Cumaholics Anonymous
By
Peter Cox Dickson
The following is a literary fantasy for people aged 18 or older. While some of the details involve real places, the characters are the creation of imagination. This is the author's first submission to the Nifty Archives. Your feedback will be read carefully. Thanks for taking the time to write in. All sex on the phone or in fiction is drug and disease free. However, don't forget to practice safe sex in your real life.
The author reserves all rights. If you share the story with another reader, please include the author's name and email address.
Chapter 2, First Meeting-Rick's Story
The following night I arrived at the Gay Community Center for the unpublicized meeting of Cumaholics Anonymous.
I unobtrusively wandered the corridors and staircases until I happened upon a small group of incredibly handsome well-hung guys hanging out together waiting for Les amis de Marcel Proust to vacate the tiny meeting room off the back staircase. CA guys seemed much more relaxed and friendly amongst themselves than other Center groups I had been involved in where eyes dart back and forth in anticipation of the possibility of meeting Mr. Wonderful. The guys who had shown up for the CA 12 step meeting gave off the aura that each of them knew that he was simply wonderful. And as delicious as a double thick vanilla milkshake. Pablo was there. At lot of eyes were informally checking out the bulging crotches of the other men in the corridor.
The CA group all but stormed into the meeting room and were soon brought to order under the leadership of Tony.
After the opening serenity prayer I quickly stood up.
I knew that I should probably sit back and observe the group for several meetings before speaking, I just knew it was good politics, but an incredible thirst for cum overcame me and seized control of my senses. I was like a half-sober drunk eager to binge. to fall down on my knees for each of the men at the meeting, tongue hanging out waiting for them to shoot their hot spoogy spunk into my mouth.
I faced the group and said, "My name is Rick," and turning directly to Pablo I announced, "and I'm a cumaholic."
"Hello, Rick!" they greeted me cheerfully. Was it because I was new meat?
"I'm here tonight because I'm confused, alienated, alone, isolated, friendless. Every minute of my day is spent thinking about the cocks I'm hoping to suck off. Or I'm thinking about cocks I've slurped and loads I've taken and get lost in the remembered tastes of the men I've sucked and swallowed. My boyfriends know how much of a cocksucker and cumhound I am. That's a given. One doesn't enter into an intimate relationship with a man who doesn't share his fundamental needs and appetites. On the other hand I hate myself for not being like other guys, content in a relationship one-on-one. Instead, I'm always searching for that next load which I know will be perfect, the thick penis my throat will fit like a glove and which will pour an even bigger spurt of cum than the one before. I feel guilty for being unfaithful to my bf and messing around behind his back.
"I spent most of Sunday morning after the bars closed at the Christopher Street pier orally servicing every guy who needed to get his rocks off. Instead of hating myself for being on my knees in front of a growing line of men wanting to be sucked off, I felt the thrill of knowing that I'd get home with a full belly of semen and rubbed my lower abdomen as it began to fill up with the cum loads of those horny men. I became lost in my fascination with each cock I was sucking. The long thin cut one that slid so easily into the back of my throat and past my tonsils and whose volley of cum shots I could feel hitting my esophagus and sliding down into my stomach. This man had a full, untrimmed bush in which I buried my nose. He smelled rugged. I wanted to taste his jism and made sure that I caught the last two spurts from his cock on my tongue so that I could taste him and really took a lot of pleasure in licking off the oozings from of his piss slit. With each breath his cock oozed out more cum, nutty flavored, and smooth like clotted cream. He was definitely an 8 in my scale of 10 (sometimes 12 and 13 depending on how lucky I've gotten), matching his silky cock perfectly.
"When my jaw was too tired to suck, I kept my mouth open as wide as I could and got goose bumps looking up at the muscular men in denim shorts, their flies unbuttoned, jacking off in my mouth. Twin brothers that I could swear I had seen in a European video were stroking each other off as my tongue would flick at their wet cockheads reaming out their cum holes with my pointy tongue. The two hung, raven-haired, uncut studlings pressed their cocks into my mouth as they started to cum and filled me to overflowing. I was unable to swallow fast enough. I pivoted backwards, my mouth like a cement mixer, sloshing a heavy full load, not wanting to spill a drop. The short skinny kid in a purple NYU tee shirt standing behind them bent down and kissed me, docking his mouth and lips to mine so that I could tilt forward and lay that load into his mouth which he then transferred back into mine. Finally, the two of us could only feel a thin layer of sperm and seminal fluid on the backs of our tongues. That was when we high-fived."
Lost in my reverie I made a gurgling sound in the back of my throat and opened my eyes to see Pablo staring at my mouth and licking his lips. What a cutie. He was obviously younger than he looked, prematurely grey hair belied his age. He was both young and mature. Tasty while exuding masculinity and confidence. His eyes were a pale wine-bottle green. Perfect teeth, the mark the text books say, of a 3rd world baby that has been properly breast fed by his mother, the muscular working of the nipple with the infant gums the cause of the even, white, rows of teeth forming his impish smile. Was he laughing at me or silently cheering me on?
His only flaw, as far as I could see, was a small separation in this two front upper incisors-the true mark of a sensualist, I've read. At the same time I saw it as an undeniable source of pleasure. I imagined wrestling him down after he had sucked me off, or someone else, in the steam room at the baths, wanting him to share the fresh spunky load with me and his refusing to, keeping his teeth tightly clenched. I imagined myself clamping my mouth around that space between his teeth and sucking up that hot mouthful of jism against his wishes like a Mickey Dee shake through a straw. I licked my lips.
His gymnast body was about 5 foot 6-the ideal complimentary size to my 5 foot 10 so that I needed only to bend my head down until my mouth was even with his when I wanted to pass him the load I had just sucked out of his obviously uncut Brazilian cock. He had grown so stiff and large during my narrative that his 9 inch plus cock was down his left leg and the head was noticeably covered by a foreskin. I smiled back at him thinking how much I wanted to be holding his 125 pound muscular body against mine, his long hard uncut cock pressing into my belly button, that's how long it appeared to be. Asking myself again how it was that short men who could easily fit into the diminutive suits of armor on display at the Metropolitan Museum could have such big cocks. Was that true for the Roman army? Of Renaissance Italian men in elaborate cod pieces depicted in paintings in the same museum?
Tony, the Cumaholics Anonymous meeting leader, used my five second pause for breath to thank me for sharing and called on the man to my left who had his hand up. Pablo looked disappointed that I wasn't going to continue. He rearranged his posture. Sitting up straight he spread his legs. Alongside the hefty bulge where I expected his balls to be, I saw how long his cock has become as well as the quarter-size ring of precum widening close to his knee on the inside thigh of his black 501 jeans.
I could swear Pablo winked at me.