Date: Fri, 18 Feb 2005 17:35:30 -0800 (PST)
From: muse97 <muse97@gay.com>
Subject: Identity Volume 2

	The humility that Turner now feels is apparent with every slight
moan that escapes from the folds of scrotum that now occupy his mouth.  His
senses rush through his being; he feels he has reached the zenith of his
existence.  Turner's sublime act is suddenly interrupted as John's hand
pushes him away.
	"Gotta piss" John comments as he exits the room.
	All Turner can do is wait, humbly on his knees.  Then it occurs to
him, this means more to him than it does John.  This event, so far, is the
pinnacle of his nineteen years on this earth.  And all he has done is
licked the sweaty balls of some middle aged man, who is more interested in
the Panthers game than with him.  Turner had been in the midst of the most
spiritual act he had ever participated in, until John had roughly brushed
him aside to make his way to the pisser.  Turner's train of thought is
halted by the reemergence of John, naked from the waist down with a fresh
beer in his hand.  John walks straight towards Turner.  He reaches out with
his free hand, grabbing Turner by the hair, and in one quick motion spins
him around and tips his head back.  Turner is shocked by this sudden
explosion of movement after the hour or so of relative tranquility they had
had while he licked John's balls.  Turner's mouth is abruptly full of beer
followed shortly after by John's balls; John is straddling his face tea
bagging him.  John pulls Turner's hair while he rubs himself back and forth
over the pitiful young face.  Turner feels John's other hand grab him by
the hair, then he has air, fresh air, no longer the musky, damp,
environment he has been in.  As Turner opens his eyes he sees a mass of
flesh falling onto him.  Then he feels it, whap, whap, John is smacking him
in the face with his phallic weapon.  Then it stops.  The game can be heard
in the background, Turner opens his eyes, looking straight up.  John is
looking down at him.
	Chuckling John says, "look at you, you're pitiful.  You licked the
sweat off a man's balls and liked it.  Your nothing to me."
	Turner feels the words burn into him.  He feels his face and neck
flush; for the first time this afternoon he feels embarrassed.  It is
defining to Turner to know that another person knows his innermost self.
This strangers masculinity is the elixir to dissolve the layers of
disguises that envelop his soul.
	"What do you feel?" asks John, looking down.
	"I feel humble." Answers Turner.
	"I feel born." Turner adds.
	"Whatever bitch, your about to feel my dick in your mouth." Laughs
John.
	"I want to suck your beautiful cock," pleads Turner.
	John places his dicks royal helmet onto Turner's lips.
	"Is this what you want?" asks John.
	Turner knows that the appropriate answer to this question is an
action.  He slowly opens his mouth and tongues the tip of Johns rugged
cock.  The dick tastes different than the balls, much milder.  Turner finds
the cock almost sticky to the touch. John releases his hair, and he
instantly turns his head up to better devote himself to this Caucasian
Titan.  Turner opens his mouth and slides the cocks length into his mouth.
The feeling is like sucking on pure sunshine to Turner.  Turner feels the
limits of self-merge with the hot cock in his mouth.  He works at the cock
for a while, not thinking anything, just living in the Buddhist now.  This
cock feels nothing like his cock.  It is hard and soft in the same
sensation.  It is very warm, and the underside feels very smooth and fleshy
against his tongue.  After about ten minutes of bobbing, Turner feels John
grab his hair again.  John's body closes the small gap between the two,
Turner feels like a ship about to be boarded by Pirates.  Then John puts
his leg up and onto the couch behind Turner's head.  Turner feels what is
coming before he knows what he feels.  John roughly takes autonomous
control over Turner's head and begins slamming his pelvis into Turner's
face.  Turner is in chaos, he can't breath, he can't see, he feels like he
is going to puke.  Then through the haze of the assault Turner feels Johns
weighty balls slapping his chin and curling under to strike him below his
jaw.  This trivial series of collisions is a pinpoint of light in Turner's
darkness, and he follows it out.  Suddenly he is aware of the present.  He
feels Johns pubes, rough against his face; He smells the musky odor of
John's crotch.  He feels Johns hard lower abs butting against his forehead;
He hears John far above, grunting with each thrust.  Turner is at leisure
to allow his mind to wander.  John, this Caliban of a man, is taking his
pleasure from his body.  His mind wanders to scenes throughout history of
powerful men taking what they want from others.  In his mind scenes of them
raping and using women is indistinguishable from scenes of them exploiting
members of the same sex.  Turner thinks about war and sport and men, and it
all starts to form a coherent whole, pleasure taken is power proven.  This
thought tears down the last barriers between his soul and that of this
man's.  He relinquishes ego and becomes one with everything.  He reaches
around and grabs John's rapidly flexing butt cheeks.  The feeling is
intense, they are hard, and rippling, and masculine.
	Turner thinks how ironic it is that he experiences a personal
epiphany in combination with experiencing a large cock down his throat.
John has turned into a predator.  He makes a few loud grunts then plunges
his cock down Turner's throat.  Turner's nose is in a jungle of pubic hair.
He feels a few shudders and then a hot explosion in his throat, closely
followed by four successive eruptions.
	"You should feel honored I gave you my nut." John echoes from
above.
	"Thank me for nutting in your bitch mouth."  Demands John
	Turner tries to pull off Johns softening cock but meets resistance
from John's hands which still have hold of his head.  He has no choice but
to try to articulate his message with a dick filling his mouth.
	"Hmm Arhhh Hem" moans Turner.
	"What a fucking joke, you're the most pathetic whore I've ever
seen.  At least a whore can stop, your right where you want to be." John
says.
	Turner is listening without the filter of ego to distort the
meaning.  He is more than happy to relinquish his dignity for the bliss of
this Nirvana he has found.  John slumps down into the couch.  Turner
watches Johns fat flaccid dick and majestic balls come to rest between
Johns large quads.  The penis is slimy and the pubes are matted down with
moisture.  Turner can smell John's balls on his skin, and taste his cock in
his mouth.  He is humbly kneeling in this man's living room.  At this
moment Turner experiences the joy at having realized his innermost
fantasies.

John snaps him out of his daydream with, "hey slut, get over here and kiss
my cock and balls until I tell you to stop."

Turner crawls over to John and begins to kiss his fleshy cock and sweaty
balls.  John's crotch smells more pungent now than it had previously.
Turner laps at the balls, knowing that John likes the humiliation it causes
him to lick another mans heart of masculinity.  Turner settles in for an
extended session of ball sucking.  God he loves balls.