Kim

By silicondog@earthlink.net
http://home.earthlink.net/~silicondog/gallery.html

WARNING:  If you are under eighteen or find explicit sexual
references offensive and male to male sexuality, read no further.


     One afternoon stuck in traffic my lover was fiddling with the
car radio and tuned into a Dodgers game.  Seeing my grin and the
boner growing in my jeans, he looked cross-wise at me and asked "Do
you have a crush for Mike Piazza that I should worry about?"  It
wasn't that but it's just that even after twenty years, whenever I
hear a baseball game on the radio, I think back to Kim.

_________

     The summer after I graduated from high school, I worked nights
as a DJ at a downtown club.  One Monday in June I woke up in the
early afternoon to the sound of the Dodgers' game playing on the
radio from the house yard next door.  While most of the houses in
our part of the neighborhood had fences or high shrubs, my family
shared the driveway with the house next door so I could see right
in from my bedroom on the second floor.

     I remembered the neighbor had mentioned to my father that he
was hiring someone to clean out and tear down the old garage behind
his house to make way for a garden.  I could see an old pickup
truck in front of the garage and when I saw its driver walk out of
the garage, I started getting hard right there!

     I didn't know if it was culture shock or naivete, but before
then I never associated Asians with both size and strength.  On my
bedroom wall across from John Travolta was Bruce Lee, but I had
always felt Lee was a little scrawny for my tastes.  And in East
Los Angeles in the mid-seventies, there just weren't many Asians
around period, much less Koreans.

     This guy was way over six feet tall, in faded cut-off jeans
slung low over his fatless hips, the muscles of his thighs bulged
around the legs, making the cut-offs fit like a bikini.  His tanned
and hairless upper body swelled around a faded tank top which was
cut off above a six pack that was probably an eight pack if I could
see below his cut-offs.  He had a brush cut like he was in the
Marines, and a flat broad face that showed an age from either mid-
twenties up to maybe forty.

     I watched him carry out a big scarred refrigerator, the fridge
bobbing up and down in his arms as if it was styrofoam.  I could
only see two big tanned hands clamped on its side and broad
callused feet sticking out of the sides and bottom.  With a flip,
the fridge flew up and onto the pickup with a hollow boom.

     As I watched from my bedroom he cleaned out the garage,
carrying the junk that had accumulated over the years and dumping
it into his pickup.  In the summer heat, a thin layer of sweat
glistened over the muscles of his back which ground into each other
as he worked.  But on him the sweat didn't bead but rather it
spread across his skin like a polish over the writhing muscles of
his body.

     He disappeared into the garage and I could hear something
heavy shift around, and a second later I saw him carry a battered
old pool table out into the driveway.  The tank top was dark with
his sweat, which I imagined I could smell as he pumped up under the
table's weight.  With a gentle thump he placed the heavy pool table
on the pavement, looking back and forth between the big table and
his pickup truck and then seeming to make up his mind.

     As I watched, he stood stock still before the table, making a
knife of his right hand.  The tendons of his wrist swelled into
cables and the vein that ran down his biceps swelled from his
shoulder into his fist.  In a blur he snapped his hand up above his
shoulders and down into the center of the table!  The pool table
broke in two under his fist in a loud boom of splintering oak.  He
tossed the two halves of the table into the back of his truck.

     Next up was an old metal beer keg he casually carried out of
the garage in one hand.  He swung the keg up in front of his chest,
clamping both hands on its side.  His lats and shoulders swelled
out and up like wings as the keg crumpled under his arms.  His
fingers kept folding the keg more and more into itself with a
crackling of tortured metal until it was no larger than a
basketball of crushed steel.  And holding it like a basketball, he
playfully tossed it onto the top of the heap on his pickup truck
with a jump shot, got into the truck and drove away.

     He put on a show like that for the rest of the week.  Every
afternoon he drove in, and worked with the ball game on the radio. 
I watched from my bedroom as he worked by himself, the cut-offs
dark with his sweat.  For a few hours each day he cleaned out the
garage, carting away the old junk in his pickup.  But later that
week, after he left, I saw something on the fence next to the
garage that made me even harder.  He had left his sweaty tank top
draped on the fence!  When I saw that, my feet decided for me; I
went outside.

     That summer both my mom and dad worked during the day, so I
was (almost) alone in the house, and my sister usually hung around
with her friends in the next block.  If I wasn't worried about my
guy coming back in the truck, I was very worried about getting
caught by my little sister.  I wasn't ready (yet) to tell them how
I felt towards men but I knew how my sister would handle it.  She
would be totally cool and only tell one or two hundred of her
closest friends.  After that, I could tag it on the side of City
Hall.  I had just grabbed the tank top and turned around, when I
saw him in front of me.

     "Hi!  I was looking for that" he said.  He had only a slight
accent, but in an otherwise impassive face his eyes smiled at me. 
Wearing only the short cut-offs I tried not to gape at the plates
of his hairless chest that bulged his nipples down over his belly.

     I put out my hand.  "I'm Edouard."

     "Kim."  His hand was warm, slightly slick with sweat and hard
with calluses under the steel of his hand.  We shook hands a little
longer than I expected, our eye contact lingering.

     We walked over to the pickup truck and sat on the gate.  The
truck's shocks groaned and the truck tilted towards him as he sat
down.

     "I do odd jobs like this when I'm not working out over in
Venice at Gold's."  He unconsciously twitched his biceps while I
tried to keep my mind on anything but my hardon waking up in my
baggy sweatpants.  "I'm over there in the morning, working out with
Arnold and the rest of the guys.  They say he's gonna be a big
movie star soon, and I guess they're right."  He paused.  "But he's
not that tough."

     "Who's Arnold?"

     "When I finish tearing down that garage, I'm gonna put a
garden in its place.  This sort of job is great, you know?  Most of
my work is gardening, so for brute force stuff like cleaning this
junk out, I can really work out.  Like this."

     He reached behind us into the truck and grabbed an old Los
Angeles phone book, three inches thick.  Crushing his hands onto
the book, the veins and tendons on his hands swelled and his
fingers dug into the phone book's paper.  Then, with a growl that
turned into a purr, he tore the phone book in two!  He tossed the
two halves into the back of the truck.

     "Wow!"  Lame, but that's all I could trust my voice for.

     "Feel this."  This time, he reached back and came back with an
golf ball.  "Edouard, did you see that movie, Goldfinger?" he
asked.

     "I saw it on TV" I answered.

     "And remember Dr. Goldfinger's Korean bodyguard, Oddjob?  What
he did to the golf ball?"

     "Yeah.  But that was the movies."

     "This isn't."  His right hand clamped over the ball.  "Come
on, Edouard, this is real life.  Feel this."

     I reached out to his hand.  When I started to feel his skin,
his fist swelled around the ball, and from his shoulder down his
biceps to the forearms, I could see heavy muscle swelling under
tanned hairless skin.  After only a second, I heard a faint pop
under his fist, then a crunching sound as his fingers ground the
ball.  He opened his hand and the crushed ball looked like a car
had run over it!

     As he showed me his power he had leaned over towards me on the
gate of the truck.  His elbow brushed against my elbow, and I
decided to lean lightly back.

     "Do your parents work during the day?" he asked.

     "Yeah, but they're not home right now."

     "And your sister isn't home either."

     A small part of my head clicked.  He had spotted me earlier in
the week and noticed who else was in the house and when.  He might
have put his tank top out as bait today when he knew I would be
alone.  I didn't mind at all.  Somebody had to do the brain work
for this, and with precum starting to show in my sweatpants it
wasn't going to be me.  Under his cut-offs, I could see his basket
swelling up against the zipper.

     "Wanna coke?" I asked.

____________

     My bedroom isn't that big with me alone in it, and when Kim
walked in it felt that he wore the room around him.  Feeling my
tension, he embraced me without pulling off my sweatpants,
massaging the cheeks of my ass with his hands while letting my
hands have a field day sliding over the sweat-slick iron of his
belly and chest before I began fumbling with the zipper of his
cutoffs.  His sweat was clean with a light hint of garlic, just
like the taste of his mouth when on tip-toes I reached up to kiss
him.  When I began to suck his tongue I felt fingers of one hand
massaging the outer ring of my asshole as the fingers of the other
hand reached in front under my crotch.  Picking me up off the
ground with one hand, I tried to wrap my legs around his belly but
Kim leaned us back onto the bed.  When he kicked away his cut-offs,
his cock snapped up, as long as a hardcover book and almost as
thick as a coke can.  It stood up as hard as a fire hydrant over
his belly.

     At the sight of Kim's weapon aimed at my asshole as he lifted
my legs up into the air and prepared to lean forward into me, I
almost panicked.  The last time I had been fucked (which had been
the first time I had been fucked) it had hurt plenty.  But what was
different today was the sense of strength and security that Kim
gave off with his body.  I let my legs bend back over his
shoulders, I felt the head of his cock make contact with my
asshole.  His precum felt cool to the air as his cock rubbed it
around my asshole.  His hands clamping themselves over my
shoulders, he reached down to kiss me again.  As his lips hit mine,
his cock stopped circling my asshole and his head began to fit
itself in.

     The first flash of pain when his cockhead spread my asshole
open squared itself when he pushed the head all the way in.  The
pressure of his massive hands rubbing my shoulders, Kim's level and
hot breathing through his lips into my gasping mouth and the
dripping of his sweat down his torso onto my belly fought for my
mind with the panic of my ass as it tried to relax around Kim's
cock.  But every time I felt like he had gone up to his hilt, a new
slicing pain tore from my asshole into my head as I felt more of
his unseen cock grind in.

     At the next flash of pain a yell burst out of my throat and I
buried my mouth into the heavy muscles of his shoulder to muffle my
shout.  Under my lips his shoulder felt as hard and unyielding as
a football, slippery with sweat.  Kim twisted his head to shove his
tongue into my ear and his suction turned my next shout into a low,
long moan.  The tearing of my ass came from places I didn't know
existed until at last I could feel the hilt of his cock making
contact with my hole.

     With his cock in all the way he simply held me, letting me
come to terms with his tool all the way into my guts, its throbbing
strength making my belly glow with heat and a red haze grow in my
eyes.  When I reached to my own cock, he grabbed my hand away and
twisted up, so that he gripped both my hands behind my head with
one thick hand wrapped around both of my wrists.  When he slowly,
teasingly began to ease his cock out, the pain shifted around his
retreat until I could feel only his cockhead splitting me open. 
His tongue and teeth began to play with one of my nipples and my
own teeth clenched over a yell that was fighting to break out of
the control that Kim was taking away from me.  When his cock ground
back down to its base on one strong shove and his teeth switched to
my other nipple, I forgot control and yelled for breath.

     I could feel with my legs wrapped around Kim's torso that his
body's tension snapped and his cock ground in and out, this time
far faster.  Again and again, the friction of his cock burning out
of my asshole through my belly and the ringing of my ears over
Kim's cool breathing.  I looked up and Kim locked our eyes together
as his mouth left my stinging nipples to crush my own lips.  The
steady rhythm of his hips suddenly quickened and his breathing grew
hoarse in my mouth.  He began to growl in tune to the hammering of
his cock through my melting asshole and he clamped both his hands
on either side of my head, his sweat dripping into my eyes.

     His rocking rhythm dissolved into one vicious spear after
another, and I felt the heat of my own cock glowing from his
friction.  With one last shove his cock penetrated through the
jelly of my asshole muscles and a new cooling glow spread from the
tip of his cock.  I felt a new spray over my torso and over Kim's
body and dimly realized that I had come for the first time without
jerking myself off.  I could feel his balls pumping over and over
in rhythm with his gasping for air.  His moans slowed and then
stopped, as his heavy balls finished pumping into me.  He playfully
rubbed his nose against mine while his cock shrunk down, still
hilt-deep in my ass.  Finally, his hips lifted his cock out of my
ass and I groaned again, the emptiness throbbing almost as much as
the fullness.  He reached one arm around me, the muscles feeling
like slick steel cables, and lay beside me as our breathing slowed
back to normal, slowly moving his keg-sized thigh against my own
leg.

     After we both felt we were ready, he pulled me up into his
arms as we both sat on our bed.  

     "Thank you very much, Edouard" he said, squeezing my shoulder. 
"How do you feel?"

     I grinned.  I felt like my guts had been turned into
overcooked spaghetti.  "That was fine."

     We were both speaking quietly.  The ball game on the radio had
finished.  

     "How long will it take you to finish the job, Kim?"

     "Tomorrow I gotta tear down the garage"

     "How long will that take?"

     He misunderstood me.  "About a day" he said, flexing his
bicep.

     "I mean, how long will you be working over there?"

     "Well" he paused and smiled.  "After I pull down the garage,
I gotta break up the concrete floor and haul it away.  Then I can
start to get the ground ready for the gardening."  He looked up and
down my body.  "It'll take a while, Edouard.  I might be working
around here longer than I thought."  We grinned.

     He stood and began to pull on his cut-offs.  "Wait a sec!" I
said.  He looked up quizzically.

     I got up out of bed and stood in front of him.  Reaching up to
pull his head down, I licked off a thick blob of my come that had
shot up into his brush-like hair.

     "Kim, what's your last name?"

     "You couldn't pronounce it."

     "You can teach me."

     THE END