TAI  WAN  OHN
By John Candu
too_hot_in_bama@hotmail.com

My name's Tai Wan Ohn; my friends call me Tai.  I'm several generations
removed from my family's native country and about as Americanized as one
can get.  I have jet-black hair, brown skin, and typical brown, oriental
eyes and a slim build.  I'm gay.

In school I was a prodigy.  Though I'm only 22, I graduated from Yale
three years ago with a doctorate in creative writing and now teach at
Dartmouth.  

My colleagues on the English faculty were rather surprised to learn that
I not only write gay erotica but have published more gay stories and
books than all of their academic publishing added together.  And while
their dreary offerings go nowhere in the dry, publish-or-perish
wasteland of academia, my short stories bring pleasure to thousands of
readers.  

Word of my notoriety leaked when Ron, a fellow faculty member, ran
across my byline in an anthology of gay writings and asked if I happened
to be the same Tai who wrote "Shear Delight."  I confessed that I was.

He was startled.  "Isn't it risky using your real name on gay literature
while you're on the faculty?  How can you do that?"

"Tenure," I replied with a smile.

Ron, an Advanced Composition instructor and struggling author, said he
wanted to chat with me to learn more about my work and inspiration. 
Ron's a tan 5' 8" with a jogger's lean body and wears Old Spice.  I told
him there was no time like the present.  We walked to a nearby pub and
had glasses of ice-cold Guinness.

"My problem's with plot," Ron said. "I can't seem to come up with a good
story line, one that doesn't bore me to tears.  And my characterization
is lousy.  Not only that, but my scenes are dull -- I can't come up with
anything new.  What can I do?"

"Research!" I said decisively.  "Having fresh experiences and talking to
real people!"   

I sipped the dark frothy beer and continued: "Most writers say you
should lock yourself away in a room with a word processor to avoid the
dissipation that can result from sensory overload.  Then, they say, you
sit there until you can make up stuff out of thin air.  Bullshit!  When
I write about sucking cock, I go out and suck a few.  You'd be surprised
at what fresh experience can do to stimulate your descriptive powers."

Ron thought about that for a moment as he sipped, then said, "I think I
see what you mean.  Perhaps I should return to the basics -- keeping a
journal to capture my experiences for later use."

"I agree," I said. "Each day is a new opportunity for experience.  It's
exciting.  Once you begin looking for peak experiences, you'll
practically leap out of bed each morning to get your day started."

We had several more beers as we chatted.   I began to feel the buzz as
we talked about characterization and his other concerns.  

Emphasizing a point, I tapped his thigh as I said,  "In erotica, the
cock IS a character.  The cock is a living, acting/reacting member of
the cast every bit as much as the guy whose lips are loving on it.  Boys
even NAME their cocks.  As for me, I've never met a cock I didn't like."

We laughed and drank.  "Too bad I'm not gay," said Ron with a grin. "I
have a feeling you could give me lots of experience."

"You must at least be curious or you wouldn't have been reading the
anthology.  Besides, you don't have to be gay to enjoy male sex," I said
with a tone of mild exasperation, letting my hand rest on his thigh. "If
male sex is a new experience for you, then perhaps THAT is the very
thing you NEED to experience next!  Think of the rich insight it can
bring to your prose the next time you do a love scene."  My hand inched
further up his thigh.  He didn't budge an inch.  He was erect.

"How did you get started in erotica," he asked, swiveling his bar stool
toward me with his legs parted.  Whether his face was flushed from
excitement or embarrassment was yet to be seen.

"I began submitting gay erotica to Nifty Erotic Archives on the web.  I
was an insecure writer at first but found that I got a kick out of using
my craft well enough to make other guys cum.  That's what writing's all
about, isn't it.  Evoking significant emotion and reaction, making the
reader think and feel strongly, especially to know passion.  It's about
leaving impressions and memories -- even if they're fictional.  Bringing
guys off with mere words is one of the most heady things I do, even
moreso than actually having sex.  Oddly enough, writing erotica improves
my writing in general."

My hand moved to his bulge.  Quite a package.  I felt his hard cock and
my own tool surged.

Ron spoke hesitantly.  "Even if I were open to experimentation, I'd be
afraid of getting HIV."

"Bullshit!"  I held the hard tip of his prong.  "There's far, far
greater risk of my getting AIDS from sucking your cock, even with a
condom, than there is for you getting it from me during a blowjob.  Now
why don't we go to my place and I'll suck your cock.  Just to give you a
journal-entry for today.  You know you want it."

"We'd better wait.  I'd hate to be seen walking across campus with a
hard-on."

I gulped more Guinness.  We were both getting tipsy -- really tying one
on.

"Look, Ron, either you want this or you don't," I said firmly.  "Either
way is fine with me.  Now, I'm going over there to the men's room.  I'll
be in the last stall.  If you come in, fine; if you don't, we'll still
be friends."

Before he could say a word, I was off the stool and heading for the
bathroom.  The last stall was larger than the rest in order to
accommodate a wheelchair.  It was nearly impossible to see two sets of
feet inside unless you happened to be in the adjacent stall.

I lowered the seat and, without undoing my pants, sat there a few
minutes.  Just when I was about to give up and leave, I heard footsteps
and the outer door opening.  The toes of Ron's white Nikes appeared in
front of the stall door.  He hesitated a moment, then pulled the
unlatched door.

"I'm not a Mike Tyson -- I won't bite you.  Now come on over here!"

He locked the door and stepped in front of me.  His cock was straining
to get free.  I undid his pants and pulled them and his boxers to the
floor.  Ron had a dream cock: nine inches of the most beautiful shaft
and head I'd seen in a long time.  Proportioned to fit any fantasy.  Now
THIS cock had *character*.

I'm fortunate in having a large oral cavity.  I can easily swallow nine
or ten inches, and my gag reflex is practically nil.  I took Ron in with
a single slurp and he inhaled sharply.  I clutched his ass cheeks and
moved him in and out of my mouth as my head bobbed.  I sucked
forcefully.  After a moment, I looked up and said, "Be honest: Has a
*woman* ever done it this well for you?"

But Ron's eyes were closed and his face was tilted toward the ceiling.

I swallowed him again and put a lot of vacuum on the pull-back, then
fluttered my tongue under his head and let the tip explore the groove
all the way around.  I was rewarded with a healthy dick-drool of
pre-cum, and I sucked harder.  Now I didn't have to urge him to move his
hips; he was pounding into my mouth.

Every experienced cocksucker knows how to tell when a guy's about to
cum.  The steady breathing, the unchanging rhythm of the face-plowing,
and the growing taste of pre-cum.  All the signs were there, plus Ron
was holding the back of my head and pulling my face into his thrusts.

"Oh!!  Damn!!  I'm!! Cuming!!"

He shot enough creamy spunk to float a battleship.  A great chaser for
the stout.

When he finished, I nursed on it before letting the cock slide from my
lips.  Ron was beet-red.  I wanted to soothe his emotions.

"When you make your journal entry for today, keep this in perspective.
Cuming is a biological necessity and whether you cum in a pussy or in my
mouth is irrelevant.  I simply helped you get off.  We're still friends
and nothing has changed."

Ron nodded and put his meat-stick away.  "Actually, it was great --
beyond my expectations.  Very much so."

"Well, perhaps we can add other experiences for your journal-writing as
we get to know each other better."

Ron grinned.  The blush was gone.  "I'd like that.  I can't wait to Tai
Wan Ohn again."