Date: Fri, 13 May 2005 21:19:44 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: SITTING ON A GOLD MINE - 3

A good number of readers have responded to this story.  Consequently, I
know a lot of you guys are interested in cocks and sexual encounters.  A
few of you who sent e-mails told me they masturbated while reading the
story.  I find that both flattering and gratifying.  I sure as shit don't
blame you for being interested in sex.  I'm the same way.  But, please be
patient for a few paragraphs. I have something that I have to tell you.  If
I don't, the rest of the story won't make any sense.

Things changed and they improved with each change.  If anyone had told me
Richard and I would grow even closer together, I'd have told him or her
that was impossible, but that is exactly what happened.  We became as
inseparable as Josh and I had been as boys.  He was my life.

In the early part of my Junior Year in high school he bought me a
three-year-old Chevrolet Malibu, in like-new condition, and in the last few
months of my Senior Year he helped me gain acceptance at the University of
Southern California's School of Architecture.

Despite having my own car, Richard always transported me to and from work
on Saturday and Sundays.  One Sunday, while taking me home, about three
weeks before my high school graduation, he casually mentioned that Paul
Bahn and he were going out on Paul's boat Monday morning to fish or to go
to Catalina Island, probably the latter as Paul mainly wanted to run the
engines awhile.  Paul was a straight friend and customer of Richard's; he
and his wife, Claudia, lived near the Will Rogers State Historical Park in
a well-to-do area on the northern edge of Santa Monica. Richard added that
he was telling me about the boat trip as he might be late phoning me Monday
evening.

I'd met Paul several times.  He and Richard did go fishing occasionally.
Richard and I didn't have anything planned for Monday evening, so I thought
his telling me of his plans as sort of a remark made in passing and it
actually slipped my mind.

On arriving home from school, Monday afternoon, I drove up the alley and
into the garage.  I was a little surprised that my mom's car was there but
presumed she'd quit early -- wasn't feeling well -- whatever.

When I entered the back door I heard people talking in the Living
Room. From the Entry I knew something out of the ordinary was happening
just by looking in the Living Room.  There was my mom, Jerry, Josh, Father
Christopher from St.  James over on Pacific Coast Highway, where we went to
church plus two men and a woman who I'd never seen before.

My mom walked rapidly to the Entry hall were I was standing, looking in,
whisked me across the Entry to the Dinning Room and in tears, told me
"Richard was killed in a boating accident this morning".  (Later I learned
they'd felt it best to wait to tell me until after school.  For one thing
there was an element of doubt for a while as it took a real effort
involving several jurisdictions to identify the boat and its occupants.
Divers had gone down to inspect the wreckage, which consisted of bits and
pieces scattered for a wide area over the bottom of the harbor. The only
semi-intact items were the engines, drive shafts and propellers.)

I broke away from my mom, ran into my room, flopped face down on the bed
and began crying my eyes out.  Josh opened the door, spoke my name, lay
down beside me and threw his arm over my shoulders.

"Mike, I'm so sorry.  I know just how you feel."

He was right.  He was probably the only person I knew who would totally and
genuinely understand that it was possible for a boy to love a man.  It took
an hour at least for me to gain even a minimum amount of composure.  Jerry
was the next one to come into the room, carrying a vodka martini on the
rocks, and a pack of cigarettes.  He opened the window wide, took a saucer
out of his pocket to use as an ashtray and the three of us lit up and I
sipped on the martini.
  It tasted awful. Jerry said it was potent, just drink it.

Another half hour passed, Jerry convinced me to see one of the men I'd seen
in the living room but didn't recognize, a James Banning, Jr. from the
Century City Law firm of Banning and Banning.  James began to unravel a lot
of stuff for me.  He was Richard's attorney as well as Paul's.  Paul had
recommended him to Richard and the three of them had become friends.

Paul's wife had called him when she saw the boat explode from the shore,
which I'll explain later.  James called Frank and John at the antique shop
and they gave him my home phone and my mom's office phone, which I had put
on the Emergency Contact Form at the store, in case of an emergency.  James
called my mom.  Later, Paul's wife called her and asked if she could see
her.  My mom called our priest, Father Christopher, unaware that St. James
was also the Catholic Church that Richard attended.  I was unaware of it
too.  Religion must have been the one and only topic the two of us had not
beaten to death at one time or another.

James wanted to inform me that I was Richard's sole heir.  He had no close
relatives so the will would be uncontested.  However the manner of death
might delay obtaining a death certificate for a while and in turn delay
insurance payments, however divers had just a few hours ago established
identity of the boat.  He added that we needed to get together soon to deal
with other small problems, the main one being I was a minor and could not
legally enter into binding contracts, as I would have to do to manage the
store.

I went with James, Jerry and Josh back to the living room.  The other man
and the woman I didn't know introduced themselves, they were Claudia and
her brother, wife and brother-in-law of Paul.  Claudia told me they had to
leave but she had related the whole story of what had happened to my mom.
James left at the same time.

Mom told me Claudia felt a lot of Richard and Paul's clients would be
phoning about a memorial service.  Claudia said Paul belonged to no church
and proposed the idea of a joint service in St. James as they were friends
and had died together.  She said we could talk about it tomorrow.

Mom asked Fr. Christopher if he would say a prayer before leaving.  We
knelt and after he'd led us in some prayers, he came over and touched me on
the cheek as I knelt and said, "Michael, I know this is the most difficult
time you've ever experienced.  It happened before you wanted it to happen,
but it happened.  It is a time of tears for you, but let them be beautiful
tears, holy tears, thankful tears that God has called Richard home, to be
with him. Believe me, Richard waits there for the day you will join him."

I blurted out, "I wish I could join him right now!" and started crying
again.

Josh and Jerry hustled me off to my bedroom.  My mom left us alone,
thinking Josh and Jerry were more qualified than she was to cope with me
right now.  She had told them to spend the night.  Josh could sleep with me
and Jerry could sleep in the third bedroom across the hall.

The three of us had a couple more drinks.  Josh and I rarely drank other
than beer but Jerry said he thought we all needed it; just pretend it was a
wake.
  He didn't think Richard would mind.  We talked; Josh and I got woozy and
went to bed.  Josh cuddled up to me and I managed to sleep, which I didn't
think I would ever do again.

Claudia came back the following afternoon to discuss a memorial service.
She also told me what had happened.  She had taken Paul to the marina where
he moored his boat, a marina located in Wilmington, near San Pedro (both LA
place names).  They met Richard there and Paul had decided it was to be
Catalina instead of a fishing trip.  She had the morning free and went on
to San Pedro, got onto Harbor Boulevard, passed the Ports of Call and the
area where the fishing boats docked, continued down Signal street and
parked along the bank of the ship channel in a warehouse area, as close as
she could get to the end of the channel where it emptied into the outer
harbor.  She opened a thermos of coffee and read a book, being careful not
to get so absorbed in the book that she'd miss Paul's boat.  When it did go
by, she honked her horn, Paul and Richard waved and acted silly and Paul
called her on her cell phone to request she do an errand for him on the way
home.  A minute or so later, the boat had entered the outer harbor and
exploded before it reached Angel's Gate the entrance to the harbor from the
Ocean.

After talking to Claudia and James Banning, the police came to believe the
bomb was placed on Paul's boat by mistake so they contacted all owners of
similar boats in the marina.  They also made certain Richard's Mustang was
not wired.

Claudia broke down and couldn't talk about it anymore but managed to say
she would answer any questions I had later.  After coffee Claudia, my mom
and I switched to the memorial services.  Father Christopher suggested
10:AM Friday Morning, to which we agreed.  The details would be in
Wednesday's newspapers.  More people that I imagined attended, but Claudia
was certain a large number would attend so had arranged a reception in a
near by restaurant and insisted that she pay.

Since Paul wasn't a Catholic Father Christopher didn't have a Mass; it was
a very simple Memorial Service.  I think he had selected the only two hymns
with me in mind.  One was an African hymn called, "Come by here", which
went something like, "Come by here, my Lord, come by here, someone's dying
Lord, come by here.  Come by here my Lord, come by here, someone's crying
Lord, come by here" and the second was, "Lift him up on the wings of an
eagle".

I was overwhelmed at the number of people at the funeral.  Many approached
me, they'd heard I was now the owner of the store, they were business
associates of Richard's, in one-way or another -- sources of merchandise,
interior decorators and numerous other figures.  All of them said they'd
get in touch with me within a few weeks.

By the end of the week, my graduation was now two weeks away. It was a
month later before I could begin to fully recall what happened at the
graduation let alone the memorial services, who came, who I knew,
conversations that had taken place, that sort of thing.  The whole thing
had been just too stressful.  Maybe my brain had just blanked everything
out.  Unfortunately, Josh's graduation was on the same evening as mine and
we didn't get to attend the other's ceremony.

James Banning meantime had solved the problem of managing the store.  He
had the two of us form a partnership, with him having a ten percent
interest and me a ninety percent interest and complete control including
the termination of the partnership at any time.  This gave him the power to
enter into contracts, pay Frank and John and other bills, which he could do
from his office.

I asked him how much money Richard took home for salary.  James explained
it was called "partner's draw" and Richard took $75,000 a year.  I asked
him if, until I reached twenty-one he would be content with $7,500, or ten
percent and I would take $67,500 or ninety percent.  He looked at me kind
of funny, then smiled and said on one condition.

"And what is that?"

"That if you ever become an Attorney, you'll never practice in the Los
Angeles area."

I decided to move into Richard's apartment.  James made the arrangements
for me regarding the lease assumption.  I'd gone over there a couple of
times and felt a sort of comfort in being in the same space, using the same
furnishings and sleeping in his bed. In fact I didn't wash the sheets for
two weeks after I started staying there. I had a hard time letting go of
him, an extremely hard time.  At that Richard's bed was better than
sleeping in my own at home.  Nights were the worst for me.

My mom was reluctant when I suggested moving out, but within a month her
boyfriend had moved in with her. I didn't resent it; we both just had a
little more freedom now.

Richard's computer had no business matters on it, just personal stuff and
was not password protected.  In fact it was mostly porn, which I looked
at. In fact some of it gave me a boner, which in turn made me feel guilty.
I don't know why it did.  For months, I would have sexual dreams about him
and they didn't make me feel guilty.  In the dreams, we never actually had
sex.  Most of them were about being in a crowd, at a party, or some similar
scenario, and I would be acutely aware that both of us wanted each other.
Then someone would distract him, I'd lose track of his whereabouts and not
see him again.

My sex life degenerated all the way down to zero, using a scale of 1 to 10

One sunny morning, a week before Thanksgiving, I decided to take a day off.
I fixed breakfast, got into the Mustang and drove down Pacific Coast
Highway, got onto the Harbor Freeway, exited at Gaffey, San Pedro's main
street, stopped at a grocery and bought a plastic, foam cooler, some diet
coke, a packaged ham and cheese sandwich and some junk food, turned left on
6th. Street and then south by the fishing docks and on down to where
Claudia had described the place she'd waited for Paul's boat to pass on
that dreadful day last May.

It was too breezy to sit outside, plus there was no place to sit anyway, so
I sat in the car and read.  Several times I had to go back to the fishing
docks area because there was a john there.  If times had been different it
seemed someplace I'd be interested in.  In fact a guy in leather, his
motorcycle parked just outside, sat on the can with a hand inside his pants
playing with his cock as he openly watched me piss in the urinal.  It
really upset me.  Despite my feelings about Richard, seeing the guy sitting
on the john looking at me reminded me of a guy in Alondra Park that had
said "It's all yours".  It made me wish I had a big, hard cock in my mouth
right now.  Nothing made me harder than sucking a cock knowing I was
bringing it to climax just the same as if it was fucking a cunt.

I addition to books on antiques, I had brought a prayer book I'd found in
Richard's bureau.  It was an old, black leather covered book, about 3" x 5"
in size and a little over an inch thick. The edges of the pages were gold.
I don't know where Richard had gotten it but he'd written his name in it.
It was printed in 1923 and had 912 pages, all yellowed.  I got into it and
found it amazing in that there were so many prayers that I'd never heard of
-- prayers from a different era, an era of more fervent devotion, an era of
more innocence.  I skipped through it reading what caught my eye but was
amazed when I closed it how much of it I had read.

A couple of hours reading a prayer book didn't entitle me to feel better
but I'd made a conscious effort at finding closure over Richard's death and
I'd try again, soon.  When I left the area it was only 3 PM and I decided
to swing by St.  James in the hope of catching Father Christopher. He was
pleased to see me and remarked we'd talked several times on the phone but
this was our first face-to- face contact since Richard died.  Oh course, he
knew, without asking, why I'd called and finally I just said, out loud, I
was having trouble finding closure concerning Richard's death and wondered
if it would be wrong to seek another partner.

"So you're comfortable Michael, let's talk about Alice instead of
you. Alice had a similar problem.  She'd been married for several years to
an accountant named George.  George died and she met a man named Fred who
was an automobile mechanic. They liked each other and were married.  Then
Alice began to find fault with Fred, he left the washbasin and shower stall
dirty, he just gave her his checkbook to use instead of giving her a cash
allowance for groceries and household expenses. Too, Fred was a horny guy
and required a lot more sex than George.  So the moral to this story is, in
your second relationship don't make comparisons.  Alice didn't marry George
for a second time.  George was dead and gone.  Poor Fred wasn't and never
would be George.  Alice didn't marry the washbasin, shower stall or an
accountant who doled out exact sums, she married an automobile mechanic,
she married Fred.  And, Alice didn't marry a duplicate set of male
genitals.  There are very few duplicates in that area. So, if you go for
number two, just be sure you love him for what he is and realize he cannot
and will never be a Xerox copy of Richard."

I chuckled and said that was quite a story.

Father said I shouldn't think he was prejudiced against women because he
had a similar story about a man named John was married to a woman name
Agnes who died after they'd been married several years.

I ate at a hamburger joint on the way home and called Josh as soon as I got
to the apartment.  I told him about my talk with Father Chris.  Josh said,
he thought Chris was a doll.  If he'd been sitting in the Rectory, alone
with Chris, he'd have sprung a boner."

"God, Josh, you have the dirtiest mind in town."

"Correction, Michael, yours is the dirtiest, mine is a close second."

I told him for the umpteenth time how lonely I was without Richard.

"Shit, Mike, I know.  In some ways, though, I think you're torturing
yourself.  Why not go to Alondra Park before turning in and get your self
some.  You'd feel better after sucking a few cocks.  I think Richard would
tell you the same damn thing."  I don't know if it was Josh's suggestion or
if his suggestion just started my mind to thinking.  Anyway, my dick was
hard for the first time in many months.

Consequently, I went to the toilet with all the stalls in it, the one Josh
favored.  I selected it because it was the closest to the apartment.  If it
was dead, I could move on to another one.  If I weren't hot when I got
there I would have been soon.

There was a perimeter, chain-link fence at this location.  Just inside the
fence was a row of large Oleander bushes and then a grouping of tables with
benches and several barbeques.  For some reason I looked over toward the
tables.  There were also streetlights along where the parking spaces were
which enabled me to see a guy sitting on the edge of a table, feet on the
bench and legs spread wide, getting his cock serviced by another guy
sitting on the bench between his legs, an avid cocksucker going for it big
time.

As I approached the toilet I'd selected, I saw a guy wearing a white,
windbreaker jacket, sitting on a bench and smoking a cigarette.  I no
sooner spotted him than he got up and walked into the john, or so I
thought.  But, when I went in, it was vacant.

I went back to watch the guy on the table getting a blowjob.  The guy in
the white jacket came back and sat on the same bench.  I turned around for
a second try.  This time he waited, said "Hi" as I approached and asked if
I had a cigarette.  He had a lighter and lit his and then mine.

"I've got a big one.  You suck?"

"Yea, I followed you into the john, but you weren't there."

"Come on and I'll show you where it's done at night."

I followed him, he went behind the "L" shaped wall that served as a sight
barrier for the men's room.  I now knew why I thought he'd entered the
john.  Behind the barrier was an 18" wide space between the toilet and one
of the greens of the golf course where Josh and I had caddied.  He leaned
against the back wall of the toilet, unzipped and hauled out a big, hard
cock.  Like the avid cocksucker sitting on the bench between the guy's
legs, I went for it.

Isn't it strange?  I was sucking my first cock in months.  You'd have
thought I'd have tried to make it last.  But, as I've mentioned before,
sucking cock is just two damn exciting.  It's impossible to prolong the
pleasure.  But, the guy's cock soon gave me what I needed -- it shot off and
spurted load after load of warm, sticky cock juice into my mouth.

The guy put out his hand, helped me up off my knees, and said, "I really
needed that."

"Can you shoot again."

"I might, but it would take too long.  I've got to get home.  My wife's
over visiting her sister and will be back soon."  (Shit!  Another big
dicked, married dude that still needs to blow his nuts down a guy's throat.
What's with them?  Why do they get married in the first place?)

As much as I knew about sex, I had still to find out that in addition to
tops and bottoms there were bi-sexuals that liked to do it with guys and
some of them were bottoms and some were tops.  The world just kept getting
stranger and more complicated.

Soon thereafter, late one afternoon, during the first week in December, a
young, guy with brown (almost black) hair beginning to recede at the
temples, blue eyes, a day old stubble, not as tall as Richard, more my
height, came into the store.  To finish describing him, he had a hint of a
cleft chin and lips that any woman would love to have.  He turned me on the
minute he spoke to me.

He said he had walked by a number of times and looked in the windows, he
liked the shops along La Cienega.  He was not on vacation and thought he'd
just come in to browse.  One thing led to another, he was single and lived
in an apartment in the South Bay Area which he described as completely void
of amenities.  He was from New York, loved antiques but couldn't afford to
furnish his apartment with them.  Too, he was a doctor, and worked in the
Emergency Room of a South Bay Hospital.  Later, he told me he was 33 years
old.

I showed him the store but didn't try to sell him anything,I told him
briefly about Richard (describing him as my employer and a good friend --
omitting our sexual relationship), about living in his apartment, how it
was a mixture of a few utilitarian antiques coupled with other compatible
looking furnishings, which Richard always said prevented the feeling that
you were living in a museum.

I told him my name was Michael Bowman and he introduced himself as Pete
Lubinskas.  I asked him if he'd like to see the apartment.  He said he
didn't want to put me to any inconvenience.  I explained it was in the
South Bay, so it really wouldn't be out of the way for either of us.

As a consequence, I gave him the address, telephone number and drew a map
of how to get there.  He said he'd try to follow me.  He succeeded and
pulled into the complex right behind me.  He liked the apartment, saying he
found it light, cheerful, tasteful and exactly what he'd been thinking
about.  He drank scotch; there was some of Richard's left.  I told him my
age but I was going to have a Martini because I couldn't legally drink in
public places and I'd like to take him to dinner.  Again he didn't want to
impose but agreed.  I think he was a little bit bashful, even if he was 33
years old. He had on jeans and a colored, dress shirt.  I loaned him a tie
and a sports jacket to make him qualified for admittance.

As I suspected, his name was Russian, but he was born in New York and had
never been to Europe, let alone Russia.  I called Nitches.  After Richard
died I'd continued going there and now knew a lot of the waiters by name
including the headwaiter.  I even wrangled a table by the window.  Peter
was impressed.  He'd never been there before.  He said in New York he loved
to find a place to park where he could watch ships entering and leaving the
harbor under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

I guessed he might be a little bit of a romantic, as I was.  He was also a
good- looking fucker, in the waiter's opinions as well as mine; he had them
all scurrying around with maximum attentiveness.

After eating, he asked if we could go to the bar for a while, he thought
the pianist, who we could hear at the table, was exceptional.  He ended up
having several drinks.  We were sitting at one of the tables backed up
against a long, leather seat along an exterior wall.  It was a weeknight
and only moderately crowded.  Then, I felt his leg touching mine, I
fucking, literally froze.  I couldn't have moved if I wanted to.  But, by
the same token, he didn't move either.

Finally he got up to put a five-dollar bill in the pianists tip jar.  They
came back to the table together and Peter introduced him to me. His name
was Joseph, he said he hoped we'd stay until he came back from his
intermission and asked if we wanted him to send a bartender over to the
table.  Peter replied yes and ordered another drink; on the sly he shared
it with me.

"Michael, I can't thank you enough for bringing me here.  This place is a
real delight. It's like some of the European restaurants in New York in the
feel it has."

"I've never been to Europe.  What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's quiet, genuine, stands on it's own merit, it isn't flashy isn't
trendy, it's just really nice, really wonderful and the food is fantastic."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it."

"Michael."

My name was all he uttered. I didn't understand what he meant.  I
established eye contact with him and he said, "Niches has all the same
qualities as you."

I know I blushed.

He continued.  "I really enjoyed your telling me about Richard.  Were you
sexual partners?"

I knew I was turning even redder.

"I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you.  Maybe it's my turn to tell you something
about myself.  As is the popular conception, there is a lot of sex that
takes place between doctors and nurses in hospitals. I have offers all the
time.  I don't like them; I think they're being assumptive as well as rude.
I'm shy.  That's probably why they offend me and why they're attracted to
me, too.  Maybe they even frighten me.  I've had sex with male partners a
few times in my life, even if it was just jacking off.  They, in contrast,
were things that just seemed to happen without the need of propositions.
You know what I mean."

I told him I did but decided I'd never mention Alondra Park where things
were done on purpose instead of just happening naturally.

The pianist returned, we told him we'd enjoyed his playing and left.

Back at the apartment, Peter said he noticed the pool had lights and asked
if you could swim at night.

"Yes, unless you get rowdy and disturb people."

"Is it heated?"

"Yes, but it's a cool night.  There's also a whirlpool, hot tub that's
warmer. I have a suit that would fit you if you're interested."

He followed me to the bedroom and we changed into swimsuits in each other's
presence.  He didn't even turn his back.  He was beautiful in the brief
moment I saw him naked.  For lack of a better way to describe him, I'll
just say he didn't have a lot of hair like Richard and his body seemed
softer as well as smoother.  I think he was uncircumcised. I didn't get a
real good look; I hated to stare.

The whirlpool was under a roof and had underwater lights like the pool.  I
draped our robes and towels over the back of a chair and went in first
because I knew where the steps were.  The whirlpool was at least ten feet
in diameter.  Instead of sitting on the other side he sat next to me, our
legs touching, my cock erecting.  I was totally excited for the first time
since Richard died.  My pecker had come alive.  But, he'd told me he was
shy. I didn't want to screw up, so I didn't make a pass at him.

After the whirlpool, he told me to shower first as he wanted to make a
phone call.  Before he got into the shower he asked if I would mind running
an errand for him to pick up some stuff, he'd ordered and charged on a
credit card.  The place wasn't too far away.

Shit I'd only known Pete for a few hours, I was concerned, wondering if he
wanted me to pick up some drugs or something but decided drug peddlers
didn't transact business with credit cards.  So, I agreed.  He sent me to a
place called the Fantasy that I'd seen, on Pacific Coast Highway in Hermosa
Beach, just a little before Aviation Boulevard, on the right side of the
street just beyond a 7- eleven market.  (The Fantasy was a porno book store
and video arcade); Pete said to double park if need be, honk and a guy
named Bill would come out with the order.  He said he'd described both my
Mustang and me to Bill.

"How did you describe me?"

"I told him when he saw you, he'd want to fuck you. And, if you have a cock
ring put it on now before you leave."

When I stepped out of the apartment, I couldn't believe it and you won't
either unless I explain two LA winds.  One kind, occurring several times
during September are called Santa Ana winds.  They are hot, drying winds
that come from the east, out of the desert, raise temperatures and you
better have a garden hose in play if you want to save your garden. The
others don't have a name but come in off the ocean, usually in December,
drop the temperature and relocate all trash in gutters, alleys and
elsewhere several miles to the east.  One had come up with a vengeance
since Pete and I had been in the whirlpool.

It made driving tricky, so I took it slow and when I got to the Fantasy,
there was no need to double park. I pulled right into a space in front of
the store and honked the horn.  A guy came out, asked if I was Michael, I
responded that I was and he said Pete was right.  I knew what the guy meant
and wanted in the worst way to tell him I didn't do it on the street in
front of porno bookstores.

When I walked back into the apartment, the only lights on were coming from
the Bedroom.  I heard Pete shout. "I'm in bed."  He was indeed, with the
scotch bottle and an ice bucket on the nightstand.  He'd had a few while I
was gone.  I don't intend to convey the idea he was drunk, let us just say
he was in a relaxed and permissive mode.  He was also naked, beautifully
naked, his white skin and his fat, six inch cock, his foreskin retracted,
exposing a large, pink, cockhead pointing toward the ceiling.  His cock
actually reminded me of Josh's, not huge but very, very nice.  I'd always
love Josh's cock. It was exciting.  So was Pete's.

"Get the stuff out of the bag and do with them what ever turns you on but
start with the cuffs and the rope."  It didn't take me long to realize he
was a bottom.  I handcuffed his hands, tied them to the posts at the head
of the bed and his legs to the casters under the foot of the bed.

Then, looking through the contents of the bag, I put batteries in a
vibrator, ran it over his entire body, including his cock, concentrating on
his nipples and the interior of his thighs and behind his knees, which I'd
been told were sensitive, sexually arousing zones on a person's body.

"Michael, stop a minute and look at my dick."

I felt he was driving at something but I didn't know what until he told me
to look closely look at the little bumps along the back edge of the rim of
his cock head.

"I don't know what those little bumps are called -- I'm a surgeon, not a
urologist.  But I know they are what makes a cock sensitive.  I've got an
abundance of them and my cock is super sensitive.  Believe it or not, when
I was a teenager like you, it was a perverted doctor who liked to fondle
his boy patients that pointed them out to me and told me their function.
So, be gentle with me.  I'm new to this game.  I want to learn with you."

I assured him I'd be gentle, bent down and kissed his cock head and flicked
my tongue up and down across his little piss slit.

I poked around in the bag and found some small, colored, plastic clothes
pins.  I had to ask him what they were for.

"Clamp them on my nipples."

I guessed what the butt plug was for, who wouldn't. The package said
"Small".  It was about the same size as his dick. I lubed both his asshole
and the rubber dick and inserted it.  Now his cock was really hard and
having the cockring on it made it look swollen and red.

I don't know how I missed it.  It was small and had evidently fallen to the
bottom of the bag. It was a bottle of poppers.  I'd found a gold mine; I
broke the seal, put one hand behind Pete's head and held the bottle to his
nose.

"He surprised me when he asked, "What's that?"

I told him, he said he hadn't ordered them.  I told him Bill must have
included them for good measure and to be sure to thank him the next time he
saw him.  That made me wonder how he knew about the Fantasy Store and about
Bill.

"Have you gone in the Fantasy?"

"Yes, but not why you think.  I go in, watch a porn video and jack off.  I
like to masturbate.  The place scares me.  I'm especially afraid of being
recognized.  Bill knows me though and is always very friendly.  I arranged
for some medical tests for him without charge.  Honesty, I've never had sex
with anyone in there."

His explanation sounded plausible, especially considering he'd been
drinking, so I again held the bottle to his nose and he inhaled.  Like
everyone's first time, he didn't like them but after I'd taken a hit I
waited a while and made him take another one, along with me, explaining
they enhanced sex.

The interruption over poppers caused his cock to lose some ground, which it
soon recovered when I went to work on it.  When I went to work on it, I
went all the way down on his cock, in one quick motion; I thought he was
going to jump off the bed.  When I grabbed his big balls and pulled on them
really hard and pumped up and down on his swollen, Russian cock, he began
screaming.  I was hoping the tenants above, below and on each side would
think it was the wind howling.

He climaxed, I milked his tool, scooted up in bed, clamped my mouth over
his and with my right hand reached down and began jacking him off (after
all he'd told me he was into masturbation).

He began twisting his head from side to side; I let him speak knowing that
is what he wanted to do.

"Don't, please, I can't come again, so soon."

"We'll see.  You just watch down there while I'm jacking your big meat,
watch my hand masturbating you, imagine you're in the Fantasy watching some
big cocked dude fucking his lover.  Picture what it's going to be like when
I fuck you.
  I love your cock; I already need it.  You're restrained; we have all
night.  You might as well concentrate on shooting. Watch, and see how high
your big cock shoots your wad."

It took a while but he did shoot again.  This time I knew he would have
jumped off the bed but, evidently, he didn't know how to levitate.  Poor
doctor, he collapsed instead.  I masturbated myself with the head of my
seven inches just inside his lips.  He swallowed.  I removed the handcuffs
and ropes, he rolled over on his side, I kissed his cheek and he went to
sleep.

I got out of bed, went to the Living Room to smoke a cigarette and have a
martini before turning in and the phone rang -- it was Josh.

"Were you in bed?"

"No, and if I was, you know the rules.  It's anytime between you and me."

"I just called to see if the wind was blowing."

"No it stopped a while ago.  It's snowing now."

"Guess that was a dumb question."

"Yes, and you're the one that ended up going to a University, instead of
me."

"I'm sorry you decided not to go, Michael."

"Don't be, I'm on top of the game believe me."  I proceed to tell him about
Peter and what the evening had brought then I asked him how things were
going with Jerry.  He said their sex life had really expanded every which
way.  Jerry was not into having his balls sucked and so was he.  He said if
he licked and sucked Jerry's balls long enough he could make him cum after
he already had, as I'd told him I'd made Pete do.

Josh surprised me when he told me he was now fucking Jerry as often as
Jerry was fucking him.

"Josh, you've never told me, how big is Jerry's cock."

"From how you described Richard's, I think they're pretty much alike.
What's this new guy, Pete's like."

"Damn near a double for yours which is one reason I find him so
fascinating."

"When are we going to get to meet him?"

"Hey, he's on a two week's vacation.  Why don't you come over for dinner,
Saturday."

"OK, see you then.  Sorry I called so late.  I'll let you go now.  After
all that sex you must be tired."

"Josh, don't ever be sorry about anything you do as regards me.  You're my
best friend, my only brother.  You know that and I've called you in the wee
hours, too."

"Michael, I love you."

"I know you do egg head.  I love you right back."

TO BE CONTINUED

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