Uncle Billy 3
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
The next week was quiet and peaceful. Nothing happened and that was fine with me. I had time to think. In some ways my life was fine. I had a new sex life with good guys. I was living in a house that didn't have wheels. I knew that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life flipping burgers. Even if I worked overtime, I might be able to afford a moped eventually.
For the first time in my life, I lived with a normal man who happened to share my sexual preferences. I wasn't in love, but I had met men I liked and might become love. That was a big improvement. I had some friends in the trailer park, but they weren't the type you could depend on.
I was flipping the last burger at the end of Friday night and had just finished the orders for the late-night parties, when a man came in. Somehow, I knew he was trouble, even before he pulled out the gun. The manager collected money every hour and put it in a floor safe. No one had the combination. It opened for five minutes on the hour, and then locked. The men in the Armored cars had the combination. We only had the hourly take and enough money to make change.
I thought the gun looked like an AK-47, but I had no real idea what it was. Two customers had just left, seen the gun and called the cops on their cell phones. A few minutes later I wondered if the cops had been at a convention. I had no idea there were that many of them. We had two customers, one of whom had a kid and the staff of twelve. Monica, the manager's husband was there to pick her up with their teenaged daughters.
Due to my trailer park knowledge, I suspected the man had over-indulged in something bad. He was raving and refused to believe Monica couldn't get into the safe. I was not as scared as the other people, again to my trailer park experience. Every month or so a guy would threaten to kill his wife and kids, or a woman wanted to cut up her husband and his bimbo.
I was familiar with drunk or stoned out of your mind's logic. The men who never made the Uncle Level with Mom were that type.
"Hay mister, do you want a burger?" I asked. "It's the best in town," I asked. "You look hungry."
I produced a burger, and he ate it with one hand and kept his finger on the trigger.
"I have a deal for you," I said. "This is a fucking burger joint. If you take every penny, you won't get more than a few dollars. My dad's loaded, he can produce a hundred thousand. Tell him I'm a hostage, he'll pay up."
"Shit, you're working in a fucking burger joint!" the man said.
"Well, I was a bad boy and was kicked out of college," I said. "Dad doesn't give a shit about me. Mom will make him pay up. She still likes me." The gunman liked that idea. I suspected his mother was still waiting for him to make good.
"I'll call daddy, and you let the other folk go," I continued. "They have shit for money, and if you hurt one of the kids, you'll eventually be a dead man. Kid killer's sometimes take a long time to die. The guys in the pen don't like that much either," I said. "The kids are just whiners anyway."
Drugged up jerks robing a burger joint are not there because nuclear physics was not challenging enough. He let the other hostages go. That was good, but he had no one to gun down for except for me.
I saw a little red light on the man's arm. A second later the gun and a portion of the man's arm flew into the air. Every door burst open; every window shattered. Two seconds later, I was outside in the cool air with three policemen.
I was interrogated by a mountain of a man with a crew cut, Detective Lou Mallard and his pal, Rusty Smith. I gave them a coherent account of the robbery. The other witnesses were still in shock and were not making a lot of sense. I told him I didn't want any publicity. They understood that. Around three in the morning Mallard took me home. The lights were all on. When Uncle Billy open the door, he exclaimed, "Lou!" They were old friends from way back.
"Have you been raiding cradles?" Lou asked as he laughed.
"Come on in, it's a long story," Billy said. "Are you off duty? I can give you a drink."
Uncle Billy looked at me. "Eddie, are you okay? You can have a drink too, or do you want the whole bottle?" I laughed and said a drink would be fine. I told him I was fine.
"You need to be careful. Adrenalin is working its magic. You may feel differently tomorrow," Billy said.
Billy and Lou were old friends. They had to break it off when Lou moved up the ladder. Gay guys don't get promoted. They hadn't seen each other in years. Lou was retiring in a week, and I suspected they would renew their friendship.
I had a drink but began to shake a little. I was incredibly cold. Two or three minutes later I was in bed under covers. I thought I couldn't sleep at all, but I woke at ten the next morning feeling good.
I learned from the morning news on TV, the robber had a record the size of a small New England State. There was no need for a trial. His prior convictions would keep him in jail for years. Later that day, the president of the company called me. the thanked me for being cool under fire. He said the burger place was to be demolished, and a bigger grander building erected in another neighborhood. I was paid a massive bonus and decided to get a less stressful job.
Lou retired and showed up at Uncle Billy's house the next night for dinner with Rusty Smith, his former assistant. Lou and Rusty were not the delicate types and they must have been the least likely to be gay men I had ever met. Lou said he hardly ever met a smart crook, but he had a taste for crooks who thought they were smart.
He gave me the impression he was a cat watching the mice play until he was hungry. Rusty was aggressive but I suspected he had been a boy scout who had earned all the merit badges. He seemed to like Uncle Billy a lot.
His life story was like mine. His dad had left his mother when Rusty was four, but his mother both took care of him, and made a good living too with the help of his grandparents. She eventually remarried a fine man, who loved Rusty as if he were his own.
I was sure they were not platonic friends, but I had a feeling Lou like younger guys, and Rusty liked mature men. They both had a problem being gay and policemen. Lou was 100% trustworthy and was known for his good taste in playmates. Uncle Billy didn't operate a stud farm, but he did give men the good housekeeping seal of approval.
Uncle Billy had another useful skill. He had a knack for easing the transition between a pleasant conversation into a full-blown sexual fantasy. Billy's fantasies always involved hard cocks and a lot of sperm. Billy and I got along well but part of that might have been my versatility. I could pitch and catch with equally facility. I could adapt.
I figured out that Lou had a warm spot for younger guys and Rusty liked daddy types. Lou and Uncle Billy were talking about the good old days. I assumed that meant when they were sexually active. Lou recalled the good times in bed, "Getting to know each other better."
Uncle Billy said the times were still good for him. Lou and Rusty knew what the meant. "You mentioned Eddie was mature for his age," Billy said. "He doesn't have much milage on him but living in that trailer park gave him some in depth knowledge about the birds and the bees. He's nice and open minded."
Billy had worked his magic again. Ten minutes later the four of us were naked in shower. Lou was huge. Rusty was a big man. Unlike some big guys, they were both big where it counts. I know much of that is due to proportion. A seven-inch cock looks huge on a five-foot-four man but is dwarfed on a guy who is six-four. Lou and Rusty were big everywhere.
"Now guys," Uncle Billy said, "you may have guessed that Eddie and I get close once and a while."
"So close you overlap?" Lou asked. We all laughed.
"Eddie and I are pals, but not exclusive. Every orifice and organ are available for mutual enjoyment. We tend to trade the sticky stuff. We don't trespass or go where we aren't wanted."
"I hope you remembered that my cock, mouth and ass are ready, willing, and able," Lou said.
"Let's just say I like to share," Rusty said. As I had guessed, Lou and I connected, and Uncle Bill took Rusty to his bedroom.
Lou was a loud aggressive man, but he was slightly timid with me. I'm not a small man, but I was small compared to him. I got things off to a good start by coating his cock in lube and sitting on it. It took a while, but Lou was helpful. He had a collection of possible techniques to get his monster in. It was worth it. Once it was in me, I sort of merged with Lou. I was just an attachment on his cock. I loved it. He pulled out so I could suck his cock. It drooled, dribbled, and twitched as I licked it. I loved it almost as much he loved being sucked. He shot of a few thank you volleys.
Uncle Billy had a good time with Rusty. I don't think that Uncle Billy was a calculating man, but he had a skill which identifies young, gay, men looking for daddy. He found me, and I wasn't the first. He told me I was the best, but that was usually when he had his cock deep in my ass. He also told me he like to get his entire cock in. His cock didn't fit everyone. All was well with Rusty and Billy.
We met back in the shower. Lou asked if Billy would mind if he left a token of his affection deep in my behind. Billy said that was fine.
"I'm sorry. I should have asked you first," Lou whispered to me. "I don't know if you want old guy semen."
I smiled. "I'm fine with that. Let's just think of it being vintage, not old," I said. This time it was an easy fit. My ass had adapted to his cock.
Lou and Rusty went home and I talked with Uncle Billy. "Were you just being nice, or did you mind you fucking Rusty?" I asked.
"I had no problem at all. His sperm turned me on," Billy said. "You are almost fifty years younger than I am. I want you to meet the right guys to be friends and playmates."
"I would like to feel Lou's cum in a tight ass," he added. "I loved that years ago." I rolled on my back and Billy's joystick slid deep into me. It was good.
My burger joint didn't want me working for them. I was a reminder of a bad incident. They did give me a full scholarship to any local university I wanted. I hadn't considered college as a possibility. Uncle Billy told me it was a great opportunity, and I should take it. I told him I wasn't sure.
"I wish you would. If you don't, I would have to shoot you because you are too stupid to live in this earth. I don't want to spend my twilight years in jail for killing you," he said. I told him a college career was looking better and better. That was the last time he threatened to kill me.
A week later Dr. Lawrence Dudley came to dinner. The was a retired dean of a local college. He was one of Uncle Billy's pals. I told him I had no idea what to do. He told me I didn't need to declare a major until my second year, he gave me a list of classes I should take and the professors teaching the classes.
I asked if it was hard to get in the classes. "For most students it would be almost impossible. However, I was dean for thirty years. If I live to be 150-years-old, I will not have enough time to collect all the debts owed to me. Billy has helped many men who need help when I asked him," he explained. "He has good judgement."
I did exactly what I was told to do. I have to admit that being raised in a trailer park was not intellectually stimulating. Signing your name was the academic high point of some of my neighbors. Most were not dumb. Booze and drugs were a big problem, but the biggest problem was that they were born knowing everything. No one recognized their genius.
I was not one of them. Dean Dudley had selected odd classes. I had English, Sociology, Spanish, Art History and Archaeology as a science class. These met the requirements for the first year. The professors were eccentric, funny and clever. Oddly, my knowledge of trailer park was useful in Sociology, and I was considered to be hardy in the archaeology class. We went on mini-excavations, and I was the only one who had lived in an un-air-conditioned space. I also had more knowledge about ditch digging that anyone else.
I was lucky that going to bed early and reading had been a good defense against drunken Uncles. One of the neighbors had part of an Encyclopedia Britannica that someone had tossed out. They decided it took up too much room an tossed it out. It ended up in my bedroom, so read most of it. Usually, Mom and an uncle were drinking and watching the TV. It was a lot safer to be reading in the bedroom.
The school had a one-week mid-semester vacation. There was a mini-excavation during the week to give students a little taste of field work. I signed up for it, so the class flew to Arizona to work on a Spanish Monastery there. It had only lasted 30-40 years before it closed due to a drought.
The site was in the middle of nowhere, which is something in a state like Arizona. There was a motel, the Cactus Inn. It was old apparently was intended for tourists who got lost. It was next to a café and a gas station. We were in the back wing, which was the 1950's parts of the building. It was brick but had porches on three sides to the sun never hit the walls. It also had up to date plumbing and a good air conditioning system.
There were ten women and five male students and two faculty, Dr. Tom Millard who was a bearded eccentric and Dr. Elizabeth Smithson who ate students for breakfast. The students were divided into two groups. About half took archaeology because it seemed easy and they had to have some sort of a major, and the geeks. I was in the geek group because I wasn't from the right sort of people.
Bad luck is fickle. What you might think was bad luck may be a good thing years later. Living in a barely air-conditioned trailer and working over a hot griddle didn't strike me as good, but it prepared you for working in an Arizona desert. Two students left the second day.
I was lucky that I was digging in an out of the way place that Dr. Smithson thought was important. She was right. I discovered the tomb of the first Abbott. It sat against a wall that had fallen. It had elaborate sculpted decoration apparently done by Indians. Dr. Smithson said it was a Baroque-Native American combination that was unique.
I found it working with Wally who shared a room with me, Belle, an overweight girl with a good sense of humor. I did sixty to seventy percent of the work since my digging skills were better, but I had learned at the burger joint, we are a team. Not being a team member meant you might find a knife in your back. Dr. Smithson came close to giving me a compliment.
Wally and another geek, Jonesy, shared a room with me. Wally was a clunky, hairy, guy with a bear physique. Jonesy was small and timid. He looked as if he had never been in the sun before. He got sunburned the first day excavating, but he stuck it out and didn't go home. Uncle Billy had packed emergency meds and bandages for me. He said I might be a long way from a doctor or hospital there, and this stuff would take care of immediate cuts and bruises. I had some sunburn stuff that Jonesy thought was a wonder. I also had a light weigh shirt and hat that helped with sun exposure. They weren't adventurous guys, but they stayed and did their part.
I had a different dress code than they did in the room. That surprised them, but it seemed to interest them too. Wally told me he now understood the difference between being naked and being nude. I was used to gay men who admitted to themselves they were comfortable being gay. Wally and Jonesy were afraid they were gay. They had made a few experimental gestures, and Jonesy had briefly licked Wally's cock.
They needed a guide, and Jonesy thought I was the man for the job. They were both shy and timid. I don't believe my cock has any special properties, but sometimes it is inspirational. I am a laid-back guy who goes with the flow. Billy told me that when I was soft, my cock was big enough, but not too big. It seemed bigger in a guy's mouth, and much bigger in his ass. I didn't scare guys.
Wally and I had discovered a statue of the Virgin Mother as an Indian women. Dr. Tom described it as cover material for the Smithsonian or the National Geographic. I had been buried in ash, cinders, and sand. With the addition of our own sweat, we were not only dirty, dusty, and stinky, but the ash itched. After a long day in the desert, Wally and I had a race to the shower.
Wally and I compromised and showered together with Jonesy pointing out places we missed. It was almost a "The Three Stooges Take a Shower," short subject. At 19, Wally was sort of hairy. He would be playing Bigfoot by the time he was thirty. He tried to hide his cock. I told him most guys would want to show it off. Uncle Billy told me you never make enemies complimenting a man's cock.