From: redrum@msus1.msus.edu (Eat Me!)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: TALES02.TXT; Horny Guy Tails 1995, #2
Date: 5 Jan 95 22:47:39 -0500
Organization: Minnesota State University System
Lines: 444
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <1995Jan5.224739.1@msus1.msus.edu>
Reply-To: wl-cumbot-tfe@society.com
NNTP-Posting-Host: msus1.msus.edu
Summary: Horny Guy Tails
Keywords: Horny Guy Tails

"Horny Guy Tails" 1995, #2


I see him the moment I board the bus. Of course the bus is a fucking
cattle car packed with sweating, tired, pissed-off people who've just
gotten off work and want only to go home and veg out in front of
the tube. I'm certainly no different.

But somewhere between all the jostling heads and shuffling bodies, I
spot him - slouched in his seat, looking straight ahead with bored,
half-closed eyes. He's wearing a torn, grease-stained T-shirt with a
pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve. His biceps are impressive -
he must work out. Tattooed crudely across the left one is the name
Angela - no heart or anything, just the scrawled name. A real punk.
Just 18 or 19 years old, 20 tops. I get a hard-on before the bus has
a chance to pull away from the stop.

That's nothing unusual; nowadays it seems I'm always horny. Rico
walked out on me six weeks ago - I can't say I didn't see it coming
- and I haven't been laid since then. Rico knew all the right moves,
and I could have spent eternity plowing that sweet brown ass of his
all night, just doing the horizontal bop with him as he moved his
gorgeous body in perfect rhythm with mine.

Anyway, here I am looking at this kid on the bus, his defiant brown
eyes oblivious to my probing. His strong wide mouth is pulled back
into a sneer he's probably not even conscious of it - it's just his
natural expression. I notice the wet stains under his arms and
imagine burrowing my face into his smelly pits, lapping up the musty,
acrid nectar of his sweat. Just looking at him I feel the ache inside -
the urge to merge so acute it's like a physical pain. I think of those
nights with Rico again, and I just want to throw back my head and
howl in frustration.

Get a grip, I tell myself. But in spite of my better judgment, I worm
my way through the crowd until I'm standing next to the dude, the
bulge in my crotch just inches from his face. I stare down at him,
willing him to meet my glance. He does - once - when he stretches
and looks idly around the bus. Our eyes lock for half a second, and I
can see that he's looking right through the back of my head. I don't
even exist in his eyes. He turns away and stares out the window,
bored. My eyes burn holes in him, but he doesn't look back at me.

Now I'm taking this personally. Everything in the universe has been
reduced to this one need: I must have this hot, arrogant son of a
bitch acknowledge my existence.

Meanwhile, we're cruising down Sacramento Street at a reckless pace;
the driver must be possessed. Why is he speeding, 
especially with the bus packed the way it is now? All of a sudden he
hits a pothole, and we all go flying. I make no effort to grab the rail;
instead I go crashing down hard on the kid, hands out to catch
myself against his tight, compact body.

"What the fuck!" he snarls. I push myself off him, kneading the
muscles of his torso with absolutely no attempt at subtlety before I
straighten up to a standing position again.

He glares at me menacingly. I give him my blandest smile. "Sorry," I
say in as smarmy a tone as I can muster. I know I'm being a jerk;
this kid has done nothing to me, and yet I'm taking tremendous
delight in bugging the holy hell out of him. I've just been frustrated
too damn long.

My stop is at the bottom of the hill. The bus pulls over, and I push
my way out. Suddenly the kid bounds out of his seat and follows me
out onto the sidewalk. "Hey, asshole!" He calls after me.

I turn and face him. "Are you talking to me?" I ask politely.

"Yeah, fuckface," he retorts, strutting toward me aggressively. "I
didn't like the way you grabbed me back there."

I look at the crisp black curls of his hair; his dark eyes; his tight,
muscular body; and his wide, sensual mouth. The ache sweeps over
me again, and with it the rage. "You can kiss my ass," I say, turning
away from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a quick
movement. I grew up on some mean streets in Jersey City; there's
very little I don't know about street fighting. I turn and block his
oncoming punch easily. This catches him completely by surprise, and
I can see he's left himself wide open. I don't pursue the advantage,
though if I wanted to, I could have cold-cocked him right then and
there. "Just go home," I say, disgusted - more with myself than with
him.

Unfazed, he lunges at me again. I sidestep him and, using his
momentum against him, swing his body around, wrapping my arm
around his neck as I bring his arm up behind him in a half nelson. I
press my body against his so that he can't struggle free. "I don't
want to hurt you," I growl in his ear. "Will you knock it off?"

"Cocksucker!" he spits out at me, struggling futilely to get himself
free.

All I can think about is how good his body feels against mine. Rico
felt like this; he liked to wrestle before we got into the wild sex that
always followed. I've got a hard-on fit to split my pants open. "I'm
going to let you go," I pant. "If you try anything else, I swear I'll
flatten you." I release him.

He spins around warily but keeps his distance. He's panting heavily
now, and his face is flushed. His eyes shine with pure hate.

The frustration makes me reckless. I straighten my jacket. "How
would you like to earn an easy hundred bucks?" I ask.

This catches him completely off-guard.  "What the fuck are you
talking about?" he snarls.

"Just that. How would you like $100 - cash?"

His eyes narrow into slits. "What would I have to do?" Some of the
bravado is out of his stance. I can tell he's interested.

"Let me suck your cock," I say.

Predictably his face hardens into contempt. "You faggot," he sneers.

"This faggot just whipped your ass, buddy." I laugh condescendingly,
straightening my tie. "Money is money. Just think about my offer
before you start calling me any more names."

"Shit!" he exclaims, shaking his head. "No way!"

I shrug. "Have it your way." I turn and start walking away.

"A hundred and fifty bucks!" he calls out after me.

I can't help smiling. He's hooked now. I turn and face him. "I'm not
going to dicker. One hundred dollars. Take it or leave it."

We look hard into each other's eyes. "That's it - nothin' else, right?"
he mutters.

"No," I say, stifling a snicker. "Just stand there and take it like a
man. Have we got a deal?"

Another pregnant silence. He finally shrugs. "OK," he says.

A little jolt of excitement shoots through me. "I live just up the
street," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "Follow me."

After a few tentative steps, I turn to him. "What's your name?"

He keeps his eyes aimed straight ahead. "What fuckin' difference
does it make?" he grunts.

"No difference at all, I guess."  We walk the rest of the way in
silence.

As soon as we're in my apartment, he begins unbuckling his belt. I
put my hand on his and stop him. "We don't have to rush this, now,"
I say. "Would you like a beer?"

He pulls his hand away from mine and looks at me with flat, hostile
eyes. "No," he says. There's an ugly pause. "Look," he says
impatiently, "Can we get this over with?"

"You may not be thirsty, but I am," I say, undaunted. "I'm going to
get a beer." I walk into the kitchen, leaving him standing alone in the
middle of the living room. I come back with a Dos Equis in my hand
and sit down on the couch. I stare at him as I take a long swig from
the bottle. "How did you get all that grease on your shirt?" I ask him.
"You work in a garage?"

He shifts his weight to his other leg and grimaces. "What is this
shit?" he growls.

"Look," I say mildly, giving my voice just the slightest edge. "If you
want the money, you're going to have to play the game my way.
Otherwise, you can just get your ass out right now."

He glares at me. I can almost hear the wheels turning in his brain as
he gauges just how much he really wants the money. Finally he
clears his throat. "No," he says. "I don't work in a garage. I got a
bike, an old Kawasaki. I been trying to fix it up."

"That's better," I say. "Now, what's your name?"

"Andy." He hitches his thumbs in his pockets.

"Hello, Andy," I say. "I'm Joe." He looks at me with blank eyes and
says nothing. "Now, Andy, what I want you to do is take your clothes
off. Slowly."

Andy's eyes dart uncertainly. "I thought all I had to do was drop my
pants," he protests.

"You thought wrong."

Andy stands there considering this new wrinkle. I pull my wallet out of
my back pocket, take out five 20s, and lay them on the table by the
couch. I don't say anything. This is all that's needed to tip the scales
in my favor. Andy begins pulling off his shirt.

"No," I say. "Leave the shirt on for the time being."
 The thought of Andy standing buck naked in front of me except for
that greasy, torn T-shirt is an image almost too erotic to bear.

Andy glances at the money on the table. He kicks off his beat-up
sneakers and unbuckles his belt. He unzips his fly. His pants drop
down to his ankles, and he steps out of them, kicking them aside. My
heart feels like it's hammering loud enough to wake the dead. He
pulls off his socks, hooks his thumbs inside the elastic band of his
Jockey shorts, and pulls them off in one fluid motion.


"Just stand there for a moment," I say quietly. I can hardly breathe.
Andy puts his hands on his hips and sneers at me. He knows his
power now; I'm sure the hunger I'm feeling registers clearly on my
face. But I'm beyond caring. My eyes drink him in: his beautiful face,
his muscular torso bound in the torn T-shirt, his biceps straining
against his sleeves, his legs spread apart and defiant. His cock hangs
between his thighs with meaty promise, thick and uncut, giving every
assurance of being truly impressive when hard. His low-hanging balls
are swollen, resting like two eggs in their fleshy sac.

Sweet Jesus! I think. It's visions like this that make me believe there
is a God. I moisten my lips. "Come over here," I say. By some
miracle I keep my voice from cracking. Andy takes a few steps and
stands directly in front of me, his cock and balls hanging just inches
from my face. I breathe deeply, taking in the manly odor of his
crotch.

I wrap my hand around his dick. Andy flinches slightly but offers no
resistance. I pull the foreskin over the head and feel the warmth of
his cock spread out into my palm. I bend over and kiss the head
softly, then the shaft, and finally the balls. The musky smell is riper
down there. I bury my nose deep in the loose folds of Andy's scrotum
and fill my lungs with the pungent odor.

I'm drunk already. I kiss his balls again tenderly and then take them
in my mouth, washing them with my tongue. I gently suck on them as
my hand strokes his shaft slowly. With the fleshy pouch still in my
mouth, I glance up at Andy's face. Surprisingly, I don't see the
contempt I expected. If anything, his expression is merely one of
puzzlement, and his eyes regard me with open curiosity. I guess he
wonders what the hell I get out of all this.

Stroked by my spit-slicked hand, his dick is beginning to get hard. I
roll my tongue around the head, pushing it into the piss slit, and
then suddenly swallow the dick whole, till my nose is buried deep in
Andy's crisp black pubes. Andy gasps, and his dick immediately swells
to full hardness. I begin sucking cock in earnest now, sliding my
mouth up the shaft, working it with my lips, and twisting my head
from side to side for maximum effect.

This used to drive Rico crazy, and it seems to be having the same
effect on Andy. He groans and seizes my head with both hands as he
drives his dick down my throat. His meat is both thick and log, and it
fills my mouth completely, but I can take it like a champ. If Andy
feels he can intimidate me with the size of his meat, he's wrong. I
feed on it voraciously, my hands sliding over his body, cupping his
muscular ass cheeks and slipping under his T-shirt to knead the
hard flesh of his muscled torso.

Panting, I come up for air. I reach up and grasp Andy's T-shirt with
both hands and yank savagely. There's a loud ripping noise as the
cotton tears apart, revealing a lean and hairless physique, every
muscle defined. The abs alone are chiseled like fine marble and feel
like bands of vulcanized rubber under my inquisitive hands.

I yank open my belt and pull my pants down, sucking on Andy's thick
meat as I pummel my own cock with my right hand. Andy pumps his
hips rapidly, fucking my face with fierce, quick strokes. My left hand
kneads his ass, feeling the muscles clench and release as he drives
his thick meat home. I match his rhythm precisely, descending down
on his shaft just at the moment he plunges it into my throat. 

Suddenly he thrusts his dick hard down my throat and leaves it there,
grinding his pelvis against my face, choking me. I look up at him,
and he grins back, his eyes gleaming malevolently. I grip both his
nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and squeeze hard. Andy
yelps and pulls back. I release my grip, and we resume the old
rhythm of thrust and suck as if nothing happened.

As my lips slide up and down Andy's shaft, I can sense how hard it's
gotten, how Andy's balls are pulled up tight and nearly ready to
release their load. Andy starts making little sex noises - grunts and
whimpers that are getting progressively louder and longer. Taking my
cue, he pinches his nipples as he thrusts his hips more urgently, the
strokes getting faster and deeper. His swollen dick throbs in my
mouth. I can tell he's about to squirt. He gives a long, trailing moan.

I quickly pull away, releasing his cock. "What did you do that for?" he
complains. He reaches down to grab his dick and finish the job. I
stubbornly knock his hand away.

"This is my show, Andy," I say. "Don't interfere. I'll get you off when
I'm good and ready."

Andy gives me a hard, angry look. The kid desperately wants to squirt
his load; for a second I think he's going to either reach for his dick
again or go for my neck. But he keeps his hands at his side,
clenching and unclenching his fists.

His dick - red and slippery - just out in front of my face; I drink it
in with my eyes. I can see why a man's cock is sometimes called a
root. That's what Andy's looks like - gnarled, thick, and knotted with
veins. I just want to stay on my knees and worship it with my mouth
all day.

I wrap my hand around Andy's cock and squeeze gently; a pearl of
precome oozes out, and I lap it up. Andy sighs. I run my tongue
along Andy's dick teasingly, flicking it lightly. I take his dick into my
mouth again and, with excruciating slowness, begin nibbling down the
length of the shaft.

Andy trembles, and his knees buckle slightly. I tug gently on his balls,
rolling them tenderly in my hand. I love the balls of young men -
fertile jizz factories that seem to perpetually run on sexual overtime.
Andy's sizable balls rest heavily in my hand, and I can feel their
ripeness, how they're bursting with spunk. It would take only the
slightest provocation to trigger the whole mechanism, to release
Andy's creamy load down the warm and wet confines of my throat.
Carefully, gently, I resume sucking Andy off, drawing him once more
to the edge.

Andy's body begins to shudder. I stop immediately. "No, please," Andy
pleads. "Don't stop; I gotta shoot." His face is twisted in an agony of
frustration. He reaches again for his dick.

I seize his wrist. "I told you this is my game!" I say sharply.

Andy glowers at me, but behind the anger I can see the ache. It
must be torture for the kid to wait like this. With an effort I suppress
a smile. "Lie down on the couch," I tell him. Andy hesitates. "You
want to get off or not?" I ask, putting an edge to my voice. 

Andy reluctantly lowers himself onto the couch. He stretches his legs
out into a V and leans back, watching me expectantly. His expression
is still hostile, but the contempt is no longer there. Neither is the
cockiness. For the moment he's as much along for the ride as I am.

His dick is shiny with saliva and precome, and his balls are pulled up
tight. I take my beer and tilt the bottle over him. A foamy stream
flows down his hard belly and spills over his cock like mountain
rapids. I look at his face; his eyes are half shut, and his lips are
parted. A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead.

I lean down and run my tongue across his torso, thorough the foam,
and down the length of his shaft. Next I lie between his legs and take
his balls in my mouth again, bathing them with my tongue. Reaching
up, I pour another stream of beer down his torso. It trickles into my
mouth, and I lap it up thirstily.

My tongue wanders down the hairy path to Andy's asshole and lingers
there. I lick his hole greedily. Andy shifts his body, pushing up with
his knees to I can get better access. He gives a long sigh. I return to
Andy's balls, rolling my tongue over them and then slowly sliding it up
the length of his shaft. Andy groans again.

My tongue traces a wet path up Andy's torso and flicks his left nipple
while I pinch his right one between my thumb and forefinger. Andy
squirms under me. I lift his left arm and burrow my face into his pit.
His sweat is pungent and ripe on my tongue, intoxicating to my nose.
I nuzzle deep into h is other armpit as I slowly stroke his slippery
meat with my hand. Andy's groans grow louder.

I lift my head and look at him. Andy looks back with desperate eyes. I
decide to give him his release. I speed up the tempo of my strokes.
Andy trembles, and his balls strain against his body. I can feel the
first throb of his cock. I put my finger down between his nuts and
press hard.

This does the trick. Andy arches his back and cries out. The first
gush of jizz squirts out and splatters against his chin. He spews
another load and then another. Andy thrashes on the couch like a
wild man, still bellowing at top volume. His dick pulsates in my hand
as spurt after spurt of spunk gushes out. By the time he's through
shooting, Andy's torso is soaked.

I begin stroking my own dick furiously with my come-smeared hand.
Andy is sprawled out on my couch, gasping, his eyes closed. A drop
of his jizz hangs from his chin, another from his cock head. I drink
in the sight of Andy's naked, come-drenched body and feel the
excitement rise up inside me. It takes just a few strokes to bring me
to the brink of popping my own cork, and I stand up to let 'er rip.

With a cry I shoot. My spunk arcs through the air and lands on
Andy's chest, mingling with his own spermy deposits. One spasm after
another wracks my body. When the pyrotechnics are over, I collapse
on the couch beside him.

After a few seconds Andy, apparently recovered, turns and looks at
me. "Do all queers suck cock like that?" he asks in amazement.

I laugh. "Some are better at it than others," I say. "Today I was
particularly inspired."

I get up, grab a towel from the bathroom, and toss it to Andy. He
wipes his face and torso thoughtfully. He gets up and pulls his
clothes on. I give him one of my T-shirts to make up for the one I
tore off. While he's slipping it on, I scoop the five $20 bills off the
table and hand them to him.

"Thanks," I say. "You more than earned it." Andy takes the money
without saying anything and stuffs it in his front pocket. He avoids
looking in my eyes.

I walk him to the door. Finally, he raises his head and looks at me,
"Um, listen," he says. "I been seeing this girl; we're, like, pretty tight.
Only she's Catholic." He gives an embarrassed laugh. "You know how
Catholic girls are." He shrugs. "Well, maybe you don't. They, uh,
don't, y'know...put out."

Why's he telling me all this? I wonder. "Is this Angela you're talking
about?" I ask.

Andy glances at his tattoo and laughs. "Hell, no. Me and Angela broke
up almost a year ago." He shakes his head. "That tattoo was a dumb
idea." He clears his throat. "Anyway, sometimes I get so frustrated, I
feel like I'm about to bust a nut." To my amazement Andy turns
bright red. He stands there, obviously struggling to go on.

"And...?" I prompt.

"And," Andy continues, "I was wondering if maybe we could do this
again sometime." The words are tumbling out now. "You wouldn't
have to pay me or nothin'. Just sometime, maybe, after I've been
with my girlfriend and she goes through that 'Not till we're married'
bullshit again, I could come over here, and you could do what you
did today." He shakes his head. "Jeez, I ain't never been blown like
that. I didn't know a blow job could feel that good."

"Andy," I say, "you've got yourself a deal." I hold out my hand.
Embarrassed, Andy shakes it, then quickly lets go.

"OK, well, I gotta go," Andy mumbles. He opens the door and walks
out into the hallway. He turns to me and gives me a brief smile.
"Bye."

I smile back. "Bye."

I close the door. Andy's torn T-shirt is on the floor. I pick it up, bury
my face in it, and take a long whiff. I walk into my bedroom and
place it in my top dresser drawer, right next to my box of bus
tokens.