THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Albert
By and copyright Lady Poetess
http://www.gentlemensclub.cjb.net
Disclaimer This story is fictitious and bears no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.
PROLOGUE
Mel Columcille Gerard Gibson had lived a life as colorful and grandiose as his name. At 44, he had been in his life a drag cabaret queen, a Las Vegas casino croupier, a wedding singer, a physical instructor, a stuntman (that one thankfully didn't last long), and finally, his current career, the supervisor of Block C.
It wasn't a bad job, and the pace was a wonderfully sedate compared to his previous careers. It also helped that he was aging well. At 44, his face finally matured into chiseled handsomeness he could only dream of looking when he was 24. The tenants called him 'the cutie-pie boss of Block C', which suited him well. The brassy ones even pinched his butt.
Still, he was pretty surprised at the way the gossip, no, make that Rumor with a capital R, spread. It was about the new guy of the block, Albert Gore. Mel knew Albert was a retired vice-CEO of some fabulously successful firm, a widower, and apparently a rather obtuse man. Obtuse because he didn't seem to know that Alderville Heights was known as "Queer Block" around the neighborhood, and nobody but the practitioners of alternative sexuality (Mel included) lived here. Alderville was a safe haven for homosexual folks around here, and naturally, a straight man's moving in sparked speculation.
Was Al one of those closet cases hoping to make peace with his sexuality in the safe environment of Alderville Heights?
The fact that Al was definitely a well-preserved man of 52 sparked interest. Some tenants were hostile at this man's presence, but even they cooled when Al, upon realizing just who his neighbors were, made no fuss. For him, life went on, "How do you do?" et cetera.
But the Rumor really spread like wildfire, and interest in Al resurged like an epidemic. Maybe it started when Benny claimed to have used the urinal next to the one Al was using in the tennis court locker area, and told everyone that "Al really had to stand way back from the wall, man – he must be fucking huge!" Or when Lola threw a party and invited Al, and then proceeded to hose everyone down with her hose, just to see how Al measured up when his swim trunks were wet. Her verdict? "Oh momma!"
The dimension of that famed penis spread. Mel had heard everything from a solid eight inches to a horrifying twelve inches. Despite his best attempts to be sensible, he couldn't deny that he was rather intrigued as well.
Yet now, as he watched Lola watched outside her window via her binoculars (one of those cheap ones bought during her attendance of Rent), he refused to ask Lola what she saw. No way. It was undignified. It was killing him.
"What did you see?" he asked.
Lola, actually very much male who preferred to be called ma'am, waved him away impatiently. "He's jogging again, and I swear if he bounces a bit harder, that piece of meat will pop out! Oh lordy, lordy oh!"
"He could be wearing a jock," Mel said. "Just like maybe he just likes to stand back and aim his piss from far away."
"Nobody wears a jock while jogging, honey. Besides, those shorts were probably one of those with support pouches where you can run freely without hindrance, so to speak. It's definitely the real, unpadded thing!"
Mel really wanted to see. "Let me have a look," he said, unceremoniously snatching the binoculars from Lola. He scanned the area. "Ah, there he is. He's sweating like a pig."
"Look between his legs, stupid!"
"I'm looking." Lola was right. It was a pretty impressive bulge. "It wasn't that big," Mel said. "I'd say eight inches erect tops."
"That's enough to make me happy, and probably many others around here too."
"Control, honey," Mel said, watching Al run. Nice thighs, he thought. Well, powerfully muscled no doubt from all those morning and evening runs Al took. The sweat-soaked shirt clung to Al's still well honed physique like a second skin. Al wasn't an Adonis, but who was? Mel wasn't complaining. That man looked hot, literally and figuratively. No wonder the lonely singles of Block C were so worked up. Rumors of a big piece, coupled with Al's ambiguous sexuality, presented a challenge. "Remember, he's straight. Had a wife and several kids."
"The closet door can always open even at 80, baby, and besides, no straight fellow will move here."
Mel shook his head. Poor Al. Mel hoped the man knew what he was in for.
ONE
Albert Arnold Gore, Jr stumbled into the bathroom and placed one hand on the wall. His other hand pulling off the condom from his still half-erect penis, he looked at his face in the mirror. God, look at him – he looked the way he felt, exhausted and bored. Giving only the rubber a casual look (and noting with satisfaction that he could still fill a rubber close to overflowing) before tossing it into the waste bin, he rubbed his face wearily.
Alexis was no doubt asleep by now. That woman might be fifty, but darned, she was voracious. Al still had no idea how this first date with her – fixed by his daughter, of all people – could ended up with them both in her bed. She just invited him in for a drink, and Al was too tired to see it as the sexual come-on cliché it was.
Still, he performed enough to keep her happy. Maybe she'd call him again. Maybe she expected him to call. Either way, he didn't care.
He hadn't cared for a long time, after since his dear wife passed away and his kids grew up and left the house. At that point, he realized he hadn't anything left to live for. His friends were actually business acquaintances with whom he had very little in common, and he hadn't actually cultivated any interests outside his family and work. At forty-eight, he was depressed and on Prozac. At the age of fifty-two, he was finally slowly reducing his Prozac dosage and trying to rebuild his life.
But dating bored him. He was reluctant to admit it, for it might mean he was probably too old to be up to it anymore, but he couldn't deny it any longer. Tonight's orgasm was nothing, just a brief pleasure before the numb feeling took over again. What was wrong with him? Was he going mad?
As the warm water from the shower sprayed on him, he placed his forehead against the wall and made a low, long sound of frustration. He was bored, depressed, lonely, and he missed his old life when he didn't find himself alone in this world. His kids didn't need him anymore – it was a depressing realization – and Al felt useless.
Mel, he thought, and his spirits perked a little at the thought of his new friend. Yeah, maybe that was what he'd do – have a long talk with Mel. He made the first move, asking Mel if the latter would accompany him for dinner one evening. Al always thought Mel was lonely like him, for Mel more often than not was alone, just like Al. And it was a right thing to do, for he and Mel laughed and clicked all through dinner.
He envied Mel slightly for the man's colorful life. Mel showed him a photo of Mel at twenty. "Princess Carlotta" was a beautifully stunning figure, the star of many shows in Las Vegas, until Mel got bored and hung up his wig and dresses for a more testosterone-filled occupation. Then there was Mel posing with Kennedy, Bette Midler, Chris Isaak, and even Princess Diana.
"You've been everywhere, I mean, really everywhere. I've traveled all over the world, but all I remembered was a succession of hotel rooms," Al had said then.
"Seeing and doing everything is pretty overrated," Mel answered then. "Look at me. I'm happier here than ever. There's much to be said for simplicity in life."
"Amen to that," Al said, but he wasn't actually convinced then. There was something in his life that was missing, and the gaping void in his soul was slowly killing him.
Al hadn't known that many gay people – okay, none at all before he was duped into buying an apartment here. He could have sued the fucking real estate agent who thought it'd be a lark to sell him this place, of course, but he couldn't be bothered. Besides, he liked the wide expanse of running grounds here.
And there was Mel, who was slowly becoming the best friend he never had. Al felt much lighter when he thought to calling up Mel. He actually whistled as he showered.
"So you scored. Again," Mel said, raising a brow.
"I don't really know what was happening until she got my pants off," Al said.
"I don't understand you. You have one of the highest scoring rates I've seen in anyone I've ever met. Six first dates ended with you fucking your dates. Jesus, and you tell me you have no idea what is going on? I could kill you."
"Dinner!" At that moment, Ethan Hawke yelled as he sat down at their table. "I think I have the orders all screwed up, but what the fuck, right? Take your choice. So, Al, what's this I hear about you scoring again?"
If there was one thing Al wasn't used to, it was gay male camaraderie. He found it an inexplicable blend of seemingly outright bitchiness and unexpected tenderness at places. He had expected feminine, loud cross-dressers like those on TV when he reluctantly let Mel drag him to the man's night out with friends, but what he found was guys who seemed just like straight guys. But there are subtle differences in the interaction and camaraderie, and the former businessman in him was fascinated by it all.
"Success again?" This time it was Jude Law. "I think it's definitely because of the Rumor."
Al fidgeted uncomfortably as red heat of embarrassment crept up his neck. If there was one thing he would probably never get used to, it was the open, frank talk about sex. Sure, he had talked about sex with guys before, but then, those were hot air bragging sessions where nine out of ten stories were outright lies. Mel and his friends could insert sex into their conversations – straight or gay sex – as easily as anything. It was disconcerting.
And Al wondered about the Rumor. He heard it bandied about, and he had an idea that it concerned him, but no one saw fit to tell him, not even Mel, who just started laughing when Al asked him.
"Can anyone tell me what this rumor is about?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.
"Well," Jude drawled. "I guess I'll leave it to your best buddy Mel to do the honors."
Again, Al flushed, and this time he noticed Mel's embarrassed sheepish grin too. Mel's friends had been mercilessly heckling them both. While Al was rather gratified to realize that Mel was letting him spend a lot of time in his company, he was also aware that the other men were teasing Mel about it. Of course they would – Mel was gay, and naturally, the others perceive an attraction where none existed.
Al frowned. He liked Mel. He wouldn't want to crimp on Mel's love life by taking up all his time. Yet, he really had no idea how to go about asking Mel if he was crimping on Mel. To be honest, he didn't want to hear Mel say yes, Al was crimping on his life, because, hell, Al was selfish enough to want Mel's time.
A lonely middle-aged man desperately wanting someone else's time: it would have been funny if Al didn't feel quite wretched and pathetic.
"Why do you sleep with men, anyway? Have you slept with a woman before?" Al asked Mel later when they were back at Mel's apartment.
"Spoken just like a typical straight guy," Mel said, bemused, when he walked into the living room with two cans of Coke in his hands.
"Sorry," Al said, again feeling his blush rising.
"Hey, I'm just playing," Mel said. "Actually I have been with women before. I can swing both ways, but I just like guys better. I don't know why, but that's just the way I am. So how about you? Ever been with a guy before?"
"Well, no. I can't really imagine what it's like, really."
"Yeah. Only you would wonder aloud what it felt like to have someone's organ inside your body," Mel said, grinning at the memory.
"I was talking about organ transplant," Al said defensively, still embarrassed by his inadvertent gaffe.
"In a company of gay men, and I'd say women too, you say things like that and you'll get teased mercilessly." Mel sat down beside Al on the couch. "So what's on TV tonight?"
"There's a rerun of MASH."
"Haven't watched that one in a long time."
"So how was it?"
Mel sat up and turned to look at the other man. "How was what?"
"Having someone's organ inside your body?" Al asked, his grin pure devilry.
"Ah, my friend, it is something you have to experience to understand," Mel said. "Not that you will, I guess."
"I guess not." Al looked at the TV, silent for a moment. Then, he asked quietly, "Mel, can you please tell me why your friends and the people around here are laughing at me?"
Mel looked at Al in surprise. "We're not laughing at you."
"Yes you are. I keep getting all this sidelong glances and giggles behind my back. I hate that. I feel fucking useless enough already." Al rubbed his face with the palms of his hand in a gesture of weariness and exhaustion. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he said finally.
"No, no, keep going. You feel useless," Mel urged. "Why?"
"Oh, I'm just being a fool. It's midlife crisis. Some men dump their wives for girls young enough to be their granddaughter, but I have to feel this depression. My kids have grown up and for the first time in my life, nobody needs me or even pays attention to me, apart from you and my shrink."
"Oh come on, we're not laughing at you, Al, really." Mel hesitated. "It's just that there's this talk going on that – " he didn't know how to go on. He looked at Al's crotch, and sure enough, even when Al was sitting back with his legs spread open, there was a sizeable bulge between those long, shapely legs.
"What?" Al demanded.
"You have a giant cock." Mel said that fast, hoping Al wouldn't ask him to elaborate.
Silence. Then, "You're fucking kidding," Al said.
"That's the first time I hear you use the 'fuck' word," Mel remarked absently.
"Don't change the subject. I'm not that big," Al said, his face absolutely red now. God, Mel found Al cute when the man blushed like this.
"Oh, really?"
Al looked away. "Okay, I used to get teased a bit when I was in high school to college and in the Army, but – "
"How big?" Mel was really, really intrigued now. He looked at the bulge again and this time, he felt a surge of red, pure lust flooding his veins and sending his cock to rock-hard overdrive. Jesus, he told himself, control buddy – this was Al, straight and clueless Al.
"I don't know. I never have it measured. You want me to show you?"
Now Mel was really stunned into speechlessness. "Uh, oh," he heard himself mumble. "Okay," he finally managed to squeak out in a most unmanly manner. His libido, however, had no problems with eloquence, judging from the way his cock threatened to burst out of his jeans and the way his buttocks clenched in greedy anticipation.
And Al, his face only revealed his usual hangdog weariness. Maybe the man just wanted Mel to kill the rumors, and Mel was more determined than ever to control his lust.
Still, God, he was going to see Al's cock. He wondered if this was smart.
Al stood up and unbuckled his belt. Mel only sat there, frozen in shock and anticipation, when Al pushed his jeans and shorts down to midway of his thighs. "There," Al said.
Mel stared. And stared. And swallowed.
Five inches, he estimated. Five inches of flaccid penis. God, what would it be like when it was hard? It was on his lips to blurt "Can I touch it?" but thankfully he caught himself in time.
Still, there was another way. "Can I tell you my own secret?" Mel asked.
Al made to pull up his pants, but Mel couldn't allow that. "I collect cock candles," he said.
Sure enough, Al straightened in surprise, and his pants fell right down to his ankles. Oh-la-la, Mel almost expired from the red-hot explosion in his senses. "Cock candles," he said. "I make candles out of cock moulds. It's a hobby. Can I make one from yours?"
"What are you talking about?" Al asked.
"Well, if you can get your cock hard, I will carefully apply some plaster to make a mould from which I can make candles later. Oh, I've done this before many times, so it's harmless. The plaster isn't your usual plaster and…"
"Whose cocks do you use to make candles out of?" Al asked, his face inscrutable.
"Only those of my ex-boyfriends, when we were close of course," Mel said. "But I think I can make an exception for you."
"So you make candles of cocks of people close to you?" Al asked again, this time a strange gleam in his eyes. "Like your best friends?"
"Yeah." Actually no, but hell, it seemed like the best answer to get Al to agree.
"Okay," Al said, stunning Mel for the second time that night. "I'll do it. As long as you don't…"
"I won't," Mel quickly agreed. "Nothing you won't want me to do," he amended.
Al didn't seem to catch that. He just crossed his arms, looking silly really, like a regal warrior with his pants around his ankle. "Okay, let's do it," he said with unusually fierce determination.
Al knew he was doing something he would probably regret later, but hell, he wanted this bad. Not because he wanted Mel to make candles out of his cock, but he wanted this, a gesture that he was important to Mel. He didn't analyze why that status was so important to him, only that the moment Mel said that only those privileged ones close to him was asked, Al knew he couldn't say anything but yes.
He wanted to be important to Mel, but hell if he knew why.
So here he was, sitting at the kitchen table bare-assed, crossing his arms as if to ward off regrets and last-moment sobriety.
Mel came back with a bowl of freshly mixed clay-like material. "Ready?"
"Uh, yes," Al said.
"You'll need to get your cock hard," Mel said.
They looked at each other. "I think my brother left a copy of Playgirl around here the last time he visited," Mel started to say.
"Maybe you can just give me some privacy?" Al said. "Give me a few minutes and I'll get it up."
"I need it very hard, because I don't think you want to know what happens when your cock gets soft while the mould is still hardening."
Jesus, Al thought, this was more dangerous than he thought. "What do you mean? If I get soft halfway will my cock get – "
"No, I have a rubber band for that," Mel said reassuringly. "Look, I'll come back in a minute or two and we'll see how your hard-on fare."
This was crazy. Al looked down at his penis. Mel actually wanted to judge and see if his erection was, uh, worthy. "Don't disappoint me, Al," he told his penis even as he took it in his right hand and started stroking.
"It's not working," Al told Mel when the latter came back into the kitchen a minute later.
Mel only stared. Al looked down. What was Mel looking at? Sure, he was hard, but it wasn't certainly his best hard-on. He was in danger of going soft any minute now. Al frowned. Was it that fucking big? True, he always seemed bigger than some of the men he happened to see in locker rooms and on porn videos, but surely there were men larger than he. Right?
"Wow," Mel only said as he placed one hand at the table. "You could fall into a coma if you get a hard-on with a cock like that."
"I can assure you I've never fallen into a coma." Still, Mel's eyes being fixated on his cock was causing a disconcerting twinge of arousal to rise in him. His cock flexed, and he actually hardened under the man's stare. "Are you going to start on me?" Al asked.
Mel gulped visibly and smiled weakly. "Okay. Just keep quiet and don't give me ideas."
Al blinked. "Are you okay, Mel?"
"I'm a gay man in the presence of a man with a hard cock that can easily reach the ten-inch mark. What do you think?" Mel told him in blunt honesty. "I'm trying to control myself, Al."
"Maybe we should just stop," Al said.
"No," Mel interjected quickly. "This is merely instinct. It's like you in the company of a big-breasted naked woman. I can't help my instincts."
"I'm a leg man," Al said dryly, "but I know what you mean. Okay Mel, go ahead."
TWO
"This mould will show every contour, every vein, everything," Mel said as he slowly, slowly sliced the hardened mould in two.
"Careful, ouch! Is that the blade I feel?" Al looked down at Mel who was running a sharp, small scalpel vertically down the mould still sheathing his cock.
"No, you're paranoid. Relax, I'm good at this. I'm not surprised at your success rate, Al. A cock like yours will have the ladies clamoring for a piece."
"Well, I have no complains," Al admitted. Mel had been complimenting his cock all this while, and damn if that didn't make Al feel good. It also kept his proud cock stiff for Mel's mould to harden perfectly.
"How old were you when you first used this big cock anyway?" Mel murmured, still concentrating at his task.
"Sixteen," Al said. "Typical teenage affair. We both got drunk and couldn't even remember how it happened. But I learned fast. I was the captain of the football team, so there was always someone wanting to be my girlfriend."
"Shallow, shallow, shallow," Mel teased.
"I had no complains with shallow," Al said, feeling more confident of his virility than he ever had in his life. "It kept me pretty much drowning in – " dare he say the word? – "pussy." Okay, he said it.
"I believe you. After all, this is a man who scored on his first date six successive times," Mel said. "Your wife had to be a very happy woman."
"Oh yeah. I miss her, really."
"Okay, all done." Mel carefully peeled the top half of the mould away.
"Ouch!" Al hissed as some of his pubic strands, caught in the plaster, got wrenched out painfully.
"Relax." Without thinking, Mel reached out and massaged the spot, right above the start of Al's jutting penis, with his thumb and index finger. He cursed when he realized what he just did and removed his hand.
But Al only sighed. "God, that was good," he said.
"Keep saying things like that, Al, and I won't be responsible for my loss of control." Mel lifted Al's cock – ignoring the man's sharp intake of breath and his own answering throb deep in his groin – and carefully pulled the lower half of the mould away.
The thing wouldn't move.
Mel tugged at it gently, trying not to hurt Al, until finally, in frustration, he placed his left fingers around the thick shaft (his fingers could only barely close over it) and gently tugged with his right hand.
"Uh, Mel – " Al started to say.
"Sssh," Mel shushed him. "I'll get it out soon, don't worry. Don't panic – Jesus fucking Christ!" He yelped and jumped back when hot thick ropes of semen burst forth from Al's cock slit.
Al moaned, thrusting his hips up as his cock kept spurting. Thick creamy juices splattered on Mel's nose and cheeks before he managed to jump away. Mel could only stare as Al climaxed. Three, four, five… Mel counted up to sixteen ejaculation spurts from Al. Impressive. Mel looked down at the mould in his hand (gee, finally it broke loose). Maybe he ought to have this mould framed.
He wiped the fluids from his face and licked the palm of his hand. He stopped when he realized that Al was staring at him in a stunned, maybe horrified expression. Mel licked his palms slowly, defiantly, and then looked challengingly at Al. "I don't believe in letting good things go to waste," he told Al.
Al looked as if he wanted to run away. Maybe, now, he finally realized that Mel was of a different world, in a way that he couldn't imagine, and that scared him.
"Look, I wasn't thinking, okay?" Mel said finally in conciliatory tones. "Sorry, I shouldn't have licked my hands like that. Not in front of you," he said.
"I am just shocked, that's all. I've never seen a man do that before."
"Yeah." Mel washed his hands and turned to look back at Al. "Get off that table, will you? You can clean up in the bathroom."
"How does it taste like?" Al couldn't help asking.
"Salty. It's an acquired taste." Mel smiled at him. "Not much different from the taste of a woman's cunt, I guess."
"Really?"
"Why not try it yourself? There's plenty on the table." Mel couldn't resist baiting this man.
Al looked green.
"It's your own cum, buddy," Mel said, and turned back to the sink.
"You're right. It's salty."
Mel looked up, stunned, into the mirror, just in time to see Al pulling his finger out of his mouth. Al just winked and walked out of the kitchen.
Mel grinned to himself. Damn, that man was crazy!
THREE
Al hesitated at the door. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. Finally, he walked back down the corridor and called Mel on his cellphone.
"Yo, Mel Gibson here," came Mel's voice.
"It's Al."
"Hi. Listen, I have to see to Mark Marshall's broken lock soon, so I'm afraid I won't be in until seven tonight."
Al let loose the breath he was holding. "I'm glad you're not avoiding me tonight," he said honestly.
"Whatever for? I thought last night was okay until the accident happened."
Accident. Yeah, that was the right word. Al felt as if his world was turning again. "I'll see you at seven." Then he remembered his intention not to crimp on Mel's life. "Unless you have other plans?" he asked.
"No. I'll be surprised if I get a date."
"Why not? You're a funny, handsome, charming guy," Al said, not liking the way Mel disparaged himself.
"That's the trouble. Most of the guys I meet aren't as funny, handsome, or charming as I," Mel said with a chuckle. "Damn, they bore me to death. Sometimes I wonder if it's me, I mean, I've done so many stupid things in my life, there's no way these guys can top those experiences. I'm wrong though."
"Really?"
"I like you. Too bad you're straight, or we could have gotten along famously. Anyway, I have to be off. See you around."
"Wait – "
Click.
Al stared at his phone, stunned.
He didn't go to Mel's place at seven. Instead, he sat in his living room, looking around him in stunned realization that he hardly recognized his place anymore. He had spent so much of his time in Mel's place that he couldn't even remember what his own place was like.
Mel liked him, and if Al was willing, Mel would be more than willing to be more than friends with him. And what scared Al the most was that somehow, a small part of his mind wondered if Mel would be good for him. It was a notion that was against everything he thought his life was. He never thought he could be attracted to a man, and he certainly wasn't attracted to Mel. Was he?
He didn't want to know. He had to know.
At ten, he knocked on Mel's door. No response, and there was no light from under Mel's door to even indicate that Mel was in. But Al was so frustrated by his confusing emotion that he couldn't accept that. Mel was always in, damn it, and Mel did say that he wasn't going on a date.
So he found himself climbing up the fire escape stairs. Mel, he had to see Mel. That was the only thing he knew he had to do in his state of mind.
Mel heard the door knock, but he ignored it. He wasn't it to anybody, because damn it, tonight he was going to enjoy himself. Naked on his bed, he writhed and moaned as he shoved Al's cock – okay, that candle he made yesterday – up his anus. Slowly, he plunged it in and out, his own thigh muscles straining in frustration at the absence of a torso to clasp to.
Oh, but Al's cock was fucking delicious. Ten inches of thick, thick flesh – oh, a candle was poor substitute, but Mel couldn't afford to be choosy. The thick tip speared him, tearing him open like no one ever could, and the pain was excruciatingly delightful.
"Oh Al," he moaned, running the first two inches in and out of him. "Oh you big horny stud!"
"Actually, wouldn't you prefer the real thing?" Al said, his hand on the bedroom doorknob.
Mel froze. "How the fuck did you get in here?"
"I'll send a repairman to fix the window I broke," Al said. "I heard you moaning all over the place and I thought you were hurt. Lucky me, I get a nice free sex show from you instead."
Mel realized then that Al was very, very naked. His eyes raked the man from his handsome face to the well-muscled torso to that huge penis flanked by muscular thighs. Mel's eyes strained in the darkness to see… and Al, as if reading Mel's intention, reached out and switched on the lights.
"That cock of yours – "
"I told you yesterday I wasn't fully hard enough. There's no reason for me to get all fully aroused," Al said easily, walking into the room, that thick, huge cock bobbing gently in every step the man took in an irresistible invitation. "I like what I saw."
"I don't think I want that cock up my ass," Mel said warily, looking at it. "It might just land me in some ICU."
"Mel, I'm trying to be serious here."
Mel looked at Al's face. That man really was too serious for his own good. "What, Al?"
"I like you, and after last night, I think I may even be attracted to you." He gestured at the evidence between his legs. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this sort of thing, but I'm willing to try and learn. Because you're my best friend and the thought of you in my life really makes my depression fade away. So can we give us a try?"
"Sure," Mel said. "I'm more than willing. Now come here."
Al clambered on all fours towards Mel, somewhat warily. "Okay," he said, settling down to lie beside Mel. He ran his hand tentatively along Mel's chest, feeling the man's sweat-soaked skin.
Mel only leaned forward and brushed his lips slowly across Al's. Al hesitated, then parted his lips, and Mel's tongue slipped in. Old instincts took over, and soon Al's right hand cradled the back of Mel's head as they kissed furiously, urgently, all the while their hard cocks pressed against each other between their bodies. Then Al's other hand shyly reached down and touched the tip of Mel's cock.
Mel broke their kiss and told him, "Don't be shy."
"I haven't done this before," Al said. "I don't even know what to do."
"Maybe we'll skip the lesson in foreplay later," Mel said. "Come on, let's see how much of you I can take. Slowly and carefully," he told Al.
Al was already between Mel's legs by this time, and Mel was unprepared for the thick domed cock head, much thicker than his candle, parting the folds of his anus. "Aaargh!" he cried when the head pushed up him. Al took it slow, slowly pushing in, until finally he collapsed onto Mel, sweat running down his face as he tried to clear his thoughts from the indescribable sensations of Mel's tight, moist, and slippery anal walls convulsing like a hot glove around his penis.
"How much?" Mel whispered.
Al looked down between them. "Around three inches, I guess."
"Good enough." Mel grinned weakly.
Al grinned back in reply and slowly lifted his hips. Mel instinctively clamped his thighs around Al, lifting his lower body to stop the man from withdrawing. Then Al plunged forward, and Mel gave a choked cry as the friction sent hot white cascades of pleasure up his spine. Al's mouth covered his then, and he began fucking Mel at earnest.
Mel's hands clawed into the sheets until he found the candle. Then without preliminaries, he plunged it an inch up Al's anus.
Al shuddered, but he didn't stop pumping even as Mel pushed another inch up that man. Mel let his other hand cup Al's balls, wildly banging against the cheeks of Mel's buttocks, and squeezed gently. With that, Al gave a loud roar and gave one final thrust as his control break. Surges of his orgasm pulsed forth as he cried out in pleasure, his body wracked by delicious spasms as he poured himself into Mel's hot ass. Lubricated by his own seminal fluids, his still pumping cock moved in another inch, and another, until soon he was once again fucking Mel with relish even as lust flooded his veins once more and his cock hardened again in Mel's still convulsing anus.
Every inch he fed Mel, Mel repaid by sodomizing his anus with the candle. He couldn't take it, and he couldn't stop, not even when Mel broke into his own climax and spilled his juices all over Al's chest and stomach. Only, finally, in one last thrust, he came one more time in an insensate burst of pleasure.
FOUR
"So how's life?" Greg Germann asked Al when they walked into the elevator together. Greg lived two doors down from Mel – and Al, since Al more or less moved into Mel's pace.
"Fine."
"Mel did say your blowjob techniques are improving."
Damn it, would he ever stop blushing? Al still couldn't get used to Mel's friends and their frank sex talks. "I have a great teacher," he said as arrogantly as he could, daring Greg to contradict him.
Greg only chuckled. "Always thought you were in the closet."
"I didn't even know I'm in a closet," Al said. The elevator doors opened and they walked down the corridor to their apartments. "I thought of Mel as a very good friend first, you know, and somehow the idea of sleeping with him just feels right."
"You know, you ought to meet Ronan, you'll have a lot in common to talk about. If he could take time off his schedule." Greg put his heavy bag of groceries down at the door and fumbled for his keys. Then a thought struck him. "Say, Al, did you manage to find Mel's missing cock mould?"
Al really, really blushed this time.
Upstairs, enterprising Jason Behr put away this week's side income of two hundred and seventy-five bucks. Life was good. He had sixteen orders for the following week, and he'd better work on it as well as his comic strip if he wanted to survive the following week.
Who would've thought there would be so many people interested in authentically-shaped, extra-large scented penis candles?
Making a note to himself to return Mel's book of simple candle-making, Jason bent over his desk and started to draw.