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DICK CUNNINGHAM'S FIRST TIME
by Macout Mann
Hello. I am Richard Cunningham. Yes "the" Richard Cunningham. And I'm going to tell you about my first time. My first time being with a guy, that is. Nobody seems to get upset any more, when they find out celebrities are people too.
It was a number of years ago. I was 24 or 25. My wife and I were living in Memphis. I was working as a free-lancer, doing voice-overs and an occasional television spot. Wasn't setting the world on fire, but was doing o.k.
My dad was living in Nashville. He'd been sick, and I needed to go over to see him. I told Sandra I was going to take the Greyhound; but a friend had told me that if a guy couldn't beat a bus schedule on his thumb, he wasn't trying. I'd never hitchhiked anywhere, but I decided to be adventurous. I packed an overnight bag, took a city bus to the edge of town, and started to hitch.
In less than five minutes I'd gotten a ride with a student, who was heading back to Union University in Jackson, TN. He was pleasant enough, and the ride took about an hour and a half. We did talk about God and Immortality more than I would have liked, but I do fancy myself a Christian, just not the evangelical that my companion was.
I had to wait about fifteen minutes before getting my second ride. He was a traveling salesman, going all the way to Nashville.
It looked like my buddy had been right. I'd get to Nashville long before the bus would. It had just left Memphis.
My new traveling companion was about thirty, black hair, dark eyes, reasonably good looking, dressed in a business suit. Looked pretty fit. Said he'd be in Nashville a couple of days. Always stayed at the big Holiday Inn downtown near the capitol. I told him I was going to see my dad.
We'd barely left Jackson, when he said he needed to find a rest room. We stopped at a service station. It had the two restrooms on the side, and he headed straight for the men's.
"Come on, if you need to go," he called out. "I'm not shy."
"That's o.k.," I replied, "I'm fine."
Back in the car after taking his piss, he led the conversation in all sorts of directions. Turned out we had a lot of interests in common. He asked if I was married, and I told him about Sandra. He said he'd never found anybody that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
In time, he was telling me about how it was to spend your life going from one place to another and back again. He said that after Nashville he was going to Chattanooga. "That's good," he said. "I've got a buddy that lives there. He gives the best blow jobs."
"Oh?" was my only response. I was totally straight, but I didn't react, because in the broadcasting and film business you run into gays all the time. He seemed to take my remark as an invitation to turn the conversation to sex.
"Did you used to get it on with lots of girls before you were married?" he asked. "Or maybe you still do."
"Well, the opportunities are still there, but I've been faithful so far," I answered. "I used to fuck any gal that wiggled, though. And I've been into some weird shit.
"Back home we had these neighbors. She was damned good looking. He'd been wounded in Korea and couldn't get it up any more. I was a horny eighteen-year-old. They'd have me come over and he'd ask me to fuck her while he watched."
I told my story and didn't spare the details. Of course I expanded some on what really happened.
"Doesn't telling about that get you excited?" he asked.
I didn't answer right away, so he reached over gave me a good feel.
"Yeah, it gets you up all right," he concluded.
As we neared Nashville, I needed to take a piss and asked him to find a place to stop. He pulled into another gas station with the same kind of rest room arrangement. This time he followed me into the john. I went ahead and pulled out my dick.
"Can I hold it for you?" he asked.
He took my dick between his fingers, and I did manage to finish pissing before it got totally hard. He shook it gingerly, then slipped onto the toilet seat and took it into his mouth. My first blow job. His lips expertly brought me to a climax and he didn't seem to mind that I didn't warn him that I was about to cum. He also didn't have any trouble swallowing all my cream.
On the road again he said, "That had to be quick. I can make it much better. I'll be in the bar at the Holiday Inn around nine. If you can come by, we can go up to my room. I'd love to get you naked and suck you again. You can even fuck me, if you want to."
It was about one-thirty in the afternoon when he dropped me off and repeated the invitation. I said I'd have to see.
Actually I remember thinking, "Well, that at least shows me I'm not queer. Bells didn't ring and fireworks didn't go off." But after I'd spent the afternoon with my dad and found that he was recovering nicely, I got a hankering and decided to borrow his car. I told him there was an old friend I needed to visit at WSM, while I was in town.
"I didn't think you'd come," the salesman told me, when I entered the bar. "I'm glad you did. Let me buy you a drink, then we can go up to my room."
He did and we did.
You've got to wonder what he'd think, if he knew he'd been fucked by the star of "Angels Need Not Apply!"
THE END