WRITE YOUR OBITUARY By Jack Russell/warp8tobeach@yahoo.com
I work for an intense internet marketing firm suffering from corporate indigestion. We have more employees come and go than a cruise bar on Saturday night. Part of the problem is the inadequate management skills of Margaret Mitchell, a bull of a lady who founded the company with her equally vapid girlfriend, Susan.
Susan was anointed as the general office manager of our department of six. She was impervious to anything productive with the exemption of hiring Tom, a strapping blond hunk still wet out of college.
Tom has been with us for about 7 months now and when he arrived for his interview, I was memorized by this corn bred stud and his beguiling Midwestern charisma. He was even able to housebreak the normally hard to impress Susan with his signature dimpled smile and azure eyes that twinkled like a 4th of July sparkler.
I looked forward to Fridays for two reasons now; the weekend was a trick away and being dress casual day, Tom would shove his hot body in slick jeans that showcased his fine ass and legs. He topped off his wardrobe with a linen short sleeve shirt coercing his biceps into a tug of war with the light fabric. I actually started to like this job!
My job became easier over the next month after we hired a very assertive and brash sales rep by the name of Joan. Recommended by straight laced Tom, Joan dressed butch with a spiky hair cut, painfully tight dress pants, and stern makeup. She was intellectually sharp but unlikely to win any corporate beauty pageant. Also, I just knew that her assertitive demeanor would act as a chemical accelerant when comingled with Ann and Wendy- our two marginal performing team members with meddlesome personalities.
Ann and Wendy were responsible for billing and account compliance- a job that any warm body retrieved from a car crash could perform. However, if you listened to them as they collectively breathed hot air into the room, you would have thought they could land a crippled space shuttle, pen a classic novel, and fuck a platoon of Marines before the first of their repetitive cigarette breaks.
Thursday turned out to be hell day. The phone rang perpetually as clients called to complain about something amiss with their account; our computer server went postal, and all the women in the office synchronized their menstrual cycle to the same hour of the day.
I couldn't even take a pee! At one time, there was actually a line forming for a sabbatical to the head. Tom and I were overwhelmed since Ann and Wendy decided to spend the day huddled outside smoking while engaged in scandalous gossip.
Trapped in the abyss of a phone conversation, I became aware of a fiery argument brewing in the next cubicle. I wasn't exactly sure of what was going on since all my senses were dedicated to a prime client that wanted to dump our services for craigslist since it was free. If I lost them, I could say goodbye to a profitable milk cow that squirted a weekly commission my way.
I remember hearing Tom say in an unusual curt prose, "Well leave then bitch and take your mascot with you!" I tuned in the drama. Ann and Wendy we're in a smack down with Tom.
Suddenly I could hear the galloping heals of Joan's pumps echoing on the tiled floor. A rush of papers became airborne caught in her wake. The fight had been joined.
Sure not to miss anything, I hurriedly ended my business call but left the phone receiver screwed to my ear as a ruse. And I get paid for this, I reveled!
"Tom's completely right, we'd be much better off without the two of you since all you produce is bullshit and ashes", she confirmed in her bossy Long Island lilt.
Tom stood bolt upright; all 210 unyielding pounds of him coiled like an ominous tornado poised to flatten a trailer park. His profile was striking from the rear. His physique, whetted by college football boasted a muscular shoulder grid and a pleasing V shaped back punctuated by twin smooth loaves of butt. I would love to spoon it in my mouth and gladly choke as he performed the heimlich maneuver on me. I became sexually aroused, go figure!
I was able to sneak a hand down my pants and pacify my distended manhood. I was a virgin in discovery of the thrill of exhibitionism. Suddenly, I appreciated the cocaine like charge people get from having sex in rather inconvenient venues.
Using my index finger, I drew concentric circles around the tip of my penis in lazy degrees of pressure from the playfulness of a tickle to a firm push that caused my entire shaft the flex like a steel girder in the wind. I could feel my balls pressurizing their tanks ready to shoot their spunk after reaching a point of no return. This made me slow down since it wouldn't be a good idea to drop a load in my jocks at such an inopportune time.
Next, I recruited my thumb in the festivities and proceeded to roll the tip of my spear between them taking special care in stroking the frenulim with its thousands of electric nerve endings. Thank you God!
"We are so out of here. You're all a bunch of losers!" Wendy stammered uselessly. Her eyes darted about fretfully searching for support.
A slam of the front door sealed the deal and it didn't take a stamp of a Notary to appreciate the fact that two job listings would appear on the internet by the end of the day. Margaret kept the recycled ads on her hard drive.
The hasty silence nudged me from my private moment and I loosened a stunned glance up towards Tom who was considering me with an amused and telling gaze.
My awkwardness was altered into amazement when I glanced down at his slacks that were struggling to pacify the outline of a truncheon cock clawing at its confinement.
He was clearly enjoying the moment of forcing the hurried exit of Ann and Wendy thus establishing himself as the alpha male in the process. I almost expected him to whip it out and mark his new territory. That would make me his bitch, I anticipated. Finding the whole process delectable, my hard-on surged past what I've ever thought possible. It was all so intoxicating!
A benign glimmer baptized Tom's eyes and his lips were softly pursed; his cheeks flushed and pupils widened in wonder. Shit, was it possible that Tom was family?
Margaret came out of her office with pit bull, Susan, in tow.
"So we lost our two twits", she offered unremorsefully.
It was a relief to be rid of them. The atmosphere in the office instantly returned to sea level. Susan, usually as welcoming as Chlamydia, glanced at all the stunned staff members with a calming suggestion that things were about to change at M&S Marketing.
"What are some things that we can do to make this a better place to work?" Susan quizzed in her raspy voice.
"I have a friend that teaches corporate development classes. He's conducted them for Kinko's."
I craned my neck out of its socket to see Joan explaining what her friend does and gets paid for it. Margaret was genuinely intrigued and Susan seconded the motion with obedient nods of her head. Give that old gal a milk bone!
I soon imagined myself in a commune like séance where we cool up on a rug passing a bong or have to stimulate unmentionable body parts of Susan.
At any rate, Margaret was sold; we're going Zen next week. Yes, there's going to be more changes than I've ever imagined. Oh yeah!
Tuesday brought us the arrival of this 24 year old new waver guy with silky black hair hauled in a ponytail and dozens of earrings stapled in his ears. He had the compressed physique of a cross country jogger and laid back attitude that curiously juxtaposed with Joan's edgy personality. It seemed that all of Joan's friends were unlikely opposites of her persona.
Soon we were assembled in a stuffy conference room with two other departments and Michael began his presentation. The first half hour was a bore but then there was a change of venue as he engaged his audience. We opened a work book with some of the most unconventional self awareness questions I've ever read.
We could select one or two from a list and I elected to tackle number 2. "Write Your Obituary".
At first I considered the exercise sophomoric, but after ten minutes of editing and summarizing my untimely demise, I stared straight (gay) down at a feeble scribe of my unremarkable life.
Brian Shave 29, was killed by a Metro Rail train last Thursday. Brian is the second son of Bill and Stephanie Shave of Victoria. A graduate of Stetson University, he was employed as an internet marketing specialist. His passions included cycling, windsurfing, and theater. He was active in the Playhouse Theater in St. Vincent volunteering much of his time in set production and sales. Funeral arrangements are pending...
I stewed it over with some post script doodling and then blogged in caps ...AND I NEVER GOT A CHANCE TO CREAM MYSELF OVER TOM'S ASS!
I closed my workbook and took a quick bathroom break. On returning, a revelation awaited me. It had not only been read but answered- PROMISE?
Our seminar was completed early and we were allowed to call it a day at 4pm. Small favors. I stopped by The Cove and enjoyed their two for one special and bantered with friends. The events of the day agitated in my mind. I had no idea who added their addendum to my obituary. I couldn't recognize the handwriting and no one advanced a wink or signaled their reception. I was stumped and embarrassed.
There was a message on my house phone when I got home.
"Brian? Hey... it's Joan. Tom and I are having beer and pizza at 7 tonight. Going to hang out and watch some TV. Join us? 270 West Manchester Way, Apartment 12. It's across from Safeway. See you, sweetie!"
This is intriguing. Tom and Joan were becoming a persistent common denominator in my life. Cancel the obituary. Life's taking a detour via Manchester Avenue!
Joan's apartment, although petite like many city digs, had a clubby atmosphere decked out with furniture from Cargo or Pier One. Dressed in a relaxed green dress that highlighted her buxom figure, she greeted me with a liberated lilt of her head suggesting that she was already a six pack ahead of me.
Tom appeared armed with a Corona in each hand. "Is that Brian?" he asked with a sophomoric tease. He couldn't contain his elation to see me and neither could I. Tom wiped his hand on his short pants and gave me a hearty handshake followed by an appetizing bear hug as he effortlessly hoisted my 170 pounds airborne at will. There was a heady aroma of alcohol on his breath and that same curious grin was soldered on his face as when he caught me in the act fiddling with my cello.
We settled in the living room with great Sicilian pizza and drinks. Spike TV was on and two ripped studs were battling it out on UFC fight night... probably the only station more gay than Bravo.
As if life long friends we chatted about work only briefly sharing mutual admiration for Tom's performance with Ann and Wendy. Topics as diverse as where to shop for cool clothes to the best way to cook a steak were dissected. Joan was seated next to Tom on the couch and she reinforced everything he said with a stroke of his quads.
I was getting shit faced in a hurry with slammers and beer punctuated by a sloppy piece of pizza that dribbled down my chin. My humorous pleas for a napkin went unfulfilled but Tom eagerly peeled off his polo shirt and soft ball tossed it on my head.
Oh my God! I breathed in his scent. I now sported more wood than a beaver dam. Only fantasizing about Richard Simmons in bed could deflate it.
I cleared the blob of pizza and stole a study of Tom's upper body. He had a sculpted chest blown out to 50", succulent chocolate nipples, and a straight edge line of ebony hair gracing the soft cuts of his abs. I couldn't stop staring.
"Here Brian, you sit next to Tommy", Joan urged as she got up and motioned towards the vacancy.
Before I knew it, Joan and I played musical chairs and I fell under the auspices of bare-chested Tom. His cheeks were blush like a rose wine; his arms like anvils in a blacksmiths workshop. We were inches apart and Tom drew his hand around my back in brotherly love and I spilled into him. A shock of his pit hair ticked the back of my neck and I went limp with defeat as one of the UFC fighters was pummeling his opponent to a humiliating mess. It was so erotic!
I could feel the urgency in Tom's breath; the electricity between us. He towered over me and in a time and place of his choosing, landed a tender open mouth kiss on me. Of course, I was surprised but so thankful.
Joan said appreciably, "Well, I'm out of here. My job's done!"
Comfortable with repetition, Tom loaded me up repeatedly with his tongue. He unbuckled my pants and slipped his massive hand over my meat twisting at it willfully.
"You're mine now", he dictated. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing", I said sheepishly.
Wrapping my arms around him, I licked his pectorals and sucked at his nips. I left my calling card in the form of hickeys scattered all over his torso. Tom maneuvered me over his crotch and my butt descended on what I would frankly describe as the thickest shank of beef ever seen in captivity. It occurred to me that I'd have to be pretty loosened up and comfortable before I could accommodate his rod. How sweet!
He ran his hands through my brown hair and nibbled tenderly on my earlobe.
"I want you", he whispered.
I then realized that Joan served as a gay midwife sort to speak for this soft spoken corn fed hunk. I'll have to thank her later.
We exchanged spit and I called out his name as if in song. Tom unbuttoned my shirt and it plunged like a collapsed parachute behind the couch. He instinctively knew what to do and I was under his power as he prepared to colonize me.
Picking me up like a small sack of potatoes, I felt secure as my head bobbed in the cleavage of his chest.
"Does this mean I get to cream over your ass?" I asked.
"First I want to feel all of you", Tom said as he emancipated my delirious love muscle from its cage and it ricocheted about like a jack o lantern fresh out of the box. We both looked at my phallus in wonder. Its head was swollen and skin pulled taunt unmasking every vein.
He caressed my ass and cupping my balls in his paws, he vacuumed my entire rod into his mouth making it appear I had been castrated. I propelled a tangy shot of precum down his throat.
I was enjoying myself splendidly but just had to get at this mans bubble ass before I suffered a massive heart attack or was indeed hit by an errant Metro rail train.
Tom must have known he would take me tonight. He was commando and I took the lead massaging his bum with my hands followed by my lips, teeth, and tongue. His ass was Irish pale and painted with a soft dusting of shadowy hair. I ran my hands over his gluteus as if it were a fine car. They were solid from football and grueling barbell squats. Believe me, I would have gotten my ankles in there had he given me the chance.
"Oh, I want your ass!" I cried out. He flexed them just as I nudged my fingers up his hole and they were trapped by bands of sphincter muscle.
Tom placed me on my back and spanned over me with his oak like legs supporting him and his hairy cock swinging back in forth like a medieval pendulum. His balls were the size of ripen peaches. When this stud unloads, I'm going to be drenched in his spunk. Lucky me.
He propped my legs up and over my head and with a determined grin, proceeded to pepper me with his tongue. I squirmed in delight. This guy wrote the book in pleasuring his partner.
"You're my first, Brian." , he conceded amusingly.
"Oh my God", I gasped. "Keep it up, Tom. We'll do this the first thing early day!"
I couldn't believe I'm Tom's inaugural flight to gay sex and he's mauling me over like a veteran porn star. He worked my hole to frenzy and yanked at its bush while dribbling in my ear with wicked pillow talk. He took the time to make sure I was comfortable. It was a rehearsal of things to come.
I closed my eyes immersed in the moment. Tom moved in a pointed downward trajectory and punched so deep into me, I thought I'd be ejected out the balcony window. I've never felt so much irreversible pain and was helpless to do anything about it. It was exhilarating!
Jackhammer Tom steamrolled over me. It sounded as if I was being paddled in a frat hazing. He mopped me back and forth over the rug and I received friction burns on my backside. I could feel the pumping artery sized veins in his manhood kissing my appreciative hole and his low hanging nuts knocking against my testicles.
As he slammed into me, I clutched his pulpy ass and dug into the twin peaks. I could tell it was whipping him up to ejaculation. He heaved out an order to finger him and I violated his hairy bum with a purposeful poke. It was hot and wet. We were ready to send each other to the moon.
I teased him towards climax and he shuttered before falling dormant. His curtain of bulk settled over me as if dead; perhaps struck by the ubiquitous Metro Rail but I knew this meant only one thing. This was a short-lived domesticated moment before the stallions tore out of the barn.
Tom heaved a bucket size load and I shot my spunk in quick succession. It lubricated both our abs. In epileptic like convulsions, we both danced a waltz of ejaculation. Being a terminable sex pig, I wanted more and pulled another load out of him with one hand prodding his rectum and the other tugging his bushy nuts till they were bald. I bit at his eraser size nips and he locked me up with his arms tucked under my armpits and around the back of my head. His melon sized biceps brushed my cheeks and I basted in the perfume of his armpits.
Tom bucked forward and bunny rabbit fucked me one more time just to let me know he was up to the task. I was ready to cum again but cut the urge off with a contraction of my conjunctival muscle. This was my last load shot before I'd be left neutered and exhausted.
Tom dismounted me and laid ass end up on the rug; his back sopping in sweat. Without hesitation, I invited myself over him to fulfill my wish and showered my reserved spunk over his bolder cheeks. Promises kept.