Date: Mon, 4 Feb 2002 15:24:30 -0800 (PST)
From: claycub51@yahoo.com
Subject: Clay Chapter 1

The following fictional story deals with sex among males.  If you are
offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an areawhere it is
not allowed, depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about
yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.The author retains all rights.
No reproductions or links to othersites are allowed without the author's
consent.
ClayCub51@Yahoo.com

		 CLAY -- Chapter One "Moving Day Surprise"

It was a great old building with lots of character, and the price had been
right on the fourth-floor rear corner unit in Adams-Morgan, just north of
D.C.'s Dupont Circle. The view was over the rooftops of the row houses down
the block to the park, and the morning sun kissed every room with warmth.
Clay Grant paused to watch a pair of doves alight on the rail of the little
balcony off the den window where a jumble of potted plants awaited
placement. "Okay, a birdbath and feeder will have to go out there, too,
then," he mused quietly, slowly rubbing his aching left shoulder, "just as
soon as I get these boxes out of here. Thank God they're finally all
empty!"

The move had been relatively uncomplicated, especially since Claire's
employer had paid for the packing and the van. This was the first time in
their ten years together that somebody else had done the humping, so all he
was actually required to do was check off the numbers on the inventory and
point his finger as to which room would be the new home of each piece of
furniture or box. As the "trailing spouse" in this relocation, his job was
to get the move accomplished and the pieces of their nest put back together
while Claire dove headlong into the world of international banking. This
was a great promotion with a very hefty raise and an outrageous benefits
package for them both, not to mention all expenses for the relocation, so
Clay was happy to take care of this end. Besides, he loved working up a
good sweat. He was glad the bank wanted Claire right in the office, flying
her up to New York this weekend for the first meeting with Sheik Aboud, a
definite coup for her. Clay could do this by himself without argument about
placement.  Claire readily admitted her hunky hubby had the style and taste
in the family, as she had always been the driven bookworm focused only on
making that first million. So here they were, in the new digs, a new
chapter in their lives to unfold.

"Well, you're not going to walk yourselves down to the trash room, are
you?" Clay sighed as he opened the door, stopping it with his size 12 Nike,
and squatted down to grasp the stack of flattened boxes. He tussled with
them a bit until he secured a good angle to heft them against his broad
chest, then strode to the elevator. He did a cute gyration before getting
the call button with a knuckle, then zoned out to the drone of the car's
arrival at Floor Four. He repeated the bizarre dance step once inside the
car to find "B" and smiled on the trip down, a sense of comfortable
accomplishment in checking off this "almost done" step in the day.

The door opened and Clay maneuvered his load into the basement hallway,
only to clip one corner of box on a corner of wall, evoking a snarled "Oh,
shit!" The boxes escaped his hands like mis-shuffled cards against the
laundry room door, which had been flung open the second before by a
Birkenstock-clad foot.

"Whoa!" the voice behind the laundry basket barked as he did a quick
half-pirouette to recover his momentum. Two pairs of gray jersey boxer
briefs join the sprawl on the floor.  Two pairs of eyes meet, lock, the
chocolate set bewildered, the green set flashing total embarrassment. The
dark browns melted into a warm smile, dazzling teeth flashing behind full
lips. The tall bronzed assaultee chuckled richly.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, man," Clay blurted. "Are you okay?" As he reached
to retrieve the briefs, he tripped over a stray box and proceeded to dive
headlong into the laundry basket. It, in turn, crunched into the full
"basket" in the sweatshorts of its bearer, sending him careening off the
doorjamb onto his butt, the remainder of laundry flying wildly upward yet
landing miraculously back in the basket. Clay reached forward to break his
fall, only to fill his hand with a thick hairy thigh muscle under frayed
jersey.

The dark man laughed deeply. "I'm certainly awake now! And yes, I'm fine."
He felt the hand next to his dick snatched away. "Really, I am." He peered
into the green eyes of the scrambling blond hunk, again locking the gaze,
then scanning the broad shoulders under the sleeveless blue sweatshirt and
the sculpted golden arm emerging from it. "Are you?"

Clay sputtered another "Shit!" as he regained his balance and attempted his
composure.  "What a mess! I sure didn't mean to ambush anyone this morning,
but Jeez! Sorry, man."

"Takes more than a train wreck at this hour to mess up a whole day." The
dark eyes drank in the golden-furred muscles before him, and the grin
broadened as his sphincter clinched, sending a throb up his hardening
pole. `Damn, he's a fine-looking male, and so sweet,' flashed through his
head. "I'm Josh, in 304," he said offering his hand.

"Clay Grant, 403. Just moving in, as you can see." He clasped the strong
hand in his mitt, batting his golden lashes and inhaling sharply. Downy and
manmusk exuded from the handsome guy, filling Clay's senses. The two hands
lingered in their transaction, first tense, then relaxing, then easy in the
hilarity of the moment, but the heat of that hand!  Clay's dick jumped. He
blanched, then blushed crimson. "Can I help you up at least?"  Clay was
quickly to his knee, one foot planted, with a bracing tug.

Alas, a lower box skidded further beneath the Nike and Clay's effort to
pull succeeded only in his lurching forward again, his face squarely
between two mounds of darkly- downed pecs straining against the tight white
singlet barely covering them. He inhaled another lungful of Josh's clean,
hot aroma, almost choked on the sensation, blushed anew. "Oh, JEEZ," he
gasped again. He finally caught his balance and looked up into the broad
sympathetic smile of his new neighbor. "Sorry," he whispered.

Josh clasped the big, downy bicep of his unintentional assaulter and
squeezed the stony mass. His deep giggle erupted again, dark eyes flashing.
"It's okay, man, I'm tough enough to take a flying tackle, even when it's
coming straight at me. My ass knows how to bounce." An eyebrow arched.

With a nervous chuckle, Clay dropped his gaze and his chin, only to get
another noseful of Joshscent. He snapped center and shook his head to clear
his wits. Again his green eyes locked with the deep chocolate pools staring
back at him. His throat clenched, as did his ass, and a surge of honey
found its way to his cockhead pressing against the loose workout shorts.
`Why didn't I put on some underwear?' flashed through the back side of his
brain. "Football?" he managed to stammer.

"Yeah and rugby and hockey and whatever the next game is called. I'm a
sucker for a good romp, just about any time," Josh replied, pushing himself
to his feet, his big right hand still enmeshed with his neighbor's levering
them both to their feet. "So what's your game, uh, Clay, right?" The dark
browns caught and centered on the emeralds in front of him again.

"Yeah," Clay sputtered, another surge up his cock. `Oh shit, I know that
one made a spot,' he thought as his gaze slowly drifted south, over
black-downed slabs of muscle with their nipple points, ridged abs beneath
the thin athletic shirt, a pronounced bulge tenting gray cutoff sweats.

The sight of that formidable mound sent Clay back through time. To Jake
Turley. Short, thick Jake, "The Brick," fantasy man of the whole high
school, streaked across his memory. The one and only time he had touched a
cock other than his own, that day after practice when Jake came back from
his shower and stood naked and hard in front of his star junior running
back, grasped him by the neck, locked his big brown eyes with Clay's, and
whispered, "Don't hate me, buddy, but you've gotta know something. I have
to feel you, all of you." Jake shuddered. "I know I want you, and I want
you to know me. I know you don't even know it yet, but you're something
special, Clay. I think I might even be in love with you. I gotta touch you,
at least one time. Will you let me, man?" He reached out his other hand,
filled it with Clay's crotch, pulled Clay's face into wet swollen lips,
sucked Clay's soul into his hot mouth. Clay groaned in surrender. How could
he not grasp Jake's dark uncut monster stabbing into his gut, pulling back
the folds of foreskin to guide the red wet knob into his newly-fuzzed
navel? How could he not duel Jake's swollen tongue sucking his into that
beautiful mouth? How could he not shove his other hand between Jake's
hard-muscled, hairy gleuts that he admired so much, to find the wet pucker
there that voraciously devoured his questing middle finger so eagerly, the
strong quarterback's leg deftly twining around to lock Clay in place? How
could he not surrender to Jake, the Brick, the quarterback, his captain,
however required? Brickfist mashed jockstrapped Claycock against
Brickballs, leaking Claydrool slicked Brickass joining Clayfinger. They
clinched and kissed and humped into each other's hand for at least a full
minute before Jake whimpered, then froze, then exploded, first a wail into
Clay's mouth, his ass a vise grip on Clay's finger, then the blast into
Clay's hand gripping his hard cock.

Clay's mind reeled as he realized that it was not the Brick's big brown
eyes he was drowning in. These eyes were Josh's. Here. Now. Hot. Open.
Inviting him in, as Jake's had. His mouth opened, but the only sound
emerging was a sigh as Josh's broad calloused thumb sensuously traced
across Clay's quivering bottom lip.

"Tell me what you want, stud." The words careened off Clay's psyche, the
hungry dark eyes afire, drinking him in, demanding him.

"I--I want to--" Clay met the stare with a resolve he had never experienced
in his life.  "--to know you." His green eyes sparkled wet with surprise at
his boldness.

Josh turned Clay's golden mitt still in his grip to his crotch, deftly
laying the thick cock tenting his shorts across the upturned palm, which
immediately closed into a simultaneous caress and unrelenting clutch of
lust. His left hand traced the line from Clay's lower lip across his jaw,
then down the chest clad in blue jersey, finding a swollen nipple pulsing
there. He pinched, then circled the nub, filling his hand with Clay's pec,
squeezing the strong fullness he found. Leaning in, Josh plunged his hot
tongue between the blond-stubbled lips before him, inhaling Clay's panted
surrender luxuriously.

"Hello, neighbor," Clay breathed as he caressed the tumescence throbbing in
his big hand, "nice to know you."

"You, too," Josh panted. A blur of hands ripped cloth away from flesh, skin
hot and raw and urgent to touch, new yet familiar. Strong fingers kneaded
pliant skin, sliding in synch, Clay's blond silky fur meeting Josh's dark
coarse counterpart, reveling in sensation and recognition, acknowledgement
and rut. Fever and sweat fed desire and acquiescence, hard dicks in hot
strong fists so attuned to the rhythmic frenzy of their mutual pleasure.
Nanoseconds and eons passed in the same instant as a shared guffaw erupted
from the heaving bodies, blasts of protoplasm and lust spent in raucus
explosion onto the other's heaving midsection, trails dribbling, clotting,
steamy. In forty-five seconds they were done, their heads collapsed onto
the other's amazingly strong shoulder, both breathing heavily, harshly.

Josh succumbed to a nervous snicker first. Clay spewed a last gob of
wetness into Josh's fist and a chortle into the thick olive-skinned neck.
Clay attempted to kiss the noise back into himself, failed, so he just
broke over into a steady gut chuckle. Josh grinned, too, ecstasy slowly
steered back to reality. "I accept your apology, hot stuff," he murmured.

Clay furled the skin back over the formidable wet meat in his hand, and
collapsed into the arms of the heaving hunk. He gently pinched a last drop
from the gathered folds, brought his hand to his mouth and devoured the
thick ropes of Jake's sticky seed covering his fingers. "At last," he
whispered, "I taste love, my man."

The elevator lurched into a call from above. Eyes flew wide in panic and
conflict. Clay yanked the three wet knuckles from his mouth and emitted a
sharp squeak, his entire body going rigid. A finger flew up to the lips,
silencing.

"Shh," Josh chirped, his chocolate eyes softly crinkled. He peeled apart
their bodies, wincing as their shared glue pulled hairs. He reached down
for a fluffy warm towel and deftly captured all evidence in a thorough
swipe of them both. Then with one hand Josh snapped Clay's waistband back
up over the blond abs, his other hand pulling jersey over his own tight
buns. In an instant both men were recovered, present, poised. Josh snatched
up his laundry basket, the model of composure heading to the elevator door.
He turned, winked, and mouthed `Thank you,' as Mrs. Murdoch emerged with
the barking wreck of terrier known as Zeus exploding into the basement
hall.

"Hey, Miss Myrtle, hey Zeus ya mutt, this is our new neighbor on four,"
Josh schmoozed as the terrier yapped at his knees.

"Oh, hi, honey, you know I've gotta get his Highness the monster to his
park to do his business. We'll do the amenities later." A thick cloud of
Estee Lauder Private Collection filled the air in the wake of a blur of
purple lurching out the side exit.

The door slammed. Clay's mouth gaped in stunned silence, his arms hanging
limply as he saw the bright brown eye wink again before disappearing into
the elevator. As the car droned upward, he mused, "That was one helluva
nice welcome to the neighborhood!"