the end of his oration, Howard put an arm about both of the young men's shoulders, drawing them close. Jeff noticed Neal tightening, about to draw away. 

"So let's get you two cleaned up, dried up, warmed up. And then we'll go from there. Personally I am famished, could go for an early supper," Howard said. 

"There are two baths, down that way, one is in my bedroom, but I'll leave you to your privacy. Nearly dragging the two boys down the hall, Howard flung open a cabinet and tossed each young man a fluffy black towel about the size of Jeff's entire bathroom, then left. Neal shuffled off lethargically to one bath, Jeff headed for the other. He was tempted to opt for a long hot soak in what was apparently a whirlpool tub, but remembered his benefactor speaking of hunger. Nonetheless, once the hot spray from the three different shower heads began its dance over Jeff's body, he wanted it never to end. He didn't bother with soap or shampoo; merely laid against the shower wall, closed his eyes and allowed the hot, blessed relief to cascade over him. 

Unbidden, a memory stole over him: Neal's body half atop his, his arm clutching tightly. Involuntarily, The Monster reared his curious head, slipping partly from his foreskin as if to sniff the prospects. "Easy, tiger," Jeff said to his life-long friend, taking him in hand. "Behave yourself for once. He hasn't shown the slightest interest in us."

There was a knock Jeff barely heard. "Yes?" he called out. 

"I m going to open the door only long enough to hang a robe for you on the back of the door. We'll let you wear that until we get your clothes cleaned and dried. 

"Thank you Howard." 

Upon emerging, Jeff dried himself, (Howard's towel seemed to suck the water from his body by some magic.) He slipped on the very fluffy robe Howard had provided, discovering that it must have been heated in the dryer. He was starting to like this man.

Jeff entered the sunken living room, overwhelmed by the luxury and comfort of the place. And the view! He stood for a moment looking out at the lakefront. Way, way off in the distance, a tiny speck of a sailboat danced and shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He had to stand back from the windows a few feet. Each time he drew nearer, a huge wave of vertigo would overcome him. He simply was not used to standing sixty-nine stories above the ground. "I'm in here," Howard's melodious voice floated in from what Jeff assumed was the kitchen. He followed the sound. 

"How ya feelin'? Howard queried, "getting warmer?" 

"Yeah, that was great with the warm robe thing, just what my body needed, Thanks. And Howard, thanks for everything. It's been a long time since anyone treated me so well." 

"In my eyes you are a hero. I have never witnessed anything so brave. There I was drivin' along, and you just, I mean you just threw yourself in that icy water, with no regard for your own safety. I am very impressed." 

"Nice place you got here, Howard. This place could feed my family for a couple generations." 

"You need money, Jeff?" 

"No man, I didn't mean it that way. I am sorry." 

"Don't worry about it. I have worked incredibly hard, but I have also been incredibly lucky. As I told you before, I have spent too much of my life, too many hours, striving for money,success, whatever. Now I am going to change my ways. Only last week, well it's been building for a long time, but a week ago I read something or somebody said something about, carpe diem. And right then I said to myself, 'That's what I am going to do from now on. I am going to seize the day, go with the flow'. And bam, this afternoon, you come along to give me the best opportunity of my life," chuckling. "Hmm. I wonder what's taking Neal so long. I don't think any of these windows open. God I'm sorry. That was so bad, but hell I have only recently decided to live! Do you want to go check on Neal or do you want me to?" 

"Let me, I'll go see." Jeff had always disliked being in other people's bedrooms when they were not there. It always felt so intrusive, so invasive, but in this case he was awed. The room was damp like a greenhouse; filled with plants of all kinds. A gossamer curtain surrounded a four poster bed on two sides. The length of one entire wall was an enormous aquarium filled with flashing colorful fishes of all description. The headboard of the large bed was a huge window, looking out over Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline, just beginning to twinkle as evening lights came on. 

Jeff started toward the bathroom. Then stopped abruptly. Behind the closed door, Neal was weeping uncontrollably, huge racking sobs that penetrated the door and pierced Jeff's soul. Neal's expression of his grief, whatever the cause, was so private and intimate a moment, that Jeff felt like an alien invader. He moved silently over the thick scarlet carpet, pausing outside the door in indecision. Had his intervention already heightened this man's grief? Was he responsible for this agony. He had acted out there on the shoreline. Should he enter, try to help Neal, or let him go, leave him alone? 

Legend has it that saving a person's life binds one to that person forever. Legend or not, Jeff felt a connection, a compulsion to act again, and again if necessary. 

Without knocking, he opened the bathroom door. Neal was sitting on the closed toilet seat. He looked up, startled, when Jeff burst in. He looked miserable. His face was blotchy red, his cheeks wet with tears; snot ran from his nostrils. He was the most beautiful thing Jeff had ever seen. Immediately Jeff went to his knees and threw his arms around Neal. Neal tried to resist but Jeff held tight, rocking him softly and "It's okay, you're okay. Trust me everything is gonna be okay." Slowly, bit by bit, Neal's sobs receded. Jeff held on. 




David



After about ten minutes, Neal was able to speak. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Let me go. Seriously, let go." 

Jeff released him and stood. Only then did he notice that, though Neal wore a robe like he did, Neal's lay completely open, exposing his fine white body to the air and to Jeff's vision. 

Jeff stammered for a moment when he caught himself looking for Neal's cock. He caught the merest glimpse of its smooth uncut form lying stretched out along Neal's thigh. 

"Uh, uh, Neal, er, here," Jeff said, handing him a face towel from the rack.

"Dry your face. Come see Howard's fabulous place. The guy is stinkin' rich. We'll get warmed up and eat and drink something, then you'll feel better. You'll see. Really. Trust me. Me and Howard are waiting for you to eat so don't be long, okay. Okay?" 

As Jeff turned to leave, he could not stop himself from looking directly at Neal's crotch. He was positive Neal noticed his attention, but said nothing. Jeff turned back, held out his hand, thumb up. Neal grasped it; Jeff hauled him to his feet and they walked together through the eden-like bedroom to the living room. "I knew it," Jeff said silently to himself, "it looks just like the one in the sculpture, if I saw what I think I did." 

"Ah, there you both are," Howard said. "I thought I was going to have to send a search party. You guys hungry? I ordered up some prime rib, special lobster cheesy potatoes, a veggie and chocolate brownies with Belgian chocolate ice cream and hot fudge, will that do? Meanwhile, have a seat," gesturing toward the snow white sofa. Howard moved to stand directly in front of the two boys sitting side by side, clearing his throat as if about to make a speech. They gazed expectantly up at him. He began, "Either of you or both of you are welcome in my home. Welcome to be in my home, stay in my home as long as you wish. Your lives are your own business. Your life styles and love styles are none of my business unless I can help either or both of you to better accomplish whatever it is you wish to accomplish."

Neal looked up as if to speak, but Howard cut him off. "Wait, don't speak yet please. If I can help either of you in any way, I wish you would not be shy about asking me for whatever you wish. 

"Neal," he said, looking directly into those deep blue eyes, "I have already told Jeff much of this 

but will repeat it for your benefit. I am forty-two years old, you may think that's old, but I don't. I have spent my entire life creating wealth. I inherited a substantial estate and have worked ten and twelve hour days for almost twenty-five years. I am now enormously, shamefully wealthy. 

One day about a month ago, I woke up realizing that I had been tremendously unsuccessful and unproductive in my life. I had nothing and no one in my life. Only money and power. I vowed right then I was going to change my life, make it more about people. I flew to Alabama to see my younger step sister I haven't seen in thirteen years. Then I flew to see my daughter, April, to make amends with her. I just got back, was driving home from Midway and there you both were. So you see, it is fate. I am living up to my vow. If either of you need anything, a job, money, whatever. The clothes you were wearing are ruined, I am having them laundered as we speak. But if you will let me, I will arrange for someone to come up and fit you both for new clothes of your choice. "Please, let me do this for you guys. For me, not for you." 

Neal was squirming. 

"Can I ask you something?" Jeff asked. 

"Anything at all. I promise I will tell the 100 percent truth," Howard said. 

"Well, er uh, don't get mad, okay." 

Howard smiled and said, "Only incompetence and stupidity make me angry. Go ahead Jeff, please." 

"Are you gay?" 

"Is that all you are asking? Or is the real question did I get you both up here to seduce or otherwise have sex with you?"

Blushing from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, Jeff stammered a reply. "No, er, uh I mean yes, I mean." He stopped to take a deep breath. "Yes, I wanted to know if you were gay, because I am gay, er, maybe bi, and I was wondering. And yes, also, it had occurred to me that you might be doing this to, er, uh, seduce, er, me. Not that I would be insulted, but er, uh I um, I am not a prostitute." Each time Jeff said the word "gay", a tiny sigh or moan issued from Neal, who otherwise remained silent. 

Howard pondered his answer finally continuing, "Okay, let me answer your questions as fully and honestly as I know how. As far as my motives on asking, er, bringing you up here. In all honesty and sincerity, If I had met either one of you under different circumstances, in a bar, say, I most certainly might have tried to lure you into my bed. But the circumstances here are different. I am asking you to put me in a position of trust, and I would not violate that. But it is even more important that you understand where I am coming from. I am like Ebenezer Scrooge, newly wakened on Christmas morning, realizing what an idiot I have been to deny myself the pleasure of loving, of living, of giving, for so long; for nothing, for money. You, Jeff, and you, Neal, are my second and third chances to show myself that I am a changed man. 

"To answer your first question second, I do not like to label myself or other people as gay or straight or lesbian or, etc. etc. If I had to choose a label, I would say that I am bisexual, or omni-sexual. I was married for a time. We had no problems sexually, we were as happy as a couple could be when one of the pair works all the time and cares only about money and greed and power. And I have had sex with men and thoroughly enjoyed that, too. As for right now,I have discovered I do not know how to have a 'normal' relationship with a man or a woman, because I have spent so little time practicing." 

"There's no such thing as a bisexual," Neal blurted out, surprising Howard and Jeff. "You are either queer or your straight. There isn't any in-between!" 

Howard and Jeff looked at him as though he had grown horns, Howard was about to comment when the door bell chimed. "Ah, that'll be dinner," Howard said, moving to the door. "Ah, come in, Roger, come in, here, put it all here," gesturing at the coffee table. "Boys this is Roger. Roger would have been the middleweight champion of the world had it not been for an unfortunate accident. Roger, please introduce your friend. 

"Dis here is Andy, Mr. B, and tanks fer the champ thing, you are always tellin' people dat," Roger replied in his gruff Chicago near-north side dialect.

Howard smiled, "Well, Rog, I think that night was the only time I ever lost a bet on a fight." 

"Well, whadya gonna do, Mr. B? Sometimes, sh . . . stuff jest kinda happens. Mr. Breen, lak I was sayin' dis here is Andy. Andy, here is who did the runnin'. I had'm go ta Ditka's. Dat all right, Mr. B? Only thing tho, Mr B. , Ditka's, I was surprised ta learn, don't serve prime rib. But Andy here, smart lad dat he is, took upon himself ta get what dey call, prime New York. He got tree of da big sixteen ouncers, Mr. B, an everythin' else ya wanted. Is dere anything else I can get ya Mr. Breen?" 

Jeff had sidled up beside Howard to watch him in action, and because his stomach was grinding with hunger. It seemed to him near-death experiences required extra calories. 

Howard reached into the copious pocket of his scarlet smoking jacket and handed Roger two bills. Jeff was sure they bore the faces of Franklin and Grant. "Did you tell, Jonas, the manager there, that I would be in to sign the check sometime tomorrow?" Howard asked. 

"He told me it ain't necessary, Mr B. He said for a customer like you, he would jes' take care of it next time you was in dere. Dat ok, Mr B." 

"You did well, Roger, and Andy did fine, too, be sure he knows that." Looking directly at the youngster, probably a porter, about fifteen or sixteen, he said, "I will be speaking to the manager about you both, telling him how pleased I am with your service." 

"Thank you, Mr. Breen, Roger said, nearly dropping the Chicago drawl altogether. Andy piped up, "Wow, thank you Mr. B." 

Jeff wondered if Howard's behavior was entirely due to his new found 'Scrooge' image. He suspected Howard treated his employees in this same gracious manner, had always done so. Jeff's already awe-filled respect for Howard rose several more degrees. 

"Oh, there is one more thing, Roger," Howard said, barely catching Roger before the door closed."Could you please call Armand at Gucci's. Ask him if he could come up this evening. Thanks Roger." 

"Cumon Guys, let's eat," Howard said, opening packages with abandon as the door clunked shut, 

passing plates and silverware and napkins to Neal and Jeff. 

The enormous repast took nearly an hour to complete. By the time Jeff was finished he was leaning back on the white sofa, hands resting on his bulging belly. Jeff noticed that Neal, for someone who claimed he wished to die, had a tremendous capacity to shovel food away.

"Be right back," Howard said. He was out of the room a few minutes and returned carrying three large snifters half filled with an amber liquid. "Neal," Howard said, "Don't tell me if you aren't over twenty-one, but please do tell me if you aren't over eighteen." 

"I'm twenty," Neal said immediately. 

"Arghh" I thought I said don't tell me." 

"Well, I, er. . ." 

"That's fine, you're fine," Howard laughed. "Here take this. You, too," he said, handing one to Jeff. "This," lifting his glass, cradled in his palm, swirling it so the glow from the recessed lighting overhead shone golden through it, is Filipe Secundo brandy, I consider it the finest in the world; made in Spain,only from a certain grape grown on one particular hillside. I ask only that you savor it, sniff it, sip it slowly. To gulp it down would be like playing Beethoven at fast speed." Howard put his nose in the glass and inhaled deeply, swirled the glass once more allowing his palm to transfer heat to the glowing liquid. "To the future," he intoned. "Wherever it takes us." He took in a tiny sip, swirled it briefly in his mouth, then swallowed slowly, eyes closed. 

Jeff emulated his every action. The reward was bountiful. "That is like liquid flame going down." Jeff said, "very, very pleasant."

"And once it reaches bottom," Howard continued, "it lies there warming one's innards like well- banked coals." 

"You are a very pleasant man," Jeff told him then. " I'll bet you could teach me a lot." 

Ignoring Jeff's compliment, Howard turned to Neal. "Well?" 

"I, er, I'm not much of a drinker." 

"You may leave it lie if you wish, but it would please me greatly if you would take a few sips. If you sip very slowly, I think you will grow to appreciate it about half an hour from now." 

Neal took a cautious sip. "Whew," he said, "that's somethin' else." 

"You can smell the grapes," Jeff told him, "Very nice indeed." 

"It's warm alright," Neal said. "All the way down." He took another sip, set his snifter on the table. 

"So tell me about yourselves," Howard said. 

For a very long time the response was silence. Howard waited. 

To break the awkwardness, Jeff decided to contribute. "Well," he began, "my full name is Jeffery Paul Hunter, I'm 31 years old. I've never been married. I work as an accountant for Topel, Foreman, just a few blocks from here. A very boring job, but one that keeps me employed, pretty much keeps the bills paid. I work in the family-owned business department, the lowest ranking and lowest paying department there, my office is a cubbyhole about one-tenth the size of this room, and there is almost no chance of my advancing anywhere higher." 

"Are you currently in a relationship?" Howard asked. 

"Well, Howard. . ." 

"Let me interrupt. Howard is my name and I don't mind it. Please don't ever call me 'Harry'. My friends call me 'Buddy'. That is what I prefer. Believe me, growing up in private schools with the name Howard, was no fun. 'Howie' was not much better. I quickly sought survival, hence 'Buddy'. It was actually chosen for me by Mike, my best friend at the time." Something thoughtful and wistful appeared in Buddy's eyes as he spoke of his friend. Jeff wondered if perhaps they had been more than mere friends. 

"Well to answer your question, Buddy, until about three years ago, I was in a long-term relationship with a very pretty girl named Susan, but, well, let's just say she was not happy with my 'life style'." 

"Forgive me for being so personal, Jeff, but you told us earlier that you were bisexual. Is that what you mean when you say 'lifestyle'?" 

Jeff hadn't thought he was still so sensitive about the issue of his 'gayness' or bisexuality. But Buddy's inquiry, brought on waves of red embarrassment. Laughing at himself, Jeff continued. "Well, yes, that was actually it. I was willing to be faithful to her when it came to women, but she asked too much. She wanted me to give up all my interest in men. I am not. . ." 

"That's just sick," Neal broke out. "That's what you all are, just sick!" He made a move to rise, but Buddy stopped him with one huge hand. 

"Whoa, where ya think you are going, there, man. Me thinkest thou dost protest too much. You have no clothes, where do you think you would go? You are a guest in my home and until you are in a position to leave, you will treat me and my home and my guests with respect. Now you don't have to tell us anything, but until you leave you will keep your cool and keep your insults to yourself. Both Jeff and I have gone to great lengths to help you. I am sure I speak for both of us when I say we'd love to help you more. I'd even pay to send you to my own personal therapist, but I know you are not at that stage right now." 

"What do you know about it? What do you know about anything? Who do you think you are? Big important rich man. You've never had to worry about a damn thing, not like. . ." 

"Go on, go on, Neal, not like what? Jeff here has shared with us that he defines himself as bisexual. That took a tremendous amount of trust. You saw him blush when I asked him. He, and I, to a lesser extent, threw ourselves in Lake Michigan in October. Jeff actually risked his life. Did you know that he was nearly dead, that if I hadn't administered CPR he might actually have died? I think it's time for you to ask yourself what's wrong. I admitted to both of you right off that I am gay, or bi. Do you think that Jeff and I have not gone through the same things you are going through. What is it with the young? They always think they are the only ones who have experienced anything. Why won't a young person ever learn from another's experience? Why must they always torture themselves. I remember being exactly where you are today. I am sure Jeff does, too. . .?" 

"What do you mean? I'm not. . ."

"Then why were you trying to end your life?" 

"I don't have to tell you that." Neal's voice was sharp and strident.'

You don't have to tell me anything, Neal. Just know that others, Jeff and I included, have gone through just what you are going through. Won't you let us help you?" Howard's scraggy face was a study in empathy.

"How could you know? What I, what I, am, er feeling? How could you. . ." Neal struggled to stifle his emotions; floods, cascades, torrents of tears battered at the floodgates of his 'manly' reserve. Without thinking Jeff placed his hand lightly on Neal's knee. 

"Don't touch me you fucking queer," Neal screamed, jumping up from the sofa. 

"Calmly, thinking what he planned to say next, Jeff asked him: "Afraid you might like it Neal. Little Neal with the tiny little body and the fairy name?" Jeff teased. "So pretty you are. Like a china doll, eh, wanna kneel down for me?" 

As expected, Neal made a move as if to strike Jeff, barely controlling the impulse. 

"Are you so afraid of what you are, what you might be, that you would stoop to violence against me merely for talking? That you would move to end such a beautiful, young life as yours, with all your potential, all your ability?" 

"I, I, I'm sorry," Neal gasped out. And then the dam leaked, his shoulders quaked, the tears broke 

through, gently at first, wetting those beautiful pale china cheeks, but then the storm came, the dam burst, huge wracking sobs overtook him. Without hesitation, Jeff grabbed him, crushing the pain from his heart with his strong loving arms. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so, sup, sup, sorry." 

"Ssh, ssh, it's all right. It's okay. Let go, cry, cry Neal cry with all your heart and soul. I know the pain believe me I know. I know, let it all out, let it out my friend."

Howard rose and enclosed the two in his huge arms. 

For perhaps a quarter hour, they stood there, the three of them, grasping, rocking. Jeff could feel the tension, the pain, the hurt, leave Neal's body through his. Still Jeff did not release him. 

"Talk to us, Neal, talk. Tell us all, everything. When are you ever gonna have a safer audience, huh, tell me that?" Jeff coaxed. 

"I don't wanna be a queer!" Neal protested.

"Well, are you?" Howard asked. 

"I, I, I think s, so," Neal continued to sob.

"Well, see you don't even know. Why don't you sit down here calmly, have another drink. Tell us all about what's troubling you, son," Howard said. "What could it hurt? I guarantee Jeff, here, and I have been through the same thing or similar. Maybe we could help you." 

"How ya gonna help me? You gonna make me unqueer?" 

Howard nudged Jeff with his elbow, nodding toward Neal's empty snifter. 

"Be right back, Jeff said, releasing them both from his grasp, disintegrating the group hug. Neal sunk to the sofa, face in hands, Howard sat opposite him, reversed on a dining room chair. Glancing over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen, Jeff was stricken by how utterly masculine Buddy looked, how comfortably he seemed to fit in his own skin, arms draped casually over the back of the chair, a tuft of curly salt and pepper hair peeking from the vee of his shirt. 

By the time Jeff returned with the brandy, Neal's sobs had subsided. Jeff tapped him on the shoulder and handed over the snifter. 

Neal took a huge gulp, about half what had been poured, shuddering as its heat blasted its way to his stomach. "Whew," he breathed at last, gasping. 

Jeff sat beside him on the white couch, knees and thighs touching. In sympathy, Jeff placed his open palm softly on Neal's shoulder. "Cumon, Neal, you ready now? Talk to us. Tell us what happened to you." 

"W, w, well," he sups, "it's a long story." 

"We got all night," Jeff said, scooting back on the couch and crossing his legs. 

"Go on son, everything will be okay, I promise you," Howard says, his voice low and soothing, filled with sympathy. 

"Well, last Saturday, Jerrod, a guy on my soccer team, hung around the locker room chatting with me until everyone was gone but me and him. Then, then, oh god. He, he, he says, 'I noticed you watching me in the shower. Did you like what you saw?' At first, I was shocked, tried to deny everything. But finally I admitted I was looking at him. I was curious about his penis 'cuz it was uncut. I had never seen one besides mine. He moved up real close to me and whispered, "Take a look, up close, go ahead, it won't bite. Then just when my face got close to his, his, his, c, cock. He snapped this picture of my mouth really close to his dick. Then he laughed. 

Later, he showed it all over the internet. Everybody saw it. My girlfriend Anice called me a sick pervert, said she never wanted to speak to me again. I tried to tell her, tried to tell everybody it wasn't what it seemed but no one would believe me. And, and th, th, th. this is the hard part. I, I, I really can't say for sure that I wouldn't have gone further. I was ready to reach out and touch it, touch his, you know. I was terribly excited. Also very scared. I guess that's why I sounded so insincere when I tried to deny everything, because I wasn't sure of anything, wasn't sure of myself." "Did you go to the police?" Howard asks. 




David



"And tell them what? That I almost sucked his cock? They'd laugh at me anyway. Probably ask why I didn't just kick his ass." 

"I am more interested in the reaction of this girl, Jeff said. You say she was your girl friend? 

How long were you together?" 

"Over two years, but she. . ."

"Jesus. Two fucking years," Jeff said. "Listen man, if she wouldn't stand by you for this little thing, how were you ever gonna trust her if you ran into real problems? Like, I dunno, cancer. A car accident or something serious? I say good riddance. I had one just like her. They say they love you and when the rain comes down, instead of huddling under the umbrella with you, they take off for sunny skies. You're lucky if they don't take the umbrella with them. Believe me, I know the type You should. . ." 

"But, but wait, hold on," Neal interrupts." I thought you were gay? You've had, er, uh, been with girls?"

"I never told you I was gay, Neal, you assumed that." 

"But you, but Howard, I saw, I thought. . ." 

"Yeah, I like Howard all right. But maybe, maybe not. He hasn't asked. Neither have I. Now listen carefully. Even if I were gay, which I'm not. Being gay doesn't mean I would jump in bed with every guy I see. This is your own prejudice making you feel so bad. I am a bisexual male. That means I like to make love to women and men. . . I believe it is in the normal life cycle of a man to like sex with anyone and everyone, at least he has the ability to enjoy sex with either gender. Like Gore Vidal, I believe 'homosexual' is an adjective, not a noun. . ." 

"Who?" Neal interrupted. 

Jeff smiled at Neal's ignorance of Gore Vidal and continued, "Never mind it doesn't matter. What I am saying is that the words describe the acts, not the person. Hence there are homosexual actions, but not homosexual people." 

But I thought, I. . ." 

"Yes, I know, I heard you earlier, I quote, 'There's no such thing as bi, you're ether queer or you're not'. But you are wrong and I am the living proof. I have been married. . . to a woman. I liked it. I like being married. I would stay married if I could find a woman who would accept my occasional craving for a nice hard cock. On the other hand, I really can not see myself married to, or in a full time relationship with a man. That's me. That's who I am. Take it or leave it. And please do not label me anything. 

Jeff saw that Neal wanted to make a comment, but cut him off. "Wait, wait, don't say anything just yet. I want to tell you about Connie. My dearest beloved Connie. We met while I was still trying to deny the female side of myself. I mean I knew I had liked the few experiences I had had with other boys, but thought I had outgrown them, that they were the product of horniness rather than gay tendencies. I love Connie to this day. But after we were together for three years, I started to get interested in cocks again. 

I tried to explain to her that it had nothing to do with our relationship, would in no way compromise my love for her, that she could even participate with me if she wanted, you know, threesomes. We tried to work on it, tried to work it out, but in the end she could only see it as unfaithfulness. And I could only go so long unfulfilled, so we broke up. I still love her, but I can't have her and be myself. Strange irony is, now that we are divorced, I still go see her from time to time. We sometimes have great sex together."

"So now I am single and will probably stay single. I have sex with men sometimes. I have sex with women sometimes. It all depends who I am attracted to and the circumstances. Before you speak, Neal, I have one more thing I have to say to you. A confession of sorts. That day, in the park, I was sort of stalking you. I had seen you for only a moment about a month before. Even with that stupid looking helmet on, I was taken by your good looks. I started hanging out in Grant Park, hoping I would see you there again. And once after that you almost ran me over with your bike. I had just about decided I was giving up on ever finding you; looked up, and there you were, bouncing on the waves like a frickin' blond bobber. What the fuck was I gonna do, let you bob your way all the way to Benton Harbor? So I jumped in. And voila, here we both are." 

"Wow!" Howard said. "And there I was a few minutes later, seeing this nut." pointing with his thumb, "jumping in the lake. And now here are the three of us. Isn't life a strange and interesting thing?" You feel any better, Neal?" 

"Actually I do feel a bit better, like everything is not so god awful serious." 

"Of course, Neal. Of course it is serious. A person's sexual nature, orientation, whatever, is serious. But it should never be fatal! Here you are about to kill yourself over something that happened to Jeff years ago." 

Howard's buzzer announced an inter-building communication. "Yep," he said into the device. 

"It's me Roger, Mr Breen." 

"Yes Roger?" 

"Well, Mr. B, I spoke ta Armand at Gucci's. He says ta tell ya he has a fashion show on premises tonight and dere is no way he can come ta you. He says he can come by tomorrow morning, if dat's okay." 

"Okay, Roger, thanks for trying, tell Armand I shall see him then." 

"Well, Neal, Jeff, looks like you guys are stuck here until at least nine in the morning. That is the earliest the laundry can deliver your clothes. I was going to buy you each a new wardrobe tonight, but the manager cannot come tonight. 

"I gotta go home," Jeff said, a touch of panic in his voice, I gotta work on Monday." 

"Not necessarily," Howard spoke, "I employ thousands of people. If you lose your job you can work for me. But whatever you decide will be okay with me. I could put you in a taxi. They probably wouldn't be too disturbed by a man in a bathrobe. Neal, same goes for you." 

The young men both elected to spend the night and deal with the issues in the morning. All three men were exhausted from the adrenaline rush earlier in the day. The two younger men finished their brandy and went off to the rooms Howard had assigned them, leaving Buddy sipping his and nodding gently over the Chicago skyline, a self satisfied smile playing softly across his lips. 

Jeff, up in the middle of the night to find the bathroom, passed the doorway of the room where Neal lay sleeping. The door was ajar. The full moon shone through the vast window-wall of the bedroom, casting an eerie glow like an aura over Neal's pale white sleeping form, his curly blond hair framing his head like a halo. Jeff could barely stand to watch, slipped down toward the bathroom. As he turned to the right he noticed something he thought was odd. Howard's door stood wide open. A shaft of neon blue illuminated the deep pile carpet of the hallway. Jeff smiled. Howard's fish tank was on. Did fish sleep, he wondered? Taken by curiosity, not about sleeping fish, but about Howard sleeping, he slid surreptitiously into the bedroom, sidled up to the foot of the bed. Despite the diaphanous draping that covered the four poster on two sides, he could clearly see Howard sprawled on his back in the reflected moonlight off the lake, like a tableau behind a scrim. 

For a large man of forty-two, Howard was amazingly fit and trim, his abs and pecs taut, legs and arms well-muscled and toned. His large brown uncut cock lay along his thigh, its head halfway to his knee. As Jeff watched, Howard rolled to his side, murmuring something in his sleep. Acting from pure instinct, Jeff moved to the open side of the bed, crawled carefully across and laid down, stretching out fully against Howard's back. Immediately Jeff's cock began to lengthen, filling the space along Howard's ass crack. Still asleep, Howard responded, involuntarily wriggling his tight butt against Jeff's hardening cock. 

Jeff reached over Howard's large hard body, wrapped his fingers gently around the older man's cock, awed by its size and heft in his fist. The fat vein on the underside pulsed, filled, pulsed again. 

"Oh God, Jeff whispered in the older man's ear, I want you so bad." Jeff kissed Howard's shoulders, the back of his neck. Howard moaned in pleasure, arching his back for more. With each kiss, each moan, Jeff could feel Howard's cock respond, harden, lengthen. Jeff worked his way down the other man's spine, soft feathery kisses mixed with quick sharp nips of his teeth. Howard rolled back and forth seeking more, seeking release. Howard's fat cock grew and grew as Jeff began to slowly jack it, sliding the loose wrinkled foreskin down over the sensitive head, then back again tight against his belly. Jeff did not let go as his lips, his mouth, his teeth reached the firm round globes of Howard's ass cheeks; burying his face in their sweet fullness, inhaling the funky man smell of the cock not far away. He licked the cheeks, sucked on them, bit them sharply 'til Howard cried out. 

At last he spread their fullness with his thumbs and wetly licked the full length between them. Howard wriggled his ass hole back against Jeff's tongue, yearning for penetration. Jeff increased the intensity of his licking, centering directly on Howard's tight puckered hole and probing inside with his tongue. When he judged the hole was wet enough, spread enough, he deftly inserted the tip of his middle finger, still licking and sucking around its edges. Howard turned quickly, taking Jeff completely by surprise. The huge dick flopped from Jeff's fist, instead brushing wetly against his face. Howard finished rolling, grabbed Jeff's head, one hand on each ear, and guided it directly to his cock head, now dripping precum from its wrinkled foreskin. He spoke only a single, simple word, but Jeff understood now that the tables had turned. One word. Not a request. A command. 

"Open," Howard said. And Jeff complied, his mouth and throat instantly filled to choking with bulging cock. At first Howard held his own hips still, using his tight grip on Jeff's head to pull the young man's face on and off his massive cock, but once the rhythm was established, he fucked his hips hard as he pulled Jeff's head forward. 

Jeff gasped and gagged and squirmed, fighting for air. He had sucked cocks before, more than a few, but never one so massive, and never so roughly. 

As quickly as he began, Howard withdrew. Jeff lay on his back, panting. He had not felt so helpless, so vulnerable since that very first time he had been picked up hitchhiking, years before. He had been terrified, yet the fear had intensified his arousal. Tonight, this night, he was not afraid. But he was more excited than he had ever been. His small lean cock was painfully hard, his foreskin achingly taut, locked behind its bulging head. He felt open, free, without boundaries.

Howard descended on him, kneeling between his legs, swallowing his penis fully, but slowly, softly, tenderly. His lips, his teeth, moved from there, out across Jeff's pale thighs, sometimes kissing lovingly, sometimes licking, interspersing sharp painful nips when Jeff least expected, driving Jeff's hips upward into Howard's stroking fist. When the older man's kisses and nibbles reached Jeff's neck, Jeff melted. His body, his spirit, seemed to flow outward. For a moment he feared he would piss himself, and then Howard's lips met his. It was a lover's kiss that stayed and stayed. Soft like the wings of a butterfly, yet hot, so fervent were their kisses. And those long, hot, loving kisses ignited a flame in Jeff, driving his excitement higher and higher, toward that loss of self that is so consuming. But Howard was not about to let Jeff end their encounter so soon. 

In complete control now, Howard kissed his way back down Jeff's body to his dick once more, Taking the head lightly in his lips, he swirled is tongue round and round, flicked the tip of his tongue in Jeff's tiny cock lips. He pursed his lips and slid them down the bulging vein on the underside of Jeff's penis, continuing on to the young man's tight balls, and down, slobbering on the sensitive area between balls he bit there quite sharply. While Jeff was reacting to the sharp pain on the so sensitive area Howard popped one finger into Jeff's tight brown ass ring. 

"Oh," Jeff cried at the sudden intrusion. He had indulged in some ass play, had ass fucked a few other men, had enjoyed that; had even tried a very slim vibrator once, but had not enjoyed it. So far he had turned down all attempts at 'the real thing',considering himself a 'top'. 

But tonight, this night, Howard had taken charge. He would be the one making the decisions, the choices. Jeff began to have visions of that huge uncut piece off flesh burrowing deep in his tender ass. Oddly, his excitement soared at the image. 

Howard continued to suck Jeff off. The liquid dripping from his mouth made excellent lubrication for the insertion of a second finger. He reached deep inside, bending his fingers back toward Jeff's cock, to massage the young man's prostate. Jeff's legs began to shake uncontrollably. His feet kicked on the memory foam surface then stiffened, toes pointing. Once again, Howard backed off. He had Jeff tottering on the brink, ready to fall or soar. 

Effortlessly, the big man crossed Jeff's feet and flipped him over. His muscular arm went under Jeff's waist, pulling up as his knees forced Jeff's legs apart. Jeff now knelt, Howard behind, between his legs. With the fingers of one hand Howard spread Jeff's cheeks as far as he could. 

The other hand rubbed the head of the huge cock up and down, pausing at the rosebud of his anus to lubricate there with a circular motion. Howard leaned over Jeff's back, rubbing his goatee and tickler on the back of Jeff's neck and shoulders. He paused, his cock head, the size of a large jawbreaker, poised at Jeff's tender entrance. Laying the flats of his hands on Jeff's ribs, he eased him back as he slowly pressed his hips forward. Jeff trembled with anticipation and fear. He felt the huge cock tight against him, ready to pierce. Involuntarily he clenched his sphincter. As a result, Howard had difficulty penetrating. 

He spoke softly to Jeff. "It's okay, it'll be okay, you'll be okay." Easing forward he tried once again to breach the fortress of Jeff's defenses. Jeff continued to resist. "Cumon, Jeff, try to relax, my friend. It'll hurt at first, but you will soon love it. I promise you. Let go, lover, cumon." 

Jeff stammered, "I want it Howard, er Buddy, really I do, I, I can't help it. I do want you!" 

Howard leaned over Jeff's back once again; bit him on the back of the neck. The resulting shock caused Jeff to drop his guard, loosening him enough so the fat head of Howard's cock popped inside him. 

"Oh," Jeff cried aloud. 

Howard immediately stopped all motion, holding Jeff's hips firmly in place, but seeking no further advance, giving the younger man ample time to adjust to the large new presence within him. 

"Jeff gasped out, "You . . .so. . .huge. . .I, I don't . . . can . . take.. .all. 

"Ssh. Ssh, It's okay baby, relax." Howard ran his hands softly over Jeff's hips and back and thighs, soothing, comforting. "First time, huh Jeff? You should have told me baby. Ssh, ssh, it's okay. Feel my cock in you Jeff. So big. Filling you. I am going to take you now Jeffy, make you mine. 

Jeff turned his head to reach Howard's ardent kisses, hot and wet and sloppy.

Howard pulled out only slightly, pushed slowly, gently, forward, He repeated the motion several times, fucking Jeff only an inch or so each time. Gradually he increased the depth, the length of his strokes. After about ten minutes he was sliding out all but the fat plum-sized head, then easing all the way in. Over and over he forced his hard cock up Jeff's tight virgin ass, gradually increasing the speed and power of his thrusts. 

"Embrace the pain Jeff, own it, make it yours, let it take you over, fill you. Don't fight it, go with it. Give up, give in." 

With the increased speed and power of Howard's assault, the pain returned, in Jeff's ass at first, then spreading outward like a prairie fire to ignite his limbs, his torso, his face; his fingers and toes blazed with the heat of it. Howard pressed down on Jeff's body. Jeff's legs gave way; he fell heavily to the mattress. Howard followed without missing a stroke, using his large powerful hands to rotate Jeff's hips forward, driving straight down now, striking Jeff's prostate with each mighty thrust. 

"Oh God," Jeff called out, his voice reverberating in the quiet room, "Take me Howard. Give, it, to, me! He let go then, sphincter muscles wide, all resistance gone, taking Howard in wantonly, eagerly, surrendering completely to the older man's power. He knew then the ultimate joy, the ultimate power of total surrender as he gave himself, his body, his being, completely to Howard, to the pain, the all fulfilling pain. 

Howard felt Jeff release beneath him, felt him go slack. His long fat cock now slid freely in and out of Jeff's wide open ass. He increased his speed and power, thrusting down with abandon, bashing Jeff's prostate over and over. The pressure on the head of his cock built and built until his release was inevitable, his hot come blasted from him once, then again. He grasped Jeff's hips, held him still and tight against him as he unloaded deep in Jeff's rectum, the cum jetting forcibly from his pulsing cock. 

Below, Jeff's cum did not splatter and blast from him, but flowed like a stream. He felt as if every cell in his body had released its fluid. Howard's still hard, plum sized cock head pulsed against Jeff's prostate, each pulse sending a new stream of cum flowing. Jeff's senses went dim: power and energy flowed from his cock, from his aching ass, from his eyes and nose and toes and fingertips; his very self streamed out into the cosmos. 

A few hours later, Jeff returned to his own room, or rather to the room he was using in Howard's apartment. He was so spent that his wobbly legs seemed unable to support him. Sliding under the freshly laundered sheets gave his hot aching body respite. He lay there for a time, running over the events of the night in his brain. He had "come out" three years ago, to the chagrin of his fiance and parents. He had not tried to deceive anyone, especially poor Charlotte, except perhaps himself. He understood Neal better than the younger man might think. He, too, had tried not to be gay, he truly had, but to no avail. Genetics or fate, or the gods had declared that he like cocks. And pussies. Gay and straight. Bi. In the last three years he had embraced his feminine side, going overboard at first, finding his inner slut, calling himself gay, then relaxing into to a peaceful, mostly sexless existence, now finding his way back to love making with a few men and women. 

But until this night he had always considered himself a "top", had never allowed anyone to dominate or control him. He had experimented with anal, of course, during his exploratory period, but had found it painful and impersonal. But tonight, he thought, lying there oh so aware of the ache in his ass, but also keenly aware that a great lack, a great emptiness, had been filled. 

He concluded that prior lovers had been sorely lacking. Tonight he had learned the ultimate joy of total surrender. He was shaken to his depths to have discovered this about himself. He loved to be taken, used, fucked. The thought was already making him hard once again. Jeffery jumped, startled at a shadow passing over him. Propping himself on his elbows to better view the doorway, he glimpsed Neal's lithe form outlined in the doorway. "Yes?" Jeff inquired. 

"Sorry to bother you, Jeff. I, I. . . Can I come in?" 

"All right," Jeff replies, tossing back the covers. "Climb in." 

"NO, I didn't mean, I just meant. . ." 

"Climb in!" Jeff insists, "I promise not to bite unless you ask me to. Come on. Get in here. What are you so afraid of. We'll talk, that's all. I promise."