[As a story about Steven, this incident is not actual. Since this is a work of fiction, all the names and details are invented.]
Bryan and I were both transplants from the Deep South, one of the things we had in common. He a black hustler from Louisiana and me from Appalachian Georgia, Bry always lorded it over me. He called me 'you hillbilly white trash,' and I loved him for it. He always made it sound like I had some seductive power over his ball busting black ass, even though he was the one with all the sophistication.
Bry taught me to pronounce English the way they do in the Midwestern voice spoken on the Weather Channel and by all those other announcers. He got me to the dentist, too, twenty-three and the first time in my life. Now, I'll do anything to keep that pearly white smile.
We met up in the Chateau, the best restaurant in town, he a top flight waiter and me a dishwasher. After we bumped into one another a couple times, he said, 'You want to go to my place and fuck?' Dumbfounded, I said, 'You bet your sweet ass, I do.' He likes to suck cock, the bigger the better, and he'd already sized me up. I didn't have his experience but already knew I wanted to screw his curvy butt senseless.
I about creamed in my pants that first night just busing across town with him. He kept talking natural, like we were going to a basketball game, all the while giving me those hot, lusty looks as though he was already taking my clothes off and going down on me. A couple nights tossing with him in the sack, and we moved in together at a new place. He was insatiable even after we got home late nights from the restaurant, always wanting to give head. And when he did, I always wanted to jump him. God Almighty, we were happy, just two fucking fools.
A few months under Bry's tutelage, and I became a waiter, too. He was a master at snagging tips. A dude would give $60 on a $45 charge, and Bry would say, 'Thank you, sir,' and whisk away $15 richer. No one ever objected.
Nights off, I'd stay home and watch TV. Bry and his friend, Ron, would go to the gay complex downtown. Bry liked to flirt, boogie, and size up the crowd. Ron liked to hustle drinks and score some daddy who'd give him fifty bucks a throw.
Ron had lost his apartment and crashed with us when he wasn't servicing some popsie-doodle somewhere else. He wasn't what you call stable, no forethought, no ambition, and mostly drunk or passed out every evening. At least he kept himself well supplied with condoms. Bry was angry with Ron half the time for his freeloading and lack of ambition, that is, when he wasn't protecting him the other half. They'd grown up together and called one another pet names. Bry called Ron "Wren," and Ron called Bry "Baretta."
One Saturday night, they came home after closing the complex, and I could hear by the added talking that Ron had brought some guy home with him. Bry was reminding Ron in his forceful way, 'Wren, you take care of you guest now.'
Bry came into the bedroom, knew I was awake and began to take his clothes off. Naked under the sheets, I turned on my elbow to watch. Bry saw me eye him and began to tell me about the evening - the transverse couple, a young man and woman both really the other gender, the Hispanic who had fought with Ron on the dance floor.
'I need a cigarette to calm down,' he said suddenly and went to the other room, still in his underwear, a nylon string bikini, barely keeping his dong and balls from public view, looking smooth and horny. I could hear him coolly bumming a cigarette from the jon Ron had picked up. Then he shouted,
'Wren, wake up; take care of your guest.' On his way back in to me, Bry pressed his middle and rubbed his thighs. He always fretted about getting old and fat. I couldn't see it on him.
His hairless body glowed with its dusky, healthy glow, satiny. I wanted his sensuous mouth and grabbed a fist full of dreadlocks to kiss him. He drew back, inhaled his cigarette and exhaled into my mouth. Bry laughed. 'What a life!,' he said.
'Who's Ron's daddy tonight?' I asked.
'Some old guy.' Bry shrugged. 'Very polite. Name of Rick, I think.'
'Old.'
'Old to me.'
'Daddyish?'
'You know what Wren likes.'
'Someone to take care of him.'
'Some one who in a fairy tale will save him from himself.'
Bry finished his cigarette and went out again. I heard him talking, but quiet. Then he was back.
'Wren's passed out. The old guy wants to leave.'
'This time of night?'
'Wren's out on the couch. The daddy is not about to sleep on the floor.'
'That's his problem.'
'What'd you say we invite him in with us?'
'You tired of me?'
'Not you, just the same old fuck every night.'
Bry continued. 'We'll get the old guy between us and we can each have our way with him. He's not bad looking for an over the hill hippie.'
I thought a moment, looking at Bry who remained expressionless with no pressure on me. 'What happens just happens,' he said.
'Okay,' I said.
Bry went to him, and I heard Bry say something like, 'How would you like to sleep with my partner and me. I'll suck your cock.'
'I'm tempted,' I could hear him say, 'but I don't really know you.'
'Come on in then. I'd just like you to meet Steven.'
They came in. The old guy was about fifty-something, trim and average build. He wore work boots, worn jeans, a head rag gypsy style and tied with rawhide. He wore a canvas army surplus jacket tucked into his jeans like it was a shirt. It wasn't buttoned but pulled one side over the other so that when he leaned from the foot of the bed to shake hands, the shirt parted and I could see his deep neck tank and graying hairy chest underneath.
I reached up to greet him, and the sheets fell away showing my own pelt, bush and root of the tube steak that hung from it.
'I'm Rick,' he said, stretching from the foot of the bed to shake hands. And then he leaned further to kiss me, a very nice, warm, tobacco and beer scented kiss.
'Glad to meet you,' I said.
Old Rick pulled back and eyed the both of us who likely totaled his age. 'Does your invite still hold?' he asked Bry.
'Sure,' Bry said. 'Dive in.'
'I'll spend the night then.' He parted his shirt and pulled it off with the tank in one fluid motion over his head. His dog tags swung free between his pierced nipples hung with D-rings. Then the bandana came off, too, a shaved skull beneath. With his auburn stache and goatee, his bright blue eyes and steady head-on look, I thought, What a sexy old coot. I knew the best was yet to come. He undid his pants and pulled them down to his boots with his frayed black jock strap so that his trim waist and whopper slung between his thighs was on display. Then he dove at my cock that was already rising up to greet him.
While he tended there with warm, wet kisses and licks to the cap of my zinger, Bry was up, out of his bikini brief, and had Rick's boots and gear off in about five seconds. Bry pulled Rick's rod and balls out from under where his abdomen had mashed them against the mattress. He maneuvered himself into position at that seasoned hunk's buttocks in order to give him what head he could.
Rick lifted his jaws off me and kissed Bry deeply. They searched one's mouths for a minute. Then Rick scooted up next to me with Bry after him so that the three of us sat side by side against the headboard. Rick turned to kiss me as thoroughly as his tongue had sought Bry; then he was back to Bry, then me. Back and forth, he rubbed our necks, shoulders, chests, and legs becoming more and more intent as we reciprocated on him when he was moving on the other.
He turned down and began swinging his head first on me, then on Bry. Bry came over and aligned himself on top of me so that my shaft came from under and alongside his. Rick saw the awesome pair; his eyes widened and then his jaw. He sucked both of us in one mouthful, twisting his skull curling around our hot southern-fried sandwich.
With Bry up against me, I kissed the back of his neck, feeling his dusky smoothness and pinching his nips. Bry played with his balls and mine, mashing our nuts together.
For a few moments, Rick got on top of us so that all our loins ground together. Then he pulled Bry off and got into 69 position with him. Rick's ass was there in my face, begging to be taken.
With a ready tube of lube on the nightstand, I warmed the gel and began to ply Rick's pucker. That old roseola gave way and began coating his rectum, then my own hungry prong. Us bangers of the old shit wall like a tight fit.
The wonder of plugging Rick was that it was a slide to hammer him while nonetheless firm and welcoming as a hot ass could be.
I pumped myself into Rick and he got into the rhythm of moving back on me as he and Bry did the mouth-fucking thing on one another. For an old guy, he did a great job of humping and stumping at both ends.
Bry started the cooing hum he did with me when he felt he was soon to come. I reached under and around Rick's pits and had him by the shoulders as I went hot doggies faster and deeper into his glory ass.
Rick, who had been silent, let out a deep moan and shifted his hump of Bry's moth into high gear. Bry started to thrash about, giving little screamy gasps of excitement. He came first as Rick swiveled and swallowed Bry salty cum. Rick started to orgasm, bucking wildly, then I shot pumping my load into Rick, who, however old, was still in fettle, a tireless and expert two-way fucking madman.
We collapsed together for some minutes until the Eveready Bry reached for the towels and we began mopping up. I plumped and arranged the pillows, and then sated as though half-drugged, we cozied in together. Rick nuzzled against Bry, his hand around on the lad's genitals. I was up against Rick's backside my hand around to his fine chest as hairy as mine. Bry kissed my fingertips, and we were asleep.
Some time during the night Ron got in with us as we slept and caused some shuffling so that Bry was next to me with Ron next to him. In the morning - well, almost noon - I awoke to Rick fucking Ron, so I did a wakeup with Bry.
Rick and I each fucked them from opposite of the bed as platform, he with Ron face up and me with Bry face down. That way, the two childhood friends could sixty-nine one another to keep up with what went on in the gonads of their two white plowboys.
After the friendly community shower that almost got us humping again, Rick took us all to a big brunch. We rode there in his extended cab pickup and ate like starved construction workers. On the return, Rick helped Ron pack up his few possessions and took that country boy with him to his place in the woods, somewhere up north. Ron talked his line that he was going to suck this new daddy all the way there. As far as I know, they're still together.
Bry and I are still a twosome, more than nightly fuck buddies. From time to time, Bry will bring home a treat for me like what happened with Rick. Bry is choosy, and we have a hallelujah of a time. Bry likes the variety, and I do what keeps him happy. Different dudes have different talents, but none is a Rick. I think fondly of him and sometimes fantasize that he is with us.
Thanks to Rick and the display of his fucking prowess, I now look forward to my own nasty old age. But not just yet, thank you very much.