Bobby

Bobby 3

By Bald Hairy Man.

This is an adult gay story for adult gay men. I this offends you, DON'T read it. This is a fantasy, not a sex manual. Play safely.

The funeral was as good as could be expected, given the difficult circumstances. The Minister emphasized Bobby's Mom was at peace. Most of the men from work came as did a few of his friends from High School and two of his High School teachers. Bobby was pleased.

Afterwards a few came back to my house. It was a quiet, but nice. Bobby went to bed early. He was exhausted. I told him to stay home and rest for a day or tow, but he wanted to get back to work. That turned out to be good for him.

It would have been nice if things settled down for Bobby, but that wasn't the case. Bobby had been more or less supporting his parents, but they had been living well beyond their means. They owned money to everyone. Bobby had no idea.

They weren't his debts, but Bobby knew most of the folks his parents had borrowed from. They were neighbors and friends. None of them were wealthy people and the one or two thousand dollars they were owned were big money for them. Bobby said he'd pay them back.

He sold the trailer and what he could. There wasn't much. He had saved up money to buy a truck. He used that. I told him he could stay with me, until he got back on his feet.

"I couldn't do that," he said. "That's too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," I told him. "The house is big enough for two." I paused. "To tell you the truth, I like your company."

"You like the sex?" Bobby asked.

I smiled. "I like the sex, but I like the rest of you too."

"Me too," He said. "Maybe not every night."

"Weekends and holiday?"

Bobby looked at me oddly, then realized I was joking. "That's fine with me, maybe a little bit more if the month has 31 days," he said. "You kind of liked my relations too, didn't you?"

"Well, let's just say, if you need a place for your relatives to stay when they visit you, they are welcome to stay here," I said. "I think we all share the same tastes."

"I noticed that," Bobby replied. He stayed with me.

Bobby was regular as clockwork. His father had a trial and there was a lot of publicity, but Bobby worked every day. He was a good carpenter, and he got better. Bobby wasn't much of a talker, but after a week or two he relaxed as he got use to me. Bobby didn't want charity and he did his bit around the house. He liked to clean and dust, that isn't my strong suit, so my house began to look almost spiffy. I'm a bit casual about lawn mowing, Bobby loved riding the mower and weed whacking offending stray weeds.

I live in an older neighborhood and many of the residents were elderly widows. My next door neighbors were Conrad Dunn and his wife Connie. They were close to being eighty, but were still in good health. Conrad helped the widows with their lawns and house repairs. Bobby and Conrad hit it off and Bobby helped Conrad with big jobs.

Bobby wouldn't take money payment widow-women. He just didn't think it was right. As a result we were deluged with home-baked cookies, cakes, pies, casseroles and vegetables straight from the garden. I was surprised at how well Bobby fit into the neighborhood.

Conrad was a retired detective for the city police. He maintained close contacts with the police and got wind of a gang that was doing home invasions of elderly women. They would assault the woman and take all the valuables, mostly jewelry, silver and antiques. I watched the paper too and you could see the pattern.

Conrad was a one man neighborhood watch, but he asked us to keep our eyes open. The attacks were in the older suburban areas of the West end, but they were moving in our direction. Conrad and Connie walked their dog every night. I said I'd take a walk and check the neighborhood before going to bed.

Bobby and I got use to take an evening walk before bed. After a few weeks we got to know the patterns of the neighbors. Some were night owls; others were in bed by nine. We walked Conrad's dog when it rained. Connie was afraid Conrad would get a cold if he got wet. As construction workers, we were use to it.

Baskervill was a Basset Hound, slow moving and deliberate. I thought he was an old dog, but he was only five-years-old. Bobby said Baskervill's speed ranged between slow and stopped. Since he went on walks four of five times a day, Baskervill knew the neighborhood well. He was friendly, but, like all dogs, had standards as to whom he did and did not like. Bobby said Baskervill could smell trouble.

We were walking him on a cold and rainy Friday night when two men passed us. Baskervill looked them over and all but attacked them. The dog was enraged. I thought it was odd; Bobby thought something was wrong. Bobby was right.

After barking at the men, Baskervill led us to Mrs. Simpson's house. The house was dark. She usually went to bed early, so that wasn't odd. Baskervill was following a scent. The scent went right to the side of the house. The screen door was broken and ajar. The glass in the French door to the house was broken. I had a cell phone and called to police.

Bobby went to the door, "Mrs. Simpson, are you okay?" he called, "It's Bobby." I had a flashlight. We looked into the room. It had been ransacked. I called 911 again and told them to send an ambulance.

The dog was possessed. I knew we weren't supposed to go inside without the police, but Baskervill wasn't into technical rules. He went in and we followed. Baskervill raced through the house and went to the door to the basement stairs. I opened the door and flipped on the light switch. Mrs. Simpson was at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't tell if she was alive.

By now I could hear the sirens. I went out to get the police and Bobby went down the stairs with the dog. Fortunately it was the Rescue Squad. We raced into the house.

"She's a live," Bobby cried from the basement. "She's bleeding a lot." The EMT was a tall, odd-looking guy named Mark. It took two or three seconds to realize that Mark knew his stuff. He and his crew were lightening like fast. They checked her over, found some broken bones, tested her and the immobilized her to get her out of the basement.

The dog wanted to help, but Mark told him to stay back. Baskervill got back from Mrs. Simpson, sat down and looked at Mark approvingly. He knew a real man when he saw one. The police arrived. Bobby and I went out to see them. Detective Harris was in charge. We told them what we saw. By now the entire neighborhood was up. Conrad and Connie were there, and were helpful. Two construction worker types in the home of an elderly woman were immediately suspect. Conrad straightened that out right away.

Mrs. Simpson came out on a stretcher. She was crying. Connie went to her and went to the hospital with her. That calmed her down. We went inside the house. It was a mess. Some of the mess was done as the men looking for the valuables. The rest was just vandalism. There were bloody foot prints all over the place.

"She's such a nice lady," Bobby said. "Why would anyone do this to her?"

"These guys are scum," the Detective said. "I think it's more sadism than robbery."

"Lucy didn't have that much," Conrad said. "Wedding presents, some antiques she inherited form her folks. She had so little."

"It's hard to tell what's been stolen," the detective remarked.

"Just ask Connie," Conrad said. "They're good friends and Lucy showed here everything. She'll know."

The police had a good two dozen people going over the house with a fine tooth comb. It turned out we were the only one who had seen potential suspects. The men were in heavy parkas, but we did get a general height and weight. We also had the foot prints, so there was more than before.

It was after Midnight when we got home. We walked Conrad and Baskervill to his house before we returned home. A car drove up with Connie. Mark drove her home from the Hospital. She and Conrad went into their house immediately. Connie was shaken. Mark gave us an update. Mrs. Simpson was critical. I asked him over for a cup of coffee or a beer.

"I don't need coffee to stay awake, but a beer might be a good sleeping pill," Mark replied. "You get keyed up when this sort of thing happens." We walked next door to my house. A beer sounded good to me too, so I went to the kitchen and got some beers and chips.

When I got back, Bobby and Mark were talking. Mark wanted to know more about the attack. I saw Mark looking at Bobby and I realized Mark's interest wasn't only professional. Mark wasn't drooling, but he was damn close.

Mark wasn't good looking. He was tall, bald and had slightly pop eyes. A Fu Manchu beard didn't add to his allure. He reminded me of Goofy. Thick, curly hair popped up above his shirt collar. Mark was a hairball. It has always struck me as odd that ugly women aren't particularly feminine, but ugly men can be masculine as hell. Mark was one of those men.

Pretty men rarely look masculine, but Bobby was an exception to that rule. He was pretty and almost beautiful, but still very much a man. Mark was smitten. He was also a fast mover. Mark thanked me for the beer.

"Some of the guys in my squad are married," he said. "If they come home with beer on their breath, they're toast. My cat doesn't mind."

"Are you a confirmed bachelor or a gay divorcee?" I asked. "Bobby and I are confirmed bachelors, for your information."

"Never been married," Mark explained. "Momma says it's because I haven't met the right woman. Dad says it's because I'm too ugly."

"He was weak on the father-son bonding?" Bobby asked.

"Some of that was a problem, but Dad had a tendency to be direct. He wasn't into sugar coating," Mark said. "I guess I should be classified as a confirmed gay bachelor."

"The best of both worlds," Bobby remarked, laughing. "That might describe us too."

"Are you boys partners?" Mark asked. Bobby looked at me for guidance.

"More pals than partners," I said. "Bobby ran into some bad luck and I'm helping him out."

"Hank's been a good friend," Bobby said. "I help him out around the house." I went to the kitchen to get another round of beers. When I came back, Bobby had gone to the bathroom and Mark was alone.

"I don't know if I'm trespassing, but I'd sure like to get to know Bobby better," Mark said.

"You're interested in his mind?" I asked.

Mark smiled. "Maybe eventually, but I'd settle for sucking his cock."

"You are direct," I said. "It's up to Bobby. I'm not his social director." Bobby returned and had heard my last comment.

"What's up?"

"I was getting ready to ask you if I could suck you off, but I didn't want to offend your friend," Mark said.

"I don't know about that," Bobby replied. Mark looked crestfallen. "I could get up for a threesome, if Hank's into it."

"Shit, I have died and gone to heaven," Mark exclaimed. "I'm game!"

"What are you into?" I asked.

"To tell you the truth there are some things sexual I don't like, but I haven't actually encountered them. I'm an accommodating kind of guy," Mark replied. "I can pitch or catch, top, bottom, middle or sideways. If you can think it up, I can do it."

Mark was true to his word. Mark was better looking naked than dressed. Under the thick coat of hair, he was muscular and toned. While his body was nice, his cock was better. If you ever found some primitive tribe worshiping a cock god, that god's cock would look like Mark's. It was long, uncut, thick and rock hard. His balls were the size or oranges and hung halfway to his knees in a fur-covered sack. Fully erect, the skin still covered the head. Mark must have had double the foreskin he needed.

Mark was a fast worker. In seconds he had Bobby on his back on the bed and they were 69ing. I was on the sidelines watching. As they deep throated each other, Mark spread his legs and left his ass hole wide open. Mark winked his ass at me in invitation. I coated my cock with lubricant and got on the bed. A pink rosebud peaked out of the hole. I used my cock to push the rosebud into the hole.

Mark quivered. "Oh baby," he moaned. Bobby moaned too. He was sucking Mark's cock and had a good view of my cock ramming Mark's hole. He liked what he was watching. I had encountered anyone like Mark before. I knew men who liked sex, but Mark was sexually an open book. His body responded to every one of my thrusts and to Bobby's mouth.

His sexual responsiveness was contagious. Mark's obvious enjoyment was infectious. He opened his body for our enjoyment. My cock never felt more welcome in a man's ass. As I fucked my ass began to open too. As I screwed Mark, I felt and urge to get fucked. Bobby felt the same urges. As Mark sucked him, Bobby pulled up his legs, so Mark could rim his ass. Mark never passed up an opportunity. He went after Bobby's ass with enthusiasm.

We shifted positions, so Mark could fuck Bobby. I didn't know if Bobby could take Mark's telephone pole. I underestimated both Bobby and Mark.

"He wants it, but I'm not sure he can take it," I said to Mark.

Mark smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "Dr. Mark has a few tricks up his sleeve. I shoe horned my cock in one or two holes during my life." He looked at Bobby. "Let's try it doggy style? Are you game?" Bobby got on his hands and knees. "Spread that ass nice and wide. I want you open. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. Trust me?"

"I'm going to take my time. Just relax and I won't go any further than you can take," Mark said. I had some poppers available, and that helped grease the skids as it were. Mark took his time and I gave Bobby a snort when it was needed. It took a while, but when Bobby began undulating his ass, I knew all was well.

Once he was in, Mark got Bobby onto his back and fucked him spread eagled. This was really successful and Bobby got into it. Mark had Bobby's legs on his shoulders. He spread them wide. As he thrust, Mark took a wide stance opening his ass. I slipped into his ass again. It was well lubricated from the earlier episode.

I was shorter than Mark and my cock was at the perfect height to fuck him from the rear. As I pushed into Mark, he trust his cock deeper into Bobby. We formed the perfect fucking machine. When we took a break Bobby asked if he could be in the middle.

That was fine with us. A minute later, Bobby was pumping my ass. I thought Mark would have a problem rear ending Bobby. Bobby is middle height and Mark is tall and long legged. Mark said he was accommodating. He must have been double jointed. I was on my back with my legs on Bobby's shoulders. Somehow Mark got down behind Bobby and then stood, skewering Bobby on his meat.

I knew exactly when Mark's cock hit Bobby's prostate. Bobby's cock grew an inch or so in my ass.

"Is it good, Bobby?" Mark asked.

"Shit yes!" Bobby moaned. "I've never done anything like this before." Bobby leaned into me, further embedding his cock in my ass. As he did that, Mark stood up taller, lifting Bobby to his toes. A second later Bobby's feet were in the air. He was floating in space between my ass and Mark's cock. Mark's meat supported Bobby's entire weight.

Bobby was gasping for breath and moaning. He began to shiver and twitch as he shot off. The ejaculations were so strong, I felt his seed spurting into my ass. Mark began to moan as he dumped his load. I climaxed next.