All My Children belongs to ABC and Disney. Don't archive or distribute without my permission. This is for those over 18; don't read if you aren't the magic number.
I really appreciate the feedback I've received, and would always like more. That's what keeps me and other authors writing stories. Without your response, there's nothing to write for. So, any story ideas, pairing ideas, or comments good or bad, write me at : knack6@hotmail.com
USC was a fine place to live, but Scott Chandler still enjoyed his visits to Pine Valley, his hometown. His flimsy, semi-transparent shirt stuck to his sweaty, pale skin and large nipples. Carrying his lean form through the familiar streets on his way back from the video store, Scott reflected on the mostly empty streets. PV had undergone major changes during his absence. His cornpone ex-girlfriend Becca Tyree had vanished without a trace. His old girlfriend Gillian Lavery had been killed after a gunshot to the head. His other old girlfriend, Laura, had received Gillian's heart and lost her mind, leaving town a few months later. Longtime family friend Dixie Martin was tragically killed in a car accident. The latest departure: Gillian's widower, Ryan Lavery of the massive, glistening pecs, Ryan the frenzied, passionate lover, only the second man to get his massive schlong inside Scott's most private areas, had roared away on his motorcycle for parts unknown.
Scott could have used Ryan right about then. His dick ached so bad that he had to pump himself five or six times a day, not easy to do in the last few days with his father, sweet but slow Stuart, constantly wanting to spend time with him. His father's new bride, Marian Colby, had been invited to a high society two-day party in Philadelphia, with Stuart only going along after Scott's insistence. Scott dearly loved Stuart, but he had to blow a nut in peace and quiet. Maybe he could call up his old teacher, Mike Delaney. Mike was a wet dream, but terribly chaste. Mike's equally sexy boyfriend, Dr. Brad Sullivan, was far less faithful and had consumed Scott's virgin cherry soon after his 18th birthday. What was their number, or were they in Europe, fuck....
"GIMME YOUR MONEY ASSHOLE!!!!!!"
The screams of fellow passerby and the thud of his videos against concrete barely registered in Scott's ringing ears. A swarthy, heavily bearded bum crowded close to him, rusty switchblade in his hand, a mad, bloodthirsty look raging in his bleary eyes. Scott thought he could take the guy on, but the young women frozen in terror a few feet away might get caught in the crossfire. So, hesitantly, Scott tossed his cash to the bum, who chuckled and slid the green bills directly to his crotch.
"That's all I have."
The bum snickered like a bad cartoon villain and gestured at Scott's shirt.
"I gotta keep warm with more 'an booze. Take off those fancy duds."
Scott shook his head. This was too much.
"NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOWNOWN..."
The vagrant began a mad chant, rocking on his heels, switchblade ready for use. He was a true lunatic, and Scott had to comply.
His hightops went first. Shutting his eyes, Scott unsnapped his button-fly jeans, lowering the tight denim as fast as he could until they pooled around his ankles. Bending over to remove his socks, Scott winced, both at his bare feet against the hot pavement, and at the whistle from the now-not-so-scared girls as they ogled his boxer-clad backside.
Scott peeled off his shirt next, his sweaty six-pack glistening in the afternoon sun. This seemed to be over at least.
"Satisfied?" Scott sneered, thick lips in full pout mode as he tossed his balled-up shirt at the vagrant.
The dangerous man raised his bushy eyebrows and pointed at Scott's tenting boxers.
"You still got shorts on. And I wanna see that hard-on!"
Scott had a very distinctive face, a GQ face; many told him he looked just like Forbes March. That face, normally full of pride when being admired for his form, was red with shame and humiliation. Wishing he were anywhere else, Scott yanked his boxers off, his perfectly sculpted swimmer's body totally naked, his penis well on the way to full erection.
"Nice dick. How big?"
"10 inches hard." Scott whispered.
"A little louder, sonny."
Scott looked down at his feet, eyes brimming with tears.
"10 FUCKING INCHES HARD!!!!!"
Those annoying girls oohed and aahed at Scott's boast. Disgusted with the leering creature in front of him, Scott whirled around toward them, his big balls drooping low between his thighs, his thick horse meat and bell end swerving up, red and ready for ejaculation. One of them, a bottle blonde, licked her lips.
"Like what you see, bitches?"
More gasps and mutters of approval followed. Scott's engorged prick began tremoring, pre-cum dripping onto the ground. Oh no, not now, not now. Scott tried to cover his massive manhood with his hands, tried to think horrible thoughts to wither himself, but the palm-to-peter contact did the exact opposite.
"OHHHHH GOOOOOD NOOOOO..."
Ropes of juicy, off-white man milk escaped from his purple mushroom head, hot lava painting his hands, his body, and everything in the nearby radius. The girls could only applaud as he shot and shot and shot, 5 times in all. Scott was completely degraded, desperately needing to get away from public and from the nasty cows leering at him. He started running, getting maybe a half-mile, his half-hard cock attracting startled glances from the occasional biker, store owner, driver, until a firm hand grasped his shoulder.
"Here, take this."
Reluctant to make eye contact, Scott quietly muttered thanks as he wrapped the suit jacket around his midsection. The good Samaritan also handed him the wallet and videos he'd left behind. Only then did Scott notice the damp stains under the man's arms, the panting from his ragged voice.
"H-Had to run the 100-minute mile to catch up to you."
More genuine now, Scott made eye contact.
"Thank you."
His new friend smiled, a duckish lower lip jutting forward.
"My name is Ben Shepherd."
Scott shook his hand.
"Scott Chandler."
They walked briskly to Ben's loft apartment. Fortunately, his roommate Kendall was gone for a few days on business, and Ben had the run of the place.
"Make yourself at home."
Scott glanced at diplomas on the wall as Ben fixed them a scotch.
"Who is Trey Kenyon?"
Ben, known to Pine Valley as Trey Kenyon until a few days earlier, laughed and frowned simultaneously, his suddenly trembling hands lifting the frame off the wall and into a nearby trash can.
"Me, in another life. Let's change the subject."
Scott relaxed, sipping his drink before holding it against his forehead.
"Fine with me."
"OK."
Ben smiled again, and Scott couldn't figure out whether to be amused, frightened, or horny. It was a serial killer smile. His thoughts were interrupted as Trey ran a slick hand down Scott's left bicep, then stepped away to begin unbuttoning his soaked shirt.
"Could you tell me why you have videos with titles like Bi Fantasies 12?"
Scott winced and prepared to flee. When he was about to do so, a smirking Ben blocked his path, his raccoon eyes sparkling with lust and adventure. With a flourish, he yanked his suit jacket from Scott's waist, and took Scott's big, hungry dick in both hands.
"And can you tell me where I can get a copy?"