Glenmont 3
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com
Rufus's friends were varied and individual, but some fell into general categories. There were some plain old sex maniacs. They were over sexed men who needed regular sex. Glenmont was good for them. There were usually several men who were up for a sexual event. They weren't too demanding as to who they played with as long as they got off. They weren't hunting for life partners. Isolated sexual episodes met their needs.
There were a number of committed couples who combined strict monogamy with a periodic urge to stray. Glenmont was a good place to stray. The men were good guys and tended to be playful, but few were hunting for a partner.
We had some voyeurs who wanted to watch. Rufus was okay with that, but the voyeur had to drink his special elixir, or open his ass for a buff and shine. Some discovered that watching men going at it with a cock up their ass was exciting.
We had a number of men who had very conventional lives but had genitals that had a different need. Rufus was a good man and liked to help needy men. He was not a born teacher or a good guide to the wonders of man sex. When he got to know me, he realized I was a good teacher and coach. He told me I was a comforting, laid back, soft and mellow guide to hard cocks and spectacular orgasms.
I also was a good judge of men who were not right. As a high school coach, I emphasized good sportsmanship, and the importance of losing with grace. If he failed doing that, he had to at least make an apology. I told the kid that telling a boy you insulted or hurt that you were "sorry I guess," was not enough.
Some guys never got it. I hope that as they matured, they would understand. Some did, and some just had miserable lives. After a while I had a sense of who would mature and who was damaged goods. That was a useful skill at Glenmont. I also knew that some mental problems are progressive. They get worse as you age. Rufus had a few pals who were worrisome.
I became the go to guy for deeply closeted men who we just peeking out of the closet door. Some people talk about being in the closet is a choice. You should be yourself. Depending on your life, your parents, friends, and associates, and your job it can be your only choice. To come out meant you lost everything you knew, home, family, friends, and job.
Being yourself is a mixed blessing. Some people are jerks, fool, and bigots. Life is better for them if they aren't themselves. Being polite and courteous is better than being the loudmouth drunk at the dark end of a bar. Not knowing about individuals sex lives and preferences is a blessing. In general life is better if we don't know how many times the man in the next cubical bonks his wife in a week is a blessing. The stud who tells you about every sexual conquest is a bore. He is not betraying his heterosexual nature by keeping his intimate relationships intimate.
I ran into Sandy Tower, a forty-year-old stockbroker. He was a back-room analyst for a major firm. He was a workaholic and attracted Rufus' interest, since Sandy was looking for new companies with potential more than history. That was the way Rufus made his millions, and he thought Sandy has potential.
Rufus had great gaydar. He had a brief interlude with Sandy that had been good for both of them. Rufus asked if I would take him under my wing and broaden his horizons. Rufus thought Sandy needed recreational interests outside of financial analysis. Focusing on only the financial side of life meant you could miss major trends.
Rufus was by no means a well-rounded man, but his interest in gay sex brought him into contact with a wide range of men. The close contact between his cock and his friends' ass was not a common approach to information gathering, but it seemed to work for Rufus. Rufus thought Sandy needed to feel passion and ecstasy. He felt Sandy needed to open up, both sexually and intellectually.
Butch, my construction superintendent friend, had met a man while doing some emergency repairs the Art Museum. The museum had a leak, and their usual contractor was completely occupied with a potential building collapse on the river. Their contractor recommended Butch's employer. Butch and his crew solved the problem in two days. It was a comparatively small leak over the Print Storage area. If the leak had spread hundreds of etchings and lithographs could have been damaged or destroyed.
Butch somehow connected with the registrar of the collection, Wynwood Thomas. Wynwood was a precise, meticulous man. He went to a private school where he was the valedictorian, to an Ivy League college where he was top of the class, and then to graduate school. His doctoral dissertation won awards and was published. Wynwood was an academic genius but figuring out how to make the office coffee maker brew a cup was a stretch.
Butch is a smart man. He worked with Wynwood to protect the collection as he fixed the leak. There was not a single waterproof blue tarp in the city. Butch had twenty tarps in a box in his garage for emergencies. Each tarp could protect $300,000.00 to $400,000.00 of art works.
The leak was not bad yet, but in the torrential rains it could grow into a huge problem if the rain blew in the wrong direction. Butch didn't band aid the problem. He fixed it permanently.
Wynwood encountered Butch in the men's room urinals. Wynwood glanced over and saw Butch's cock. It was two or three times the size of Michelangelo's standard cocks and Wynwood ended up sucking Butch to an orgasm and swallowed the load. That was a first for Wynwood.
Wynwood sent Rufus a note thanking him for letting Butch go to fix the leak. Rufus and Wynwood met. They got along well. Wynwood came to the gym, and we met in the shower. We were alone and Wynwood tended to stare at cocks. His cock responded as cocks do, and he was soon sporting a nice erection.
"I'm sorry about this," he said.
I laughed and told him not to worry. "Cock's have a mind of their own. Would you feel more comfortable in a more private place?" I asked. He nodded and followed me to my bedroom.
He was excited and his cock was beginning to drip. "I can help you with that?" I asked. I didn't wait of an answer. I went over to him, bent over, and sucked his cock.
"I'm afraid I'm going to pop!" he said.
"That's fine for me. I like the taste of fresh ball juice," I said. "Relax and let nature take its course."
Much to my surprise, he relaxed, and I had a few more minutes of sucking before he shot off. He had a slow-motion climax with the ejaculations well-spaced.
"Thank you," he said. "That was good," he said. "Do I have to suck you off now?"
"I'm not going to ask if you can take my sperm," I said. "That's up to you."
"I'm not used to this," he said. "Are you joking or are you serious?"
"It's a little each," I replied. "Some men like it, some don't. Some men like their friends' load. Others don't like it all. There are no fixed rules."
"I guess you can tell, I like rules," he said.
"My grandparents said that if you are polite and ask before you act, you're in good shape," I said. "I warn a guy when I'm getting close. That works well, but sometimes there are stealth orgasms. When that happens, I apologize."
"Does that work?" he asked.
I nodded. "Some men liked it, others didn't," I said. "One man asked if I could do it again. He wasn't sure."
"I'm still unsure," Wynwood said.
"You are a good-looking man with a big cock. on a ten-point scale you are an eight as soon as you are naked," I said. "Gay men like cock."
"That seems superficial," he said.
"Let me assure you what when your cock is six or seven inches up an ass, nothing is superficial." I said.
"Actually, I am closer to eight," he said. I burst out laughing. He joined in.
"Do you think we could do this again sometime?" he asked. "I know you're a busy man."
"I certainly do hope we do it again. If I'm with someone, don't worry. A threesome of foursome is usually welcome," I explained.
The next time I saw Wynwood I was talking to Sandy. They hit it off. They were both workaholics with limited social skills. I don't want to sound superficial, but sexual activity doesn't require much clever conversation. The breezy, "I'm horny as hell, do you want to fuck," can do the trick. I used the "I'm tense, I think a good steam would help to relax me," ploy. I could have added the "I would love to suck or get fucked," but everyone at Glenmont knew that wasn't necessary.
Both men had attractive cocks. Both men dressed for the office. Sandy was 100% Brooks Brothers. Wynwood wore English tweeds with leather patches at the elbows. They were good looking, pale men. Fluorescent lights in offices don't give you a tan.
Neither man was a sexual self-starter. I played that role. I hoped that once we got started, they would turn on the automatic pilot and let them do what men do. That sort of worked, but they were more like older cars with stick shifts than an automatic shift with a turbo charge option.
I discovered while their minds held back, their cocks got with the program quickly. They were puzzled by their reactions to being sucked. They wouldn't say it, but I suspected they were used to quick blowjobs in a dark place. Blow and go is not the pinnacle of sexual pleasure.
Years earlier I had been there and now liked the slow build-up to a ball-draining orgasm. My years as a high school coach were helpful. My goal was the get my teams to try harder and do more than they thought they could. A massive, pleasurable, orgasm was the equivalent to a touchdown pass. Once I got used to taking a man's sperm, receiving the load was as exciting as shooting it. Both Sandy and Wynwood tended to hold back, but when you are a coach, you keep at it.
I suspected both men suffered from late Victorian prudishness. Sex was a forbidden subject in the house, and the boys at school were ignorant know-it-alls. Sex education was mostly horror stories about what you shouldn't do. They focused in not getting a girl pregnant.
When you are a gay boy, that is wasted information. The teachers knew that if they addressed gay sex, they would be immediately fired and forced to leave town. I knew some of the loudest anti-gay men had urges. I wanted to discover sex with men, but I never found a man who would do it until I was in college.
I was in the shower room picking up towels, when Wynwood came in and came to me. "Bob, Sandy and I were talking. Do you fuck?" he asked.
"I sure do. Are you interested?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes, I am. I think I would like to top. Do you know a guy who would like to bottom?"
"Well, you've come to the right man. I'm full service," I said.
"I'm afraid I would do it wrong," he said.
"I know you want everything to be perfect. Most cocks are a good fit for an ass. Yours would be a nice snug fit. I can tell you no matter how well a cock fits, there is always room for your sperm," I said.
"You would let me cum in you?" he asked.
"Sure, I'd like to be the first," I said.
"If I didn't like it, I think it I would be embarrassing. Do you get to fuck me if I fuck you?" he asked.
"Only if you ask me to fuck you," I replied. "I've never known a man to get embarrassed while he was ejaculating." We went to my bedroom.
The second his knob pushed past my sphincter, Wynwood entered a sexual haze. He was shy and socially inept. Somewhere deep in his overeducated brain, something primitive and basic took charge. Sometimes an ass perfectly accommodates a cock. I don't think Wynwood had a clue what was happening. He could only feel. That was unexpected and intense.
I knew a man who thought all men possessed a second mini brain in their cocks. That man's little brain was overactive and not very picky. Wynwood discovered something he hadn't guessed existed. He was also an intelligent man. He knew what he needed what he was feeling.
He later told me that everything he had been taught and thought was that having a cock shoved up his ass was wrong. He now knew that was exactly what he needed and wanted. He wanted to bottom too, but he wasn't sure I had the prefect cock he wanted, but I was close.
I told him I suspected Sandy had the perfect cock.
Wynwood said he was worried it wouldn't be perfect and it would be bad.
"I have a secret to tell you. You can still be a virgin after a man has fucked you. I know men who re-virgined with every new playmate," I explained.
Wynwood laughed. He saw the humor in my statement. I was a bit shocked and feel better about Wynwood. Two days later he came by my apartment in the Spa building. We talked a little and then I asked he wanted to top again.
"You must think I'm a fool?" he muttered.
"Actually, I think you're a normal guy. Sex is a part of my life. I think you are surprised, but it's a part of yours too," I said.
"I want to try bottoming too," he added.
We went to my bedroom and stripped. I told him my cock was thicker than Sandy's tool. If he could take mine, he could take Sandy's. I suggested that we sixty-nine for a while and get excited. We hadn't done that before and it was a great success. I told him when he tasted precum I was hard enough to enter him. I used a lubricated finger to play with his hole.
He was leaking precum as soon as my finger touched his asshole.
A little later he asked, "Is precum sweet?" I said it was. I got him on his back with his legs on my shoulders, and my lubricated cock at his ass. I pushed. I expected the worst.
Wynwood's ass opened easily and molded itself to my cock as in pushed deeper his sphincter caressed my knob as it poked through and rammed his prostate. I wasn't sure he knew he had prostate, but his prostate acted like a firecracker reacts to a match.
He didn't know he was capable of feeling so much. I pushed deeper into him, but my thick shaft kept up the pressure on the neglected gland. Wynwood's ass was an amusement park for a cock. I fucked him for about ten minutes, and then was unable to control my cock. I flooded his ass with sperm, as he had a hands-free orgasm. I pulled out of him and licked the sperm splatter on his gut.
"I can't believe that was real. I had no idea," he moaned. "Thank you!"
"It was good for me too," I said. "When fucking is good, it's good for both men. It's rare when both men shoot off simultaneously. I have a feeling when Sandy's sperm floods your ass, it will be better."
"I can't believe it could be better than that," he replied.
"I have some good news for you. Searching for a better orgasm might become a good hobby for the rest of your life," I said. He laughed, got dressed and went home. He needed to do some thinking.
Two days later I ran into Douglass Johnson. He had been on one of my football teams. He was a big, graceless, fat kid. On the team I helped him become a big, graceless, muscular, tackle. Beefy is good for a tackle. He was slow moving, but it was hard to get past him and get the quarterback. He did well in college, and he was a now sportscaster for a local television station. He was a friend of one of Rufus' friends, Rudy, an ultra-macho, one-hundred-percent gay, retired, sportscaster.
"Damn, I'm surprised to see you here," Douglas said. "You changed my life in high school. I was just the "fat guy" before you helped me. I heard you were hurt. How are you doing?"
I told him I was doing well. "It's a different life here, but it is more relaxed. There is no stress."
"I had a crush on you in high school," he said. "Did you notice?"
"I tried to not notice. Messing with a student would have ruined my life," I said.
"I still dream about you," he said.
"Well, it's okay to notice you now," I said. "I won't end up in jail and you are old enough to make the right choices for yourself."
"I saw your cock once. I wanted to suck it," he said. "I would still like to suck it, but I think I might prefer to take in up my ass."
"Rudy doesn't take care of that?" I asked.
"He's a nice guy, but he isn't that big and doesn't shoot off anymore," Douglas said. "I remember your cock is a lot bigger. Are you busy?"
"I have a lot to do today. If you came to the spa after eight, I'll be free," I said. Douglas smiled and went on his way.