Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 05:21:36 GMT
From: Brew Maxwell <dokker22@hotmail.com>
Subject: Unusual Christmas (hs, incest)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real-life
characters or situations is purely coincidental. It is a work intended for
mature audiences only. Therefore, any reader who is under the age of legal
adulthood in his/her jurisdiction is hereby ordered to exit this story.
This story may be posted to the Nifty Archives and may be downloaded for
personal enjoyment. However, it may not be posted to any Web page,
newsgroup, or other location without the written permission of its author.
This work contains graphic descriptions of both homosexual and heterosexual
sexual acts. Any readers who are offended by either or both types of
descriptions should exit now. Otherwise, enjoy. And Merry Christmas.
My Unusual Christmas
Chapter 1
I got up later than I usually do on Saturday morning, that particular week.
You see, I played football for my school--Colton Academy, an all-boys
private prep school in New Orleans--and we usually had our games early
Saturday afternoon. I got up around seven, usually, and got ready,
physically and mentally, for the game. That week was different because I
was suspended from the team temporarily, pending the outcome of an
investigation about whether I had cheated on a history exam. I didn't, and
the guy who accused me of doing it had a nervous breakdown and had to leave
school. But that was in the future that particular Saturday. That day I
slept late because I was bored and pretty damned depressed.
I was depressed about the cheating thing, of course, but my parents and my
only uncle had been killed in a plane crash just a few weeks before, leaving
me and my two older brothers orphans. We were rich orphans, yes, but we
were still orphans. I was only eighteen. My oldest brother, Scott, was
twenty-two and just out of college. My next brother, Matt, was twenty, so
none of us had guardians, although Matt's wild ass needed three or four. We
all got trustees to watch over the $190 million my family had managed to
amass over several generations and pass on to the three of us. We wouldn't
get to touch the principle until we were thirty-five, but when we turned
twenty-five we got to control the whole of the earnings, which would be
almost $4 million a year for each of us, not counting the growth that would
occur until we could get our hands on the earnings. We were, as they say,
filthy rich. In the meantime, though, I got an "allowance" of five thousand
bucks a month, Matt got ten thousand, and Scott got fifteen thousand. It
kept going up the older we got. That was a hell of a lot more money than I
needed, but I really didn't think about it at the time. I wasn't a snob,
and everybody I knew and went to school with had absolutely everything they
wanted. I guess I figured everybody was rich.
Anyway, when I woke up around 10 o'clock, Scott and Matt weren't around. I
didn't know if either of them had even come home the night before. That's
the way things were, and that was exactly how we wanted it. I farted around
for awhile, drank some coffee, ate some Sugar Pops, watched a little MTV.
Even though it was December 2nd, the temperature was in the low 70's, so I
knocked around the house bare-ass naked.
Finally, around 11:30, I got bored and decided to go out. The football
game was out of town that day, but I wouldn't have gone even if it had been
at school. I was a player, not a watcher. I got dressed: skin-tight white
Levi 501's (I know, no white after Labor Day--or is that only for women's
shoes?), a cool Tommy Hilfigger longsleeve shirt, and a pair of Nikes. That
was it. No underwear, no jacket, no socks. Call me a mininalist where
clothes are concerned. I wear 501's all the time, including to school.
Yes, we have a uniform, but the uniform pants are basic blue Levi 501 jeans.
It's something that started in the Sixties, apparently to appease some
rich kids who wanted to be hippies before they joined their fathers' law
practices or brokerage houses. Dress shirt, school tie, navy blazer--all
standard prep school stuff. But, yes, 501's. And I liked 'em tight, real
tight. The white ones were my favorites because they showed off my basket
better than any other color. I'm hung pretty good--six inches soft, nine
inches hard--and I liked to show it off.
I thought about calling a friend, but I realized that all my best friends
were on the team and wouldn't be home. My best buddy was a guy named Sean
Smith, but he lived about a hundred miles away in Mississippi. We have an
old plantation up there that we call the Country Place, and Sean's family
lived on a part of it they rented. Sean worked on Saturdays at a feed store
in the area, so he wasn't available. I had to face it: as first-string
quarterback, I was the ultimate jock at my school, and all the jocks were
busy. There were plenty of non-jocks, but they were all in things like
debate and theater and math team and shit, and they wouldn't want to hang
out with me on a Saturday afternoon. Especially since I was under the
"cheating cloud."
So I decided to see what was going on at Chubby's. Chubby isn't a
relative, but I called him "Uncle Chubby" until about a year before when he
finally told me to lose that shit. He and my dad and my uncle grew up
together. His mom was my grandmother's cook, and Chubby used to come to
work with Aunt Rose (I still call her that, and so did my dad) every day.
He and dad and Uncle Matt used to play together. My grandmother paid for
Chubby to go to Colton with my dad and Uncle Matt, but he says now he didn't
fit in. He transferred to public school when he was a sophomore.
Chubby ran a pool hall. It was just a few blocks away from our house, but
it was in a commercial section that didn't appeal to many people in my
neighborhood. I knew for a fact that Chubby kept a loaded gun behind the
bar, and I had actually seen him clean house of some rowdies with a wooden
baseball bat he'd had from when he was a kid. Don't get me wrong. Chubby
ran a typical New Orleans neighborhood place, but every once in awhile he
had to get tough.
I drove to Chubby's. There were maybe ten cars in the lot, one of them
his. There was a lot of good football on TV that afternoon, so I expected
the place to be full. Really, it was a little early for the games, so maybe
the place would fill up some more when guys started coming in to watch the
games and hang out.
Chubby saw me as soon as I walked in the place.
"Nick," he said. "How ya doing, buddy?"
"Great, Chub, how about you?"
We hugged each other the way we always did. Chubby is Chubby Manale, very
Italian, and hugging was just a natural part of the way he treated people he
cared about.
"I was just telling this guy about the two greatest guys in the world--and
the greatest lady, too, of course."
Chubby was talking about my parents and Uncle Matt. He loved Dad and Matt
like brothers, and he took their dying hard. Hell, he closed his place for
a week in mourning. I didn't know it then, but my dad and Uncle Matt had
bought Chubby's place for him, and Chubby never forgot. It had been their
gift to their brother. Scott, Matt, and I never paid the first dime for
anything we ever got there, and that's the way it would always be.
I took a seat at the bar. Chubby's place was first a pool hall, but it
also had the best po-boy sandwiches in the city. There were maybe twenty
pool tables, some pinball machines, about ten dart boards, two video games,
a couple of ping-pong tables, a claw machine, a shuffleboard machine (which
I used to love when I was little), about ten square tables for people to eat
at, a couple of cigarette machines--all the stuff you'd expect to find in a
good neighborhood hang-out in New Orleans.
"What'll it be," Chubby asked.
"How about a roast beef po-boy and a Dixie," I said.
"You got it," Chubby said. He gave my order to his kitchen help and came
back to the bar to talk.
"Where is everybody," I asked.
"Oh, they'll be here in another hour or so. It's only 11:30," Chubby said.
"They gonna wanna watch the FSU-Florida game, and this damn place is gonna
be full. Mark my words." After a short pause, Chubby continued: "Nick, you
ain't met Chuck. Chuck, this is Nick Marshall. Nick, this is Chuck, er . .
. What's your last name, Chuck?"
"Cunningham," Chuck said. He stuck out his hand, and we shook, with all
the "nice to meet you" bullshit people say. He looked me up and down, and I
think he paused a second or two at my crotch. His eyes settled on mine, and
I felt just a little uncomfortable after a second or two.
"So, Nick," Chubby said, "ain't y'all got a game today?"
I knew this would come up.
"Yeah, Chub, but I ain't playin' today. I been suspended."
Chubby lit a Marlboro and thought a minute.
"Suspended? What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's some bullshit about me cheatin' on a test. I didn't do it, but some
little fairy accused me, so they got to investigate. I'm suspended until
they get to the bottom of it."
"Who was the little prick? I'll bust his fuckin' balls."
And he would have. I was family.
"Don't waste your time. He ain't nobody. I think he's fuckin' nuts, man.
I wouldn't give him my math homework, so he pulled the fuckin' Honor Code
bullshit on me."
Then Chuck said, "That's one of the problems with Honor Codes. They've got
to investigate, even if the accusation is groundless. That happened twice
when I was at the Citadel."
"Oh, yeah? How'd they turn out?" Chubby seemed genuinely concerned about
the matter.
"Like Nick said. Pure bull."
"Why?" Chubby was being more persistent about this thing than I wanted him
to be.
"Again, like Nick said. Both guys were nuts. One ended up committing
suicide his senior year, and the other one was sent away to a hospital--for
the mentally ill."
"Well, I say 'Fuck 'em.'" Chubby didn't mince words.
"Fuck 'em," Chuck and I said together. We each lifted our beers to toast
one another.
I finished my roast beef po-boy, and Chubby got busy with the first wave of
football fans that had come in. I hadn't had a cigarette yet that day, and
I hadn't brought any with me, so I reached across the bar for Chubby's pack.
I flipped back the top and saw there was only one in it, and I didn't want
to take his last smoke. Chuck was watching me, very closely.
"Here," he said. "Have one of mine. I've got plenty."
I took a Marlboro from his box and fired up my Zippo to light it. The
smoke tasted good, as I sucked it down into my lungs. I didn't smoke all
that much, especially during football and track seasons, but I manage to put
away ten or twelve a day. Everybody in my family--except my mom--smoked,
and I felt like I was born to it. Chuck lit one up for himself.
"College honor codes are tough to live with when you're there," he said,
"but, if you're like me, you'll appreciate them when you're out in the
business world in a couple of years."
All of a sudden I realized this guy thought I was older than I really was.
I mean, it made sense. Here I was, in a pool hall on a Saturday afternoon,
drinking a beer with my lunch. I hadn't shaved that morning, and I had a
pretty heavy growth. Not only that, but I really did look older than
eighteen. He must have thought I was twenty-one or twenty-two.
"Yeah, I guess," I said.
I actually looked at Chuck for the first time. He was in his late twenties
or early thirties. He had light brown hair, just like me, and he was lean
and well-muscled--again, just like me. His hair was short, and it had the
classic military cut of someone who had gone to The Citadel. I couldn't
tell how tall he was, but he was no runt. I saw that he wore The Ring.
We idled a while at the bar, without saying much. Chubby came by and
plopped two fresh beers in front of us, and we both sucked them. Then I
said,
"You feel like shooting some pool?"
"Sure."
Chubby was busy with a host of newcomers who wanted lunch, so I went behind
the bar and got a rack of balls. Chuck and I went to the back of the hall
and took a table. We selected cue sticks, chalked up, and he broke. We
were playing 8-Ball, of course, and he didn't sink any on his first shot. I
took my time when it was my turn, and I sank three, including a rather
spectacular three-banker. I won the first game handily. Chuck racked the
table for us to continue.
I noticed that Chuck was eyeing me. I guess I made a pretty good picture.
I mean, I had on some pretty cool clothes, and my white jeans showed me off
pretty good. I wasn't sure at that point, but I thought Chuck had balls on
his mind other than the ones on the table.
Then I said, "I gotta take a leak."
"Me, too," Chuck said, and we walked to the restroom together.
Pool halls aren't known for privacy, and Chubby's place was no exception.
Instead of urinals separated by panels, his place featured a long trough
that we were supposed to piss in. There was one toilet, but it was taken by
a guy grunting and groaning to relieve himself. So, Chuck and I siddled up
to the trough. I pulled out my dick and stared pissing almost immediately.
Chuck unzipped and pulled his out, too, but it took him a few seconds to
start a stream, like maybe he was half hard or something. I noticed he
glanced over at my cock a couple of times. I wanted to see what he had, but
I decided not to in case my suspicions were wrong.
I decided to play with this guy's mind to see what would happen. When I
did up my fly, I purposly skipped a button. Instead, I pulled some of my
pubic hair out. It showed up really good against the white jeans.
Nowadays, I keep my bush cropped pretty close, and I shave my cock and
balls. Two years ago, though, that hadn't occurred to me, and I had plenty
of hair to let show.
We went back to our table and shot a couple more games without much
conversation. I think Chuck was a little distracted by my crotch. Either
that or he played pool for shit.
I learned some stuff about him, though. He was twenty-eight, newly
divorced, and newly moved to New Orleans. He had decided military life
wasn't for him after The Citadel, and he had gone to work for Federal
Express in their management trainee program. He had transferred to New
Orleans and taken over a sub-station for Fed Ex about three weeks before.
He had worked almost non-stop all that time, and he really didn't know
anybody in town yet, except the people who worked for him. He lived in an
apartment a few blocks away, and he had found Chubby's place when he was
just riding around looking for something to do. He said he usually shot
pool better than he was that day and that he must be a little distracted.
We decided to rack our cue sticks and watch a little of the game. FSU was
ahead by eighteen points, so they had changed to the Michigan game. I was
glad the Seminoles were winning, but I really didn't care about
Michigan-Ohio State. Chuck and I got fresh beers and went to a table in the
back of the table area because the bar was full with guys watching the game.
When we were seated, Chuck said, "You know anything about computers?"
"A little," I said. "Why?"
"Well, I just bought a new computer, and I don't know what to do."
Phew, I thought. A question like, "You know anything about computers"
could means anything from "Can you turn one on" to "Can you program in
Unix." Yes to the first question; no to the second.
"What did you get," I asked.
"I think it's called a Pentium 100," he said. "The guy at Sears told me it
has everything I need."
Chuck I could handle. "What are you interested in doing? Word processing?
Games? Internet?"
"Yes," he said. We both laughed. Then he continued: "I majored in English
and minored in history in college. I thought computers were toys, which
they pretty much were then. I didn't learn a thing about them. At work, I
know how to press buttons to get the stuff I need, but I spend most of my
time on the phone, or talking to employees. Heck, I don't even know what
'Pentium 100' means."
I took a sip of my beer and decided I needed a minute to think. Is he
trying to get me to his apartment to show him computer stuff, or is he
coming on to me very subtly?
"Let me get a pack of smokes," I said, and I got up before he could
respond. I went to the bar and got change. Then I walked over to one of
the cigarette machines and put my money in it, very slowly. The whole time
I was thinking. Let's assume he wants to get me in the rack. Do I want to
do that? He was a hell of a nice guy, and he was physically appealing. So,
yes, I did. On the other hand, I didn't know him. Would he tie me up and
cut my balls off? He had handled my come-on with the pubic hair pretty
well, so maybe he wasn't a pervert. His story added up, too. Maybe he just
wanted a little of the old "in and out." I hadn't gotten laid by boy or
girl since before my parents were killed, and I was pretty damn horny. I
decided to go for it and follow this lead, if that's what it turned out to
be. On the other hand, he might just want me to show him how to open
Netscape. I didn't know.
I walked back to our table, slapping the box of Marlboros against my left
hand to pack 'em. I opened the pack when I got to the table and fired one
up. Chuck lit up, too, and we sat smoking for a few seconds.
"I could show you some stuff," I said. "On your computer, I mean."
"That would be great," he said.
"So, you want to do it now," I asked. I smiled to myself when I thought
about the implications of "you want to do it now," but Chuck didn't react.
"Yeah. But let's finish our beers."
We both faced the TV screen and watched the game for a little while. When
we had both finished our beers, I said I would get the tab. Chubby wouldn't
accept any money, as usual, so we both walked out.
We got in our cars, and I followed Chuck to his apartment. It was part of
a large complex, and I parked next to him. Each apartment had two parking
places assigned to it. He lived on the second floor, and I followed him up.
The inside was fairly nice, but it would never make Southern Accents. The
computer was in the second bedroom, which had a desk, a couple of chairs,
and a file cabinet. Chuck asked me if I wanted a beer, and I said I did. I
didn't usually drink that much on a Saturday afternoon. In fact, I didn't
usually drink at all on Saturday afternoon; I reserved that for Saturday
night. But that was a very unusual afternoon.
I started his computer and saw that he had quite a software accumulation.
He had access to the Internet through the same ISP that I did, so I was
familiar with all the software. He came in and brought me my beer. He
pulled up the second desk chair and sat beside me.
"I see you have Internet capability. Have you done anything with that," I
asked.
"No. The guy in the store installed everything that's on here, and he
signed me up for the Internet. I really don't know what I've got."
"Well, what are you interested in," I asked. "I know all the stuff you've
got, so just tell me."
Chuck moved his chair a good bit closer to me just then. He might have
wanted to see the screen better, but . . . .
"Well, I don't know. I've read a lot about the Internet lately. Why don't
we try that?"
I opened Netscape. "What are you interested in," I asked.
"I don't know," he said. "Is it true about all the porno on the Internet?"
"It's only a tiny part," I said, "but, hell, yes. It's there. You want to
see a sample?"
"Yeah."
"This is Netscape," I said, "and you can find porno all over the place.
But it's kinda random. Let me show you something that's sure to please." I
opened Free Agent for the Usenet newsgroups, and then I went to the
alt.binaries section. The whole array of possibilities flashed on the
screen. "Bodyart--that's mostly tattoos." I scrolled down to the section
of binaries that has the sex pictures.
Chuck seemed amazed that there were so many newsgroups devoted to sex
pictures. I clicked on alt.binaries.pictures.erotica and got fifty sample
headers. I explained the conventions of the software to him and what the
different symbols meant. Then I clicked on one of the articles and showed
him how to save it. I launched the viewer, and a picture of a woman getting
cum pumped on her tits from a huge cock appeared on the screen.
"Wow!" Chuck said, almost in disbelief. "This is really something."
"It's average," I said. "There's a lot cooler shit than that." We opened
a few more, and then I asked him if he wanted to investigate some more
newsgroups.
"Go for it," he said.
I opened the one on fetishes, and we read the headers.
"What's the one called 'piss drinkers' about," he asked.
"I don't know. Let's find out."
The picture was of two guys getting their mouths filled with piss from two
other guys. Again, rather average fare.
"Have you ever seen anything like that," Chuck asked.
"Well, not in real life, but I've seen it in videos and, of course, in
pictures on here."
"You've seen people drinking urine in videos?"
"Well, yeah. My brother has a pretty big collection of porno videos, and
some of them are all male. There's some piss drinking in some of them."
We got out of fetishes and went back to the master list. Chuck noticed the
ones for male erotic pictures and suggested we take a peak. "Do they show
everything," he asked. "Wait and see," I said.
I got all the headers for this one, and we started exploring. Chuck must
have been getting excited looking at some of the guys because he started
adjusting his jock like his dick was getting hard. He was sitting real
close to me, and he put his left hand onto my right thigh. I didn't flinch
or move it away or anything. I wanted to see what would develop. I could
hear his breathing, and then he started gently rubbing my leg. I kept
looking at the computer screen, but I could see his hand out of the corner
of my eye.
In a few seconds he started moving his hand to the inside of my thigh, and
I started getting aroused. He brushed my cock with the back of his hand,
and I let out a tiny moan. This encouraged him, and he did it again. I
moaned again, a little louder, and he switched to my cock. Then it really
started getting hard. I still hadn't looked at him, but when he started
rubbing my cock, I turned a little in the swivel chair in his direction. I
put my hand on his hard-on, which was plainly visible as a bulge in his
jeans. We sat and rubbed each other for several moments. Then I wet my
lips, allowing my tongue to hang between them for a second or two. Then I
looked into his eyes and smiled. I leaned forward and kissed him on his
lips, which immediately opened for my tongue.
I wrapped my legs around his, and we got as close as we could. I started
unbuttoning his shirt, and he went to work on mine. In no time our chests
were bare. I undid his belt and opened his jeans. His were the zipper
type, and I pulled it down. He raised his ass off the chair enough for me
to pull them and his bikini briefs off. He kicked off his shoes, and I got
his jeans and underwear completely off him. Then I kicked off my Nikes,
unbuttoned my jeans, and slithered out of them. We were both completely
naked, now. We still stared into one another's eyes.
Chuck was sitting on a straight-back chair, so I slipped over onto his lap.
He opened his legs to let me rest my ass on the chair, too, and our cocks
were touching one another. He was cut, like me, and my cock was maybe two
inches or so longer than his. They were equally thick. I took both cocks
in my right hand and squeezed them together. Then I used my left hand on
his right nipple. He closed his eyes in obvious pleasure and moaned. I
rocked back and forth, creating friction on our cocks. We were both putting
out a lot of pre-cum, and that made our cocks slide together easily and
smoothly.
I was afraid Chuck was going to come. He started rocking, too, and he was
getting into a rhythm that suggested he was about to pop. I let go of both
cocks, and we rested a few seconds to regain control. When the immediacy of
orgasm had passed, I smeared pre-cum from both of us all over Chuck's cock.
Then I lifted myself on my feet a little and moved closer to him so that his
cock was right under my asshole. I slowly lowered myself on to him. His
cockhead passed my ring of muscle without any effort, and I allowed him to
enter me to the hilt. Once in place, I sat still. Then I kissed him again,
hard and with all the passion I could put into it. Then I went to work with
one hand on each nipple, gently stroking them to exquisite arousal. I
continued to sit still, and in a few minutes his breathing intensified and a
flush came over his chest. His whole body stiffened, and then I felt his
penis spasm and unload inside me. He made a sound that was a combination of
a sigh and a moan, and I knew he was fulfilled.
We stayed in that position for a few moments longer. Chuck's hard-on
hadn't started to disappear, and mine was still rampant against his chest.
"Now I want to come," I said. I started riding up and down his shaft, with
my cock rubbing up and down his chest. I took it slow and deep. I wanted
this to last, for both of us. And last it did. Twice I slowed down almost
to a stop to let us keep from coming. Finally, I felt Chuck begin to tense
up, and I pumped faster and harder. I tightened my ass muscles, and that
sent both of us over the edge. We came at the same instant. My orgasm was
hard and deep, and I could tell his was, too. I spurted seven or eight
globs of cum onto his chest, and it ran down in thick rivulets. I scooped
up some and licked my finger. Chuck's eyes opened wide at that. I did it
again and offered it to him. I could tell he was a little reluctant to try,
but he sucked it off my finger. He smiled a little and made a face that
said it wasn't bad. I stayed on Chuck for about five more minutes, and by
then his cock was getting soft. I stood up, and he popped out of me.
"Stay where you are," I said. I went into the bathroom and got a warm,
damp washcloth and a dry towel. I came back in and wiped my cum off him.
Then I got my cigarettes and lighter and brought them back. I sat back in
his lap, again with my ass on the chair, and we smoked.
"That was incredible, Nick. I've never had sex that good before."
"I bet you say that to all the boys," I said, jokingly.
"There haven't been any other boys." All of a sudden, he was serious.
"Really," I asked. "You mean I took your cherry?"
"Well, no. I've had sex with women before. In fact, I was married for two
years. My divorce was final two days before I moved here. My wife, er,
ex-wife and I weren't good in bed with each other, though. She's been
seeing another guy for about eight months, so there hadn't been much going
on between us. I've wanted to try it with a guy all my life, I guess, and
you are the first. Jesus, I was so nervous. I started picking up what I
thought were sex vibes when you walked into the pool hall. I started to
stir when you lit that cigarette after you ate. It was so, I don't know,
masculine, I guess. Then the way you stood while we were shooting pool had
me completely distracted. You won't believe this, but I've been shooting
pool since I was ten years old. I can usually beat anybody, but today I
played like a blind man. It was you that did it to me."
"I should have bet you a blow job," I said.
"And that would have made my dick longer and harder than the cue stick.
When you went to the restroom, you missed a button, and there was hair
sticking out. Were you aware of that?"
I decided to fib and shook my head "no."
"When I saw that, I knew I had to have you. It's true this is a new
computer, but I used to run a BBS. I know my way around the Internet better
than I know my way around this apartment. But I figured a young guy like
you couldn't resist a chance to show an old guy like me how it works. By
the way, how old are you?"
"How old do you think I am?"
"Judging from what you can do in the sex department, I'd say twenty-five or
more. But you look more like twenty, or maybe even eighteen."
I had enjoyed the fuck, but I wasn't planning on making this guy my life.
I decided to tell the truth. "I'm eighteen. I turned eighteen November
12th."
There was a pause that was long enough to begin to get uncomfortable. Then
he said, "Does that make me a criminal?"
"No fuckin' way, man. I'm an adult. Can't you tell?"
"Good," he said with a chuckle, "because when we do it again--and I hope we
will--I don't want to know that I'm breaking the law."
We got up after that and decided to go somewhere more comfortable. It was
close to 5 o'clock, and it was almost dark. It was also getting a little
chilly. Chuck got each of us a blanket, and we snuggled up together on the
big sofa in the living room, still naked. We didn't say anything for a
while, then Chuck finally said,
"It was pretty obvious this wasn't your first time."
"No."
"Do you mind talking about this. There's a good possibility I'm gay, too,
and I'd like to find out about it."
"I don't mind talking. I don't really think of myself as gay, though. I
enjoy sex with girls as much, or more, than with guys. I guess that makes
me bisexual, or something. But, really, the labels don't mean a hell of a
lot, do they? I mean, when you were fucking me in there, were you thinking,
'Oh, I wonder if he's gay? or straight and just curious like me? or bi? Or
some of all of it?'"
"You're right. I was just thinking, 'Nick, don't stop doing whatever it is
you're doing. It feels soooo good." We both laughed.
"I argue with my brothers about that all the time. Not argue, really.
They just tease me about what they call my 'fucking categories.'"
"You talk to your brothers about sex and stuff like that?"
"Sure. All the time. My middle brother, Matt, taught me most of what I
know, and my older brother, Scott, taught Matt."
"Are you saying you've had sex with your brother?" I could tell from his
tone of voice that this was all new to him. Kind of like drinking piss.
"Yes. I've had sex with both of them, one at a time and both together. I
think all brothers fool around with each other. Don't you?"
"Well, I've got a brother who's a year younger than me, but I haven't even
seen him naked since before either of us hit puberty. Our old man was
really strict on us. He was military, and if he had caught us doing
anything, I think he might have killed us. Literally. I'm still scared of
the son of a bitch."
"I know my dad and my Uncle Matt fucked each other. Uncle Matt told my
brother Matt."
"So, is this like a regular thing?"
"It used to be pretty regular, especially in the summers. Now. . . ."
I thought about our most recent sex encounter and decided to tell Chuck.
Hell, I was missing my parents pretty much, and the thing at school was a
real downer. This guy was warm and friendly and here.
"You want to hear about the last time we did it," I asked.
"Sure. First, let me get us some smokes."
Chuck got cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray. I was getting a little too
warm under the blanket, so we sat up on the sofa, legs crossed Indian style,
and faced each other with the ashtray between us.
"The last time was on the night of our parents' funeral. All of us were
broken up about the accident and all, but none of us cried. All of a
sudden, the three most important grown ups in our lives were gone, and we
couldn't even shed a tear. After the funeral, a bunch of people came back
to our house. There was a lot of food, and one of their buddies even hired
a bartender. It was kind of like a celebration, almost. I know that sounds
disrespectful, but my parents and Matt were great people, and they did a lot
for a whole lot of their friends. Hell, Chubby was so upset he closed his
place for a whole fuckin' week. Anyway, people didn't stay a long time, and
by 6 o'clock the house was empty. Scott and Matt watched TV, and I studied
for that fuckin' history test I got accused of cheating on. None of us
really had our minds on anything, though.
"About 9 o'clock we all ended up in the den downstairs. Scott got out a
bottle of Dad's best scotch, and we all started drinking. I probably had
six drinks, but, I swear, they had no effect on me. Scott and Matt were
both cold sober, too. I think we were numb.
"Around eleven Matt said he was going to bed and that he was sleeping in
Mom and Dad's room. Scott and I stayed downstairs a little while, then I
went up to bed. I wasn't really sleepy, and I knew Matt wouldn't be asleep
either. If he was, I was going to wake his ass up. I wanted to talk.
"I got naked, as all three of us did to sleep, and got in bed next to Matt.
We talked for a few minutes about the accident and what a fucking shame it
was. Before we knew it, Scott came in, got naked, and got in bed with us.
I was in the middle. 'It's just us now, boys,' Scott said. His tone of
voice was the saddest thing I had ever heard. I started crying for the
first time since they died. And not just crying softly, but really crying.
Sobbing. Scott snuggled up really close to me and put his arm around me.
'Let it out, little one. Scotty's here.' That set Matt off, and he started
crying like me. He, too, moved in close and put his arm around me and as
much of Scott as he could. In about ten seconds, Scott started crying, too.
There we were, the Marshall studs, crying like babies in each others'
arms. And we kept it up for a good twenty minutes.
"When we finally settled down, all three of us were draped all over each
other, and we were all hard as rocks. Matt started it. He said, 'I love
you guys, and I want to make love to both of you.' 'Me, too,' Scott said.
'Me, three,' I said. How corny. Anyway, we went at it. Matt took my cock
into his mouth and started sucking me off. Scott moved into position so I
could get him in my mouth, and then we moved again so all three of us were
sucking and being sucked. We all came violently. Then we did the ass
thing. I stuck my cock in Matt, and Scott stuck his in me. Scott and I
came, but Matt didn't. Then Matt fucked Scott and Scott rimmed my ass. It
went on and on. The next day we figured out that we had each come seven
times.
"But it wasn't the kind of purely physical sex you and I had earlier. It
was real love-making. We all agreed on that. It was tender and gentle and
full of concern for one another."
Chuck interrupted me at this point. "I wouldn't say what we did wasn't
tender and gentle."
"No, you're right. It was. But we're not brothers. It's not the same.
Believe me."
"You're right," he said.
"Anyway, that was the last time. And I think it was a turning point for
all three of us. There we were, in our parents' bed, the place where we had
all been conceived, on the day of their funeral, making real love to one
another. If one of us could have gotten pregnant, we would have."
Chuck enjoyed that last remark. Then he reached over a took my cock in his
hand. "Did you realize we're both hard?"
I hadn't realized it. But I didn't want to do anything about it. "Chuck,"
I said, "that story I told you is really personal. I want to have sex with
you again, but not right now. Okay?"
"Okay, Nick. I understand." He removed his hand.
After a few minutes, Chuck said, "So, what do you want to do? It's after
six, and my stomach's telling me it needs a feeding. You want to order a
pizza, or go out, or what?"
"What do you want to do," I responded.
"First, I want to take a leak."
We both got up and went to the bathroom. We stood side by side to piss,
and I put my arm around him. The dried cum on our dicks made our piss go at
funny angles, and we both giggled.
Back in the living room, he said, "Second, I want a drink." He poured
scotch for both of us, large glasses full.
"Third, I want to order a pizza. What's your preference?"
We decided on meat-lover's from Pizza Hut, and Chuck made the call.
"I ain't gettin' dressed for no fuckin' pizza man," I said.
"Me, either," he said. We both laughed.
He put some music on, and we talked about his stereo and his CD collection
for a while. Then he asked me about sports and school, and I told him some
shit about that. Then the pizza guy was there.
When he rang the doorbell, we just looked at one another and laughed.
Finally, Chuck got up and got his wallet.
"Let's get it together," I said.
We opened the door wide, and it was a girl, not a guy. She handed Chuck
the pizza and told him the amount. He paid her and gave her a generous tip.
"Thanks. You guys should have ordered sausage." Then she was gone.
Her remark broke us both up. We laughed and laughed and laughed, until we
were a little weak from the exertion. We sort of crumpled in the middle of
the living room onto the floor, so we decided to eat there, but not until
Chuck made us fresh drinks. We didn't talk much while we ate. Instead,
every now and then, one of us would say "sausage," and we laughed all over
again.
After we ate, we smoked cigarettes and kind of luxuriated in the feeling of
fullness and the buzz the scotch had produced. Chuck got up to make more
drinks, and I said, "None for me, man. I'm starting to get a little fucked
up, and I've got to drive home."
"Why don't you just stay here tonight," he said.
I thought about it for a second and realized I didn't have any reason to go
home. I had a pager, so Scott and Matt could find me if they needed to.
The day after the funeral we had decided that our rule would be there were
no rules, so I said okay. He made more drinks.
Once we had settled back on the sofa, I asked Chuck to tell me about
himself.
"There really isn't a whole lot to tell," he said. "I'm twenty-eight. I'm
the manager of a substation for Federal Express, and I just got out of a big
mistake of a marriage."
"Where do you come from," I asked.
"Even that's kind of a screwed up deal. I was born in Omaha, but I lived
in thirteen different places. My dad was in the Air Force, so we moved
around a lot. I never really put down roots. My brother and I both went to
The Citadel because Dad wanted us to, but neither of us has pursued military
careers. I went to work for Fed Ex right out of college, and I've been with
them the whole time. They tell me I have quite a career ahead of me. I
don't really know if I want it."
He lit another cigarette and offered me one. I said "no thanks," for the
time being.
"Fed Ex sent me to Houston, where I met my ex-wife. I was there for the
last four years. Before that I was in Birmingham for two years. She was a
Houstonian, as they say. What a shit-hole of a city."
That was only the second time he'd said a curse word. The first was to
call his father a son of a bitch, and now this. I wondered if there was any
significance in this.
"People here don't like Houston much," I said. "They tried to buy Mardi
Gras, and they wanted to divert the Mississippi River. Not exactly a 'good
neighbor' policy."
"Anyway," he said, "that's about it."
"So why did you marry her? Especially if the sex wasn't good."
"I don't know. It was time, I guess. I was twenty-six, and I thought
people were starting to wonder. Like my dad, for instance. My brother got
married the day after he graduated from The Citadel, and he had a daughter
and one on the way by the time I got married. Melissa was gorgeous and
smart and funny. I could live with that--I thought. She was a military
brat, too, only her dad retired as a full colonel. Mine was only a
lieutenant colonel. So I was marrying up. There were just lots of reasons.
I liked her a lot, and I guess I confused that with love.
"But there were some things that got to me right from the start. We had
fooled around some when we were dating, but we only made love twice before
the wedding. I thought she was 'saving herself,' even though I knew she
wasn't a virgin when I met her. I wanted oral sex, and she thought that was
disgusting and that I was a pervert for even asking. I still haven't had
it, by the way. Remember that." He winked at me. I made a mental note.
"I was a virgin when I went to Charleston, and I didn't get laid until the
second semester of my senior year. The girl was the sister of one of my
roommates, and the whole time I kept thinking about what he would think. I
dated a girl for about six months in Birmingham, and we had sex regularly.
But I thought the whole thing was overrated, and it wasn't the rush I had
thought it would be. She finally broke it off because she didn't think we
fit together. I wasn't ever sure what she meant by that. Anyway, that's
about it."
Chuck and I lit up again, and he got up to fix more drinks. Once back, he
continued. "You asked about me and my brother before," he said.
Had I, I wondered.
"We're pretty close, I guess. He kept asking me if I was sure she was the
one, right up until the day of my wedding. It was almost like he knew.
He's with Merrill Lynch, and he'll probably make a fortune one day. He's
got a perfect family, and he'll lead the kind of perfect life my parents
would expect from someone who wasn't smart enough to join the Air Force.
He's cool enough, I guess."
Chuck and I were both getting a little chilly, so we got a blanket from the
sofa and wrapped it around the two of us as we sat close together on the
floor, leaning back onto the sofa. We didn't say anything for a while. I
was thinking about Chuck. Maybe he should be with men instead of women, I
thought. He seemed really innocent to me in some ways, and I was getting to
really like him.
I was sitting to Chuck's right. I reached down and started rubbing his
thigh. He had said he wanted a blow job, and that was something I could
definitely provide. I reached for his cock and found it rock hard. Mine
began to stir as I stroked him. Then I had him sit on the edge of the sofa
with his knees spread, and I went down on him. I wanted his first blow job
to be truly memorable, so I took my time and used every trick I knew. I
licked the shaft down to his balls, and then I sucked each of them gently
for a few moments. By the time I got back to his cockhead, he had formed a
large dollop of pre-cum. I used my tongue to spread it all over the head,
and then I took the head into my mouth and gently sucked it. I worked on
that a minute or two, and then I went back to tonguing his shaft. He moaned
in pleasure as I outlined the hard part that protrudes underneath. Then I
worked his balls again. This time I had him lift his feet onto the sofa so
I could get at his hole. He didn't have any hair on his sack or around his
asshole, and I enjoyed the smoothness of this virgin place.
I flicked my tongue on the opening of his anus, and he moaned loudly and
shivered in pleasure. He's an ass-man, I thought. I worked his hole some
more, and I inserted my tongue a little way in. He really liked that and
told me so. I moved his feet back to the floor, and I took the whole of his
cock in my mouth. I sucked gently and then started moving up and down on
it, stopping before the head was completely out of my mouth. He stayed with
me longer than I had expected he would; it was probably the scotch and his
two recent orgasms that allowed him to. I moved his feet up again without
letting go of his cock, and I stuck my longest finger into his asshole. He
gasped in pleasure. I found his prostate and massaged it as I sucked his
cock harder and faster. He got ready to come. He stiffened and let out a
loud "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" His ass contracted hard around my finger. He spurted
off five or six times, and I swallowed his cum without any trouble. I kept
his cock in my mouth until it started getting soft. Then I got next to him
on the sofa, hugged him and cuddled him and kissed him deeply.
His breathing was slowly returning to normal when he said, "I don't have
the words to describe that or to say anything but thank you. Thank you.
Thank you."
Chuck and I sat quietly for a while, holding each other. My cock was still
hard, but I was willing to forgo another orgasm because this was Chuck's
night. After a while, he said, "I want to try that on you."
"What?" This guy was twenty-eight years old, and he wouldn't call a blow
job a blow job.
"You know, the mouth thing."
"What do you want to do, Chuck? Say it."
"I want, er, to give, er, you a, er, blow job."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Say exactly what you want to do to me. Say, 'I want to suck your cock and
swallow your cum.'"
"This is hard for me, Nick. I don't talk like that. I love it when you
do, but I have a hard time using bad language."
"I know you do," I said. "But this is part of your initiation." I grinned
at him and kissed him. I didn't want this to become some kind of
master-slave thing. I just wanted the guy to open up to what he was
feeling.
"Okay," he said. "I want to suck your cock and swallow your cum." Chuck
blushed when he said that, and I was really kind of moved by his simplicity
and innocence.
"You know what, Chuck?"
"What?"
"I want you to, man. I want you to suck the cream right out of my fucking
balls." We both laughed at that.
He reached for my cock rather tentatively, like he was afraid of it, or
something. He took it, though, and went down on me. He licked my cockhead
and started doing the same things to me that I had done to him. He was a
fast learner, this guy, and he did a decent job. It wasn't the greatest
climax of my young life, but it wasn't an oozer, either.
When we were done and had both lit cigarettes, I asked Chuck, "So how does
this compare with most Saturdays?"
He laughed. Then he said, "Compared to other Saturdays, this is a Sunday."
We stayed on the sofa, alternately wrapping up in the blanket and
uncovering. I don't know why it never occurred to either of us to turn on
the heat, but it didn't. It wasn't really cold--maybe mid-50's outside--but
sitting around in the buff will give you a chill now and then. We drank a
few more drinks and smoked a few more cigarettes, but mostly we talked.
I learned that Chuck's favorite sport was tennis and that he loved to ride
horses. He liked to sing, and people had told him he had a good voice. He
liked to work out and did so three or four times a week. In fact, he said,
the main reason he moved in here was the place had a fully-equipped gym. He
loved to read, as the books all over the place testified, and he had even
tried his hand at writing a novel. He was a closet Democrat because his dad
was a staunch Republican and wouldn't tolerate any deviance from the
family/party line. He saved a kid from drowning when he was fifteen, and he
had once used the Heimlich Maneuver on a man in a McDonalds. He liked his
job okay, but he didn't know if the corporate route was his to take.
I told him some stuff about me, too. I played football and ran track. I
was a good student and pretty well liked by everybody. I had a flair for
languages and spoke Spanish and French pretty well. I had been to Europe
four times, mostly with school trips but once with my parents (He had lived
there, twice.).
"So, what does the future hold for you? College?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sure."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. A job, maybe."
He laughed when I said that. "Yeah, I'd say a job was somewhere in your
future," he said.
I laughed, too. "Not necessarily," I said. "My parents left me and my
brothers pretty well off. We might not have to work."
He got serious, all of a sudden. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
"So, what are we talking about, here? Maybe my brother could help you out
with some investment advice."
"Enough," I said, thinking of his brother and our trustees squaring off.
"Rich, filthy rich, or obscenely rich?"
"Somewhere between B and C," I said.
"Wow." After an awkward pause, he said, "That's none of my business, Nick.
I'm sorry I pressed it."
"It's cool. When a guy says he doesn't know whether he's going to get a
job or not, you've got a right to ask." We both laughed.
The rest of the evening went just fine. We listened to some of his CD's,
and then around 10 o'clock we turned on the TV. After the news, we watched
_Saturday Night Live_. In a little while, we were both nodding out, and
before it was over, we went to bed and right to sleep. No sex.
I woke up around 8 o'clock the next morning, and Chuck was already up. I
could smell coffee, and the aroma was irresistable. When I went into the
kitchen, buck naked, of course, Churck was wearing a bathrobe, and he was
sitting at the small table reading the newspaper.
"Hi," I said.
He looked up and smiled. My cock wasn't hard, but it was stretched to its
full nine inches from the full bladder I'd just emptied. "Hi. Want some
coffee?"
"Yes, please. Cream and sugar, if you got it."
He fixed me a cup of coffee and set it down in front of me. I tasted the
coffee, and it was strong and hot, just like I liked it.
"Did you sleep all right," Chuck asked.
"Like a rock. How much did I drink last night," I asked. "I don't have a
hangover or anything, but I must have gone into some kind of coma. I slept
that hard."
"You didn't drink that much," he said. "You were probably just really
tired. I know I was, and I slept like a rock, too."
I picked up the sports section and checked to see how the Colton Cowboys
had done yesterday. There wasn't a write-up, but the box score showed that
we lost to the other team by two touchdowns. Part of me was sad about that,
but part of me was happy we didn't kick their asses without the starting
quarterback--me! That was the last regular season game, so I wouldn't be
playing any more football, possibly for the rest of my life. That was okay.
It was the beginning of December, and I would have enough to do with the
holidays coming up. We only had two more weeks before we were out for three
weeks, and I really looked forward to that.
Chuck and I continued to read the paper for a while. I got up and fixed
myself another cup of coffee, and, when I sat down, I lit up my first smoke
of the day. After a few minutes, Chuck asked if I wanted something to eat.
"I don't have a lot," he said, "but I could make you some toast or
something."
"Have you ever had coffee and doughnuts at the French Market," I asked.
"No. I've heard of it, though."
"Why don't we take a shower and go down there for breakfast?"
"That sounds good," he said. "Let's go. You can use the bathroom off my
study."
"Bull-shit," I said. Chuck looked puzzled. "We'll shower together." This
guy might be twenty-eight, but he had a lot to learn.
We got into the shower together, and I started soaping him up. When I got
down to his crotch, I did a quick pass on his cock and balls. Then I turned
him around and "washed" his ass for him. I stuck a finger, then another,
into his asshole. The soap made them glide right in. Without removing
them, I turned him around and started really "washing" his cock. In a
couple of minutes, he came all over me. I continued down his legs, and
finally finished with his feet.
"My turn," I said. Chuck-the-quick-learner did the same for me. His
showerhead was the detachable kind, and it had a hose that was longer than
it needed to be. He took it off the hook and rinsed me off. I made a
mental note of the hose, in case I might want to use it some time.
We finished our shower and got dressed. I put on my same clothes, of
course, and Chuck put on his best shirt. I picked out his oldest and most
worn blue jeans, which happened to be 501's, and told him to wear them. He
did. We went outside, where it was still wet and sticky from the humidity,
and drove the the French Quarter.
The French Quarter is a good place to be on Sunday morning, especially on a
nice day in December. There isn't the crush of tourists that there is at
other times, and you can walk around and browse in shops without bumping
into people.
Our first stop was the Cafe du Mond for coffee and donuts. The tourist
call the doughnuts by their French name, but the locals just call them
doughnuts. We ate six each, and that would be enough to hold us for a
while.
"Have you been down here yet," I asked.
Chuck shook his head "no."
"Well, everybody's heard of Bourbon Street, of course, and there are some
interesting things there, but there's a hell of a lot more to see and do
than that. Let's just walk, and if you see a place that looks interesting,
we'll stop and go in."
We crossed the street and started down Decatur toward Esplanade. We
stopped at a place that had elaborate masks made out of feathers and shit,
but we didn't buy anything. We popped into the Central Grocery, but it was
too crowded, as usual, to move around freely, so we left. I told Chuck we'd
come back when we were hungry for lunch for a muffaletto. At the end of
that block we came to a place called "Exotic Stuff."
"What's this place," Chuck asked.
"I think it's a sex shop," I said, and we went in.
I was right. The first room had all sorts of magazines and a few videos,
but most of the magazines were in plastic shrink-wraps, so we didn't browse
much. Then we went into the next room saw some of the sex toys. There were
dildos of every size, shape, texture, and complexion. The guy behind the
counter was young and good looking, and he winked at us when he caught our
eyes. The next room had leather goods of every description, including
cockrings with stainless steel studs. Chuck asked me what you did with
them, and I told him.
"Have you ever worn one," he asked.
"Yeah, I have."
"Does it feel good, or what?"
"Well, yeah, kinda. What it really does is kind of push your cock and
balls out in front of you. It makes your basket look a lot bigger through
your jeans."
Chuck wanted to get one, so we both did. The guy told us there was a
bathroom through a door to the right where we could put them on if we wanted
to. We did. We went in together, of course, and pulled down our jeans. I
bent down to put Chuck's on him, and his cock started to respond. I knew
the cockring would keep his dick hard if I put it on him in that condition,
and I figured he wanted to show, but not that much. I wasn't quite sure
what to do. Then I decided on a quick blow job to get him soft again. I
quickly knelt down after spreading some paper towels on the floor to keep
from getting my white jeans dirty on the knees, and I sucked him off. He
moaned pretty loud when he came. It didn't take all that long, but doing it
gave me a hard-on. Chuck insisted he take care of me. I concentrated on
coming as fast as I could because I knew the guy outside would know what we
were doing. In less than five minutes, Chuck was licking cum off his lips.
We got the cockrings in place, finally, and cleared out of the bathroom.
When we went back out into the room, the guy there wanted to see what we
looked like. He got down close to Chuck's crotch and started fingering the
outline of his dick. I knew that would make him hard, so I said, "Hey,
that's mine, man." The guy stopped what he was doing and grinned.
"It took you two long enough to get them adjusted," he said, in a rather
effeminate voice. He was doing the jerk-off air stroke the whole time he
said it.
"You gotta get 'em just right," I said, and I stuck my finger in my mouth
and moved it in and out to indicate a blow job.
He grinned again and said, "Even better. Have a nice day, brothers."
We left the shop then and continued our walk.
"Can you really see my co . . ., er, stuff with me wearing this thing,"
Chuck asked.
"Yes, Chuck," I said in a louder voice than usual, "you can really see your
cock better."
"Shut up, guy," he said, laughing. "You want everybody to hear you?"
"Fuckin'-aye I want everybody to hear me. And I want you to call a cock a
cock. Got it?"
"All right, cocksucker," he said, and we both started laughing.
As we walked along the street, I noticed the glances we were getting at our
crotches. A lot of women looked, but a good many men did, too. We passed
three guys who looked like the Olympic body building team, and all three
stared at us hard.
"Did you see those guys looking at us," Chuck asked.
"Yes, I did," I said. "Now you know why guys wear cockrings. Pretty
fucking terrific, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he said. He seemed to strut ever so slightly, and I figured he was
enjoying his new sense of sexual prowess. "I'm going to wear this to work
tomorrow. In fact, I might keep mine on for the rest of my life." We both
laughed at that.
We went into a bunch of shops that sold everything from ceramic masks to
stuffed alligators. By the time we made it to the Old Mint, it was 12
o'clock, and the bells in the Cathedral were ringing. I was determined to
eat a muffaletto from the Central Grocery, so I suggested we head back
through the flea market that was housed in the old French Market arcade. It
took us another hour to get back to the Central Grocery, and along the way
we had picked up three or four pieces of junk that was too good to resist
and too useless to keep. We bought a whole muffaletto to split and two cold
beers, and we crossed back over Decatur to sit on one of the benches on the
levee side to eat. The sandwiches were as good as they always are, and
Chuck wanted to know all the details of how they were made. I told him I
just knew how to eat 'em, not make 'em. We smoked cigarettes after we ate,
and then Chuck was ready for more adventure.
"Have we done this place," he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Have we seen everything there is to see in the French Quarter?"
"You're shittin' me, right?"
"No. What else is there to do around here?"
"Man, you've seen maybe five percent of the Quarter. You ain't started
good yet."
"Are you kidding?"
"Fuck, no, I ain't kiddin'. Dis is Noo Awlins," I said, exaggerating my
accent, "dis place is fuckin' paradise, man. You could spen' da resta ya
life heah and not see it awl."
"So let's fuckin' go, asshole," he said, and we both burst out laughing.
And go we did. We walked over to Royal Street through Jackson Square.
"What are these buildings on each side of the square? They seem to be
identical."
"Those are the Pontalba Buildings, the first apartment houses in New
Orleans, and maybe the whole U S of A."
"Do people still live there?"
"Of course, they do."
"This must be primo real estate. Who owns this stuff? The city?"
"No, man. People own it."
"What people?" He was a persistent cuss.
"People like me, okay? My brothers and I own six units, and we rent them
out. The first floor is all commercial, and the seond and third floors are
residential. We own six three-floor units and the patios behind them."
"Wow! I forgot about you and all that money."
"Good," I said. "Keep it that way. We have maybe three dozen properties
in the Quarter, and our trusts will probably buy some more as time goes on.
That's as much as I know. I ain't ever been in a single one of them. In
fact, I know we own six units in the Pontalbas, but I couldn't tell you
which ones if my life depended on it. They're just great old buildings, as
far as I'm concerned, and I'm proud of them because I'm from New Orleans."
"That's a great attitude," he said. "I'm glad you're not into Things. You
ever read e. e. cummings?"
"Never heard of it."
"Not _it_, asshole. _Him_. He said in one of his poems, 'Things are in
the saddle and ride mankind.' That means . . . ."
"I know what it means, jerk-off. It means too many people care more about
material things than they do about one another and other really important
spiritual matters. Ah isn't fuckin' dum, ya know."
He laughed. "No, you isn't. No, you isn't."
On Royal Street Chuck was taken with all the antique shops and art
galleries. Again we walked toward Esplanade from Orleans Avenue, and we
stopped at just about every shop. Some of the places were closed, but most
were open, and we went in. He liked antiques, so the antique shops were
really interesting to him. He also liked art, so we didn't pass by a single
gallery that was open. We peeked into every patio we could see from the
sidewalk, and we, mainly he, marvelled at the architecture. By 4 o'clock,
we had gone three blocks.
"I don't know about you, man," I said, "but I could really use a cup of
coffee and a place to sit down. And I gotta take a leak."
"Yeah, I guess we have been going at it pretty hard," he said.
We found a coffee shop that had pastries, so we stopped there. After a
trip to the bathroom and a good cup of strong coffee, I felt a lot better.
"This place is incredible," he said. "I mean, I've lived in Europe, but
always in the backwaters of Europe. Never in Paris or Vienna or Rome. I've
been to those cities, and New Orleans kind of reminds me of them."
"I know what you mean," I said. "I grew up here, so all of this isn't all
that impressive. But when I go to European cities, I have the feeling I'm
at home."
I felt really good right at that moment. I had had a really good time that
day, and the depression over my folks and the shit at school were out of my
mind for a little while. This guy was really nice, and I liked him a lot.
By the time we finished our snack, it had gotten a good bit cooler, and
neither of us had a jacket. I suggested we call it a day, and Chuck agreed.
We walked back to where I had parked my car next to the Jax Brewery, and
we headed for his house.
"Can you spend the night tonight," he asked.
"Naw, man, I got school tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot."
I pulled into the second parking place for his apartment, and we went
upstairs. When we got up there, he asked, in a voice that told me he really
didn't want me to go,
"You don't have to leave just yet, do you?"
"Hell, no. I want to be home by eleven, though, but otherwise I'm cool."
We discussed going out to eat, but Chuck decided he wanted to cook for me.
We went to a Winn Dixie nearby and bought some stuff. Back at his place, he
cooked us some steaks and baked potatoes, and he made a salad. My kind of
food. We both drank a couple of scotches before dinner and wine with the
meal, so I was feeling mellow when we finished.
Once we were settled on his sofa, Chuck said,
"This has been a hell of a weekend for me."
"I know what you mean," I said. "I've been in the deepest kind of funk for
the last three weeks, and getting to know you has pulled me out of it."
"Good," he said. "The sex hasn't been bad, has it?"
"It's been terrific," I said, exaggerating a little.
"I hope it isn't over," he said.
That was the first time Chuck had taken anything like the lead in the sex
between us (if you didn't count his putting his hand on my leg the day
before), and it made me interested.
"I hope not, too," I said. "What did you have in mind?"
"I've been thinking about yesterday afternoon. You let me fuck you."
"Yeah, and it was great," I said.
"Tell me what it felt like."
"It's kind of hard to describe. It felt really good. It felt like I was
filled up. It felt like you were part of me."
"Would it feel like that for me? I mean, if you did me?"
"You mean, if I fucked you?" I grinned at him.
"Yeah, if you fucked me?"
"Sure. I guess it would."
"You're bigger than I am," he said. "Would it hurt?"
"Maybe a little, at first," I said. "You'd get used to it, though, in a
little while."
"Would you do that, Nick? Would you fuck me?"
I wanted to say "in a heart beat." Instead, I leaned over and kissed him,
giving him plenty of tongue. "I'd love to," I said. "But we'll need some
lube. Some KY or some Vaseline. You got any?"
"Yeah," he said. He got up and went to the bathroom off his bedroom. He
came back with both, and a towel. He stood in front of me, and I saw he was
hard. I stroked him through his jeans, and his hard-on got bigger.
We played with each other for a little while with our clothes on.
Sometimes that can be pretty arousing. Then we undressed each other and
spread the towel on the living room floor. I like to see a face when I fuck
a person, so I made Chuck lie on his back.
"Are you limber enough for me to put your legs on my shoulders," I asked
him.
"I think so," he said, "but try it." I did, and he was. I was hard as
hell, but I wanted to work his ass a little before I entered him. I scooted
back and let his legs fall to the floor. Then I went down on his ass. I
licked his hole until it was good and wet, and then I ran my tongue into it.
Chuck responded like the ass-man I knew he was, and in no time he was
moaning. I kept that up for ten minutes or so, and then I stuck my finger
into him. He liked that, so I put another, then another. I finger-fucked
him a while, loosening his butt for my cock.
When his pre-cum was leaking in large drops, I decided to make my move. My
own cock was amply wet with my own pre-cum, and I rubbed it on his hole to
spread it around. I put a little KY on my shaft to make his first time
smooth, and then I plunged in to the hilt. Chuck gasped with pleasure, and
we started fucking. I moved in and out, but I also rotated my hips. He had
a look of ecstasy on his face, and that made me more aggressive. I
continued fucking until Chuck started humping involuntarily, and I knew he
was about to come. We came at the same moment, and the feeling was pure
bliss. I flooded his ass with my cum, and he spurted all over his own
stomach and chest. I lowered his legs and lay down on top of him. My cock
was still in his ass, and we spread that cum all over both of us.
I generally don't get soft for some time after I come, and I decided to do
it all over again. I started thrusting, and Chuck matched me move for move.
It took us longer the second time, but, when we came, we both blasted
mighty hard. His asshole squeezed me tight, and I held onto him for fear
he'd pop me out.
Once we were done, we cuddled and snuggled for a good while. We smoked
cigarettes on the floor, and then the cool December weather started getting
to us. We were both smeared in cum from chest to thighs, and Chuck
suggested a shower. I told him I like the feel of him on me and that I
wouldn't shower again until Tuesday morning. He said he wouldn't, either.
I don't know if he did or not, but I kept my word.
Around 10:30 I said I had to be going. Chuck asked, "Will we see each
other again?"
"I hope so," I said.
"Call me tomorrow, okay? I know you'll probably have homework and stuff,
but I really would like to talk to you." He gave me his business card with
his office number, home number, fax number, and e-mail address on it. I put
it in my wallet, dressed, and went home. Matt was home when I got there,
and the door to his room was closed. The noise coming from it told me he
was fucking someone, so I didn't disturb him. Scott was still out, as he
usually was on Sunday night. I went to my room, got in bed, and fell
asleep.
Monday morning came early. I almost jumped in the shower, as I usually do,
but I remembered in time my promise to Chuck. I shaved and dressed for
school. I grabbed some coffee from the freshly-brewed pot that we had on a
timer, and I left for school. I stopped at McDonald's for a couple of
sausage biscuits, which I ate quickly on the way to school, and I got to my
place in the school parking lot with a few minutes to spare. I usually go
right into the building, but the last couple of weeks, since the cheating
thing, I've loitered out there until the last minute. I smoked a
cigarette--something I almost never do at school--and made it to my first
class--French--as the bell was ringing. The announcements came on the
closed-circuit TV system, and I half-listened as I got my homework out and
got ready for class.
As soon as the announcements were over, the school secretary interrupted
the class on the PA system to ask that I report to the Headmaster's office
right away and for me to bring my books. This kind of announcement is very
rare, but it's always greeted by cat calls and hoots from everybody in the
class because the person being called is almost always in some kind of
trouble. Today, though, the class was dead silent as I picked up my bookbag
because they all knew that this could be judgment day for me.
When I got to the office, I had to wait a few minutes to get in to see the
Head. The atmosphere in the office was formal and business-like, and I
couldn't tell what was up. When I was finally called in, the Head asked me
to have a seat.
"Mr. Marshall," the Head began, then, "may I call you Nick?" I nodded.
You're the fucking head of this school. You can call me any goddamn thing
you want to, I thought.
"Nick, I know the last few weeks haven't been easy for you. As you know,
we take our Honor Code at this school very seriously, and you were accused
of a very grave violation of it. Well, I'm pleased to tell you all charges
have been dropped."
I must have let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Nick, what I'm about to say can't get back to the other boys, understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Nick, the boy who accused you of cheating tried to commit suicide this
weekend. He's okay, now, and in a hospital for people who have psychiatric
difficulties. He left several notes, though, and his father stopped by my
home to give me the one that cleared you. I won't let you see it, but let
me read to you the important part, as it relates to you.
'Nick Marshall didn't cheat during that history exam. I made the whole
thing up
because I was jealous of him. He's got everything--looks, brains, money,
and'--
I hope you won't find this part offensive, Nick-- 'a dick that's as big and
perfect as
any I could imagine. He wouldn't give me our math
homework, and I wanted to get back at him. He didn't do it.'"
I felt tears of relief well up in my eyes, but I controlled them.
"I'm sorry you had to miss the football game, Nick, especially since we
lost without you." He chuckled a bit, probably to be polite, or some shit.
"I hope you won't have any hard feelings against this boy. He's sick and
needs your prayers, not your revenge."
Football game, I thought. Who gives a fuck about a lousy football game?
Does this guy think he's talking to Tom Brown of Eaton College, or
something? It was my whole fucking life that had been at stake, here.
"And Nick, there was a sealed letter to you. Here it is." He handed me
the envelope. I started to open it but thought better of it.
"Do you have any tests today, Nick?"
"No, sir, not that I know of."
"Well, this is unusual, I know, but why don't you take the rest of the day
off?"
I thought for a moment. Every guy in my French class heard me called to
the office. If I went home, they'd all think I'd been expelled. I wasn't
going anywhere, except back to class.
"I know what you're thinking, Nick. You're thinking your classmates will
think you've been expelled if you don't go back to class. Ordinarily, I
would let this conversation be the end of the episode, but you're more
highly visible than most students, and everybody knows about the accusation.
I'm going to make an announcement that you've been cleared of all charges.
I won't give the reason, of course, but nobody seriously believes the
accusation, anyway. Why don't you go home and celebrate with your
brothers?"
Well, with that stipulation, it sounded like a holiday to me. I said "Yes,
sir," and moved out.
I went out to the parking lot and got into my car. I started it up, but I
didn't put it in gear. Then I turned off the engine. I thought of my
parents. A month ago I would have gone home, and my mom would have been
there to hug me and pet me and rejoice with me. Now, the house would be
empty. Scott and Matt might still be there, but, if they were, they would
probably still be asleep. It got to be more than I could handle, and I
broke down and cried. I did more than cry. I sobbed. I wept. For ten
minutes, I slumped over the steering wheel, lost in my emotions. Finally, I
was cried out.
I wondered what to do. Everybody I knew would be in school, and I really
didn't want to be by myself. I thought about going to Chubby's place, but I
knew he'd be busy with ordering supplies and getting the place cleaned up
for the day. Then I remembered the letter the Head had given me. I opened
it and read it.
Dear Nick,
By the time you get this, I'll be dead.
I'm sorry I ever even thought of accusing you of cheating, but I didn't
know what else to do. You really pissed me off when you wouldn't give me
the math homework, but I forgive you. But, Nick, that's not the only
reason
I accused you of cheating. I did it because I want you. I've wanted you
ever
since the first time I met you. I mean, I want you sexually. I've seen
your
cock, and it's beautiful. It's so big and long and thick and round. I
want it
in my mouth, and I want it up my butt. I know I'm going to hell, but I
don't
care. If you get there, too, maybe we can be friends, and maybe you'll let
me have you.
Love,
Jason
That really blew me away. All that time, the little shit just wanted my
ass. If he had said something, I might have been willing to oblige. I
refolded the letter and put it in the glove compartment. I started up my
car and pulled away.
I drove home, as if by instinct, and went inside. Scott was sitting at the
breakfast room table drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. He asked me
what the hell I was doing home, and I told him what had happened. He said
he wasn't surprised and that he was happy it was behind me. He said Matt
wasn't home, but he knew Matt would be happy, too.
I poured a cup of coffee for myself and joined Scott. He was dressed in a
coat and tie, so I figured something big was up.
"Where are you going," I asked.
"I've got a meeting."
"A meeting? What are you talking about?" Scott didn't belong to any
clubs, that I knew about, and "meetings" weren't things Scott went to.
"Well, if you had bothered to show your sorry ass around here this weekend,
you'd know what this is all about. Where the fuck were you, anyway?"
"Scott," I said, "no rules. Remember?"
"All right. Well, Jake Simmons had a heart attack Friday morning."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
"And it doesn't look like he's going to make it. Even if he does, he's not
going to be able to run the clubs anymore. Apparently, he's got some major
gambling debts, or something, and Chip asked me if I wanted to buy them.
I'm meeting with Chip and some lawyers to work out the details. I'm buying
the fucking clubs. Actually, we're buying the fucking clubs."
"Wait a minute. Slow down. Who are these people? Do I know them?"
"Okay, here it is. You know I've been working as a dancer, or stripper,
for the last six months at a ladies-only club, right?"
That much I did know. One night just before school started, all three of
us had gotten kind of drunk together at the Country Place, and Scott told me
and Matt about his job. We had sworn silence because Scott didn't want Mom
and Dad to know.
"Right," I said.
"Well, I really work at three different clubs. We alternate to avoid
boredom of the customers with the same guys. Jake Simmons owns all three,
so he's my boss. His son is Chip. He's maybe twenty-five or twenty-six,
and he and I have kind of gotten to be friends. Friday night, when I showed
up for work, Chip was there and wanted to talk to me. He was really upset
about his dad's heart attack, and he told me Jake was up to his ass in debts
to some bookies. When they heard he had gotten sick, they started calling
in markers, and Chip had to come up with $200,000 or risk being killed. He
didn't know what to do, but he thought I might be interested in buying the
clubs."
"So, why?"
"For the pussy, man. Here's how it works. These are strip clubs where
guys strip for women. Okay. But each one has a whole set of back rooms,
and women pay for sex in the back rooms with the strippers. I get laid,
like, three or four times a night, and I get paid for it. I figured it
would be worth the money to have a regular stream of gash, and you and Matt
could benefit from that, too. Hell, wouldn't you shake your ass in a
g-string for guaranteed pussy?"
"Yeah. You know I would," I said. "But why don't you buy the places
yourself. Matt and I could just work for you."
"Well, there's the problem. I went to see each of the trustees Saturday,
and they had a conference call with one another Saturday afternoon.
Apparently, 'Uncle' Don didn't want me--he's my trustee--in this unless
'Uncle' Tyler and 'Uncle' Andy were willing to put yours and Matt's money on
the line, too. There's some macho bullshit going on among them, by the way,
but that's another story. Anyway, Uncle Tyler and Uncle Andy agreed, and
it's a go. So you and Matt are each going to put up a third, and I'm going
to put up a third. Chip will be able to pay off Jake's debt, and we'll have
us some clubs."
"Well, I trust you, Scott. Besides, it isn't for me to say, anyway. When
do I start?"
"We'll work that out. Right now, though, I've got to go." Scott got up to
leave. He turned off the coffee pot and rinsed his cup. He came over to
where I was sitting and kissed me on the lips. "I'm happy for you, little
brother," he said, and he was out of there.
The was quite an interesting turn of events. Apparently I was going to be
the owner of a ladies-only strip club. If the trustees thought it was okay,
then I guess it was. They were three of the most conservative men in the
world, and they were also three of the most loyal friends any man could ever
have. Sure, they got an annual fee for their trouble, but they would have
gladly done it for free, or at least I think they would have. We had always
called them "uncle," even though they weren't related to us. That's an old
New Orleans custom; kids don't call adults by their first names, and "Mr.
Russo," instead of "Uncle Don," was way too formal.
I went up to my room and changed into a casual shirt. I started to put on
the white jeans I had worn over the weekend, but there were cum stains in
the crotch. Instead, I put on my most faded and tightest pair of blue
501's. I checked myself in the mirror, and I looked cool. But cool for
what? What the hell was I going to do. I thought about going back to bed,
but I wasn't really tired. Besides, the maid, Ina Mae, had already stripped
the sheets to wash them and hadn't remade the bed yet.
I sat at my desk and turned on my computer. I hadn't checked my e-mail in
several days, and, when I clicked it on, I saw I had some. I opened the
file, and it was from Chuck. I had thought of him this morning when I
decided not to take a shower, but I hadn't given him another thought since
then. I read the e-mail:
Dear Nick,
I had a hard time sleeping last night thinking of you and the great time
we had this weekend. I'm wearing the ring I bought yesterday, and my
underwear has been sticky and wet all morning from thinking about you.
It's been about fifteen minutes since I wrote that last sentence. I had
to take care of a customer-relations problem. Anyway, I wish you were here
right now, and I wish. . . I wish your cock were fucking my ass right this
minute. There,
I said it. Call me as soon as you read this.
Chuck
Jesus, I thought, I hope this guy isn't falling in love with me or
something. I hope it's just the sex that's got him so worked up.
I decided to call Chuck. His secretary or whoever said he was on another
line and that the call might take a while. I left my name and number and
asked that he call me back.
The phone rang in about ten minutes, and it was Chuck.
"Nick, where are you? I just sent you an e-mail."
"I know. I just read it. I'm at home."
"You don't have school," he asked.
"Well, the Head called me in to say the charges against me had been dropped
and that I could take the rest of the day off. That's probably the first
time in the history of Colton Academy anybody has been given the day off."
"Oh, Nick," he said, "I'm so happy about that. I know it's had you
worried."
"Yeah, it has, but it's over now."
"So what are you going to do," he asked.
"I don't know. Hang out, I guess."
He didn't say anything right away, but I could hear him ask his secretary
if he had any appointments or anything this afternoon. She must have said
"no." He told her he had a lead on a new customer and that he would have to
be out of the office the rest of the day talking to the prospective client.
"Nick, let's hang out together. Do you want to?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Good. Meet me at my place in fifteen minutes, okay?"
"Sure, Chuck. I'll see you then."
We both hung up, and I thought about what I wanted to do. I knew Chuck
wanted to fuck around, and I did, too, but I really wanted to _do_
something, too. I called Bob, the guy who's in charge of the Country Place,
and told him I was coming up there with a friend. I asked him to turn on
the heater in the pool and to take out a couple of gigantic steaks from the
freezer. I grabbed a fresh pack of smokes from the carton I had in my desk,
and I also got my black leather jacket. Then I remembered Chuck had said he
was wearing the cock ring he had bought, so I put mine on, too. I checked
that look in the full-length mirror in my bathroom, and that looked really
cool.
I got to Chuck's apartment complex just as he did. He walked up to me and
put his hand out to shake. I shook his hand, and then I kissed him. He
laughed a little in embarrassment and looked around to see if anybody had
seen us. I made a mental note to be more respectful of his neighbors in the
future.
When we got inside, Chuck grabbed me and planted a hard, passionate kiss on
my mouth. His tongue explored ever crevice of my mouth, and I returned the
favor. Chuck was already hard when he got there, and, after the kissing, I
was hard, too. We started pulling the clothes off each other, and in a
second we were on the floor. The lube and towel were right where we had
left them.
We groped each other for a while. I sucked Chuck's nipples, and that made
him purr with pleasure. He did the same to mine, and I got more and more
aroused. I was on top of Chuck, rubbing our cocks together and tonguing his
ear. He whispered hoarsely in my ear, "Fuck me, Nick. Fuck the living shit
out of my ass. Stick your cock in as far as it'll go and never take it
out."
I put some KY on my penis and on Chuck's asshole. I stuck my finger in to
loosen him up, but his hole opened like a hungry mouth. I raised his legs
to my shoulders like I had done the night before, and I pushed my way to
paradise. Chuck started moving right away, and he set the pace for a rhythm
that told me he couldn't get enough. I had fucked maybe twenty guys and
more than twice that many girls, but none of them, even my brother Matt, who
is really a hot fuck, got into it as fast or as hard as Chuck did. I braced
myself on my right hand, and I pinched and rubbed his right nipple with my
left.
Chuck grunted and groaned and moaned with pleasure. Then he said, "Talk
dirty to me, Nick. Please."
"All right, cum hound. You like a hot, hard cock up your ass, don't you?
I can see and feel your nut sack, and it hard and shrivelled, sucking your
balls into your guts. That means you ass wants my cock and wants it bad.
You're nothing but a cock-slut, and you asshole feels like a hot, wet pussy
just begging for my massive love tool." I kept it up longer and better, but
I can't remember everything I said. I actually like talking dirty,
especially when I'm fucking.
About ten minutes after I entered him, Chuck stiffened so hard I thought he
was having a seizure or something. Well, it was the "or something," called
a gigantic orgasm. I felt his asshole contract rhythmically, and he started
bucking uncontrolably. That set me off, and I started bucking, too. A lot
of guys don't buck involuntarily, but I do, and I saw that Chuck did, too.
In a few seconds, he let loose a load of cum that spurted up to his chin. I
popped my load into his ass, and we both came in exquisite pleasure for what
seemed like forever.
Some guys' cockheads get real sensitive right after the come, but mine
doesn't. I kept it in Chuck and leaned over his torso to kiss him. I
rested in that position for a minute, and then I started pumping again,
really slowly, this time. His cum on his chest made us slide back and forth
easily and smoothly, and I continued to kiss him deeply. I did a little
tongue action in his ear, and that made him moan even more than he had
before. I don't know how long it took for us to come the second time, but
it was much harder and took much longer to work its way up from our balls
than the first one. He beat me by a few seconds, and, before I started
shooting, I pulled out and aimed my load onto his chest. My cum mixed with
his, and I spread it around on his chest. Then I lay back on top of him and
spread the mixture on both of us.
After that exertion, we were both exhausted and needed to rest. We lit
cigarettes and propped up against his sofa. We didn't say anything for
quite a while. When we had finished our smokes, Chuck got up and pulled me
up, too. "Let's get a shower," he said.
"No," I said.
"We're full of cum. I can smell it."
"I can smell it, too, and it smells great. Masculine, like. Let's leave
it on. It's us mixed together."
"I was thinking we'd go somewhere to get something to eat. People will be
able to smell it, too," he said.
"So what? I'm not ashamed of way we smell."
He laughed and hugged me. "Me, either," he said. "Let's go."
I rubbed our chests to spread out the cum to make it dry faster. Chuck had
a little hair between his pecs, but not much. I had a little more hair on
my chest, and it turned much darker when I rubbed the cum in. In five
minutes, though, it was dry and very sticky. I licked my fingers clean and
offered them to Chuck to lick, too. He did.
We got dressed and ready to leave.
"Where do you want to go," he asked.
"Would you like to go up to our Country Place for the rest of the day.
It'll take us about an hour to get there, but we'll have total privacy.
It's pretty neat, and I'll even cook you a steak."
"Sounds good to me," he said.
We took my car. We stopped at a Burger King for a hamburger and fries,
which we ate on the road, and we were at the Country Place by noon. The
temperature was still in the low 70's, which was unusual for December, but
certainly not unheard of in the Deep South. I had opened the sunroof on my
car, and Chuck and I had both taken off our shirts to get some sun, even
before we stopped at Burger King.
Chuck was really impressed with the Country Place. The house is about two
hundred years old, but it's been modernized, with a kitchen, bathrooms,
electricity, and central heat and air conditioning. The furniture is all
antiques, and my mother worked like hell getting the place "restored." The
guy Bob was like the manager of the estate. He had a master's degree in
horticulture, and antiques were his passion--that and rough-trade young men,
whom he picked up and moved into his house--the former overseer's house--on
a regular basis. The gardens around the place were magnificent, or so I've
been told, mostly by my mom and Bob. Out back, Dad and Uncle Matt had had
built a great recreation complex, with a pool and a multi-purpose building
we call the pavillion. The pavillion has a weight room, changing rooms,
showers, a full kitchen, and a huge party room. There were a gigantic TV
and a stereo system that really kicked ass. Behind the pavillion were four
brick buildings, painted white like the house and the pavillion, that used
to be quarters for the house slaves. They converted these into guest
houses, and each one can accommodate eight people for long weekends,
although we only ever used three of them because Uncle Matt had made one of
them his home away from home. Each one had four bedrooms with king-size
beds and four bathrooms upstairs, and a kitchen, dining room, living room,
and study downstairs. They were nicer than a lot of people's houses in New
Orleans, and my mother had decorated each one with antiques, too. Uncle
Matt's was really nice.
We toured the house, and Chuck was dazzled. The house had been written up
in Southern Accents magazine, and it really was pretty. The first floor had
a double parlour, enormous dining room with a table that could seat
twenty-four people when it was all pulled out, a kitchen, a couple of
pantries, a library, a billiards room with a "smoking room" off of it where
I guess the men used to congregate, a breakfast room, and a den that we
called the "morning room." There was also a huge entrance hall with a
gigantic staircase. There were staircases all over the place, but this was
the big ceremonial one. On the second floor there was the master suite,
with a huge double bedroom, two bathrooms, two dressing rooms, and two
sitting rooms. That took up the entire front side of the house that
overlooked the river. The back side of the house was a huge ballroom.
There was a kitchen attached to it and a couple of powder rooms for ball
guests, I guess. These overlooked the patio and pool, and the view was
clear all the way to the lake. The third floor was where the kids' rooms
were. Each of us had a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a sitting room.
There were six suites like this--one for each of the three boys and three
for guests who were too important to stick in one of the guest houses.
My parents used to entertain a lot at the Country Place. They always gave
a big formal party near the start the Mardi Gras season, big picnics
Memorial Day weekend and on the Fourth of July and Labor Day weekend, a
costume party for Halloween, a formal "Hunter's Ball" in November, and
another formal party around Christmas. The people who didn't sleep over
were picked up and taken home by hired limos so everybody could get as drunk
as they wanted to. Mom and Dad had lots of parties at the New Orleans
house, too, but the really big ones were there. We boys were always there
for them, but we didn't participate in them until we turned twelve. As we
got older, we always looked forward to them, especially the summer ones,
because we were sure to get laid. We might continue those traditions
someday, but I doubt that we will for several more years.
I told Chuck all about all of this, and he was wowed.
"I've never known anybody who lived like this," he said. He shook his head
to indicate a lack of comprehension. "This is too much for a simple Air
Force brat like me."
"Especially one who's father was only a Lieutenant Colonel," I said. We
both laughed hard.
After we toured the house and the rest of the stuff, we decided to go
swimming. It was a little cooler than I liked it, but the pool heater had
been on for a couple of hours, so the water would be okay. We stripped down
to skin and dove into the pool. The water was nice, and we played around
for a little while. I challenged Chuck to a game of volley ball, and we set
up the net.
"So, what's the bet," I asked.
"The bet," he said. "What are you talking about? I've got maybe fifty
bucks on me."
"Not money; sex. What are you willing to do if you lose?"
"Whatever you want me to, but I'm not going to lose."
"Okay," I said, "how about a fuck on a float. The winner chooses what he
wants to do--fuck or be fucked."
"You're on."
We went at it pretty hard. Chuck had obviously played this game before, if
not for the same stakes. At the half point, we changed sides, and I got the
shallower water. I was ahead by two points, but after that it was mine all
the way. I won the game.
Chuck wanted to smoke when we finished, and I joined him.
"What do you want," he asked. "To fuck or to be fucked?"
I knew what I wanted, but I pretended to think about it for a while. "I
want to be fucked," I said.
"Asshole," he said, and we both broke up in laughter.
When we had finished our cigarettes and caught our breaths, we got back
into the water. I pulled a float into the pool after us, and we struggled
onto it. It was a "double wide," so we both fit.
"I want you to at least kiss me before you fuck me, stud-boy," I said.
Chuck smiled when I said that, and he planted a big wet one on my mouth.
His tongue felt good in my mouth.
He moved up next to me, and he started dry-humping me in the crack of my
ass, with both of us on our sides. I'd done this before with other guys and
didn't especially like it, but Chuck's doing it turned me on. I got hard
pretty quick, and so did he.
Chuck was obviously a quick study, and didn't need any direction from me to
know what to do. He continued humping me, but he also found my left nipple
and started rubbing it. It responded immediately and became as hard as a
pea under my skin. Up till then I hadn't been moving to Chuck's rhythm, but
I got into it with him when he worked my tit. He let up on that and grabbed
my cock. I knew I could last a long time, but I wasn't sure about Chuck. I
wanted an ass-fucking, so I told him to put it in me.
"Don't we need some lube," he asked.
"You've got a lot of pre-cum on your dickhead," I said. "That ought to do.
Just take it slow and let me adjust to you."
Chuck did as he was told, and he slide into me without any trouble. His
cock wasn't all that big, but it did the job.
"Let's take it long and slow," I said.
Chuck agreed, and he started moving in and out slowly and deliberately. I
joined his rhythm, and the raft floated up and down as he fucked me. I
tightened my ass muscles rhythmically, as much to teach Chuck something
about boy-fucking as to give him pleasure, and he responded with deep moans
of feeling. I moaned, too, and I was really enjoying myself.
"Stay in me, but let's rest a few seconds. We don't want to come too
quick," I said. Chuck wrapped his top leg around mine, and he took my cock
into his hand. The closeness was really intense, even though I couldn't see
him. In a minute, he started thrusting again. We kept up a slow, steady
fuck for a long time. We rested a few more times, and I continued to
squeeze his cock with my ass. Finally, I decided it was time to come, so I
started moving faster and harder. Chuck responded to my movements, and in a
few seconds we both stiffened. We were both buckers when we came, and our
rhythms matched one another perfectly. We came together, Chuck dumping a
large load into me, I dumping a large load onto the float.
Neither of us lost our erections immediately, so I asked Chuck if he was
game to go again. He responded by licking my ear, and so we began. The
second time took even longer than the first, and our orgasms were stronger
than the time before. All together, Chuck was in me for over an hour. By
then, we were both exhausted. When we finally separated, I told him to be
careful not to spill cum in the pool, and we got out. Chuck needed to clean
up, so he took care of that. Then we lay together on a large lounge chair
on the side of the pool and hugged and played with each other. Even though
we had both drained our nuts just a little while before, we both got hard in
no time.
I grabbed Chuck's cock in my left hand and took hold of mine in my right.
"Lay back and enjoy this," I said. Then I started stroking both of us.
Hand jobs are always good, but when somebody else who knows what they're
doing gives you one, they can be really good. I spit into my hands and gave
us both a pretty good time. Chuck has an amazing amount of pre-cum, so his
cock was slick in no time. I put out a pretty good amount, too, so my hand
glided over my cock pretty sweetly. It took me a while to get us both off,
but Chuck, the cum-fountain, spurted six or seven times, and I did, too. We
didn't need to clean up because I figured we weren't done for the afternoon.
Instead, we snuggled into each other's arms and legs and dozed off.
We slept for maybe forty minutes. Chuck woke up before I did and managed
to get a cigarette without disturbing me. When I finally woke, the sun had
moved behind the house, and we were in shadows. It wasn't cold, exactly,
but it wasn't real comfortable, either. I suggested we go into the
pavillion and clean up. Chuck agreed.
I led him into the weight room, where there were a couple of large vinyl
mats on the floor. They had been mopped and disinfected since anybody had
been in here. Chuck wanted to know where the shower was, but I had other
ideas about cleaning up.
"We'll get around to that in a little while," I said. "I was thinking we
could take cat baths."
"What are you talking about," he asked.
I stuck out my tongue and licked his chest. "That's what I'm talking
about," I said.
A big smile came across his face. "You're really amazing, you know that?"
"Yeah," I said. "So I've been told. At least when it comes to sex."
I drew Chuck down onto the mat, and we both went to work. I started on his
face, and he rubbed my body the whole time I was working on him. Then he
started working on me at the same time, as I moved down his body.
"My ass is oozing cum," I said, "and it needs to be cleaned. Your dick is
filthy and needs all my attention, and I suspect your ass is still filled
with my cum from this morning. This is going to take a while."
Chuck chuckled, and we really got busy. Chuck was pretty good at
ass-licking, and he wasn't afraid to stick his tongue as deep as he could
get it. I'm the best damn cocksucker in my family, and I put all my skill
to work. In no time, we were both spouting cum. We kept it up until my
tongue hurt, and I could tell Chuck's did, too. Then I dragged him to the
shower.
We washed each other from head to toe. Then I said, "The best way to
really clean an ass is with a soapy probe."
"A probe?"
"Yeah, this one." I grabbed his hand and put it on my hard cock. He
grinned and turned around. I had him lean up against the wall of the
shower, and that gave me a clear shot at his asshole. I lathered up my dick
and stuck it in. I knew Chuck really liked being ass-fucked, and I gave him
all I had. With all the coming we had done, it took us a while to reach the
pop-point. I kept my soapy hands running up and down Chuck's cock, and,
when we came, it was fierce. There wasn't anything left in either of us for
a second shot, so, after we recovered, we finished our shower and got out.
We dried each other off with big soft towels. Outside, we gathered up our
stuff and went into the house.
We decided to get dressed and build a fire in the morning room. I put some
music on the stereo, and we kind of just sat next to one another on a sofa
and listened and thought about everything that had happened.
"So tell me about the cheating thing," Chuck said.
I told him as much as I knew, and he said he wasn't surprised. "Would you
have fucked him," he asked.
"Probably," I said.
"Why? Was he cute?"
"Cute" was a word I had never used about a guy, but I knew what Chuck
meant.
"Not really," I said. "He was kind of a nerd, if you know what I mean.
Our dads went to school together at Colton, and my dad said his dad was the
same way when he was a kid. His dad went to Yale, and then Harvard Law, so
he must have been a pretty smart guy. Jason is a smart guy, too, but he's
not as smart as me, and he's not as smart as his parents want him to be. I
think the whole family's probably fucked up."
"So why would you fuck him?"
"For the sex, I guess. Sex is sex. I take it whenever I can get it.
Sometimes it's special, like with you, but most of the time it's just sex."
"Was what we did special to you?"
"Yeah, it was," I said. "It didn't start out that way. When I first met
you at Chubby's on Saturday, I thought you wanted me. And I've got a
confession to make. I _did_ lead you on--you know, standing sexy and
'forgetting' to button my fly up all the way."
Chuck grinned. He knew.
"But I needed somebody just then, and you were available. I didn't do it
for the sex. I did it for the friendship, the companionship. I was pretty
fuckin' miserable, and I just wanted somebody warm to put his arms around me
and cuddle me. You did that. Then yesterday, I had a really good time with
you. I started really liking you. And the sex got better. You were pretty
lame, at first, but that was okay. You were new to this. You were just as
vulnerable as I was, and I wanted to show you a good time. Well, you're
there, man. You're a good student, and now you can really fuck."
There was a rather awkward pause. I could tell Chuck was feeling some
emotion he couldn't name or explain, so I just shut up. I lit a cigarette
and just waited for him to find what he wanted to say.
"Nick, you don't know what that means to me," he said. "My life has been
totally fucked up for the last year. My wife was fucking somebody else, and
I knew it. But I really didn't care. At the same time, though, I felt
totally rejected and totally worthless. I'd wake up in the morning after
sleeping eight or ten hours, and I felt completely exhausted. I'd go
through the day, and half the time I couldn't remember what I had done an
hour before. I'd be on the phone with a customer who had a really
legitimate complaint that I really cared about, and, half way through the
conversation, I'd forget what we were talking about. So what does the
company do? They promote me. They give me my own office. That's American
industry for you."
"So is it any better now?"
"It has been since Saturday. Since I met you. I had never been with
another guy, like I told you before, but I had wanted to try it. I read all
the gay stuff on the Internet, and I've downloaded hundreds of pictures of
naked guys. I sometimes sit in front of my computer for hours, drinking
scotch, smoking cigarettes, and downloading pictures. I usually end up
jerking off, either from a story or from a picture. I haven't made it with
a woman in over a year, or with anybody else but you. I even went to a gay
bar a few times, but I didn't feel comfortable. Guys would be kissing and
rubbing up against each other, and a lot of them were kind of effeminate.
Not that any of that's bad or wrong or anything, but it was just a little
off-putting, you know?"
I nodded. I'd never been to a gay bar, but I didn't think I would have
enjoyed that atmosphere.
"A couple of the drivers in Houston were gay, and both of them were real
masculine and good looking. But both of them had lovers, guys they were
committed to. Plus, they were around my age, and I would have felt pretty
stupid approaching them and not knowing what to say or do. Not only that, I
was management, and that created problems. Plus, I was still living with my
wife. I knew I wasn't happy, but I hadn't made up my mind to leave her. In
fact, she left me."
"Chuck, do you know what a 'fuck buddy' is," I asked.
"Maybe, but tell me your definition."
"Well, a fuck buddy is a good friend that you enjoy sex with. He's not a
'lover' or a 'boyfriend' or anything. Fuck buddies see other people, even
girls if they want to, but they really like one another, and they're good in
bed with one another. Maybe that's what you and I ought to be for one
another--fuck buddies. In time we'll both find somebody--and it might turn
out to be each other--that we want to spend the rest of our lives with, and
we can decide then how we want to handle our relationship. It doesn't mean
we're gay, necessarily, although I hate categories like 'gay' and
'straight.' It might turn out that you decide you want an exclusively gay
lifestyle, or I might decide I do, or we both might decide we do. Or we
might both meet girls and fall in love and want to get married."
"So you've been with a girl?"
"I've been with lots of girls. I been with plenty of guys, too, but right
now I think I prefer girls. I've never had a girlfriend, though, not
somebody I was in love with, anyway. Most of the sex I've had with girls
has been at parties I've gone to with my brothers. And at big parties here.
That reminds me, I think I might own a ladies-only strip club by now."
"What are you talking about," he asked.
"Well, this morning my brother Scott was meeting with some lawyers to buy
three strip clubs, and he, Matt, and I would own all three of them. Somehow
he convinced our trustees to let him buy them, and it might be a done deal
by now. Scott's been working as a dancer in them for about six months, and
the owner got sick and has to sell. They asked Scott if he wanted them, and
he does. I asked him why, and he said for the pussy."
I explained to Chuck as much as I knew about the clubs and their back
rooms.
"So, I might be dancin' and fuckin' as a pro. And to tell you the truth,
the idea is pretty exciting to me right now."
Just then my pager started vibrating on the waistband of my jeans. The
number on it wasn't familiar to me, but Scott and Matt often called from
strange places. I got up to return the call, and it was Scott.
"Where are you," he said.
"I'm at the Country Place."
"By yourself?"
"No, with a new buddy. His name is Chuck. I met him at Chubby's place
Saturday. I was with him this weekend."
"Well, the deal's done. We own the clubs. I was wondering if you wanted
to see what we bought tonight."
"Hold on," I said. Then to Chuck, "We own the clubs. This is Scott, and
he wants to know if I want to visit them tonight to see what we bought. Are
you interested?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Scott," I said into the phone, "I want to see them if I can bring Chuck
along."
"Yeah, that's cool. I don't see why not." He gave me the address of the
first one and said to be there around 8 o'clock. Then he said, "I'll see
you then. I love you, Bubba."
"Okay. I love you, too, Bubba." And we hung up.
"Bubba," Chuck asked.
"Yeah, all three of us call each other 'Bubba.' It's a family thing.
Nobody else better ever dare fuckin' call us that. That's what we call each
other."
"Did you say 'I love you, too,'" he asked.
"Yeah, I did. Because I do." I wasn't interested in explaining the
dynamics of our relationship at this point. That's something Chuck would
just have to find out about gradually.
"Look," I said, "he wants us to meet him a eight, and it's 5:30 right now.
We got to leave here by seven. You want me to cook us some steaks, or you
want to grab something to eat when we get to New Orleans. We're both clean,
and I ain't changing my clothes. I do want to put my cock ring back on,
though."
"Let's eat somewhere in New Orleans. And I want to put my cock ring back
on, too. I really like the way it feels."
I called Bob the caretaker and told him my plans had changed and I wouldn't
be eating here after all. I asked him what I should do with the steaks he
defrosted. He said to leave them and he would take care of them. So with
that, Chuck and I left the Country Place in our dust.