GET YOUR GAY ON!
BY JACK RUSSELL warp8tobeach@yahoo.com
It was another gay pandemic Friday night spent sautéing with a bottle of overpriced domestic beers and besieged by a orgy of men sharing a mute but coincident venue of sexual desires.
I almost expected the ghost of Rod Sterling meander by replete with his 1960's undertaker suit shrouded in a stupor of cigarette smoke. He pauses in front of the stained pool table and studies an improbable shot being attempted by one of the hundreds of gay men caught in the black hole like gravity of Ft Lauderdale's' most popular gay trough.
"Consider the dire situation facing Brian Shave as he attempts to find love in the most unlikely of places. He is adrift with a triage of men engaged in the most indecipherable ritual of gay cruising, flirting, and fleeting intimacy. They are trapped in the vortex of a charade masquerading as reality.
This horde of banal humanity is propelled by the innate instinct of mating and blinded to the potential of their attractive uniqueness and others in this skewed emporium. Our subject is imprisoned in his own paradox; a thorny maze faced by all vertebrate as they forage for food and companionship while avoiding being mistaken for prey or unceremoniously jilted by a lover.
He's about to unlock his shackles if he dares and face himself without the protection of the herd fully aware that it's a one way trip and any misstep, if any, would be final. You see, Brian Shave is about to meet an exciting stranger...himself. Now he entertains the threshold of discovery... in The Twilight Zone."
An unripe local slut sashayed past the cigarette machine advertising his wares with a well manicured sway of his bony ass. Of course he could get an Emmy for over acting. His customers didn't notice as they were too involved with their cell phones or friends of the moment. Secretly, they all desired the bigger better deal of the night to arrive at their doorstop such as the helpless single young muscled pup with the droopy blue eyes and promiscuous cock.
I idly husbanded my thoughts while my two well meaning friends, Peter Morton and Dredd Arriva, debated on who has the worst job. Peter was a thwarted lawyer coming to grips with the romance of law juxtaposed with a disgust of bratty litigants. He was a stubbornly talented artist on weekends and just about everything he brushed or crafted exudated passion. He would try to market his wares at flea markets or open galleries only to face customers counterfeiting their interest with the classic "we'll be back" mantra before disappearing. Peter called them "b-backs". My call sign or moniker for Peter was "post mortem".
Dredd didn't fare any better under my tutelage. I coined him "dead on arrival" and he worked for Publix Supermarkets as a produce buyer. He had the fattest fire plug of a dick ever affixed to a two legged mammal. You would think he lost his in a terrible accident and doctors replaced it with one from a dominant gorilla. First time we went to the bathhouse and he stripped, I thought he was playing a joke on me with a well applied dildo. Dredd was only 165 pounds after a happy meal but carried his buffed frame confidently. His twined balls dribbled low and close to his thighs and were sprinkled in a dense ebony bush. He was blessed with an appetizing ass too but we were never intimate since fucking your best bud rattled me with incestuous guilt.
"I gotta get out of here", I pined to no body in particular.
Dredd and Peter shared a presumptuous glance.
"Come on, Bri. We just got here. You've been moody for a month now. What's up?" Peter asked in his abridged New England brogue.
Dredd studied a towering brunette Swede of improbable proportions. He was a regular at the "Excuse Video Bar" and regularly seen in the genteel company of older gentlemen. One must work!
"Have another beer, let's go outside, do some weed, and soon you'll forget about leaving", Dredd offered with his signature snicker.
I sucked on the throat of my beer bottle in devious levity. "No, it's not that", I explained. "I just need to get away from here and find some normalcy. I feel like an actor stuck in a tired sitcom. It's the same men cruising the same bar...the same silly Madonna Videos...the same people chasing dick. Even the smells are the same...like puke simmering under a heat lamp."
"It is puke", Peter commented sagely.
I took a breather and my two buds remained still but in tacit agreement. "I just want to get in the car tomorrow and drive away from here. I don't even want to find myself stopped by the same fucking traffic light for the umpteenth time. I need some sort of gay social enema."
"Yeah, right", Peter added. "You want some dick! Isn't that what tourist are for?" Peter took the bait and I was hooked. We shared a timely belly laugh. My best friends were stubbornly incorrigible but always there for me. We bonded at the most improbable moments.
Dredd put a fraternal arm around my shoulder and shook me like a wind up clock in need of persuasion. "Just don't drive south, Bri. You'll end up in Miami and you barely passed freshman Spanish!"
Nevertheless, I was on my way to find somewhere I didn't even know existed, people that I've never met, and something that I never knew I was looking for. Serendipity, here we come!
I woke before dawn the next morning, walked my pugnacious dog, Jack, and deposited him into the still bath robed arms of my sororal neighbor, Diane. She was a bartender at the Redline Saloon, one of the few remaining bars in the gayborhood that catered to a cadre of persistent drunks, unemployed, and burn outs divorced from reality.
Tossing an overnight bag into the trunk of my car, I reviewed a printout from Map Quest. My destination, picked haphazardly from perusing the Internet, was a lost unspoiled town just north of Ocala called Silver Springs. To the east, was the scrub filled Ocala National Forest renowned for its solitary camping sites, hundreds of ponds and lakes, and astonishing black bear sightings. Nearby, the Pinecastle Bombing range bristles occasionally with Navy FA/18 jets jettisoning their ordinance in punishing ground attacks.
Heavily traveled I-95 was unusually light in traffic and I soon found myself breathing easier unshackled by South Florida's repetitive generic towns. Hours and four pit stops into my trip, I was well north of the monotonous motels and chain restaurants leeching off the tourists that frequent Daytona Beach. I never liked Daytona known for its bothersome shark nips, bandana clad bikers, and raffish college students intoxicated for pussy.
I swung west and touristy Florida transformed into its natural roots replete with ripened pine cone trees and seldom traveled roads that seemed to go on forever. Small town family run markets served as the local living room and the word "franchise" didn't exist. Must be nice to be known on a first name basis and how you like your coffee. I was used to living a life of weekend tricks where you can never remember the guy's name that you just spent all night fucking. Not that I'm a cheap ho but that explains why we all introduce each other as honey or sweetie. It saves one from the "William Kennedy Smith syndrome" where you call your lover by the wrong name and land on Court TV.
I've been up since 6AM and the 5 hours spent behind the wheel listening to repeats of songs loaded on I-Pod was taking its toll. Fortunately, Silver Springs was a mile ahead and there were hits of civilization beyond single track homes constructed on massive wooded lots. I wondered what these people did for a living in the middle of nowhere. Still, I was blissfully removed from the toxic atmosphere of my tiresome home town. Everything was new, clean, unpredictable, and I was determined to enjoy every moment of it.
At the stop sign, I wondered into the center of town or what I might call a couple of stores clustered together like Emperor penguins huddling. There was a deli with an unusually litter free parking lot and a solo Ford F-150 parked in the end lot, a family restaurant specializing in barbecued entrees, and an appliance store. Life is good!
Walking into the deli, I was surprised to find a store not smelling of mold or rancid lunch meat. The front counter was robbery barrier free. An unseen radio softly played some 80's rock.
The place was managed like a diamond; the cooler stocked with fresh lunch meat and salads. There was a self service coffee nook replete with porcelain mugs and a homey kitchen style sitting area. I figured that this was the caffeinated incubator of the weekend morning venue with farmers and rural businessmen holding court discussing the price of propane or local politics.
"May I help you?" The voice was decidedly masculine with a stratum of southern drawl. I couldn't see anyone for a moment and then he rose from behind the canned goods aisle with a bright cleaning rag in his hand. I was uncharacteristically smitten. He was a pollyannaish guy of compressed stature and a no nonsense military styled haircut.
"Hi. You make sandwiches?" I asked dumbly.
"Absolutely, what can I make you?" His mannerisms were unguarded and genuinely friendly.
He came around behind the deli and washed his hands. I got a study of his tasteful bubble ass and taunt frame that tried to hide in his relaxed cut jeans.
"I'll take a turkey and cheese on wheat, please."
"Sure, what'll you like on it?" he asked with a cute smile that showcased his dimples and hazel eyes.
I was lost for words and couldn't quite figure out what I found peculiarly sexy about this guy that traditionally wasn't my type. One, I never bother straight boys unless they have a flaming cute brother. And two, I'm attracted to taller guys and I eclipsed him by inches.
"Lettuce, tomatoes, and mayo, please. Oh, and some onions too. Not too much mayo, though."
"You got it!" He smiled. There's those dimples again
He made my sandwich with the care and precision of sculpture working granite.
"Where from?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Ft. Lauderdale" I said sounding almost embarrassed. Shit, I've should have said Deerfield or Palm Beach. If he was any bit savvy, I practically handed him an issue of Hotspots.
"I suppose all the out of towner's stand out pretty well here." I concluded while catching a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. He had arousing muscly arms and his skin was naturally tanned as if of Italian descent from both sides of the genome.
"Yeah, that's true. I know everyone from around town. Lived here all my life. Well, almost." He added in addendum.
"Nice store. Very homey". I complemented.
"You here for fishing or hunting?" he asked wrapping up my sandwich in deli paper and labeling it.
"Ah, neither. Just needed to get away." It was a truncated answer to a relaxed question and I felt he deserved a more inclusive answer.
"I just was burnt out from work and...all the other stuff, and wanted to see how the real folks in Florida live."
"Oh, so you decided to come here and be our tourist?" he replied amusingly. We both shared a prosperous laugh. He was a cinch to talk to. I felt I've known this guy all my life and we were fraternal buds.
"Yeah, I see your point."
"Relax, you're always welcome here" he said disarmingly.
I paid for the food and we exchanged a pregnant moment of silence that is normally awkward but felt perfectly natural between us.
"Staying for the weekend, then?" he asked unabashed.
"Ah, yes". I was about to ask him for a motel recommendation but he predicted that.
"Try the Ridge Motel. It's right up 12th next to the gas station. I know the owner and they'll set you up with hiking maps or anything you might need. They rent bikes and fishing gear too." He bagged my lunch and slid it towards me. I spied the tattoo again. It looked like some sort of emblem.
"OK, thanks".
His nose was a bit crooked as if busted repeatedly over the years. He wasn't physically cute by gay standards but I found his attitude and assurance intriguing. He was comfortable inside himself and that made my dick hiss. Nice!
The Ridge Motel was well kept and practically deserted. A portly gentleman was busily shuffling his paperwork and his engaging white Lab got off his bed to lick me. If only some men would do that!
"Help you?" he asked studying me under a pair of serious reading glasses.
"Ah, yeah, I need a room for the night." The lab sat down on my foot. Funny, the whole office vacant and they will lean on the first human that looks their way.
"The guy at the shop down the road recommended you," I added as if applying for employment and needing a reference.
"Oh, that'll be Niles. Great to have him back. He was in Iraq for a year." He slid me a registration form and pen.
I was rather delighted too and I didn't even know him. So his name is Niles and he sports a memento tattoo from Iraq. Marines, perhaps?
"OK, I'll give you room 12, it's at the end by the pond." He beamed a fatherly grin. Who's your daddy!
"Fishing or hunting?" he asked arching his bushy eyebrows.
"Ah, neither. Just a little variance from Ft Lauderdale. Work and all..."
"Well, if you need anything, just holler. We have fishing gear, hiking maps, and we'll set you up with a dirt bike. No charge."
"Thanks. U mm, don't you need my credit card?"
He seemed amused. "We'll run it when you check-out. In the mean time, relax, forget about work. You're family here. Oh, we serve a tummy pleasing breakfast from 5 to 10AM.
I was surprised. There's actually someone conscious here on a Sunday morning at 5AM?
"Fishermen" he said ominously. "They're our bread and butter...and the occasional South Floridian needing some space."
I laughed and thanked him. So far, I've met two people in this town and they both seem to have mind reading abilities. Family??
My room was great and far removed from the Motel 6 geriatric decor I was expecting. It was facing away from the street and overlooked a meditative lake you could navigate a small sailboat on. That's a pond?
The room was recently updated and had an unselfishly sized walk in shower with a port hole style window. I checked out the bed. The mattress was firm. I bounced on it silently. Sweet! And to my chagrin, there was even a fresh Dell desktop computer with free broadband. Resistance is futile!
I spend my day freely exploring Silver Springs and took my host up on the free dirt bike. I expected a tourist abused ride but got a nifty specialized bike with adjustable shocks and brawny tires that handled the dirt trails of Ocala National Forest with aplomb. I wore myself out hammering that bike around town like a triathlete. The day was resplendent in bright sunshine and the aroma of pine cones treated my nostrils. The ills of Ft Lauderdale were a zillion miles away and it was reassuring to see that there is indeed some normalcy in the world, after all.
By the time I got back to the motel, it was dusk and an air-conditioned breeze was arriving from the north. I was happily muddied, exhausted, and ravenous for a full spread dinner. But that walk in shower needed a test drive first.
I basked in an unending steamy stream of hot water. Fully suds, I massaged my arms and chest in pokey unorganized strokes. I adjusted the hot valve to full steam ahead and it spoiled me with generous pellets of spicy water on the small of my back. The whole affair was just too decadent and my little rod sprung to life. It's as if my self pleasuring abstinent had been granted an annulment by the Pope. Oh, where have you been, my little friend?
I caressed my ass and allowed a curious finger or two (or three!) to explore my puckering hollow. My fingers slid in and out playing my hole like a concerto violinist. My free hand cupped my low hanging Gemini balls and pulled them taunt in their sacs. My steel girder cock nosed upwards and I liberally slathered on some more soap and tore at my distended rooster until I felt the precursors of ejaculation develop.
Discretion won out over expedience and I retreated from my stroking momentarily to allow compounding interest to accrue. I could feel a slug of cum surging from my pressurized nuts and taking up impatient residence in the pipe work of my penis.
A creamy appetizer of things to come bubbled out from the head of my excited phallus. I scooped it up and fancied a preliminary taste and then drew it in abbreviated concentric circles around my charged nipples. I was a wad of slippery soap, heaving breaths, and labored muscle fibers. A lit fuse was burning down to my firecracker and it wasn't even the 4th of July.
I felt a clap of thunder cursing through my glands and the muscles of my legs threatened to give out on me in a helpless in parade of spasms. It would have been best to enjoy this moment prone but one can't be too fussy when primal needs meet 21st century man. I shuddered like an old Ford being brought to life in the vacuum of an icicle chilled New England winter.
Feeling rickety in the knees, I leaned forward supporting myself against the warm tile while my dick pumped out machine gun bullet after bullet of blistering emollient over my hand and thighs. My mind savored the adult moment like a kid left alone with his Halloween candy.
Spent, I slid down the tile and landed benignly in a comfortable sitting position while jets of hot water massaged the back of my neck. My cock, engorged and drooling cum, held the promise of an encore. Taking the bull by the horns, I drew my hands around my racy rod and hoicked expectantly. I finger traced the pronounced ridges of my generous head and girded my rod first tauntingly and then abrasively.
There was an interminable gestation period and I was beginning to think that old faithful wouldn't perform but then I felt a surge in my penis and a rewarding swarm of reserve ejaculate gushed out and glistened over my hand like molten steel. I felt warm and satiated all over but quietly wished that I could have enjoyed the moment with someone other than Rosy Palm. Oh, and the night is young! I slipped naked into bed and slept soundly for what I figured was about an hour. When I awoke, the room was immersed in total darkness sans blue airport like taxiway lights illuminating the clock radio. It was 10:15PM and I was ravenous for a large dinner and a night of cruising. How amusing, I thought. I left one of the biggest homophile capitals of the world in lieu of the backwaters of old Florida and already missed my backyard free fire trick zone.
The venerable man that checked me in earlier was still in his office; a tireless sentinel. He suggested a 24 hour family run diner a couple of miles down the road. Truckers swear by it, he assured me. I thanked him and giggled at the thought of adding an inquiry as to the location of the closest gay cruising hole. He probably would have been equally accommodating.
Chuckie's Family Diner was everything the hotel clerk promised and more. I feasted on a generous bowl of soup, broiled flounder, and steamy rolls. All for around nine dollars and that included a just out of the oven slice of moist chocolate cake. My server was a gum chewing real Floridian void of any Long Island accent. Her service was impeccable and she efficiently gave me directions on how to find Ridge Lane. I couldn't wait to see what a gay bar looked like outside of my QVC World of men.
I found Ridge Lane simply enough but passed the bar once accidentally since it resembled a discreet country store more than a gay bar with a patent gay flag and a scattering of men gathered on the porch engaged in small talk and long cigars. The parking lot was unpaved and populated by muddied pick up trucks and SUV's. A couple of Harley motorcycles were parked neatly by the front doors. You could smell the curious blend of gasoline and leather. I was intrigued.
The lyrics of country music greeted me at the door. A robust gaggle of men well north of their thirties held court with their buddies over draft beers and chicken wings. Atypical of the gay bars I was used to, nobody looked up when I sauntered in. It was a casual no frills venue. I ordered a drink from a strapping bartender that would have been equally at home working at a plumbing supply store as a gay watering hole.
The scent of crusted grease lingered like a fart in the air and the wood floor was covered with a fine dusting of grit. A burly bald guy fed dollars into the juke box and punched in a selection of songs. The sound of pool balls being smacked around led me to the back room where most people were grouped in knots of enjoyment. Two guys, one tall and delicate with a tender mop of brown hair, the other with the bruising build of an ex football linebacker, were polishing off a lopsided game of eight ball and I placed my coins on the table eager to take on the winner. They both casually acknowledged me.
The thin guy polished off his last four balls in machine gun like efficiency but misplayed his last lead and was stuck with resolving a troublesome bank shot to sink the 8 ball in the side pocket.
He coolly studied his situation while chalking his cue stick and mentally closing out a vapid Willie Nelson ballad.
The muscled guy tossed back a slug of his beer. I almost detected a tell tale sign of uneasiness on his face as his opponent lined up for his kill. Everything seemed to get quiet just for a moment and time slowed...at least for me it did. He took a smooth assured stroke and the cue ball was on its way. I was thinking that if he made this shot, I'd yank his pants down right there and blow him. Oh shit. I'd probably suck off the loser too! Welcome to Central Florida!
The cue ball bumped the rail, collided with the 8 ball, and sent it on a lazy arc towards the side pocket. It was perfect. I'll bet that young kid creamed his pants right there along with me.
I racked up and introduced myself. His name was Dan and he looked barely old enough to shave let alone legally engage in sex anywhere in the United States other than Arkansas.
Dan broke with the speed and strength that belied his stature. It was a billiards equivalent of a cosmos big bang. He intimidated two stripes and one solid off the slate immediately and dialed in a hanker slice for the 9 ball in the corner pocket.
He executed an excellent stop shot and then accidentally dropped one of my balls in a pocket.
He was left with a slice shot but the ball ran out of energy just before dropping off the table. It was now my turn to show what I got and as luck would have it, a crowd gravitated around the table like goulash gawkers summoned to a fatal car crash. I just wish someone would have been kind enough to cover me with a shroud.
He didn't leave me with much. I still had 5 balls on the table and no opportunity for a single clean kill on any of them. I chalked my cue which served two purposes; one it allowed me to properly use English, and two, it gave me some recess time to figure out how to maneuver myself out of this mess.
He was now lined up for a final strafing run at his remaining rack. I was being mopped up by this hick kid and my ego was taking a wringing. He sent the 10 and 15 ball to the retirement home and was moments away from a complete shut out.
But I sensed some sort of mood or karma shift afoot. I'm not superstitious but I felt some force that was pulling for me. His last ball, coincidentally unlucky 13, was spared from even the most dexterous bank shot. Dan attempted a two bank shot solution that would take the cue ball on a circuitous diversion around my 6 ball to place his 13 in the corner pocket. Even if he pulled it off, that would leave him with an inconvenient lead for the distant and partially blocked winning 8 ball.
Dan's forehead shimmered in the hot table lights. Like a champ fighter defending his belt, he now had to entertain the possibility that this was going all 12 rounds. His shot corkscrewed around my 6 as planned but missed its target and instead deposited my 2 ball. Woo-hoo! The crowd gasped but most were enjoying the moment as much as I was. I figured that they were all anxious to see the house pro humbled.
I was now lined up for simple freshman shot on the 1 ball. When deposited it in the side pocket, you could actually hear the hollow clunk followed obediently by its echo. I was on a lucky run and discharged the 7 ball with a snap shot.
Luck was a bitch for me when the cue ball, flush with excess energy, rolled past my desired lead point and left me with a wily bead on my last ball. There was a lot of green to deal with and Dan's 13 ball exhibited bad manners by blocking my path. I ventured a bank shot and let loose. As soon as the cue ball was on its way, I knew the shot was amiss. Well on its elliptical orbit, the cue ball bullied my 6 against the rail and then stopped in a precarious position for Dan's 13.
Dan conjured up a firing solution and attempted to orchestrate a long bank shot to place his 13 in the corner pocket. If he pulled it off, the 8 ball was his for his taking.
Now I was the one fidgeting in fits of mental torture. In the short time I was here, I witnessed the competence of Dan with a cue in his hands. This guy could fart and make it smell like a rose on the felt table.
However, Dan's shot went...well, funny. The thirteen careened hazardously off the rail and flirted with the pocket for an instant like a hunky guy tantalizing others in a bar for his perverted amusement.
I was now facing a dicey chip shot on my 6 with an acre of green separating the cue ball from my 6. I considered my dilemma. If I made the shot, I'd still have to gather up a miracle for the 8 since I would more than likely end up with a difficult bank shot. If I missed, Dan would be treated with a uncomplicated shot on his 13. Still, victory was in doubt for either of us as the 8 ball was stubbornly clinging to the short rail and would be difficult to play.
Someone from behind put their hand approvingly on my shoulder and pulled me back towards his ear. I practically wobbled back into his arms. I found my karma!
"Get your gay on!" he whispered deviously. It was immingled with a sexy gusto of four ingredients served with the precise desegregation of opportunity and appeal.
His voice was somewhat familiar and when I turned around, Niles was grinding on his heels like a welter weight fighter and evincing a shitty assed grin the size of Montana.
It's been years since that rummy fun night in Silver Springs but I'll always remember the way Niles brought me to the precipice of climax with his sassy command and demeanor.
Dressed simply in low riding jeans with rips at the quads and a black polo shirt that sharpened his tightly wrapped body, he was the epitome of a str8 gay mans boyfriend. I was so focused on my new found luck, I totally forgot about the game until Dan snapped me back with an annoyed pantomime of hand movements and tick like eye rolls.
Niles goaded me back into my game with a sexy wink. My heart was aflutter and I could feel moisture on my brow and pits. There was no way I could end this game and meet Niles properly without my cue behind that damn little black ball as it drops.
I lined up for my shot and took some zoning in strokes. A rugged lesbian couple gave me some much appreciated breathing room.
As in any sport, you just know when your throw, catch, or push, is going to have the desired effect. Ask any football quarterback and he'll tell you that he knows whether his lob is going to put the ball in the bosom of his teammate or go astray as soon as it leaves his fingertips. The first option is angelic; the second just cries for a retake.
Mine was a picture perfect launch. I could see Niles wishing the ball on its trajectory and hitting the 6 with the onion skin slice necessary for the desired effect. The 6 inherited just enough energy from the slice to draw it to the pocket without ricocheting off the rail. The crowd gasped and many clapped but I had my game face on even though I stole a furtive study of Niles. I just wanted to lick his arm pits.
"Put it to bed, baby" he pressed.
Sure enough, I was facing an odd shot on the eight ball. I'd have to smack it on the left side with the hope of playing it off the rail and then head south for the right corner pocket. Lots could go wrong like a scratch or allowing my opponent a perfect lead. If I made this shot, I was sure that I'd be seeing Niles in horizontal relief.
There was no necessity in analyzing this shot too much. Just do it. The probability of getting a second chance was as slim as a Lotto win.
I loosened a firm push on the cue ball with a long follow through...just like in bed.
The cue ball shook hands with the eight and sent it perfectly on course but with more energy than expected. I was afraid that it would hit the rail before the pocket and skew off in an ebony blur but instead was yanked into the corner as if guided by a tractor beam. Victoire!!!
Niles and I were smiling from Jacksonville to the Keys. In a much appreciated and unexpected gesture, he reached out and snatched me back into his arms.
"Very nice" he complimented.
I was smitten. It was so intoxicating! His body was warm and as hard as a granite sculpture. Whether by accident or design, I could have sworn he was boasting a furious hard-on as his corpulent pride of meat feinted at the vestibule of my ass.
Niles bought me a victory beer. I was a million miles away. Sometimes you can't help but wonder if fate is some fat dike lady replete with a magical wand.
We chatted like lost lovers for most of an hour about our lives, coming out experiences, and past boyfriends; both loves lost and ones that we were so glad not to see again. Niles spent a year in Iraq as a "gunner in a Hummer" lighting up unsociable Iraqis while fucking servicemen in need of some...service. After his stint, he returned to the States and started working at the store again so his Dad and Mom could enjoy some time off from running a business that demands constant attention like a new born infant.
Niles drew close to me invading my personal space. My only wish was that he had done so sooner. He kissed me tenderly on my neck and the stubble from his cheeks acted as a manicure on mine. I allowed my hands to drop around his hips.
"Want to get out of here?" It was more of a demand than a suggestion.
We made our way out into the parking lot now mostly vacant sans vehicles belonging to stranglers lost on hooking up and employees. The temperature had dropped a good 10 degrees. Niles maneuvered himself on his motorcycle. His jeans dropped exposing a phalanx of tough torso muscle and glint of ass cleavage.
"Hop on!" he said as he lit the throaty engine.
I was the luckiest man in the world as I saddled up behind my new beau and felt the fused beauty of the throaty pistons resonating in my body and my thirst for Niles hot body.
He gunned the engine and we wiggled into the immature Sunday morning void with simultaneous "hoorahs!"
Niles drove like a madman weaving the cycle over hills and turns with the deft of a seamstress threading a needle. I was both scared out of my wits and dastardly excited. The wind robbed me of my body heat and I squeezed Niles tightly. I don't recall whether I was shivering due to the cold or anticipation of being man fucked by this untamed marine.
Becoming aroused, I pushed my rod into the small of his back and jerked up and down a few times. Any longer, and I would have teased a subordinate load onto his jeans. Niles reached around with one hand and made a play down my pants and pulled feverishly at my dick; now fully engorged.
"Watch this!" he challenged and extinguished the headlight on the Harley and all went dark. (Peruse my other story, "...And All Went Dark" ) Our world, although full of fireworks, was pitched into the most surreal palette of deep space black as no navigable light was evident for miles. I was both frightened out of my wits and voraciously excited as I squeezed at Niles ribcage. We jested and lectured at the moons milky glow while I just hoped that my athletic country rascal had a mental map of the road ensconced in his head.
Niles released the throttle and we benignly coasted to a stop at the top of a ridge. Both our eyes acclimated to the night and in coupled marvel, pondered the wonders of wild Florida. Gangs of geriatric pine trees revealed themselves and the heavens, unencumbered by city lights, showcased their constellation of stars that seemed to multiply exponentially. I could hear the powerful flapping of owl wings as he swooped down on a nocturnal mouse for breakfast.
Niles locked me up in his arms and drew patient kisses over my neck and then graduated to my cheeks. His post doctorate explored my mouth and he passionately bullied his tongue past mine and down my throat. Thank God for a suppressive gag reflex. Just wait till my buds hear about this!
I was incapacitated like a tasered suspect in police custody and enjoying every minute of it. Niles attacked me with a force spun up from his thick legs and we settled on a solace of cool tall grass. It ticked at the back of my neck and arms.
"Is this how you handled the insurgents in Iraq?" I lightly pestered.
I could see Niles face clearly now and he was fiendishly handsome with the unbridled cuts of a masculine bone structure and hazel eyes that cauterized the sins of my mania. He uncompromisingly maneuvered on top of me. Clearly my master, he foreclosed on both our shirts leaving us in a undisciplined mess; bare chested and blissfully disheveled. I swooned in the heat of his dusted pecs heaving madly over mine.
"I'll have to take you into custody." he whispered into my ear. His breath was sulfurous and his vocal cords commanded compliance. Resistance is futile!
Niles pushed a calloused hand down my pants and harassed my throbbing meat. With his other hand, he cupped my ass in his palm and massaged the mass of muscle. I played catch-up and loosened his jeans. He popped out of them like a crustacean slithering out of a claustrophobic shell.
I ripped off his boxers and came face to face with a appealing dilemma of his brawny 7" smack of meat and his USMC certified ass. Niles arched back in ecstasy and in an untypically decisive moment, I burrowed my face in his bushy ass cheeks and conjured up satisfying licks at his pucker. He withered helplessly and clawed at the moist grass.
I clobbered his sphincter muscle silly with my persistent tongue and tormented his cock with one hand while pulling at his eraser erect nipples with my other. The poor county boy was at the novel mercy of an accomplished cock and ass sucker and I would have swallowed him whole had I been able to separate my jaws snake-like..
Niles went torpid for a moment. I was worried that I overwhelmed the poor guy and abbreviated our lovemaking but thankfully discovered that I pitifully underestimate his stamina and ravenous sexual appetite.
He towered over me with his cock bowed respectfully and leaking chunks of pre-spunk. His sweaty pecs heaved air and his biceps were full and muscly. His fat Gemini balls hung low and smacked his sweeping thighs.
I excitingly vacuumed his cock in my mouth. We both found it orally gratifying. He moaned for me to tug on his nuts.
"Grab my balls, Bri! Rip em' the fuck off!"
I feted his command and could almost hear a tearing sound of flesh being pried off bone.
"Oh my God!" he screamed into the vacuum of the 3 AM mist while ejecting a wad of shot over where my tonsil's used to reside and down my throat. I greedily swallowed. It was torso hot and salty like Planters Peanuts. Niles stirred me into an aboriginal urge and I surrendered to his naked sexuality and promiscuous trepidations.
He capsized on the grass; his face graveling at the earth and his plump bowling balls ass defenseless and vulnerable to my nasty intentions. Being rabid for his hole, I mounted him and slid my meat whole in one disingenuous push and plumeled him with unmerciful thrusts. I built up speed and then taunted him with an abbreviated recess by pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in until his furry ass hairs grouped my balls. I gripped the sides of his musculus ass and rammed into him over and over. Niles was getting used to the feel of my beef up his ass and I continued to fuck him harder and deeper with impatient rhythm. Niles gyrated his hips in sync with my crusade and eagerly milked my cock. He'd slam his ass back and I'd massage my cock deep into the canyons of his ass. At one point he clamped his sphincter muscle so tight, I thought I was freshly castrated!
My frantic thrusts fathered blissful incapacitating moans from Niles. He pulled a gaggle of shot from my cock like an accomplished barkeep. I thought I was going to explode as it was freed from my pudgy moist head and burned his prostate. I was effectively neutered and we collectively heaved in a solder of sweat and convalescing gasps. We both contemplated our collective penance over our shameful misconduct.
I licked the back of his neck and reveled in his spunky aroma. Reaching around Niles taunt waist, I reached for his cock. It was still fully engorged and its head, boisterous and pudgy, was marinated in goblets of his scalding spunk. This USMC fireplug wasn't about to let the loss of his masculinity go unanswered by a faint civilian.
Niles growled like a tiger about to play with his prey and using his goodly legs for leverage, he effortlessly ordered me in a benign missionary position. I just knew I was about to receive the fuck of my life from my irascible lover. Our lips merged and he kissed me with slow and thoughtful nips. It was a tender diversion from what I was about to receive and I found my helplessness energizing. I drew my arms around his back. It was flared and V tapered. Had he handcuffs and a whip, I would have thirstily submitted.
He whispered illicit threats into my ear and seduced me with mollifying licks to my face and neck. My eyes could see only the musky blur of his chiseled face and I willfully slipped my legs past his hairy pits and around his back. It was my acquiescence to be boarded but it's unlikely that he needed my permission.
Niles was hungry for me and made quick work of mounting me in a dominating fiat and assuming the necessary position for some serious ass pounding. As his bulk settled over me, it was as if I'd been run over by a truck. This guy was at his physical peak from grueling squats where 45lb plates were generously stacked on the bar.
I clawed blindly at his twin pile of pecs. His nipples poked at my chest as he chewed on the side of my neck with a repetitive fury. I'll never know if it was Niles tendency to mark his men like a dog leaving his calling card on a tree or a souvenir for my amusement. Whatever his reasoning, if any, he left an aggravated quarter sized hickey branding that memorialized the occasion for weeks. I eschewed all turtleneck shirts for that time opting instead to absentmindedly wear it like a proud choker. Curious friends noticed and I got the opportunity to tell a bewitched audience about a cute central Florida stud by the name of Niles. Rhymes with styles!
His cock felt like a scalding hammer as it screamed past my defenses and challenged the confines of my anal cavity. It was as if I was being impaled by the tusks of a rhinoceros! We were mouth to mouth and I almost screamed as he sucked the oxygen out of my lungs. I cocked my head back in reflex to recover a breath but was caught alarmed and completely off guard as Niles enfolded one of his powerful arms around my neck and used his other hand to finalize a classic tap out choke hold. Suddenly vulnerable, I helplessly pulled at his baseball sized biceps. I was outclassed and in some strange way, found my eventual demolition oddly arousing.
Niles released his grip at his convenience allowing his prisoner the luxury of exchanging terror for relief and a rapacity for the dampish morning air. Before I could even protest, he reapplied his stiff tourniquet and barreled his engorged rump roast past my prostate funny bone. Manfully circumcised, I wanted to scream in pain but couldn't. How can something that hurt so bad feel so wonderful?
He harassed my hole with scads of deep shoves born from powerful contractions of his quads. It migrated through his hips and gave birth as a powerful stallion running wild inside of me that went beyond the normal parameters of human endurance. I was both captivated by his command and uselessly drug along in his turbulence.
His lunges surprisingly plunged deeper and his balls paddled my ass in a expose of corporal punishment. I'll never forget the distinct sound of his wet baseball bat dumping his load into me as I riveted my eyes closed and screamed at the erotic spectacle.
Niles shook as if being defibulated and ejected a lengthy slug of his ejaculate. My ass greedy accepted his molten calling card. He pulled my hands behind my back and traced them over the rump of my deflowered ass now swamped with his hot shot. It was his way of saying, "this is what I did to you, bitch!" His cock, still engorged and virile, swept my inner thighs as a deterrent and ready for more action if called upon.
Just as I thought I was spent, Niles burrowed his head under my heaving abs and dared my meat for any spunk I might have been husbanding. He licked it like a child engrossed over his first lollypop and within moments, I could detect a truant eruption coming. He carefully massaged my member with his tongue and fingered my balls allowing me the satisfaction of one final chaser of spunk. My final rout left me feeling inside out. I felt so complete and satisfied. Niles was an old pro. He swaddled me lovingly and placed my head in the borrows of his chest. I just couldn't wait to get back to Ft Lauderdale and tell my friends about how I got my gay on!