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"Lil' Joe Comes Home" Adult fiction by Coach Luke (C) COACH Luke Miles (olcoach44@ gmail.com)
My wife handed me the phone with her hand across the receiver. "He says it's Joey. Is that the kid who lived next door to you in high school? Oh, and Dave, he sounds drunk."
I shook my head, gave my best blank look, and took the cordless receiver toward my study. Safely ensconced I answered, "Hello?"
"Hey." A brusque sigh followed the deep baritone in the receiver. "Maybe I shouldn't have called, after all this time. Look, I'm sorry. Just forget it, okay?"
"Hey Bud," I said, "It's no problem. It's just been a long time. I saw in the paper that you announced that big tech park this week. I thought about emailing you but," He cut me off.
"You don't have to make apologies, Dave. I was the one who said I never wanted to talk to you again. I was the asshole."
"Look Joe, you were what, 16? 17? No worries, okay. Now tell me what the hell's going on?"
Another pause and a long sigh. "I really needed someone to talk to. Someone I could trust. I was back here and all the old hometown memories... Look, if you have some time, do you think you could come over? I'm at the old Wilkes Inn. 114."
"Yeah, sure Joe. Lemme ask Karen to pick up the boys from soccer practice. It'll take me about 20 minutes to get out there though."
"Okay Dave. And hey," he paused, "thanks."
Five minutes later, I got into the truck and steered out of the city and back toward the college town where I'd grown up during my high school years. I was as surprised to hear from Joe as I'd have been from any of those old friends from college who had simply just drifted away in the dozen or so years since we'd graduated.
Joe Sullivan had grown up three doors down the street from me. The son of an alcoholic postman and his seamstress wife, Joe had come of age in a house where screaming was the only way to discuss anything and throwing dishes was how every other meal ended. His older sisters had escaped or married by the time he was 12 and Joe had sought refuge at every house on the block. It was only fitting that most of the time he ended up at mine.
My father was the resident Methodist minister, a kindly man who told heart-warming stories. My mother was a homemaker who crocheted blankets for the church bazaar and made cookies. I was an only child. A hard-working athlete and student, I loved playing streetball with all of my neighbors and long, involved basketball games in my driveway with the backboard that hung over the garage. We moved to town when I was 14, and just about to start 9th grade. Joe all but moved in soon thereafter. At 11, he was blonde, blue-eyed, and lanky. The wildest, craziest kid I'd ever seen. He'd do anything I dared him to do. He was the opposite of me, the dark-eyed, dark-haired dreamer, who over-thought every move on the court, the field, or in life. We were fast friends from the start, despite our age difference. For me, it was obvious that this would happen because Joe immediately seemed to worship the ground I walked on. But for my part, I too missed not having any brothers or sisters. This funny kid kept me company and introduced me to many of my peers that summer who would become my same-age friends when the school year finally began. By the time my freshman year of high school had started, I was acclimated to our fourth town (that I could remember) in 14 years and had many friends and interests of my own. However, everyday Joe and I met at the bus stop, he got off at the middle school then I got off at the high school. Every afternoon, we did the same thing in reverse. Most afternoons, he came in with me, my Mom gave us a snack, and I helped him with his homework and then did mine. Joe was a smart kid who had been made to feel that he was stupid. Whatever was happening in that house of his, my family and I had figured out within a few weeks of our moving in that it wasn't good for Joey. So, we settled into a routine. After school began though, my Dad, ever the counselor and guide, warned me about my relationship with Joe, who he often called Lil'Joe.
"Son, as a mentor and older friend, you have a great responsibility here. You're going to be making some serious life choices in the next few years. Friends, school, social choices. Lil' Joe is going to be watching. He looks up to you. You can discourage this relationship if you want. He's not your responsibility. But if you do continue to let him be a part of your life and our family's, you're making the choice to be responsible with him."
"Sure Dad, I understand." It was a talk that had hung with me. My parents had always encouraged my independence and responsibility, even when I finally got that puppy to care for in 4th grade. Now, this neighborhood kid was more than just someone to stomp in basketball, he was my protégé.
"I'll watch out for him, Dad. I like him."
"Okay. I just want you to be careful, son."
That talked resonated in my memory as I drove up to the old, antebellum mansion that had been converted into an Inn long before I'd arrived in Riverhurst. It was still the address of choice for visiting college dignitaries or to host the wedding party of the landed gentry. I parked and made my way in, following the signs in the lobby up one flight to room 114. He opened on my first knock.
I was startled. I'd seen pictures of Joe in the paper, announcing the latest technology breakthrough of his company, the grand opening of their new headquarters, but I was startled to see Joe, the man, up close after being so lost in my memories of Lil'Joe, the boyhood friend. He enveloped me in a bear hug and I could smell the beer on him. He'd definitely been drinking for awhile. I could also feel the strength in him. Scrawny Joey was now at least 6'4" and all of 220 well-muscled pounds. I pushed him away to get a better view of him and smiled. He was in an undershirt, dress suit pants cut well, and barefooted. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and to somehow merge this view of Joe now, with my almost little brother. "Well, thanks for coming. It's been a long time," he said, holding out a beer. I took the longneck and smiled back.
"Too long, Lil' Joe." He laughed at the childhood nickname and fell back in a chair. Still standing, I took a draw from the Killian's.
"Domestic longnecks aren't usually on the menu at the Inn. What'd you do, import your own?"
"Hell yeah, this friggin' place only has some fancy shit that costs $4 a bottle."
"It's not like you couldn't afford it..." I laughed.
"Well, I'm still that poor kid workin' his way up" he said. I knew it was true. No matter how much Joe had accomplished, he would always think about his long-divorced and now dead parents, his hard-scrap upbringing, and never feel quite good enough. It was an attitude they'd both instilled in their clever son and I still hated them for it. Sitting down in an overly stiff, club chair, I looked him straight in the eye.
"You just got an award from this state's major university for donating a ton of money and bringing some tech center back to your hometown. You worked your way through said college on pretty much your wits and your strength, did everything on your own, and have done pretty well for a 30-year-old. Now you're sitting alone in a hotel room, drinking by yourself, and calling old high school friends. I don't have to be a dime-store psychologist to know something's up, Bud. Spill it."
He looked at me hard, as if no one anymore had the balls to speak to him that directly anymore and then I saw the ol' Joey, as he ducked his head, began to rub his eyes, and for a minute I feared this large man in front of me would begin to cry. He held it back, though, cleared a faltering voice and began to tell me.
"It's all for shit now, Dave. It doesn't mean anything. I used to be challenged by the work, by figuring it all out. Then it became about showing all those people, the ones who might'a whispered behind my back about where I'd come from, but now it doesn't mean squat. It's just all for shit."
I looked at him, trying to find my way into this guy's head, this boy I'd once known every detail of, was now someone else. Someone I'd grown away from. Someone I hardly knew. And yet, he'd called me. I reached back through my memory, through pickup basketball games where I'd become brother, dad, and coach – where I'd taught him dribbling routines I'd learned in practice, taught him as I'd been taught, challenged him to be all that he could be, though he was smaller than me.
"Remember how I used to come home from JV practice that first year and run your ass all over the driveway, teaching you my drills. How you wanted to learn everything I'd learned. It was so easy for you – you'd just watch me and then do it. Drill after drill, you were the only 11 year old in the neighborhood who could dribble and shoot like that. You were a sponge. I was so jealous of you sometimes. I could show you anything and you could copy it."
"I miss those days," he whispered. "It was all so easy, even with the crap at home. I knew you'd be there to tell me what to do. To show me. Man, I wouldn't have made it through junior high and high school without you. You know that right? I guess, if anything, that's what I needed to tell you today. The only way I got outta that place is because of you."
"Hey, by the time you were Mr. Everything, I was in college. I couldn't help out much when you were in high school and Mom says, despite what they wanted, you came over to our house less and less. I didn't mean to try and be your boss, Joey, that time..." He cut me off.
"I don't want to talk about my junior year, okay Dave? Not now. I was almost 17 and too stupid and you were being the big brother you'd always been. I was trying to take care of myself for once. But now, I know, I probably can't anymore."
"Look Joe, we're talking all around this shit. We were kids. I don't hold any grudges. You were the greatest. You were fun and my friends all loved you and it was a great place to grow up, at least for me. I have no regrets, except that I didn't try harder to stay in touch. But that ain't telling me why I'm here. You're hurtin', Bud. I can see it. So tell me." He paused.
"I didn't think faggy-ass English professors said `ain't."
We laughed. Joey had cut a wide swathe through his youth, putting on a swagger's air and swearing in the mode of his drunken father, as much for self-preservation as attitude. He'd always teased me about my pensive manner, my vocabulary, and my grades, though it was clear he'd desperately wanted to succeed as much as me. He had never ever cussed in front of my parents, though. His love and respect for them had been too great.
"Okay, okay. You got me. I'm trying to speak in the vernacular of drunken, technology tycoons."
Getting up, I moved over and sat by him on the bed, closer to him than I'd been in more than 12 or so years. Remembering the boney little shoulders I used to drape my arm across and drag into the house for supper. I put my arm around the broad, meaty shoulders, felt the large biceps under my hand. Wealth had brought Joe a personal trainer and probably a home gym too. I smiled to myself at the feel of him. The pleasure must've been all mine, because almost immediately he collapsed into my shoulder and then the great big, hulking figure was wracked by sobs. I held him, as I'd held him after his dad had beat him, after he'd won his first JV game on a last second shot and his dad said he was worthless, had showboated the entire game - a glorious sports memory for the ages that we'd all die for, ruined by that one drunken asshole. How many times had I held little Joey and let him cry it out. Grabbing a linen napkin off the leftover room service tray, I wiped his face and looked into his blue eyes. Despite success and wealth, my friend was still in there, haunted by childhood inadequacies and the scars of crappy parents.
"Look Bud. You've gotta let some of this go. You've done so much, helped so many people. You have a family that loves you. I love you. Why can't you just let what those two selfish parents of yours did go, just flush it away?"
"I know," he gulped. "But there's more to it, D. And yesterday, in this place, it all came back. There's so much more than I ever told you. It was all my fault. I should have told you, I wanted to. Damn, I missed you so much but I was so fuckin' stubborn and I..." he looked me hard in the eye and then the next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine.
He kissed me with a passion and a hunger I hadn't felt in a long time. Giving in, I kissed him back, our tongues exploring each other's mouths, our arms wrapped in a muscled hug of manhood longing. I could taste the beer on him, smell the aroma of it mixed with his sweat, and taste the salty remnants of his tears on his lips. His arms held me, hard, and then his hands roamed my back, my thighs, and felt between them for my cock. Semi-hard, I reached for the 9-inch cock standing at attention in his suit pants and grabbed it. How could I've forgotten this cock? Had I ever really forgotten it? What 15 year old has a 9 inch cock? I'd once been so envious and so lustful over that engorged member that I'd... I pushed him away.
"Stop Bud. This ain't helping. We can't do this right now."
"You said ain't again," he belched.
"Pretty," I said. "Once again, your true manners come through."
"Look. I need you right now. I need ALL of you. You know you want me as bad as you did when we were kids. Even badder than that."
"Badder is not a word and it really doesn't matter what I want. We can't do this right now. You are half-drunk, fucked up about something you've yet to totally communicate. Just because we may have swapped a blow-job or two and jacked off when we were teens does not mean it's more than that. Besides, you're like my little brother. I love you. I can't..." I paused, "I can't DO THAT with you. It just isn't right."
"Oh this is so fucking typical. It isn't that you're kissing and feeling up another guy's cock, even though we're both married and have kids, it's that I'm like `your brother and it just isn't right!' You know, it's this fucked up moral compass of yours that's always caused us to fight."
"Moral compass. I'm impressed little Joe. Nice phraseology! My `moral compass' as you said, is what kept you in the game for half your life and showed you what most normal fucking families were like!" I was pissed now. "My moral compass is what kept me from fucking around with someone who was like my little brother when he showed me he had a 9 inch cock when he was only 14! A fucker with more meat than he knew what to do with and who came begging his older, senior buddy to show him. Some moral compass, Joe!"
"That suck-off was the single most important event of my life. Do you hear me? Do you know how many guys I've fucked, sucked, dominated in the 16 years since then, all just trying to find my way back to you! I know you've been with other guys, despite your so-called life. I even found out about some of them." I had moved back to the club chair with a heavy, resigned sigh.
"Your money can root around in my life all you want, Joey, it won't make us teenagers again. We can't have that relationship back. It would have been a violation of who we were. Yes, I like cock. Shit, obviously you do too. But you were like my little brother. I had to be responsible. I had to walk away. We found friends our own age, obviously."
He sighted me with a cold, serious glare, glassy-eyed and purposeful. "You don't know the half of it, and you need to. But know this first," he paused and somewhere from deep inside himself, he pulled it out, sober and thoughtful, and loving. "I have always loved you. Friend, brother, lover, I have loved you in every form I can know and imagine. No matter how I've run from it, how I've obsessed over it, that's what it is. I had to tell you."
I was spent and already exhausted. "I love you too Bud. Nothing could ever change that."
"Well, you need to know all of it. It might change it."
"It doesn't matter to me," I told him. "Nothing you've done could be any worse than anything I've ever done, or imagined. Why do you always hold me up as this fuckin' standard to live by?"
"Just let me tell it," he said quietly. "Then you can decide."
By mid-term of my sophomore year in college, Joey (now Joe to all his high school friends) was the junior all-star on our hometown basketball team. All those years of practicing with older guys had paid off. His growing size, by this time he was all of 6'2", and his study of the game made him the perfect athlete. I had caught a few of his games, and Mom and Dad would send me some newspaper clippings (they never missed one of his home games) but by this time I was safely away, ensconced in my small, private liberal arts college, far away from the State U and my small town. When I came home, it was a perfunctory visit with perfunctory talks with my high school `little' brother. I had become the typical self-obsessed college student. Meanwhile, Joe was moving fast. After my senior year, our long-time coach who'd taught me so much, retired after 31 years. His long-time assistant, Coach Jackson, had been passed over in favor of a young and brash J.V. coach, Coach Tanner. Buck Tanner had never coached me and had only been in the district a few years when he became Varsity Coach at Riverhurst. With Joe, he had a winning point guard in just a few seasons and the team was doing well. But there was friction between old Coach Jackson and Tanner. Somehow Joe would get caught between them in something more insidious than I'd ever imagined.
Joe had become a man fairly quickly, something that happens to successful athletes with friends who are all older and with parents who don't really care. While he worked hard to maintain his grades and play basketball, he was earning a reputation with the ladies as well. He was a good-looking boy with great prospects and for those who came to know, as many apparently did, he was well-endowed in multiple ways. In the small circles that dominate high school life, Joey was a self-made king. Coach Buck Tanner took notice as well. Buck saw some of himself in Joe. A tall, dark-haired, former high school and college athlete, Buck had turned to teaching and coaching after a career-ending knee injury in his senior year at State. He was a varsity coach before he'd turned 28.
He knew of Joey's parental situation and took every opportunity to mentor him in multiple ways, on and off the court. Joe practically lived in the gym, the first one there and the last to go home. His off-season workouts were now with Coach Tanner and the two were more than coach and player, they were friends.
Buck Tanner lived for coaching and not much else. He had a small apartment near the high school but he spent most of his time in his cramped office in the back of the gym. When not practicing, playing or in class, Joe was there too. It was clear to see why Joe revered the guy. He'd been a college scholarship athlete. In his late 20's, he was still the best looking man in town, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled in that nonchalant way of most life-long athletes. The first time he'd brought up the subject of sex with Joe had been easy enough. They'd cleaned up the gym after a pre-season practice in late Fall and Coach Jackson had exited with his grumpy demeanor. Joe had sprawled his lanky frame across the ancient leather sofa crammed into the office. Exiting the locker room in just a towel, Buck had walked into his office, opened his locker, and begun to dress. He made sure that Joe had a perfect view of his well-chiseled ass, the down at the base of his spine, and as he turned, his semi-limp, uncut cock. He pulled up his white briefs and began to ask Joey questions.
"Hey man. You're starting to develop quite the reputation with the ladies. You are being careful right?"
"Careful?" Joe, too enamored of the view in front of him, was somewhat dazed.
"Protection." Buck stated. "When you're with your girls, you're wearing a condom, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Joe stammered. "Of course. All the time."
"Okay man. I just wouldn't want our perfect season to be ruined by some unplanned pregnancy. You gotta be careful. There're all kinds of girls out there who just want to be able to say they've fucked the star player."
Joe had never had this personal a conversation with Coach Tanner and was surprised he'd used the word fuck in front of him. Usually, he was the one lecturing Joe about his cussing.
"Look Coach. It's just for fun. I'm not serious with anyone. And once the season really begins, I don't mess around much. I don't have time."
"That's the right attitude, stud. Keep your cock in control so you can play the game."
Joe watched as he adjusted his cock, very obviously, into his pants and began to pull on his shirt. "Look," Buck began, "you know if you ever have any questions about anything like that, you can always come to me, right?"
"yeah, sure Coach. I know."
That, according to Joe, was how it began, with a lecture on birth control. Once his junior basketball season began, he was with Buck Tanner almost 24 hours per day, even sleeping over at his apartment occasionally after late-night arrivals on away game nights. By mid-January in the midst of the best season of basketball our high school had ever had, Buck Tanner could apparently control himself no more. After running Joe through a number of sprints for `showboating' following a late-quarter win, he hauled the still-sweaty Joe into his office for some more lecture.
"Are you trying to fuck up this entire season? What the fuck were you thinking out there tonight?"
"Nothing Coach. I was double-teamed on offense half the night. If I needed to move the ball to Jack in the low-post, they double-downed."
"Right. And you should have been able to slide to take the outside shot! That shooting performance of yours tonight was abysmal. It was like you had your head up your ass."
"Maybe I'm just tired coach. It's been a long season."
"You don't get to be tired, stud. You're the gas in this engine. It all depends on you. Now get up – get over here."
Joe stumbled toward the hulk of his coach. Buck Tanner rested his hands on Joe's young shoulders and squeezed.
"Look stud. I know I'm hard on you. But you have the chance to be the best. You make us all better. I'm counting on you."
Joe moved himself into the muscled arms of his Coach. Buck Tanner was too weak to resist. He held his young athlete to him, felt the sweat-stained brow on his shoulder and moved his hands over the thin jersey wet with sweat. Amazingly, Joe could feel the hard, muscled torso of his coach pressed into him and then, something he thought he'd never feel. The rising hardness of his coach's cock as it pressed into his thigh. He raised his head, looking this man in the eye, and then kissed his coach, hard. Buck Tanner groped for the cock of legend and found it already peering from under Joe's uniform shorts. They kissed and groped across the desk and the old leather couch. Before he knew it, this 16 year old had unzipped his pants and was taking his cock into his mouth. Joe looked up, eyeing his surprised Coach with a smile, and began to expertly suck his cock. "Damn boy," Buck sighed, "I think you've done that before."
"Once or twice," Joe replied.
"I want something else though," Buck began, and reaching forward, he pushed Joe around and sought out that great big cock. Expertly, Buck began to lick and suck the sweaty, engorged member of his star player. Groaning, Joe leaned back on the desk in awe of the sight and feel of his coach, this gorgeous man, sucking his great big cock. Buck soon took charge, however, and before Joe knew it, he was on his back on the coach's desk, his legs in the air with Buck's 8 incher poised above him.
"Coach, wait. I haven't ever done this before," Joe stammered.
"It'll be alright stud. Every man has to get his ass plowed a few times before he can really start to enjoy it. Just lay back and stroke that big dick of yours. I'll go slow the first time."
Joe felt a stabbing pain arch through is asshole as his coach mounted him. Buck leaned forward, holding Joe's leg with one beefy hand and grasping his head with one muscled arm. Building a rhythm slowly, he sought Joe's mouth with his tongue and began to time his thrusts into both of his young stud's holes. Joe's dick began to throb to the numbing pain in his ass and then he felt Buck's cock touch him deep within and he shot the hottest and hardest load he'd ever shot all over the hairy pecs of his coach. Feeling the orgasm of his stud and the simultaneous clinching of Joe's anus, Buck arched his strong back, shooting wave after wave of juice into Joe's virgin hole.
Buck lifted a shaky Joe off the desk, tousled his hair, and said, "there'll be more where that came from, Stud. You just keep your head in the game and if you keep winning, you'll keep getting more of this cock-to-cock man time with me. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure thing Coach."
"Now, hit the showers."
I sat transfixed. "Fuck," I whispered. "He raped you, Bud."
"No, not really. I kissed him. I think I wanted it as much as he did."
"How long did it go on?"
"A month or so. Almost through the playoffs. One day I got called into Principal Smith's office and Coach Tanner was already there. I knew we were for shit as soon as I saw the look on Coach's face. Dr. Smith said he knew what had been happening. I later found out it was probably ol' Coach Jackson who'd seen or heard us at some point. Anyway, Dr. Smith said we'd finish the season. Coach Tanner was not to ever be alone with me – I was the victim. That's what he said. In order to avoid scandal and the embarrassment to my parents, Coach Tanner would take a leave of absence after the playoffs and spring break. He'd find another job over the summer and would not be coming back to Riverhurst. He then dismissed Coach Tanner and just looked at me. I was almost afraid, Dave, really, that he'd wanna fuck me too. That's how screwed up I was. But instead, he just said he'd continue to look out for me. He was sorry that this had happened and hoped I would come to him if I ever needed anything."
"Old Dr. Smith always seemed like a pretty straight up guy, as far as principals' go," I remembered.
"Oh yeah, he was. During that next season when that asshole Coach Jackson took over and refused to play me except in losing game situations – saying I was being `disciplined'- I saw Dr. Smith on more than one occasion in heated arguments with him. Looking at me and then looking away. I know he told Coach Jackson to play me but he wouldn't listen."
"So that's when your scholarship chances went to shit. All that talk about you partying and fucking up, that was Jackson's way of punishing you."
"Oh yeah. He even called me a `scourge of the devil' once. For all his FCA talk, he was a mean son of a bitch. If I hadn't managed to pull up my grades that year, I'd never gotten into State at all."
I shook my head. I was perversely turned on by the thought of Joe being fucked in our high school locker room by this hot, older coach but sickened at the same time by the thought of my brother being violated. He'd been ruined in multiple ways and was still paying for it. It all was beginning to make sense to me now.
"So that spring break, when I'd tried to talk to you about your fucking around and your blow out in the playoffs, it..."
"Yeah. I just lost it. It's not your fault."
"Hell yeah it is. You had gone through shit, and I'm just popping in for a weekend and lecturing you on deportment and hygiene!"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Deportment and hygiene. Seriously, I was messed up. I was embarrassed and wanted to tell you, but I was so fucking mad!! I also wanted to stand on my own for once. I pushed you away as hard as I could."
"Calling me a faggot and saying I'd once tried to play with your dick was a bit harsh. True, but harsh."
"If anything, I'd wanted it to be you that time. But there were whispers and rumors about me, I was getting into fights, beating the shit out of anyone who said anything about me and Buck, I mean, Coach Tanner. The last thing I needed was to fall into my older brother's arms and be pussy-whipped."
"I would have helped you all I could."
"I know that now. But I was stupid. I was only 17."
I looked across at him, slumped sideways on the bed and all I wanted to do was hold him, make it better, soothe him. Before I knew it, I was on the bed beside him, kissing him, pulling off his shirt, his pants, feeling for the strong, hard body of my best friend. We fell into a tangle of frantic kisses, groping, pressing our hard cocks against each other.
"I've waited a long time for this," he sighed into my neck.
"Me too, Bud, me too."
Our hunger was too stout for languorous love-making and we soon fell into a ravenous 69. His cock was too big, too thick for me to swallow it whole as I wanted, so I attacked the arching piss-slit, pulsed the slight curve with my tongue and artfully sucked in all I could. He expertly devoured my slim 8 incher, pressing his nose into my pubes and deep-throating me to the edge of climax again and again. We arched away, covered in a sheen of sweat, and I pinned him, our cocks pressed against one another, our mouths seeking, devouring, one another.
"I've got to have you, D. I need it bad."
I sighed. "There's no way I can take that dick into my virgin ass. Not tonight at least."
"No. Not that. I mean, yeah maybe, eventually, but tonight I want you to fuck me. That's the way it should've always been. I want you to ride my ass the way I always wanted you to. Fuck me now, Bro. Show me."
He raised his muscled ass high underneath me, his legs by his ears. Grabbing some lube from a bed-side table, he tossed it too me. "Get busy, stud."
"Damn," I said, "is this a new product at the Wilkes Inn?"
Laughing, I entered my little brother's hungry hole with one thrust. Pushing in until my balls crammed against his crack, I felt every nerve in my body expand. All the blood in my body was in my cock head, and in my nipples, and my Joe expertly reached up to tweak my hard pecs.
"Fuck me, D. Fuck me like I always wanted you to."
Riding him hard, I pressed my mouth against his, looked into those blue eyes that used to sparkle with wonder and longing at me, and fucked him as hard as I'd ever fucked anyone. Slamming, ramming, hard and painful thrusts forced into his asshole. Sweat flew from my forehead, pecs, and arms. I felt that raging, cock of legend quaver against my hard, hairy abs and leaned back to spear his hole more as he shot an arching stream of cum over my belly and my pecs. Groping his cock, he pulled it back and more cum shot across his chest and his cheek. Still bucking madly, I leaned down and licked his cum from his rough cheek and with a moan, shot my load deep within his ass, cumming in a throbbing climax like none I'd recently experienced. Smiling, he lowered his legs, pulled me in tight and said, "I hope you ain't done for the night, `cause I'm gonna need some more of that."
Crashing, spent, against him, smelling the humid odor of our cum and sweat, I held him tight and promised more, "but later, Bud. In a minute. Your older Bud isn't what he used to be." Though I ran a minimum of five miles per day and tried to lift three days per week, I was not the muscled man I'd been in my late 20's.
"Who is?" he replied.
I awoke with lil'Joe still in my arms, his buzzing snore in my ear and a rope of his drool coiling down my bicep. Slowly entangling myself from his limp frame, I got up and stood by the bed. I gazed in amazement at the full-size man my little bro had become. His beautiful body, covered in a light down of blond hair, the darker trail running down the taut belly to his trimmed pubes. The broad shoulders and chest - it was like someone had taken my little brother's body and blown in out in all the right places and proportions. I gazed awe-struck at the now flaccid cock, still at least 5 inches. What the fuck was I doing here?
Reaching for my pants, I grabbed my cell phone and stepped into the bathroom.
"Hey, did I wake you?"
"No," she answered groggily. "I was waiting for you to call. How is he?"
"Well, he was pretty fucked up for a millionaire technology tycoon, but I think I've got him sorta calmed down. I think I may need to stay with him through the night though, just to be sure."
"Okay. Saint Dave. Always helping friends. What was it? The guy seems to have everything? Why's he in such bad shape?"
"A tale for another day. I'll see you in the morning?"
" Okay then. `Night." I hung up and moved back into the room where Joe stirred.
"You okay to stay the night?" he asked groggily.
"Yeah. Just checking in."
"Stacy left me six months ago." He rolled toward me on the bed and sat up, speaking a business-like tone. "She said she was tired of sharing me with the company and the girls needed someone in their lives to be a full-time parent. It was the crappiest thing that's ever happened to me." He laughed, "well, the second crappiest thing."
"Look, Joey, we don't have to do this. We can go back to our lives..."
"There's no going back, Dave. Not for me. Stacy and I got married too young. She was the only girl who'd ever leveled me, brought me down to earth, but it was hard. Those years when I worked my way through State and we were married and in it together, I could see it was for her and the girls. At least that's what I told myself, but when I started building the company, it was all my ego. I trotted them out for show, but she was right, I've been a lousy husband and father. She said she was tired of competing with everyone and everything else in my life."
"Shit. I'm sorry Bud. I really am. Is that why you called me tonight?"
"I guess it's all of it. It's been building. But no," he paused, and I could swear I heard the bum-bum, and the uh-oh in the air. "I called you tonight because yesterday Buck Tanner showed up after my press conference for a chat."
"No shit! What did he want?"
"A piece of the pie."
"Extortion."
"Well, insurance', he said. "It's funny, you'd think he'd want to protect what reputation he has as a quasi-pedophile and all but he'd just as soon sell his story to the tabloids. How he mentored' me once and pushed away my `hidden homosexual advances' I think is how he put it."
"Please tell me you beat the shit out of him?"
"No, I showed a remarkable restraint you'd be proud of. Of course, my people have been on it ever since."
"You've shared this with other people."
"Hell no. Well, not all details. But my head of security knows that a former coach who got fired over his treatment of me is now running off at the mouth. It seems Tanner has had a string of coaching jobs in mostly private schools over the last 15 years. He did get married and father a son, but she left him when the kid was small. His dream of one-day coaching at the college level has never materialized, and I'm an easy target for all of his anger."
"What are you gonna do, Bud?"
"Probably pay him off."
"What? You can't. Shit Joe, he's the bad-guy here."
"Look. I can afford to. He knows it. I've got more to lose reputation-wise than him. A whole lot of people could get hurt, including you, if this comes out. I'm not the guy who can go on Oprah and cry about my teenage abuse and blame others for lighting my fire to succeed. It makes me want to throw up."
"I don't see how it could hurt me, Bud. But you gotta do what you think is best."
"Well, that's part of the problem - see he knows about you too. I told him once, when I was with him. He knew you were the first guy I'd ever been with."
"Oh Shit" was all I could think to myself. How will this ever end?
To be continued ? (Maybe). Guys need to hear your feedback and know if this is one you could see reading on. I really like these two characters, but am not sure I want to get into a crime novella either. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts...
Thanks - Luke