Date: Sun, 15 May 2011 13:51:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Arthur Arthor <creativewriting303@yahoo.com>
Subject: Lumbago

The reader is invited to put themselves into the story.  Save as a text
file; open in your notepad; use 'CTRL-H' to find and change the names.

There are only two characters: Henry, a gay man of 35; and Peter, a
straight university student/waiter and 19 (Yes, he was a straight waiter!)


................................................................
LUMBAGO
................................................................

Henry was changing dollars for quarters at the change machine in the strip
mall coin laundry when he heard what sounded like someone dying.  He turned
to see one of his fellow washers bent over, wincing in pain as he tried to
straighten himself with one hand pressing into his lower back.

"That groan must have come from you," Henry said to the fellow.

"It's my back.  I bent over to empty the dryer and something popped," he
said.

Henry walked over and led the suffering young man to a chair.  He sat him
down and asked him whether or not he felt better sitting.  The man was
leaning forward; not able to straighten even while seated.

"Oh, yes!  Thank you.  I don't know what happened," he said.

"I'm Henry, by the way; and you are . . ?" said Henry.

"Peter," he said.

"Do you want to try to stand and work the kinks out, or do you need to sit
a spell?" asked Henry.

"I had better wait a bit.  I still can not lean back in the chair without
hurting," said Peter.  Thanks for helping me.  This has never happened to
me before."

"Listen, man, I am about finished with my loads.  Tell me which machines
you're using and I'll watch 'em for you," Henry volunteered.

"I was emptying my last load from the dryers when it happened.  I just need
to fold what's in that cart," Peter said as he pointed to a loaded wire
transfer cart, "and I'll be finished.

"I'll fold them for you, if you don't mind a stranger folding your clothes.
I won't even snicker at your wife's panties," said a grinning Henry.

"No panties, no wife, and I don't think there's any skid marks on my
boxers.  Soap and bleach do wonders," Peter said with a smile.  "I'll be
glad for the help, thanks."

Henry folded the clothes in Peter's basket as they continued to make small
talk.  "No skid marks on any of your shorts," he said as he folded the last
of Peter's laundry.

"Told you," said Peter.

Henry made short work of his own laundry by tossing everything into his
laundry bags.  He would fold his laundry at home.  He did this to allow him
to attend to Peter's needs at the moment.  He wanted to help him to his car
and see him off before he left.

"Where are you parked, Peter?" he asked.

"I walked.  I only live a block away.  With gas prices what they are, I
walk whenever I can.  It's one of the positive things of living close to
everything but work and school," Peter said.

Peter worked as a waiter at The Olive Garden to pay his way at the
university.  He was born and raised in a small town some sixty miles to the
north.  He had few friends here and no family.  All this Henry had learned
while making small talk as he folded the laundry.

"You walked!  I don't think you are in any condition to walk home.  Can you
stand?" asked Henry.

Peter braced himself on the edge of his chair and managed to stand; still
slightly bent over but better than he had been.  He pressed one hand to the
small of his back and improved his stance.

"How's this?" Peter asked with a grimace.

"Not good, my friend.  Let me bring my car to the door and I'll drive you
home," said Henry.

"You've made me an offer I can not refuse, Godfather," Peter said with his
best imitation of a mobster.

They both laughed and Henry went for his car.  After loading their laundry
into the trunk, he took Peter by the arm and led him to the passenger door
and guided him into the seat.

He drove Peter the one block to his apartment, which luckily was a ground
floor with parking by the door.  It was a motel in previous years;
converted to apartments after the owner went bankrupt and the property was
sold to a developer.  He unloaded Peter's laundry from the trunk and placed
it by the door before opening the passenger door and aiding Peter in
exiting the car.  He took his door key, opened the door, and led Peter into
his small studio apartment.

"Peter, someone has been jacking off in here!" exclaimed Henry, for the air
was heavy with the scent of spent semen.  "Oh, forgive me.  I should not
have said that."

Peter's face was three shades of red.  He was shocked that Henry had said
that and ashamed of the truth of it.

"Why did you say that?" he asked after a moment of reflection.

"Well, as I said, I should not have said that.  It's only that this room
reeks of sperm.  You likely have olfactory fatigue from smelling it all the
time, but, as a stranger, it hit me the moment I stepped into the room.
It's the same thing with smokers, they don't smell the ashtray, but a
non-smoker will be repulsed by the odor.  Same thing with cats; their
owners don't smell the cat box," said Henry in a attempt to ease Peter's
shock.

Then Henry picked up the waste basket by the bed and pointed out the used
tissue therein contained.  "You need to flush these instead of keeping
them.  And you need a can of air freshener to . . . well, freshen the air,"
he added with a smile.

All this time, Peter was still standing while leaning against the wall.

"Would you rather try to sit or would you like to recline on the bed?"
asked Henry, to change the subject.

"I think the bed would be best.  If I can lie down on my stomach, I think
it may ease things," said Peter.

Henry took his arm and led him to the bedside.  Peter sat, then leaned his
body to lay on his side before turning himself over.  One hand was touching
the floor as that arm dangled over the edge of the bed.  Henry aligned his
legs so that Peter's body was straight.  Peter grimaced, but added an
'AH-h-h', indicating his relief, if only somewhat and however brief.

"I hate to leave you like this," said Henry, "is there anything else I can
do for you before I go?"

Peter thought a moment and shyly asked, "Have you any experience giving a
back rub.  I think my muscles need some manipulation and I can't reach
them."

"Well, I've had my share of massages at the health club.  I guess I could
give it a try," said Henry

Then there was a muffled sound of funky music coming from Peter.  He turned
slightly and removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket and said, "Hello
. . . yes it is . . . I can't tonight.  My back is out and I can't stand
up; forget about carrying a tray.  Thanks for thinking about me.  I wish I
could come in.  I need the cash . . . Okay, I'll call you.  Bye," he said.

Then to Henry he said, "One of the waiters reported in drunk and they had
to send him home; wanted me to fill in for him.  Fat chance!"

Henry pulled the desk chair to the bedside, sat and pressed his palms on
Peter's lower back.  He questioned Peter about the direction he should go,
"How's this?"

"More to the left," said Peter.

"How's this?"

"OH! Just a bit lower."

"I'm at your belt.  If I go lower, I'll be rubbing leather.  If you
unfasten your belt and undo your jeans, I'll pull them down from the cuffs.
Hell, I may as well take your shoes off, too.  You will be more comfortable
and being comfortable is beneficial in relaxing and relaxing is what you
need most.  You may not even need a back rub when you're comfortable,"
expounded a suddenly long winded Henry.

Henry had developed second thoughts about the back rub.  The whole scene
seemed awkward; more personal contact than one should expect from, or to, a
stranger.

He unlaced Peter's shoes and removed them as Peter's hands moved under his
body to unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.  Henry took
hold of the cuffs and tugged as Peter lifted himself as best he could.

Henry stopped pulling when the jeans were half off.  A bead of sweat popped
out on his forehead.  The air seemed thicker and the room seemed smaller as
he gazed on Peter's exposed ass.

"Holy cow! You're going commando," he exclaimed before finishing the
removal of the jeans.

"Laundry day; I always go commando on laundry day.  That's the only way I
know it's laundry day - I run out of underwear.  Sorry, but it's nothing
you've not seen before . . . is it?" said Peter.

"Well, yours . . . ah, yours . . . ah, is . . . well, I've never seen an
ass like yours," said Henry - amazed that he had said that.

"What's wrong with my ass?" asked Peter with a genuine fear that he had
been found deformed to some degree or the other.

"Oh, nothing.  Not a thing is wrong with it.  It's the most perfect ass
I've ever seen," said Henry, again sorry that he had said that as soon as
it left his lips. He only wanted to reassure the lad that nothing was
wrong.

"Why did I say that?  Sure, it's a beautiful ass, but you don't go telling
people you hardly know that they have a perfect ass," thought Henry.

"Sorry, I said that.  I'll go now," said Henry softly.

"Are you a homo?" asked Peter, without malice.

Henry cringed at the question.  'Homo' is one of the words used by
deriders, either on the playground among kids or in the corner bar among
rednecks, to shame anyone different from themselves.  All of the words for
homosexuality are barbed with thorns when uttered in hate and they can
sting the soul.  It's a hard thing to disprove when called a homo, fag,
queer, cock sucker, or any of the other tags devised to demean one's
character or reputation.  What do you do?  Do you rape a girl to prove your
manhood?  Some have.  It can be easier to get along in some quarters when
thought of as a brute rapist than to be thought of as a lover of your own
kind.  The best thing to do, whether the slur be true or false, is to
ignore it.  The only way a word can harm you is when you let it.  And, most
psychologist would agree with the bard of Avon when he wrote, "Me thinks he
doth protest too much;" meaning that someone is attributing their own
'sins' to others in the hope that, by doing so, no one will think that of
them.

All this was flooding Henry's mind in the seconds after Peter asked his
pointed question.

"Again, I'm so vary sorry I said that.  I did not want to offend you.
You're safe.  Everything is cool.  I'll not lay a hand on you.  I'll leave
now," said Henry.

"I thought you were going to rub my back," said Peter, forgetting his
earlier question.

"Well, you asked whether or not I was a homo and I thought you were afraid
I was; and after I said what I said, I can't blame you," said Henry.

"Well, are you?  It don't matter to me.  I've a brother that's that way.
It's just that I've never had anyone tell me that my ass was perfect,
that's all," said Peter.

"I'm like the C.I.A, I'll neither confirm nor deny your question," said
Henry with relief and a smile on his face.

"I'll have to look in the mirror to see what a perfect ass looks like.  I
never noticed anything special about it before," Peter said - more to
himself than to Henry.

"I know some people that see one every time they look in a mirror.  And,
they don't have to turn around to see it!" Henry teased.

"You can start the back rub now, if you please," said Peter.

Henry stood by the bed, leaned over, and placed the heels of his palms on
both sides of Peter's lower spine and, pressing slightly, made small
rotations into the well developed muscles.  Although he was massaging
Peter's back, his gaze was upon the mounds of flesh inches below.  As Henry
worked the muscles, Peter would flex in response and, when he did, dimples
would appear on those perfect ass cheeks. Henry thought of Michelangelo's
statue of David, but realized that David's ass was a poor second to what he
was seeing.

" . . . know what I mean?" Henry heard Peter's voice finish a question and
was snapped out of his reverie.  He had no idea what had been said before
he realized that Peter was speaking.

"Ah, wh-what was that?"  he asked.

"I said, if you work on my shoulders and work your way down, everything may
work back to where it should be. Know what I mean?" repeated Peter.

"Sounds good to me." Henry said as he placed his hands on Peter's shoulders
and, using his thumbs to push into the flesh and his fingers to pull it, he
kneaded the flesh of Peters neck and shoulders.  He continued; methodically
manipulating the muscles from side to side as he worked his way down the
spine.  Henry's emotions were taxed by having his hands on this young man's
flesh.

"Doing this makes me wish that you were more like your brother," Henry
voiced in frustration, and, yet again, wishing that he had not said that.

Peter did not acknowledge the statement and only reveled in the treatment
his back was receiving.

Several minutes passed before Peter raised his head and asked, "Will you
help me stand-up?  I need to use the bathroom."

Henry grasped the shoulder of his young companion and pulled him into a
seated position on the edge of the bed.  All Henry had seen until this
moment was Peter's aft; the fore was just as magnificent.  Peter's flaccid
circumcised dong was four, maybe five, inches long and lay draped over his
balls.  No nubbin like the one Michelangelo had adorned his David.  No,
this was a penis any man would envy.  Its helmet was a mouthwatering
mushroom that would wake the desire in any lover of men - male or female.
At the same time, if hard, it would surely be accepted in any suitable
orifice.

Henry had prided himself on his not having been aroused to erection by what
he had been doing. But, now, now he had a yearning to fall to his knees and
pay homage; to partake of the sacraments this god could offer.

"Okay, I think I can stand," said Peter as he pulled at his scrotum to
allow his legs to close.  He rocked back and then forward; lifting his
buttocks and torso to a standing position.  "Still a bit tender," he said.
He took two steps and cringed again.  He placed an arm over Henry's
shoulder and, by inference, expected Henry to lead the way.

Henry placed an arm around Peter's torso and guided him to his bathroom.

"Sit or stand?" asked Henry.

"Stand," said Peter.

Henry maneuvered Peter to the toilet and turned his head to look away.
However, the sound of Peter's powerful stream of urine hitting the water
caused him to take a furtive look.  He was mesmerized by seeing Peter
aiming his penis and that golden streak emanating from his glans that
caused the toilet water to momentarily froth.

When the flow slowed, Peter urged a couple of more short blasts by flexing
his abdominal muscles inward before he shook the last few drops from his
penis.

"If you were your brother, I'd do that for you," said Henry.

"Do what?" asked Peter.

"Just kidding.  I meant that I would shake the last of it out for you.  It
was a joke," said Henry.

Peter turned his head and looked into Henry's longing eyes.  He thought
Henry had the same look that his hound had when he wanted a bone.  Henry
did want a bone, but not the same kind that the hound wanted.

It took Peter only a moment before he said, "Alright, if you want to give
it a shake, have at it."

"Your kidding me now.  I'm not going to touch you like that - as much as I
might want to.  I know that you are not your brother and I don't take
advantage of people.  I don't recruit.  Saves getting punched in the nose
or kicked in the groin; you know," said Henry.

"I'm not going to kick you or punch you.  You remind me of my brother.
He's the same way; gentle and loving.  I'll let you touch me as long as you
don't expect me to return the favor.  And, no kissing or fucking," Peter
said.

"By kissing - you mean on the lips - don't you?" asked Henry.

"Ya, no kissing on the lips," assured Peter.

Henry then placed his hand at the base of Peter's penis and flopped it up
and down over the toilet and saw that nothing remained to be freed from the
urethra.  He then cupped Peter's ample balls and rolled them gently with
his fingers; feeling the heft and warmth of them.  He then leaned forward
and kissed the spongy crown before licking the length of this most perfect
specimen.

"You don't want to do that in here.  Do you?" asked Peter, now leaning
forward with both hands on the wall.

"Any where, any time," was all that Henry could say.  His head was spinning
and his total being was keyed to bring pleasure to Peter and to himself.

Henry stood, guided Peter back to the bed, picked him up bodily, and placed
him in the middle of the bed with his head on a pillow.  Peter splayed his
legs to give Henry access to the shrine of Eros.

"Do you mind, if I take my clothes off, too," asked Henry.

"Just remember the rules," said Peter; now sporting an erection.  It was at
least ten inches long and its girth was proportional. The glans seemed more
flared than most, but most were not perfection personified.

Henry made short work of removing his clothes.  He climbed between Peter's
outstretched legs and pressed his cheek to caress Peter's turgid member.

"My god! you are just like my brother!  He does that first off every time,"
said Peter.

"So," thought Henry, "one always learns something new during sex.  What
else has his brother done."  That, however, was neither here nor there.
Henry would obey the rules and not take more than Peter was willing to
give.

Henry then kissed and licked Peter's scrotum and balls.  He was pleased
with the clean, yet musky, scent as he pressed his nose into the forest
primeval of pubic hair; thick and curly above and around the base of the
shaft with silky wisps covering the scrotum.

He took Peter into his mouth and closed his lips midway down.  He rolled
his tongue around the edges of the flared head and brought his lips up to
where only the head was covered.  He stroked his tongue over its surface as
he pulled his clamped lips off with a smack.  He flicked the piss slit with
the tip of his tongue as his trained hand closed on the shaft and began to
slowly stroke; up and down; bringing the available skin up to cover the
glans and down again; stimulating the uncountable nerves that express their
pleasure with each stroke.

Henry placed his mouth over the penis again and again closed his lips;
laving the rod with his spittle as his tongue danced over its surface.

Peter had closed his eyes and was enraptured by the skilled work of a true
artist.  He thought that Henry could teach his brother a few things.  Henry
was not like his brother, he was better.

Peter flexed his butt to push his penis further into Henry's mouth and
Henry was in fear that he might do himself harm.

"Stay still and let me do all the work.  Remember your back," Henry
instructed.

"Okay," pant, "Okay," pant, "Okay," panted Peter.  His breathing was rapid
and his pulse had doubled.

Sensing that Peter was close to having an orgasm, Henry returned to licking
his balls and stroking his inner thighs with his fingertips.  He wanted the
flames to die back and make this last as long as he could make it.  After
all, this seemed to be a one-off situation and he wanted to savor every
moment.

"Scoot over and sit on the edge of the bed and lay back," instructed Henry.
Peter did.  "Now roll over and let me see that ass of yours again," he
said.

"Rules!" said Peter.

"I'm not going to rape you.  I'll obey the rules," said Henry.  "Oh, by
fucking - does that include the finger?" he added.

"You know how to do that, too.  My brother . . .  Ya, you can use your
finger," said Peter as he turned over.

Henry knelt behind Peter and grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and massaged
them.  He kissed each cheek as he spread the flesh to expose Peter's anus.
It was like the rest of him. Perfect! A clean pink pucker asking to be
licked.  Henry pushed his whole face into the crevice and inhaled deeply as
his extended tongue found its prize.  The tip of his tongue attacked the
tight ring of flesh with short jabs and quick flicks as Peter moaned his
approval.  Henry did this until his tongue ached from his exertions.  He
then wet a finger with his saliva and placed it on Peter's anus.  With the
tip of his finger he lightly scribed circles on and around the entrance to
Peter's rectum.  He told Peter to relax and enjoy.  Not having been
disappointed by anything Henry had done so far, Peter relaxed his wazoo and
allowed Henry to enter him.  As Henry's finger was exploring Peter's
innards and lightly rubbing his prostate, his thumb was tickling Peter's
perineum and the fingers of his other hand were rubbing that divinely
sensitive flesh of his inner thighs.

Peter's perfect body was receiving the perfect treatment that only a
virtuoso of the instrument could perform.  Henry felt himself blest to be
allowed to do what he was doing.

Henry asked Peter to roll over on his back again, and, as this was done, he
kept his finger in the inner sanctum as he finger fucked Peter.

The head of Peter's penis was coated with the glossy ooze which flowed from
his prostate and Cowper's glands while being manually stimulated by Henry's
exploring finger.  Henry licked it off as he again took Peter into his
mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked Peter's penis for all he was worth.
He wanted to taste Peter's sperm.  It had to be perfect, or beyond perfect,
to be coming from such a man.

He was not disappointed when the moment came and Peter's penis erupted in
his mouth and filled it with his ambrosia.  Henry did not want to swallow.
He wanted all of his taste buds to be sated by the magnificence of Peter's
essence.  However, in order to take all of Peter's ejaculate, he had to
swallow to keep up with the flow.  Henry was in heaven.

Henry kept Peter's penis in his mouth as it softened.  Both men were lost
in the moment and had to recover their composure before either could move.
No words were said as Henry licked the few drops which had escaped his lips
and were pooled at the base of Peter's penis.

At long last Peter said, "Wow!  Oh, wow!  I've never experienced anything
like that.  It was like an out-of-body flight to nirvana.  It was frisson
times a million.  It was an E-ticket ride that I wanted to never end."

Peter was now the one saying things which he regretted saying as soon as he
said them.  He did not want to give Henry any hope of tossing the rule book
aside and giving him free rein to his body.  He looked at any other man's
penis as just another piece of flesh with no more importance than the man's
nose or big toe.  His libido had no emotional attachment to other than the
female of the species.  He had never instigated any of the times his
brother had given him a blow job.  He would succumb to his brother's pleas
when he needed to have a penis in his mouth, although he never understood
his brother's desires.  But, he was, after all, his brother and he thought
of it as a brotherly thing to ease his emotional pains.  However, the same
rules applied to his brother as he had imposed on Henry.  He would not
kiss, fuck or be fucked by any man.

Henry and his brother knew which buttons to push to bring him to a fabulous
orgasm but, during those times, he would close his eyes and envision the
warmth and moistness of the mouth on his penis as a vagina.

Henry has stepped into the bathroom and jacked himself off before dressing
himself.  He dressed without saying a word; then sheepishly said, "I
enjoyed that as much or maybe more than you did.  Listen, I do my laundry
every Thursday afternoon.  If you like, I could pick-up yours and do it for
you while I do mine.  Then I could deliver it back to you and maybe. . ."

Peter stopped him in mid-sentence by saying, "My brother will be here next
week.  I think you two horndogs should be introduced.  Come to the
restaurant at five on Wednesday for dinner and afterwards y'all can come
back here and have the place to yourselves.  I'll go to a movie after work
and stay out until at least mid-night.  All I ask is that, if you use
tissue to wipe any spilled seed, you flush it.  I don't want this place to
smell like a sex den."

"I could kiss you!" exclaimed Henry.

"RULES!" exclaimed Peter.

.............................................................