[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual events and the events in this story or the characters in this story are purely coincidental. This story involves descriptions of unsafe sexual acts between men for the purpose of erotic fantasy and is not intended to condone such acts. If you are underage or homoerotic material is otherwise illegal in your area, please do not continue. Author retains copyright; do not duplicate this story without the express written consent by the author. Comments and suggestions are welcomed by the author at morgorn1@hotmail.com]
"The Spring of 1977"
Chapter One
Mark had finally had his revenge upon me, for not allowing him to continue our dalliance the previous fall. It took me years afterward to realize Mark had perhaps spoken out of fear, fear that I, a mere 16 year-old, would expose the fact he had seduced me, and as he was 18, he would considered an adult in violation of the law.
Whatever his reasons, Mark had concocted a story full of half- truths and lies, and my father and his new bride had reached the intended conclusion with all possible speed. I was a flagrant homosexual, and, to paraphrase my father, no faggot was going to live under my father's roof.
"Your father says you have to leave," Betty, my stepmother said in a pious tone, but I caught her sidelong sneer of triumph. She wasn't fooling anyone, least of all me. I was 17 now, but just barely.
"All right," was my simple reply. My hour had come; my worst fears, realized. My father had been looking for a reason to throw me out into the street, where I might conveniently disappear, and now he had arrived at his goal of doing so. Yet I remained much more composed than I had ever thought possible.
"Where will you go?"
"Grandmother said I could live with her again, if I needed to," I replied, in a somewhat defiant tone, in spite of my resolve not to display any emotion.
Betty frowned. I could tell she was analyzing the situation. On the one hand, getting rid of me was of paramount importance, because I was in her way, and my usefulness to my father in caring for myself and four other children was over the day he had married this fanatically religious woman and introduced her and her two children as part of our family.
On the other hand, it was important to Betty's social standing within the local community of Jehovah's Witnesses the family maintain the appearance of wholesome Christianity, and banishing me to go and live with a "worldly," relative would not sit well with the elders in the local congregation and might even give rise to an inquiry and uncomfortable questions.
Not to mention the unpleasant tales I would no doubt be repeating to my Grandmother and other "worldly" relatives I would be in contact with. I could possibly bring reproach upon "Jehovah's" organization; and that possibility didn't sit well with Betty.
I could see all of this turning over in her mind, and offered no further comment.
"I'll have to ask your father if that's all right," Betty ventured to say, slowly, as if she hadn't already made up her mind on the matter.
I shrugged. It didn't matter what either of them thought. I had no doubt that my father's answer would be no. "First, they kick me out, then feel they have the right to tell me where to live," I thought furiously to myself.
My grandmother, though still working at the time and busy with her own life and her own concerns, had made the offer to me and I intended to take her up on it, for a short while at least until I found something to do, either work or school.
My father had found it useful to remove me from school after the 9th grade. At the time, the Jehovah's Witnesses believed the world, as we knew it, was going to end in the fall of 1975--so of course, school was of no use and with my mother dying of cancer, I was of more use at home cooking and cleaning, than I was at school.
My mother and father, having joined the organization of Jehovah's Witnesses in the late 1960's, had lived for several years with every expectation the predictions would not fail to come true. My mother, though ravaged by cancer, never lost hope "The end of the system of things," otherwise known as Armageddon, would arrive prior to her death.
But 1975 had come and gone; and now here I was, stranded with an inadequate education, no job skills to speak of, and to make matters even worse, it was becoming more obvious to everyone around me I was "queer," and both Betty and my father were becoming more aware of the whispers and nudges of their peers in the local congregation.
Betty left the room and left me to my own thoughts. I thought of Mark and his recently announced engagement to a pretty young girl.
I thought of my mother, and her foolish infatuation with my father, a sly brute of a man who was incapable of viewing other human beings as viable persons, they were merely vague objects on the horizon of his consciousness, objects to be used to his own advantage.
I thought of the small the small babbling brook up on the hillside behind the house. I could slit one wrist, and dangle it in the water and just go to sleep. It would be so easy, and there wouldn't be any mess or hardly any pain if I used a new blade and was careful.
But another part of mind rebelled. Suicide would be an "unforgiveable" sin; I had to try to go onwards. I would find a job. I would get a GED, I would either go to a skill center or go to college.
But I could hear the water burbling, calling to me gently, with its promise of sleep and no more troubles.
I braced myself, got out my checkbook and shook my head over the meager balance. My car, a 1968 Buick, probably would not make the trip from Nashville to my grandmother's home in Tulsa. The car was ailing, with a long list of deferred repairs and maintenance. It needed tires, brakes, shocks, and the valves in the engine were clattering. No, the car would not make the trip. I had about $200; not enough to make the repairs the car would need.
That settled it; I would fly to Tulsa, and then find a job close enough to my grandmother's home to walk to. I didn't need a car to start with; besides, I could never afford the insurance and I hated how the car was always taking money out of my bank account. It seemed to me that all my meager earnings from working as a cook at a local Dairy Queen went into keeping the car running.
I called various airlines, and finally settled on Braniff as the cheapest and drove over to the airport and paid cash, $74, for a one-way ticket from Nashville to Tulsa. There was a scheduled change of planes in Dallas.
I called my grandmother, collect, to let her know when to expect my arrival.
Two days later, I quietly packed all of my belongings into one suitcase, left my car in the driveway with the keys in it, and took a cab to the airport. It was gloomy and raining.
The Nashville airport was busy and bustling on the 14th of June, 1977. I became aware walking through the terminal that though I was 17 and nearly considered an adult, I really had no idea what I was doing. My flight number was 111, scheduled to leave at 9:15AM. I followed various signs and found the correct gate and checked in.
The incoming flight was 25 minutes late. When the orange Boeing 727 finally came lumbering up to the jetway, I noticed the jet, despite the rain, looked dirty, especially the tail section which appeared sooty. This was a far cry from the era of the 1960's, when I had flown with my mother in gleaming aircraft, with smiling stewardesses dressed up in uniforms complete with little hats and wearing gloves. All of that had passed away into the past and I was now confronted on all sides with all the garish vulgarity the 1970's had ushered in.
My impression of the jet did not improve upon closer inspection, after a long wait, I finally made my way down the jetway with the other passengers and I noticed one section of interior paneling of the aging airliner had obviously been repaired and the carpeting was stained and dirty, the seats battered and worn.
I didn't know it at the time but Braniff was struggling with financial woes and shut down four short years later in 1982.
The aircraft departed Nashville, thundering down the wet runway and lifting into the sky. I was seated by a deeply scratched window and watched as the sunlight burst into view as the aging aircraft banked upwards above the cloud layer.
Although I was happy to be underway, and glad of the sunshine, I was concerned about the arrival in Dallas/Ft. Worth, and I could not relax.
I was booked on connecting flight 154 to Tulsa, scheduled departure time was 11:15AM. The pilot came on briefly, and though I could barely make out what he was saying over the old speakers, I could hear we would be in the air less than two hours.
I quickly calculated; there might be enough time.
When the old jet finally parked at the gate in Dallas, I ran all the way down to the gate where flight 154 was supposed to departing from.
There was no airplane at the gate, just some people looking out the tall glass windows.
There was a small line of people standing at the podium, with a harassed looking ticket agent punching keys on a keyboard.
I passed the left side of the line and approached the ticket agent, and said "Excuse me please, I'm sorry, has flight 154 arrived?"
"It left 5 minutes ago," was the ticket agent's terse reply.
"I was supposed to be on it!" I blurted out, feeling my face turn red all the way up to the roots of my scalp, and a quick glance confirmed the glares of the passengers I had cut in front of.
"It couldn't wait. And the next flight, 140 to leave at 2:50, is overbooked," the man snapped still tapping on the keyboard without looking at me.
Embarrassed and furious at the same time, I turned away from the podium, avoiding the eyes of the waiting passengers who were glaring at me with disgust.
A well dressed middle-aged man, near the windows, caught my eye; he looked at me, with a curious, calculating look, that made me feel self-conscious and uneasy and warm all at the same time.
I walked away from the gate area. I needed a cup of coffee, and I needed to sit for a while to think. After the rush to reach the gate, and the rudeness of the agent, I was feeling flustered and scared.
Tulsa was not that far north. I walked slowly and turned over various ideas in my head. I probably had enough on me to buy a bus ticket and if Braniff could not, or would not, get me to Tulsa, then I would have to figure out a way to get to the nearest bus terminal.
I turned suddenly and literally bumped into the man I had noticed at the gate. He had been walking behind me.
I excused myself and stepped backwards, feeling my face turn red yet again.
"Hey fella, don't get all worked up there," the man drawled and his right hand came up and adjusted my collar, then left his hand draped casually on my shoulder.
I stopped moving and looked at his face; his eyes seemed sympathetic, but there was something else there too.
"Missed your flight didn't ya?" he asked, jerking his head a little in the direction of the Braniff gate.
"Yes," I replied, very uncomfortable with a complete stranger touching me so casually, "I guess I'll just get a bus ticket or something," and I stepped back carefully.
"I can get ya to Tulsa myself if you'd like?" the man offered, letting his hand drop as he spoke.
"Are you going there?"
"Oh yeah, I own a light plane and I make the trip all the time, it's a real easy flight."
"My suitcase!" I blurted out.
"Aw, don't worry about it, "the young man drawled, "They'll get it to ya later."
I took another look at the man, dark, clear skin, dark brown, curly hair, full lips, handsome, but not in a showy way. Broad shoulders, trim waist. My heartbeat quickened.
"Okay," I stammered, "If you're flying to Tulsa, then that would be great."
"Well, that's good, I always like having company on a flight. Let's find my car."
I followed the man out of the terminal building.
"What's your name," the man inquired as we walked across the parking lot.
"Um...most people call me Rick."
"I'm Carl, nice to meet ya."
"Nice to meet you," I responded with automatic politeness.
We approached his car, a beautiful 1977 Thunderbird, burgundy with a leather interior. He unlocked the passenger door and used the button set in the panel to unlock the driver's door.
I settled into the lush leather seat and inhaled the odor of a nice car, with appreciation. My sad old Buick came to my mind; this car was throwing rocks at that piece of junk.
Carl got in and started the engine; hushed power and silky smoothness. I was even more impressed.
"Would you like to spend a few days here in the big city and have some fun?" Carl asked as he maneuvered the car through the toll gates.
"Sure," I replied promptly, though inside my mind I was appalled at how readily I had accepted such an invitation, "I've never been here."
"You have anything to do in Tulsa that just has to be done?"
"No, I don't."
"There's lots to do here, Tulsa is kind of a backwater if you ask me," Carl remarked.
I had to agree; Tulsa was ugly and dirty in a lot of areas, and didn't have the glitz of Nashville to cover up some of the flaws.
Carl drove us to his home in a suburb of Dallas, a small, well appointed place, with fashionable postage stamp sized front and rear yards, most of what faced the street was the garage door. As Carl led the way into his house he kindly offered me the use of his telephone.
I put another collect call through to my grandmother and told her I was delayed for several days and would call her again when I knew more; she was at work and very busy and didn't ask many questions other than to confirm she did not have to meet me at the airport that day.
Carl and I talked for a while, and we watched some TV; I was dull and tired after the hurried bustle I had been through earlier in the day and let Carl do most of the talking.
Carl was a nurse, currently on vacation. Besides being well educated and in possession of a good income, he was also the son of a wealthy man who owned a chain of restaurants. So it seemed to me Carl had never known the want of money and as I was loath to admit my lack of education I decided the best course I could follow would be to simply keep quiet.
I pretended I was visiting my grandmother for the summer and did not mention all I had was a one way ticket. Such details of my pitiful life, as I thought, were better kept to myself.
Carl took us out to a nice restaurant for a late lunch, Carl ordered for me, a filet mignon, rare, with some wine (no one bothered to check my age) so by the time we left the restaurant, I was comfortably full and slightly buzzed by the wine. I was not comfortable with Carl paying and asked him to let me pay for my lunch, but he firmly and resolutely refused.
The more time I spent with Carl, the more comfortable I became. The day had begun to assume a surreal quality to it, starting with my missing the connecting flight, and part of my mind simply shut down, and I let Carl make all the decisions and take the lead with all the conversation.
Eventually, the day drew to a close and as we sat in two very comfortable easy chairs, watching TV, in his compact living room I couldn't stop yawning because of my full stomach and the wine.
I didn't want any supper and Carl suggested I take a shower and turn in early, to which I readily agreed.
The bathroom Carl showed me to had a connecting door to it from the bedroom I was to use, as well as to the hallway.
As I had been parted from my suitcase, I didn't have any clean clothes to put on and Carl said we would throw my stuff in the washer and he had a pair of shorts I could borrow.
I showered and lingered for a few minutes under the warm water, feeling the tension of the day fade away. I pulled on the shorts Carl loaned me and then went through to the bedroom and gratefully slid between the cool sheets of the bed.
After a few moments Carl came to the bedroom door and tapped lightly, and then opened the door after I responded and we chatted quietly for a few more minutes. Carl told me more about things to do and in the area and where he wanted to take me, when I involuntarily yawned again; I really was tired, and though I didn't want to seem ungrateful, I just wanted to go to sleep.
Carl took the hint and told me to let him know if I needed anything and wished me a good night, shutting the door after him and I drifted off to sleep.
I slept deeply for several hours, dreamless as far as I could tell and then suddenly awoke. The room was pitch black and it took me a moment to remember where I was. I was thirsty. I slipped out from under the deliciously smooth sheets then opened the hallway door and made my way to the kitchen.
I found the light switch in the kitchen and flipped it on, wincing with the bright lights from the ugly modern buzzing tubes overhead. A clock on the wall announced the time as 2:00. I found a glass and sipped the water from the tap. It tasted bad and smelled of chemicals.
I put the glass in the dishwasher, then flipped off the light, and started down the hallway.
There was a dim light showing underneath Carl's door. I heard a faint sound, like a gasp. Intrigued, I padded quietly in my bare feet closer to his door, ready to bolt backwards quickly if I needed to in a hurry.
"Oh yeah," an unfamiliar male voice gasped out, "Oh, yeah!"
Then I heard Carl's voice murmur something too low for me to Catch.
I felt myself harden instantly, despite the fact I was being rude and in danger of being caught listening. Carl was having sex with another guy!
I heard a few more grunts and moans, and heard springs on the bed as bodies apparently shifted, then I crept softly back to the kitchen.
I peaked outside. A shiny Jaguar crouched in the driveway.
Hm...
Presently, some faint, muffled sounds roused me. I froze at the kitchen sink for a scant second, then hurried quietly and quickly back to my room and shut the door as softly as I could.
After a few moments, I heard Carl and the other man moving down the hallway passing my room. I could hear a few whispered words but nothing else until the front door opened and closed.
Carl returned to his room without stopping at my door.
I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, the room was fairly well lit with what bits of sunlight managed to get past the drapes on the window.
I yawned and stretched; I was rested and, having skipped supper the night before, was incredibly hungry, and I needed to pee.
I got up and used the bathroom, and took advantage of a toothbrush and toothpaste Carl had thoughtfully left on the counter for me.
I washed my face, smoothed my unuruly hair and made my way to the kitchen.
Carl was at the counter by the stove, busy with the beginnings of breakfast. He was shirtless, as I was, with what appeared to be a pair of silk boxers, and when he heard me walking into the kitchen, he turned and shot me a wry grin.
"Hey!" Carl said cheerfully.
"Mornin,'" I mumbled in return, trying to keep my eyes off of his body, I made my way to the table and sat down, looking everywhere except at Carl.
"Hungry?" Carl asked.
"A little," I lied. I was ravenous and my stomach had already kicked into overdrive at the prospect of coffee, but it seemed to me to be bit uncivilized to walk into the kitchen and start demanding food.
"Coffee will be ready in a bit," Carl nodded at a percolator that was busy making self-important sounds and then he took a skillet and set it on the stove, and asked if I could help with making the toast, pointing towards a toaster on the counter opposite.
I made some toast and carefully spread butter on it, real butter, as Carl said in his clear, cheerful tones--"Because butta is betta!"
In the meantime, Carl skillfully scrambled some eggs, which he plated up and set on the table just as the percolator reached a noisy and frenetic finale brewing the coffee.
I ate with zest, sipping the steaming coffee while Carl munched his toast and looked at me thoughtfully now and then but not saying much.
After we had finished, I rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher while Carl gave his stove a quick wipe down.
"You heard us last night, didn't you?" Carl asked suddenly. Actually, it was a statement, not a question. I froze, uncertain as to what to say.
"You left the kitchen light on," Carl grinned.
"Yes," I muttered, feeling my face flush "I'm sorry, I was up getting some water."
"Don't be sorry, it's okay."
"So, you're cool," Carl asked after another long moment, "With guys messing around?"
Still embarrassed, I merely nodded my head mutely.
"Do you like guys instead of gals?" Carl bluntly asked, but with a quiet tone.
I nodded my head yes, staring at my feet, and felt my eyes flood.
"I suppose you could tell the moment you saw me," I said bitterly, my voice raw with the emotion I was trying to suppress.
"Naw, I couldn't, not at first," Carl drawled.
I looked up Carl's eyes for a moment, as he sat grinning at me.
"Why did you follow me and offer to fly me up to Tulsa?"
"You don't know?" Carl smiled.
"No," I turned halfway away.
Carl's right hand caught my chin gently, and he turned my face towards his own.
"You caught my eye because you're so hot," he whispered.
"Am I?" my heart felt it would burst with despair, "I don't feel that I am."
"Trust me kid, you are."
I turned my head away without a word and Carl let his hand drop.
I kept quiet, and busied myself with the controls on the dishwasher, as it was full and needed to be run. Carl handed me a box of soap flakes.
"That guy who was here last night," Carl said after a moment, "he is a client of mine."
I felt surprised and it must have shown in my face, but I said nothing.
"I'm what is known as a male escort," Carl said, and he tilted his head waiting for my response.
"So," I said cautiously, "you don't work as a nurse," I stuttered, "I mean, that is what you do for a living?"
"Yeah, I'm a nurse, but I do the escorting work on the side."
I said nothing but the expression on my face amused Carl and he laughed.
I smiled and relaxed a little.
"So, what's it like?" I asked.
"It's usually okay," Carl shrugged.
"I don't know if I could do that," I said honestly.
"Why not?"
"I don't know--I'm so shy," I responded, trying, and failing, to come up with something that sounded more sophisticated.
"Would you like to find out?"
I considered a few short moments, then shook my head yes.
"Okay," I shrugged, "What do you have in mind."
"Well, I could show you how I take care of clients."
"All right," I was letting Carl take the lead again.
"For starters, let's take a shower," Carl said, and he headed down the hallway to his room, I followed behind him.
Carl went into the bathroom that was part of his master bedroom and started the shower, then came out naked. His flat stomach was nice, and the tuft of pubic hair with his full and relaxed looking genitals looked good as well. Carl looked like many of the good looking guys I had showered with in school; masculine and easy going with a sense of self-assurance I hardly ever felt myself. I liked his broad shoulders and his strong arms.
"Come on, don't be shy," he said with a smile as he nodded at my shorts.
I pulled off my shorts, deeply conscious of the fact I had no visible tan line like Carl's, and my genitals were folded up high and tight against my body which was typical for me and followed him into the shower.
Carl started by soaping down my back; it felt good to be massaged under the spray of warm water and I started to relax.
"Okay, to start with," Carl said as he helped me rinse my back, "everything will work out better if both you and your client are squeaky clean. Sometimes clients don't have time to shower, but if you can make it part of the service you give them, so much the better."
"Here, do my back," Carl turned and handed me the soap.
I scrubbed his back for him, and admired the globes of his buttocks as the soap and water ran down between them. Carl did have a nice body.
Carl turned me around and had me lean against the shower wall, while he slipped a soapy finger briefly inside my anus and swirled it around.
"There, I think we're ready now," Carl said.
We didn't linger too much longer under the water and after a final rinse, Carl shut the water off and stepped out, and handed me a towel. We both dried ourselves off and fingered combed our hair before Carl led the way into his bedroom.
"Now," Carl said, "there are some things you should check out with a client, even if you've seen the guy before. Come over here."
Carl went and sat in a chair in a corner. He placed his hands on my hips and had me face him. I was nervous, but not much. Carl's casual commands and the conversational quality of his tone keep me from feeling too strange.
"First of all," Carl let his hands drop from my hips, "look the guy in the eye and make eye contact, that's real important."
"Okay," I nodded.
"Some guys will be really uptight," Carl said, "and they will feel better if you don't stare at their crotch right at first, especially if they have a bit of locker room shrinkage and are worried about it."
I nodded I understood again.
"What most guys are worried about is being too small. Most guys have between 5 to 7 inches. The guys that are shorter can be pretty thick and get really hard, and their nuts are usually bigger and more sensitive. The guys that have more may not get as hard and their nuts may be kind of small—and don't assume just because a guy isn't real hard he's not having a good time. And keep in mind every guy is different—yet the same."
I nodded again.
"Now," Carl continued, "the first thing I look out for is for lice, called crabs, in the pubes and sometimes you can see them in the chest and belly hair too."
With gentle movements, Carl parted my pubic hair in a few different areas and commented all was well.
"You can make this part of the routine with a lot of the guys and they won't mind, make sure you check real well at the base of the cock," Carl instructed.
"Next," Carl picked up my penis with one hand, "you need to check for any sort of discharge from the guy's cock," Carl deftly ran two fingers down my shaft, top and bottom, and then side to side, from the base to the tip.
"This can be a bit difficult if the guy is already hard," Carl said, as he completed the second pass, "if you squeeze kind of hard, it will help to keep the guy's dick soft, which makes it easier to see any sort of a problem."
I apparently had passed the test. My penis, a bit more relaxed now, looked better than it had previously.
"And so what do I say if there is a problem," I inquired.
"Just be honest, and tell the guy you think he needs to see a doctor," Carl replied "that usually kills the mood right then and there for any sort of play and you can send the guy on his way. Make sure you wash your hands really well and watch for any sores or anything like that breaking out."
"All right," I said.
"Now," Carl stood up as he shifted me backwards a bit, "come over here and lean forward over the bed with your legs slightly apart."
I moved to the bed as instructed, as Carl picked up the chair and moved it behind me.
"I'm going to just give your ass a look over," Carl announced, and he gently parted my buttocks and I could feel the heat from his face as he moved in closer.
This, for whatever reason, seemed a little arousing to me and I felt myself start to stiffen a bit.
Carl continued in his role of instructor, "Again, you're looking for lice, and for any sort of warts or a discharge from the guy's ass. If the guy has showered before arriving, then he should be pretty clean, if he hasn't and you can persuade him, have him jump in the shower and get cleaned up a bit."
I felt Carl's thumb glide over the opening of my anus. It was very pleasurable and I felt myself stiffen even more.
"So," Carl said as his thumb made another pass, "any questions?"
"No," I said as I shook my head. I was very hard now, and I made myself relax as now Carl's index finger pressed against my anus, then after a few seconds, slipped inside of me gently. He inserted his finger fully, then turned it from side to side, then he stroked the prostate gland gently. I felt the pressure build and then subside as he withdrew his finger.
"You've got a tight ass there man," Carl said in a husky tone, and then I felt the head of his now erect penis brush against the back of my thighs.
"Now," Carl said, "a massage is a great way to get a guy relaxed, and to help get him into the mood to get off. Lay down here on the bed on your stomach."
I complied with his instructions, and presently I felt Carl's body straddle my own. Carl diligently massaged my neck and shoulders, and worked his way down to my glutes. From there he worked over my thighs and lower legs, then worked his way back up to my hips.
I alternated between feelings of arousal, to feelings of a great lassitude and a drowsiness that almost threatened to put me to sleep during the massage.
Carl's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"You'll be able to get most guys off with a hand job," Carl shifted his weight off of me and rolled me gently onto my back. I was no longer erect at this point.
"You need to build up to jerking a guy off a little," Carl instructed, "especially if he's a new client and not used to you. Start at his chest and work your way down." And Carl demonstrated to me the proper sequence.
Gently, Carl's hands brushed against my genitals, and my penis slowly rose to the occasion. Then Carl's hands drifted away, and my penis started to flag a little.
"Let him get hard and soft a few times," Carl said softly and then his hands drifted back to my crotch again, one hand cupping my testicles while the other stroked my penis into full readiness again.
"You can touch me if you want," Carl offered, and I raised my left hand and let it glide over his nipples, before letting let move downwards over his taut belly and I encountered the thickness of his penis.
"Wow," I whispered," you're really big."
"Naw, not that big," Carl responded, "part of the reason for that is that another guy's cock will always feel different in your hand."
I stroked Carl's stiff penis in my hand, and felt it gently throb and felt the slickness at the tip of the glans. It really was impressive.
Carl tugged a pillow towards us, then had me raise up as he positioned it beneath my buttocks. There was a bottle of lotion on the bed, and Carl put some on the fingers of his right hand.
"I'm gonna massage your prostate," Carl announced as he spread my legs a bit further and knelt between them.
I felt a gentle finger on my anus, and then felt the finger slide in again, Carl started rubbing my prostate gently, but I found, once the novelty of being touched there had worn off, the sensation was pleasant but not that arousing.
It didn't take Carl long to notice my fading erection.
"You are so tight," Carl commented, "can I fuck you?"
"I don't mind, but go slow," I said, not really wanting to but a part of me wanted to please Carl.
"I'll go slow," Carl said as he smeared a liberal amount of lotion on his penis.
Carl raised my legs upward, and I felt the broad head of his penis pressing against the tightness of my opening. I felt a twinge of apprehension, but Carl was moving slowly and gently.
Before I was really aware of it, the glans of his penis had slipped up inside of me.
Almost at once, there was a painful cramp, and I grimaced at the stern reminder from my body that this orifice was not designed for this sort of activity. My penis was softening even more, drooping over to the side.
Carl, immediately noticed my pained expression, and withdrew, and smeared yet more lotion on his penis, but waited a few seconds before attempting to enter me again.
Presently, Carl raised my legs again, and I felt his penis start to slide into me again. This time I was much more comfortable, and Carl continued to press inwards until he was completely buried inside of me.
"Of fuck, yeah," Carl whispered as I felt his pubes pressing me, "you are so hot."
I gasped a little at a sudden cramp, which quickly eased. Carl began to steadily thrust in and out of my body, pushing my legs even farther back and tilting my hips upward to meet his increasingly rough thrusts. I felt his heavy testicles slapping against me at first, then they stopped. I reached down and grasped at his moving scrotum; his testicles were drawn up tightly against his body.
As I touched Carl's scrotum, he let out sort of a gasping, keening cry, not loud though.
There were a couple more thrusts, then Carl tensed and said "Fuck yeah," and I felt his penis throbbing as his thrusts suddenly slowed and became much gentler and I felt an extra slickness as his ejaculated semen was added to the lubrication of the lotion. Gradually, he stopped moving and lay on top of me as his body relaxed against mine.
"Kid," Carl said in a breathless voice, "thanks so much, that was fantastic."
My penis was flaccid now, and Carl slipped out of me and went to the bathroom to clean up. When he came back out, I went to the bathroom as well as washed up as well as I could at the sink with some soap and a washcloth, then I returned to the bed.
Carl kissed me, and then bundled me up next to him, and we drifted off to sleep.
And so that was the start of my summer in 1977. I spent several weeks with Carl and have never forgotten him. As I have time, I may write more of that special summer, and the special man that I met at the airport in Dallas who took the trouble to get to know me.