Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2005 0:32:00 -0400
From: lsok68@adelphia.net
Subject: Out of Town

The following is a work of fiction.  If it represents the lives of anyone
living or dead it is purely coincidental and I, for one, would like to meet
the person who lives in this kind of world.  Really. Set me up, please.

If you think this is worth plagiarizing, I suppose I should feel honored.
I don't care much for copyrights, so I will forego them in this particular
instance.  Have fun, call it your own, and if you can make money off of it,
you are a better man than I.

And, by the way, this includes rather graphic descriptions of men having
sex with one another.  For Pete's sake, it's 2005, get the fuck over it.
It's a rempant occurence.  However, if you wish not to be exposed to this
type of imagery, regardless of how well written it is, you probably
shouldn't be surfing this kind of website and I suggest you move on.

Any positive comments, laudatory remarks, or nominations for literary
awards may be sent to lsok68@adelphia.net.  Criticisms, suggestions for
rewrites, and nasty remarks can be sent to someone else.  You pick the
e-mail address.  I'm indifferent.


OUT OF TOWN


"Chicago?  Chicago.  Fucking Chicago in February?  It couldn't be Vegas or
Miami or even San Francisco for god's sake?"

"Sorry, dude.  The conference is in Chicago and Jason says you're the man.
At least it's four days that you don't have to be here."

Chris realized that his junior associate didn't quite understand that these
types of conferences for the biotech industry were far from vacations.
There were Vice Presidents of Business Development to meet and convince
that yours was the next big blockbuster opportunity.  There were sales
managers, and product development people, and Ph.D.s, and clinical trials
specialists, and regulatory personnel, and intellectual property attorneys,
and marketing specialists, and venture capitalists, and angel investors,
and consultants, and the list went on and on.  Each and every one of them
seemed to want a detailed project plan and budget layout before they would
even share a drink with you.  Chris would rather be in the office because
it was far less work.  Although, he did have to admit to himself that he
enjoyed the travel.  It was oftentimes a way to break out and feel free.
Losing himself in the masses of a huge metropolitan city, Chris took
advantage of the opportunity to revel in a side of himself that no one at
his corporation even suspected.

"And, dude, Chicago has some great looking women.  Maybe you can hook up
with some babe.  My wife keeps saying how she can't believe you aren't
dating anyone.  She knows a bunch of girls who would be all over you.
She's even threatened to leave me for you."

"Well, Jake, despite her questionable taste in husbands, my estimation of
your wife has just gone up quite a bit," Chris joked.  "And because of
that, I would feel incredibly guilty if I had to plunge her world into
financial chaos by firing your ass.  Quit calling me `dude'."

"Yes, sir," Jake replied sarcastically.

"Oh Christ, sir is even worse.  Call me dude.  It makes me feel as though I
still have a chance at being confused for young."

"Right, like you should worry.  You're in better shape at 35 than I am at
27, you bastard."

"Can you explain to me how I ever hired you?  How do you get away with
calling me a bastard?"

"You obviously realized my superior potential, keen talent, and countless
abilities. And your need to surround yourself with people who could make
you look good overshadowed the need for your ego to be stroked by some suck
up."

Chris cocked his head and stared at Jake for a brief moment.  "See, I would
have sworn you were forced on me because of a a bad bet I made in a poker
game."

"While it is true that you do, truly, suck at poker, and I have the DVD
player you funded to prove it, your mind has obviously failed you again in
your old age."

"Get out of my office and book me a flight to Chicago."

Jake turned and smiled hearing his boss shout after him.

"And find an airline that still gives out peanuts.  If I'm going to be in
the air for two and a half fucking hours, I better get a lousy bag of
peanuts."

Jake laughed and went back to work before his boss could give him one of
his "When I was a kid" speeches.  Jake looked at his boss as almost a big
brother figure.  He was intelligent, athletic, and looked out for Jake's
best interests.  Chris had an old soul, it seemed.  No one at 35 should be
giving "When I was a kid" speeches, but it was oddly endearing and nearly
always amusing the way he would pontificate on the most inane subjects:
Saturday morning cartoons, strip malls, grocery stores, the mailman, and
airlines providing peanuts.


++++++++++


The subway was nearly empty as it rolled out of the O'Hare terminal.  Chris
enjoyed taking the metro whenever he could. He felt it made him less a
tourist and more a part of whatever city he was in.  He had mastered
Chicago's rail system and was comfortable in DC as well.  New York City
still eluded him, but he was proficient enough to read the map and get to
the right places.  Only once did he make a huge mistake and end up in
Harlem.  Chris affirmed his notion that you learn best from your mistakes.

While on the train, he reviewed the conference schedule and mapped out the
briefings he wanted to attend, highlighted numerous vendors whose booths he
should visit, and jotted down names of contacts that he was hoping to run
into.  Because there are ten thousand attendees, these conferences were
somewhat of a shotgun approach to success, but he was given his marching
orders and damn it he was going to make the most of it.  Fortunately, the
conference didn't actually start until the following day and even then only
the preliminary meet and greet receptions weren't scheduled until early
evening.

Finishing his work profile, he then turned to the other opportunities that
Chicago offered.  Even in February, Chris truly liked the city.  Although
he put up a front, he actually reveled in the opportunity to visit some of
the greatest dining places in the country, bar hop from one jazz club to
the next, and do some shopping on the Miracle Mile that was Michigan
Avenue.  And, of course, indulge in the guilty pleasure of seducing a guy -
a complete stranger - and allowing himself to let go of all of his
inhibitions.

What to do first was his biggest question.

"Check into your hotel, you horny dumbass," he heard himself say.

Chris smiled and laughed to himself.  He was an independent kind of guy who
never really needed anyone else, but honestly wanted to be with someone.
He enjoyed his own company and had a healthy self-image, but wasn't without
issues.  He longed for a relationship with someone who made him face his
insecurities, but still allowed him to revel in his strengths; someone who
was highly intelligent, yet not an elitist; someone who was well read, but
insisted on reading the comics each day in the newspaper; someone who
wanted to explore the world, yet was content to stay at home and watch a
burning fire; someone who could be both tender and loving and still
blatantly sexual.

For some reason, the subway always made him think of these things.  The
rhythmic sounds of the wheels over rails had a hypnotic effect on Chris and
seemed to cause him to retreat into this particular part of his mind.
"Introspection is good," he would say to himself but he always feared it
would spiral out of control and become introversion.

The train stopped and the doors opened letting in a cold blast of air that
brought Chris back to the here and now.  He gathered his belongings as the
next stop was his.


++++++++++


As he unpacked, Chris became acquainted with his room.  It had plenty of
space, including a sitting area, a small kitchen, and a separate bedroom
with a king sized bed.  He walked past the bed and pulled open the drapes
to see that there wasn't much of a view, only a giant neon sign outside
advertising "Chicago's Famous Steak House".  He laughed out loud thinking
how this could turn into a really bad film noir scene very easily.

Drained from his travels, Chris considered taking a quick nap then heading
out.  He realized, however, that he had gotten off of his workout schedule
the past couple of days and this would offer him a great opportunity to put
himself back on track.  It was approaching eight o'clock and he was sure
the fitness facilities would not be very crowded.  Energy seemed to
spontaneously fill his body as he stripped down to his boxer briefs.

Unconsciously, he pulled the waistband away from him, shoved his hand down
his shorts, and readjusted his equipment.  His cool hand felt good on his
warm cock and his balls twitched just slightly.  When he removed his hand,
he glanced up and caught himself in the mirror.  He had to admit,
regardless of his own modesty, he looked pretty damned good.

Scavenging through his luggage, he found his workout gear: a pair of Nike
shorts, an old t-shirt he had gotten as a promotional gift from one of
countless vendors, a pair of ankle high socks, and his cross-trainers.
First pulling on his shorts, he reveled in the comfort that he was now
afforded given his freedom from his suit pants.  Chris proceeded to raise
the t-shirt over his head, thread his thick arms through the holes and
brought it down atop his head.  As he pulled it down over his chest, he
found it to be more snug than he remembered.  Chris had been very focused
lately on his routine and was making significant gains.  This time
purposely, he took a look into the mirror and saw the shirt pull across his
thick chest.  His nipples were prominently displayed from the cold and he
was proud.  Encouraged by what he was seeing, even more energy seemed to
course through his body.  The girth of his biceps and triceps tested the
bands of the sleeves on his shirt.  Chris pushed the offending fabric
higher up on each of his arms to provide him with more freedom.  The
sleeves now capped his broad shoulders and his physique appeared even
better than it had just moments ago. Now he recognized the feeling of
adrenaline rushing through his body.  His cock began to stir and a modest
bulge developed in his shorts.

The designers of the fitness facilities seemed to have taken a vision and
gone just a little bit too far.  Granted the room was not particularly
large and granted a few mirrors are appreciated to address the issues of
proper lifting form; however, this particular room was made with mirrors on
every single wall.  Rather than an exercise room, it came closer to
resembling a fun house.  No matter where you looked, there you were.  The
vanity in Chris gave way to low level paranoia wondering who else was
looking and from where.

Regardless, he focused on orienting himself to the facilities.  It was
cramped with equipment.  Free weights and machines and a cardio area were
the standard fare and he was pleased that there was enough variety that he
could get into his current routine without having to make any
modifications.  He was also alone and wouldn't have to wait for anyone or
share.

More than half an hour had passed and Chris was deep into his workout.
Sweating profusely and high on endorphins, he was happy that he had chosen
to exercise rather than sleeping in his room.  He had made a muscle shirt
out of his t-shirt by pulling the short sleeve further up to expose his
shoulders.  Although he was looking at seven of his own reflections, he
truly liked to use the mirrors to watch himself lift.  Sweat poured off of
his forehead and he lifted his shirt to wipe himself dry.  His heavy
breathing was noticeable now that his abs were exposed. At that moment
another man entered the room.

"Hey," the guy offered.

"Hey," Chris replied dropping his shirt.

"Whoa.  What is up with this place?  Geez."

Chris chuckled politely. Apparently everyone had the same reaction to the
decor that he did.

The new guy set himself up on one of the treadmills.  He placed his iPod
into the receptacle afforded him by the machine and completed the
connection by plugging himself into the earphones.  He was a man in his
late twenties, Chris surmised, was tall and had what appeared to be slender
build.  Chris continued with his workout as this distraction became just a
new component in an already crowded environment.

Completing his lifting regimen, Chris headed to the cardio area to finish
up.  It was well after nine now and the thought of sleep was far away.  He
was filled with energy.  As he approached the equipment, he noticed that he
was limited to either a treadmill or an elliptical machine.  Having never
been able to get a real stride on one of those contraptions, he headed to
one treadmill only to find it out of order.  He moved down the line to
realize the only other working equipment was next to the new guy who was
now miles into his run.

Chris climbed on and began programming the machine.

"Hey," said the new guy again as he pulled the earphones from his head.

"Hey," Chris replied, again.

"Is it hot in here?"

Chris smiled thinking of the cheesy pickup line that followed: " ... or is
it just you?"

"Actually, it is kind of warm.  I think they're overcompensating for the
whole February factor."

"I've got another six miles to go and I'm dying here.  Do mind if I take my
shirt off?  I know you're not supposed to, but I don't think a whole lot of
people are going to show up this late."

"Knock yourself out.  I'm not going to be here but for another twenty
minutes or so."

"Cool."

In one swift motion, and without stopping, the runner removed his shirt,
ran it across his chest, tossed it on the floor in front of him, and
proceeded to reengage his entertainment.  Chris almost tripped on the
moving belt as he saw what had been concealed underneath the t-shirt.
Suddenly, all of these mirrors seemed to be a stroke of brilliance.

Having the ability to see nearly every angle of this guy without staring
right at him gave Chris a way to while away his run time.  The winter
months had drawn out almost all of the color in his skin.  He looked as
though he was made of marble and his features seemed as if chiseled from a
solid block.  He wasn't big and bulky.  He was definitely a runner, but
larger than most carrying a formidable chest and wide shoulders along with
the well developed legs that were to be expected.  As Chris looked forward
to the reflection with which he was presented, he saw that his running mate
was tight and firm.  With each impact from every stride, a shockwave ran
through this guy's body, but barely affected his visage.  Instead, only a
quick pulse was briefly evident as his chest resisted the onslaught of the
force being directed through his bare torso.  His nipples were erect as the
beads of sweat evaporated from them and worked to cool down his skin. The
striations of his shoulders were plainly evident as he pumped his arms back
and forth in perfect rhythm.

Chris' heart was beating faster now and he was having a hard time
determining if it was because of the physical exertion or because of his
growing fascination with this half-naked stranger next to him.  With that
in mind, he couldn't help but compare himself to this guy who had been
exerting himself for nearly an hour and yet maintained an almost effortless
breathing pattern.  Chris looked further down his neighbor's torso and saw
a set of abs that were completely exposed and defined.  With each
exhalation, they tightened ever more making his shaped waist ever more
dense.  A trail of sweat rambled over the six pack and disappeared into the
waistband of his shorts.

The room became warmer and its effect on the two men became more severe.
The scent of sweat also filled the air as the two athletes continued to
push themselves further and further.  The runner raised the back of this
hand to his forehead to dispense with the building perspiration.  As he did
so, Chris could see the roundness of his bicep and a flash of light brown
hair in his pit.

Chris suddenly became annoyed with himself.  Was there no one who was above
being ogled?  Couldn't he put himself in check and just get through this
workout without mind fucking this guy?  Refocusing his gaze in attempt to
finish his run in whatever solitude he could muster, he found himself
confronted with the reflection this guy's back.  Apparently, Chris was
destined to ogle.

Again, the alabaster skin revealed the well developed musculature of what
could have been a streamlined Rodin sculpture.  The sheen of sweat accented
each curve, line, and intersection of sinew and fiber.  Although not
particularly wide, again, it was dense and defined.  As the runner
continued his pursuit of excellence in a non-existent race, his strong back
seemed to be pushing him forward toward an imaginary finish line.

Each head of his triceps was clearly visible and made deep cuts into his
arms. Pumping them back and forth, his arms gave way to glimpses of his
lats which swooped inward to his sides and preceded the protrusions of his
rib cage.  They fit together like feathers of an eagle's wing and directed
attention forward as if beckoning an onlooker review the tight stomach that
Chris had already committed to memory.

Chris' gaze moved downward.  Two orbs, trapped beneath the runner's shorts,
danced as one leg momentarily outpaced the other.  The abusive impact each
stride put on his legs was quelled by the runner's strong thighs.  Shock
waves dissipated into the striated muscles of his quads as the full weight
of his body was tossed from one leg to the other.  Each calf leaped into
view, intermittently, as they conspired to redirect the workload to the
opposing side.  Chris found that his fascination with his workout mate
caused him to fall into the same rhythm.  Running at the same pace, the two
men's individual cadences joined together and resounded throughout the
facility.

He had realized that his growing interest in the stranger has manifested
itself in his dick growing considerably within the confines of his briefs.
The head was now engorged and rubbing against his inner thigh with every
extension.  As each foot came into contact with the treadmill, he felt his
now very heavy cock bounce with the sudden change in direction.  Over and
over and again and again, the pounding added to his excitement.  Soon,
however, the glory began to become overwhelming.  The head of his penis was
getting more sensitive and the extent of his erection was getting to
socially unacceptable standards for fitness rooms.  He slowed the machine
and put an end to his workout.  If he didn't leave now, he would be half
tempted to throw this guy down onto a bench and shoot a hot load of white
cum all over his ivory skin.

As was his tendency, he again lifted his shirt to his face exposing his
torso as he blotted the flowing sweat from his brow.  The hair on his belly
was wet and made a series of curls trailing into his shorts.  He let loose
of the shirttail, put his hands on his hips and breathed deeply in an
effort to recover from the exertion he had just put himself through.

"Keep it up, man.  Looking strong," Chris said as he exited the facility.

The door closed before the runner could comment back.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jeff said to himself as he plucked the earbuds from
their confines and shut down the treadmill.

"How far did you think you could run just to keep scoping that guy out? For
fuck's sake!  I suppose cardiac arrest is one way to make an impression,"
he continued to chide himself.

"Oh, it's hot in here, do you mind if I take off my shirt?" he said
mimicking his previous comments.

"You poor, horny bastard.  You poor, deluded, horny bastard. Did you truly
think that you sweating next to him for thirty minutes without a shirt
would prompt him to throw you on a workout bench, tear off your shorts, and
fuck you within an inch of your life?  Oh, you poor deluded bastard."

Jeff smiled at himself, shook his head, stepped off the machine, and
surveyed the fitness center.  Now it was he who was alone.  He stepped
forward to pick up the shirt that lay on the floor in front of him.  He
threw it over his shoulder then thrust his hand down the front of his
shorts.  His raging hard-on needed to be readjusted before he walked
through the lobby. As he touched his dick he could feel the sweat that was
trapped in his pubes, but could also discern a slick and honey like
substance too.

Both men, floors apart, were closer than they could have ever imagined.  As
each prepared to take a shower, they removed the clothes that were drenched
with the physical manifestation of their exertion.  Off came their shirts,
then their shorts and socks.  Chris peeled off his boxer briefs and his
dick protruded prominently from his lower abdomen, thick and weighty.
Meanwhile, Jeff was stepping out of his boxers.  When let loose, his cock
stood proudly, defiantly, and nearly vertically.  Each man tugged at his
balls and encouraged further growth of his manhood.

Water coursed out of the shower heads of two bathrooms half a hotel away
from each other.  Steam gradually began to obscure the mirrors.
Independently, the men stepped into their tubs and placed themselves under
the forceful streams of water.  Raising his hands to his head, Jeff forced
the water through his hair and briefly caught the scent of himself before
the torrents of water washed it downward, flowed past his shoulders,
through his armpits, and down his chest.  Still, his cock remained
resilient and its prominence was coaxed to even greater stature by the
steady streams that caressed his balls.

Chris was facing the other direction.  The cleansing liquid pounded atop
his head, splashing the marble tile and shower curtain as droplets leapt to
their demise.  Leaning forward, the only path for the water to follow was
down his broad back and funnel between the tight cheeks of his ass before
spiraling down his exhausted legs.  Similarly, his penis was still hard.
With his eyes closed, he recalled the strength of the man who had jogged
next to him half naked.

He touched himself thinking of what the rest of that body looked like.  He
imagined that the running man had a strong dick, made of the same marble as
the rest of his body.  It was erect and bouncing wildly as he continued to
run, this time fully nude. Chris imagined that he, also completely naked,
approached him from behind and grabbed hold of that solid cock causing him
to end his futile chase.  The sweat of their bodies intermingled forging
their first bond.  Chris' dick lengthened and entreated his fuck friend's
ass to open and provide it refuge.

As he fantasized, Chris pumped his cock and let the water massage his whole
body.

Jeff had soaped up and, likewise, had closed his eyes.  The crash of the
water resonated within the shower affording him a solitary retreat for him
and his thoughts.  Furiously stroking his hard member, he flashed back to
the fitness center when he entered as the stranger stood with his chest and
abs exposed.  Seeing Jeff enter, the guy approached him without saying a
word and stared at him as though he was infiltrating hallowed ground.  He
raised both hands and placed each on Jeff's upper chest.  The power of
Jeff's chest was instantly evident through the thin cotton of his shirt and
the strong, but silent athlete cracked a slight smile.  Grabbing the fabric
tightly, the stud tore Jeff's shirt from his body and tossed it with
disdain into the corner.  Throwing his chest out and walking toward his
intended conquest, the pumped up god backed Jeff into a workout bench where
he sat down hard.  His conqueror stripped in front of him and revealed a
beautiful dick that was ready for action.  He reached down, undressed Jeff,
and forced him backward until his milky skin was in direct contrast to the
black vinyl of the benchtop.

As Jeff continued to work his dick, suds spilled from his thick bush and
encased his long shaft.

The runner turned the tables on Chris as he descended from his workout
machine.  Spinning him around, the sweaty man recreated the scene that had
just played out.  Grabbing Chris' cock with one hand, he forced their two
bodies together with a forceful embrace that left his other hand over
Chris' left tit.  His magnificent fuck pole now extended between Chris'
legs and the head prodded his balls.  Slowly, he began to masturbate the
sex toy in his hand.  Simultaneously, and with a great deal of dexterity,
the runner massaged the large pectoral muscle while pumping his own cock
between the strong thighs of his toned play toy.  With greater and greater
intensity he continued to stroke.  Chris threw his head back in delight.
He opened his eyes and saw, all around him, a sea of nudity and sex.  Every
reflection revealed a different scene: straight ahead, a pair of phantom
hands ravaged a body he recognized as his; from the side, the dimpled ass
of a marble masterpiece flexed and relaxed as it thrust repeatedly into a
chasm searching for pleasure; another view showed a strong arm, protecting
the frailty of a vulnerable, naked body; still another showed the truth --
two beautiful men in abject, sexual ecstasy.

By now the vein in Chris' arm was distended and prominent from the intense
workout he had had downstairs and the vigorous workout he was currently
engaged in as he worked to bring his rod to orgasm.

There was no love or intimacy in how Jeff was being taken.  It was simply
raw, unabashed, anonymous sex.  His subjugator had thrust his thick dick
deep within Jeff's ass, holding one of his legs with his outstretched
muscular arm, he propped the other leg on his round shoulder.  Reaching
around the heavy thigh that rested against his chest, he grabbed Jeff's
raging hard-on and almost viciously assaulted its full length.  Deeper and
deeper the athlete rammed his manhood into Jeff.  His prostate was shooting
jolts of pleasure with every thrust.  Faster and faster his cock was being
stroked.  Ass.  Cock.  Ass.  Cock.  He grabbed for the muscular ass of the
man who was pounding him and bringing him to climax, but his hand was
knocked away.  Instead, the sweating athlete bent toward him, almost
folding him in two, and increased his speed.  Sweat poured from his body
and splashed onto Jeff's chest.  Each drop burned as it hit his skin.
Faster he forced himself in and out.  Faster he rubbed the head of Jeff's
dick.  Closer and closer they both came to release.

Jeff could barely breathe now.  The steam in the shower was making it
difficult to get air into his lungs and as he came closer to coming, he
never seemed to exhale.  The pressure in his dick increased dramatically.

Chris felt as though he was in the middle of an orgy.  Naked flesh
reflected everywhere. He threw his arm backwards and caught the runner's
head in his grasp.  As he pulled him closer, his bicep flexed and filled
out.  The runner responded by kissing it and lavishing it with sensual laps
from his tongue.  He also moved away from kneading Chris' pec and nipple
and directed his attention to his armpit which was deep and broad.  The
combination of Chris' well developed triceps, lats, chest and shoulders
created a playground for the alabaster hand to enjoy.  Sensations emanating
from his pit shot through his body and grounded themselves in his groin.  A
layer of mutual sweat had developed between the two men.  The smooth, hard
chest of the runner glided across the wide back of his plaything.  His
marbled cockhead continued to stimulate Chris' ballsack and now his
testicles had crept inward.  Focusing his efforts on the tip of Chris'
dick, the runner encircled the glans of the nearly spent penis.  He thrust
continually in an effort to initiate his own orgasm.  Then he brought his
mouth down onto the side of Chris' neck and began to suck.

Chris began to feel the welling up of cum deep at the root of his cock.  He
drew back and the stream from the shower pummeled the head of his dick.  He
could no longer reconcile his fantasy with reality.  He opened his eyes as
his knees began to go weak.

"Fu..."

"...ck!"

The two men's cocks exploded.  Great globs of milky fluid flowed down tiled
walls.  Eruptions of seed shot upward and dared to oppose the falling
waters.  Drops of pearl fell into the pool below and spun and danced until
vanishing down the drain.

Now completely spent from his strenuous workout and nearly exhausting jack
off session, Jeff stepped out of the shower and ran a towel over his tired
body.  His penis was still heavy, but no longer erect.  Dropping the towel
on the floor, he walked over to the bed and pushed aside the covers, his
dick swaying as he did so.  Falling into bed, he turned out the light and
lay there, naked and exposed to the all encompassing dark.  Sleep came
quickly.

Chris completed his shower by washing his hair. Stepping out of the tub, he
left a large puddle on the floor as the water spilled from his arms, flowed
down his legs, and dripped from his cock.  Grabbing a towel, he first wiped
the considerable amount of moisture off the mirror before addressing his
own body.

He realized he was oddly awake and rather hungry.  Some quick primping put
his hair into place and he absent mindedly splashed himself with some
cologne, dispersing it over his chest, down his stomach, and unconsciously
into his crotch.  He got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, over which he put
a sweater, threw on a pair of shoes that he had actually bought in Chicago
last year, and headed out the door to find some entertainment and some
sustenance.


++++++++++


The weather was not nearly as cold as it could have been.  Only
intermittent gusts of wind blew as Chris made his way down the city
streets.  He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and pulled his arms
tight to his body to compensate for the fact that he had left his coat in
the room.  He stiffened against the cold, but embraced the crispness of the
winter air.  As he walked past one building after another, it seemed as
though he was in the company of friends.  The tall lanky structures
appeared to brace themselves against the winter weather.  Exhaust ducts
spewed forth vapors from rooftops as if providing a singular clue to silent
conversations being exchanged in the frigid night.  Wanting to partake in
their discussion, Chris exhaled and followed the dissipating fog of his
breath.

The sidewalk was awash with a host of colors from the signs that lit
storefronts and doorways.  As he walked, Chris stepped in streams of red,
followed by a sea of green, and a vast expanse of blue.  Regularly, the
harsh light of a streetlamp erased the delicately colored puddles only to
replace them with a brazen and offensive ocean of white.  He walked on.

Chris' quest for a local favorite place for jazz that was still serving
food at midnight on a Tuesday proved to be challenging.  One by one his
criteria were scaled back until he wanted only to find someplace to get a
late meal.  Music, atmosphere, even heat at this point, were secondary
concerns.  In desperation, he turned down a narrow street, almost an alley,
down which a sign only subtly advertised that an establishment existed at
all.  His quest for excitement was now overshadowed by the fact that the
extended time in the elements had now lost the charm it once held and his
hunger had progressed to a ravenous appetite.  If he could not find
something to eat here, he was prepared to take a cab back to the hotel,
tear open the mini-bar, and gorge himself on $15 macadamia nuts and $7
Milky Way bars.

Walking inside he found himself gently barred by a heavy velvet curtain
that hung just inside the doorway.  Pushing it aside, he moved forward only
to be presented with yet another dense drapery.

"Great, another damned fun house," he thought.

As he stepped through, his eyes adjusted to the surroundings.  Although the
place was nearly empty, a man at a piano softly played rearrangements of
classic jazz tunes.  He was illuminated from above by a single, dangling
halogen light that shone down on the center of the keys.  As he played, his
fingers rushed into and retreated out of the bright light like playful
children daring to be caught in a frenetic game of hide and seek.  Below
the makeshift stage, a chaotic arrangement of small tables appeared as a
broken chain of islands in a tormented sea of chairs.  Around the perimeter
of the exposed brick interior, a number of high backed booths provided some
refuge for the less adventuresome.  One couple had retreated to the
furthest booth from the door and gazed lovingly at each other. At the far
end of the establishment, a middle-aged man sat smoking a cigarette at the
large, oak, oval bar that was dotted with votive candles. The ashtray in
front of him promised that he had been there for quite some time.  Several
seats away from him a red headed woman cackled in a drunken response to
something her equally inebriated companion had just whispered to her.  She
reached for the last of her cocktail and spilled it across the bar, ice
cubes scurrying away as if attempting to escape from the obnoxious woman.
The young bartender approached with a rag and engaged the two in
conversation.

"Go to h..h..hell!" the redhead exploded, slurring her speech.  She and her
compatriot gathered their belongings, swung their coats over their
shoulders and headed straight toward Chris.

Stepping aside, he gave the two patrons leeway to make their exit.  In
their condition, they had significant difficulty navigating the curtains on
their way out.  The indignity that they wished to express was overshadowed
by their ineptitude and failing motor skills.

Chris approached the bartender and sat at one of the many open seats.

"Hi there," Chris began. "By any chance are you serving food?"

"Well, the kitchen normally closes at midnight, but I haven't gotten around
to shutting everything down.  So, tonight's your lucky night.  What can I
get you?"

"I just need something quick.  Whatever you've got available would be
great.  A burger, a chicken breast, whatever.  The last thing I had was a
pack of peanuts about five hours ago."

"Sure thing, mate.  Chef's surprise it is.  Can I get you something to
drink while you're waiting?"

"Kettle One, on the rocks, with a twist, please."

"Sure."

Chris breathed a sigh of relief.  He had been beginning to lose hope that
he would find a place like this to relax for the evening. He made himself
as comfortable as he could and redirected his attention to the guy at the
piano.  He did not recognize the music that was being played now.  By no
means was he a jazz aficionado, but now the music had taken on a much more
structured tone.  It was, actually, a pleasant surprise and he directed his
full attention to the stage.

His concentration was momentarily interrupted as the bartender placed his
drink in front of him.

"I'll be right back," he said as he made his way to a door Chris had not
previously noticed in the rear of the bar.

It was difficult to see the musician because of the sparse lighting.  As he
poured more emotion into his playing, he swayed in and out of sight
assuring his audience that there was a master controlling the floating
hands that ran across the black and ivory keys.  Over a number of minutes,
Chris was able to piece together a general appreciation for the piano
player.

He was blonde with a strong, clean shaven jaw line and prominent cheek
bones.  He did not appear to be a tortured artist, though. His demeanor and
dress implied, instead, a business executive.  He wore a tie loosely around
his neck, not sloppily, but as if pulled on at the end of a grueling day.
His shirt of dark blue was casually opened forming a deep "v" down his
chest and the cuffs of his sleeves rolled back upon themselves exposing his
wrists.  The crystal of a polished metal watch caught the light
occasionally as if sending a coded message to the audience.

The final notes of the composition dissipated in the open expanse of the
bar.  The appreciative patrons gave forth a smattering of applause.  It was
heartfelt, but came off as somewhat sad as it lacked the strength of
numbers required to transform it into a proper ovation.

The couple still in the furthest reaches of the bar seemed to be
momentarily jarred from their romantic encounter now that the music had
stopped.  Chris watched as they tenderly debated what their next course of
action should be.  The woman suddenly beamed a broad smile and reached for
her coat.  Spilling money onto the table, the man paid for their bill and
left a tip for the bartender.  He reached across the table and took the
woman's hand and led her toward the exit.  The piano man watched them leave
as he took a sip of scotch out of a tumbler that had been hiding in the
shadows.

A flash of light drew Chris' attention to the end of the bar where the
smoking man had placed his lighter into service once again.  As the end of
his cigarette glowed, he crushed the pack from which it was taken and
tossed it next to the ashtray.  He was, apparently, out of ammunition and
not pleased with the situation.

The piano started to sing again.  Chris lifted his glass and watched the
candlelight play between the cubes of ice.  The liquid, now gone, had left
in its wake a convoluted arrangement of translucent boulders.  Wedged
within their confines, a single strip of yellow appeared to be awaiting
rescue having been trapped in a forgotten avalanche.  The golden light of
the flame illuminated cracks and crevices and voids within the chaos as if
to give false hope to the stranded victim.  The effects of the alcohol, the
dim light, and the soft music proved to be a formidable force pulling him
deeper into a reflective state regarding the chilling fate that befell the
citrus intruder.

Pulling him out of his trance, the bartender returned with a plate of food.

"I hope you enjoy it.  I grilled a chicken breast and put in on top of some
pasta with steamed vegetables.  Kind of a primavera without all the heavy
stuff."

"Wow.  This is great.  Thanks!"

"Can I get you another?" the bartender questioned pointing to Chris' glass.

"Sure.  Why not."

Walking toward the vodka, the bartender stopped and checked in on the only
other patron.  Clearly, once his cigarette was finished, he had plans of
leaving.

Chris enjoyed his meal and his second cocktail.  Again, the music stopped
but this time the pianist stood and walked away from his instrument
carrying an empty glass.  He approached the bar.

"Hey, Mikey, can I get another?"

"Sure, Taylor."

"Put it on my tab," Chris offered.  "You play wonderfully.  I have to
admit, though, I haven't recognized a lot of it"

"The last few pieces were written by a very complicated artist who worked
his entire life here in Chicago, but never made much of a mark.  When he
was young, some called him a progeny.  But he went through a rebellious
period and pretty much retreated from music entirely."

"Fascinating.  Please, sit if you want to.  Tell me more.  Who is this
person?"

"Thanks."  The piano player pulled out a stool just as Mikey brought him
another scotch.  Chris motioned for another, as well.

"The story goes that he went to Northwestern and attended business school.
The further he got involved with economics and marketing strategies, the
less he played."

"What a shame."

"His family thought so, too. Regardless, he managed grow to be very
successful in the local economy, got married, and then got divorced.  One
day he simply started to compose.  He had never done it before, but one day
he just started writing music.  Even he was shocked.  The difficulty of the
divorce had spurred him to find a release for his emotions.  Rather than
drink himself into oblivion, he reengaged his passion on his own terms.  He
began writing more and more."

Chris' drink arrived.

"So he was a tortured artist type after all."

Taylor laughed.  "You might say that."

"Did he head to New York or LA after that?"

"Actually, he always felt his music was more for his own benefit.  He
contemplated doing it professionally, but then he recalled that fateful
rebelliousness that got in the way previously.  He was fairly certain, if
he had record executives telling him what to do, he'd not respond well.
Instead, he continued his professional career and continued to write for
himself."

"Well, if that is the case, then how did you get to know his work? If he
was never published," Chris stopped in mid-sentence.

Taylor brought his glass to his lips and swallowed more of the caramel
colored liquid.

"He's you, isn't he?"

"Wow, you're quick.  I come in here every few days and just screw around.
Mikey lets me drink for free and I play for the mighty throngs of my
admirers."  With this he gestured widely making note of the emptiness of
the bar.

"Oh, fuck me," Chris said to himself, but aloud.

Taylor lifted an eyebrow and looked Chris up and down.

"I'm sorry?" he prompted.

"Oh, no, I just feel like an ass, that's all.  I kept probing into your
personal life.  I'm sorry."

"No worries.  Don't give it a second thought.  If I didn't want to tell you
I could have made something up.  I'm a rather brilliant businessman, you
know," he said sarcastically.

The two men continued to talk about the weightiest and the most obscure
subjects imaginable:


"I'm a fan of Ayn Rand, but I never understood the motivation of the women
in her books.  Her otherwise strong female characters are portrayed as
merely objects to the men they love and allow themselves to effectively be
raped repeatedly.  How do you reconcile that?"

"So how do you suppose the Joker always has a group of henchmen available
to him?  Can you write a classified ad for that?"

"See, I fell into this period where I was only reading Russian novels.  I
had to move on to other things, though.  My family thought I was going to
throw myself under a train after the fourth one of those!"

"No, never married.  No, no girlfriend."

"It's `speed of lightening, power of thunder, battling all who rob and
plunder ... Underdog!'"

"I do.  Actually, I worked out before I left the hotel tonight."

"Wimbledon was amazing.  I went early in the draw and saw all the top
seeds.  The cool thing is that the surrounding courts aren't like the main
stadium with thousands of people.  They are encircled by bleachers that
only hold a couple hundred so you are up close and personal."

"I've always wanted to go to Greece.  I have a complete fascination with
ancient civilizations."

"When I was a kid, I remember my mom baking Christmas cookies and we used
to give them to the mailman and the garbage men to thank them for their
work.  You just don't see that kind of simple appreciation anymore."

"Target beats Wal-Mart hands down!"

"One day, she just said that she didn't want to be married any more.
Within four months it was over. I have no idea where she is now.  But there
were other issues, too.  Issues that I was never willing to address about
myself."



Several drinks and two hours later, Mikey let them know that he was
finished cleaning up and was done for the night.

Taylor stood up and left to retrieve his coat.  Chris asked to pay his
bill.

"It's on the house," Mikey responded.

"It can't be," Chris refused.

"Taylor's a good friend.  You're with him tonight.  We're all good here."
The bartender smiled.

"I don't know what to say.  You cooked for me and everything.  At least
take this for yourself."

"No, really, we're square.  Have a good night."

Taylor returned wearing a long wool overcoat.  It gave him a regal
appearance as it billowed and flowed behind him.  His walk was brisk.

"The door's set up to lock behind you, buddy.  I'm headed out the back."

"Thanks, Mikey.  See you in a few."

Taylor and Chris turned to make their way through the heavy curtains.  In
the darkness that filled the gap between the two draperies, Taylor grabbed
Chris' shoulder and spun him around. It was dark and the all sounds were
muffled by the heavy material. The confusion imposed by the sensory
deprivation was compounded by the effects of the alcohol and the suddenness
of Taylor's actions.

Taylor's trench coat now enveloped the two of them obscuring them almost
completely from view.  He thrust his hand up Chris' sweater, pinned him to
the wall, forced his legs apart, and trapped one of his arms above his
head.  Pushing the weight of himself against his conquest he could feel the
effects of the passionate assault as both their dicks hardened and
lengthened.  His hand traversed the abdomen of his object of desire and
moved upward to maul the muscles of his chest.  As he explored, he came
across the hairless, protruding bud of a nipple.  He redirected his focus
to its further erection as he simultaneously plunged his tongue deeper into
the soft, warm, wet confines of his prey's mouth.  A moan of pleasure and
surrender escaped Chris.

The alcohol loosened all of his inhibitions and Chris found himself
encouraging and countering every advance.  A dance began with Taylor taking
the forceful lead.  Chris complemented every gesture with a response of its
equal.

With his free hand, Chris threaded his fingers through the golden hair of
his welcomed assailant and pulled his head closer, still.  Their lips were
pressed together tightly and explored each other as if long lost lovers
reunited.  Their hips bucked wildly as if they wanted to exchange bodies.
Their cocks strained at the fabric that contained them and throbbed with
the desire to be let loose.

Taylor sucked on Chris' lower lip and Chris' knees went weak.  Sliding down
the wall slightly, he craned his neck to ensure their connection wasn't
undermined. He found his strength again and clamped down on Taylor's upper
lip.  He could feel the slight roughness of a day's worth of growth.  Chris
felt entirely vulnerable and

Taylor pulled away for an instant and Chris opened his eyes.  As if in
limbo, he could only catch fleeting glimpses of a phantom who he knew was
destined to be his lover.  Taylor's freed Chris' other hand but directed it
to his own cheek.  Chris was now cradling the piano man's head in his
hands.  From the darkness, Taylor's voice came forth.

"If this is wrong, let me know now."

Chris responded by pulling him to his mouth and dropping one of his hands
to Taylor's ass.  He clutched at the firm muscle of Taylor's butt and
forced his hips forward so their cocks could reunite.  This time it was
Chris who forced his tongue forward and Taylor sucked on it with pleasure.

"Come with me," Chris urged.


++++++++++


His breathing was labored as his muscles tightened.  The pleasure was
almost excruciating but he had to admit that the combination of pleasure
and pain was completely exhilarating.  For him, this was always the best
part of sex, that moment right before the ultimate release.  Chris' body
strained to prolong the delightful agony: his chest was tight with
anticipation and flexed displaying the striations of hard muscle; his
nipples were prominently erect and sensitive; sweat softly rolled off his
torso and simultaneously down his biceps; the abs that he worked so
diligently on were rippled and being explored by the gorgeous blond sucking
him off.  The manly scent of sex was pervasive throughout the hotel room
and fueled each man's raging lust.

Chris knew he would not last much longer.  He was grinding his hips into
the mattress and bucking forward to force his dick further into the throat
of this handsome stranger.  Every nerve ending of his body seemed to be
electrified as his newfound fuck buddy continued to service his cock.  He
could no longer speak and this typically eloquent man was reduced to
communicating through guttural moans and gasps for air.

If Chris didn't cum soon, he was sure he would literally pass out from
sheer ecstasy.  It was as if every muscle in his entire body was crushing
the air out of his lungs and bringing him to a state of pure delirium.
Still, he clawed at the broad back of the hunk seemingly dependent on his
dick for survival.  Chris' hands moved to the guy's defined shoulders then
to those flowing locks of gold all the while encouraging his lover's lips
to make one more pass over his engorged shaft and his tongue to taste the
ever raging river of pre-cum that was flowing from his slit.

The man on his cock knew that Chris was dying for release, yet he was not
willing to end this wild engagement.  It had been quite a while since
Taylor had had such a beautiful man to play with and he was determined to
enjoy every minute of this.  It was always his fantasy to make a guy cum
just through sucking him off and it was apparent that his quest was almost
at an end.  His own dick was hard with anticipation.  Taylor was close to
showering a load of his own, and his dick hadn't even been touched for
nearly an hour.  Still he felt more alive and aroused than he had in
months.  Who knew that this chance encounter would lead to such a
mind-blowing experience?

"Ungh...hss.. ohhhh"

Chris' balls were now drawn in tight but Taylor continued to lick them as
part of his brilliant sexual plan.  His tongue flew over Chris' shaved sack
and down even further just shy of his hole.  The wetness felt cool and
Chris continued to experience wild and new sensations. Taylor's nose was
buried in Chris' bush that reeked of musk but was softened by sweet
cologne.  The heat of their sex had given rise to this exquisite man
perfume that they now shared.

Chris was at his wit's end.  Somehow words began to form and spewed forth.

"Goddamit.  I'm so close!  Suck my dick you gorgeous son of a bitch!
Please? "

Taylor just laughed to himself, inadvertently sending a wave of vibrations
straight through Chris' dick to the base of his cock.

"Ohhhhh!  FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!"  Chris yelled.  The people in the room next
door were certainly getting quite an earful by now.  Chris felt
simultaneously embarrassed and somewhat proud.

"I gotta cum, dude!  I gotta cum.  Suck the head and set me off, PLEASE!
I'm gonna cum and then I'm gonna fuck the hell out of you.  You are so
fucking awesome.  Make me cum, for godsake!"

Taylor's dick began to throb, a gleaming stream of pre-cum detailing its
full length.  Now that Chris had found his voice, Taylor was getting even
hotter while Chris was losing control.  He became more aware of his own
body ? something he had oddly lost sight of while focusing on the beautiful
cock in his mouth.  He realized he, too, was sweating and his muscles were
pumped from supporting his weight for all this time.  As his balls drew
into his body, he felt a breeze blow past his ass and cool his shanks.  The
few hairs on his tight butt stood to attention and the beads of sweat on
his back rolled down his left tricep.

Chris' throat was dry once more.  It seemed as though we would never be
able to speak again.  Gasping for air was all he could accomplish as his
hand flew down to Talor's ass.  Grasping hold of the muscular orbs was all
he could muster anymore.  He pulled at the butt of the man who he had met
only a few hours ago in a little jazz bar in downtown Chicago.  He grabbed
hold of that ass as though it were the last life raft from a sinking ship.

Catching a glimpse in the mirror of Taylor's gorgeous butt being manhandled
and knowing he was the perpetrator was the final straw.  This was it.  His
toes began to curl and his muscular legs contracted.  His thighs became
tight, solid, and defined.  The neon light from the restaurant outside
beamed in accentuating his glistening frame and cast erotic shadows on the
far wall.  Chris swallowed for the first time in minutes.

"AWWWW FUCK! I'm there.  I'm there!  Suck it!  Suck it! Suck me.  Suck my
dick ... UNGGH!"

First, a nearly imperceptible twitch, and then it happened.  All the
tension that had been building up was funneled directly through Chris's
cock and forced his cum out in thick streams.  Taylor wanted to watch the
fruits of his labor and sat up.  Jism shot out of Chris' dick in huge
spurts rocketing over his head.  The next shot landed squarely on Chris'
mouth and the third filled the hollow of his neck.  His wet dick continued
to convulse and throw cum all over Chris' broad chest.  Mixing with his
sweat, the liquid began to stream down his body and a tiny rivulet cascaded
around his nipple before picking up speed to careen over his lats and
disappear into a puddle forming on the disheveled sheets.

Chris was weak.  He was exhausted. His muscles twitched as they began to
relax from what ended up being, essentially, a sexually charged, hour-long
isometrics workout.  He was seeing spots and they added to his euphoria.
He could smell the sweetness of his jizz and could taste its saltiness on
his lips.

He could also see, for the first time in an hour, the face of the man who
had taken him to such a state of sheer pleasure.  The angular jaw and high
cheekbones were illuminated from the red neon of next door.  He was truly a
vision ? and one that could suck a dick like no one else.

Taylor laid down next to Chris, throwing his leg over his partner's lower
body.  Taylor's dick was still rock hard and dripped pre-cum over Chris'
balls and streamed between his legs.

"You do realize that in your state of delirium you promised to, how did you
put it exactly, oh, `Fuck the hell out of me'.  I trust you aren't going to
renege, you hopeless romantic," Taylor said as he nuzzled into his lover's
neck and played with the soft hair that surrounded Chris' navel.  He gave a
quick squeeze to the head of the cock he had just serviced.  The
overstimulation made Chris jump and gasp, but ultimately smile.

As Chris' chest rose and fell in post-ejaculation ecstasy, he turned to
Taylor and kissed him on the lips.  His tongue probed inside the mouth that
had only minutes ago been the instrument of his most erotic encounter ever.
Taylor shared the passion as well as the sweet and salty taste of Chris'
most intimate offering.  His dick was still hard and leaking profusely.

"I stand by my promises", Chris managed to say, as if reenergized by that
single kiss. He put his hand on Taylor's penis and stroked it, gently
probing its length and girth as if reading a page of Braille.  He worked
his fingers slowly down to cup his lover's balls only to find them recessed
deeply in Taylor's groin.  He used a single finger to trace the slick line
of pre-cum that Taylor had oozed all over himself.  Up and down the shaft,
his finger rode the slippery rail until he used his fingertip to paint the
head of Taylor's dick with his own juices.

"I can't believe you didn't cum just now.  Your cock is so hard; I hoped
that you'd blow with me."

"You have no idea what it took for me to keep from shooting.  And you
better stop what you are doing right now or it will all be for nothing.  I
wanted to save it for morning. There's nothing like sex with morning wood
that's been primed the night before.  Don't worry.  I have every intention
of getting as good as I gave."

"So I actually get to recover before I retaliate?"

"Retaliate?  I'm intrigued."

They didn't even bother to wipe off as the waves of sleep overtook their
exhausted bodies.  Just before he gave himself up to the night, Chris let
out a small laugh.

"I was just blown in the windy city," he thought.

The night brought them even closer together as they moved together in an
odd ballet during the night, arms and legs intertwined, dicks found
harmonious refuge in welcoming asses, and each supported the other's head
as the night wore on.


++++++++++


The morning sun lit the room.  Chris stirred at the onset of the bright
light.  The world that was his hotel room came into focus.  A wave of panic
washed over him.  How could he have been so stupid as to just bring a
complete stranger and to his room?  Then he turned his head and saw Taylor
lying next to him.  Things instantly became clear to him.

As the night wore on, the men had generated enough body heat to sear a
roast.  Consequently, the majority of the bedclothes had been unconsciously
and unceremoniously dispensed with.  Taylor now rested with his right arm
draped across his eyes keeping the offending daylight from disturbing his
rest.  His whole torso was exposed and only his left leg was covered with a
sheet.  Taylor's rhythmic breathing continued as sleep continued to
revitalize his body.  Taylor looked completely vulnerable.

Chris gazed at the man who had been responsible for the most satisfying
sexual experience he had had in recent memory.  Taylor's strong chin was
now peppered with the stubble of a beard neglected.  His extended arm
pulled his chest so that his right nipple was slightly elongated and his
right pec was being forced over to meet its hefty twin to the left.  A
small patch of chest hair filled in the valley between the two well defined
muscles and made a trail down his abdomen before fanning out to a delta at
the base of his dick.  Then Chris noticed something wonderful.

Taylor was hard.  His predisposition to morning sex was now well
understood.  In the sunlight, there was no dismissing the beauty of
Taylor's cock.  No artist could have sculpted a finer specimen.  In its
rigid condition, Taylor's penis was wholly unique.  The head rested softly
on Taylor's lower abs and pulsed with his every heartbeat.  With a slight
curve to it, his dick laid just off center from Taylor's treasure trail.
The skin was tight and smooth and did not choose to expose the extensive
vascularity that was surely below.  Rather than a mushroom, Taylor's dick
was like a missile.  The crown of his dick was evident, yet not pronounced
and gave it a streamlined look and the impression of it being quite capable
of penetrating any hole it so desired.  Even now, a glistening drop of
pre-cum glinted in the morning light.

With the faintest of touches, Chris began to explore Taylor.  His fingers
barely brushed the surface of his lover's body and yet they felt like they
were on fire.  Wandering from the broad shoulders he had held onto last
night as if for dear life, his fingers moved down Taylor's well defined arm
and traced the prominent vein to the inside of Taylor's elbow.  Taylor's
finger twitched and then relaxed.  Chris continued down past Taylor's
forearm and danced in the palm of his hand.

Using the back of his hand, Chris traversed Taylor's taught stomach and
ended on the far side of his body.  Moving upward, he caressed the slim
waist and rumbled over Taylor's ribs before reaching the wide lats of a
swimmer.  He continued to explore upwards and flattened his hand over the
wide, exposed armpit of the sleeping man.  Brushing past the sandy brown
tufts of hair and following the strong arm up to the elbow, Chris
appreciated the size of Taylor's muscles.

Starting a new voyage at the base of his neck, Chris wandered about
Taylor's chest and softly played with his nipples.  He wanted dearly to
ravage them with his mouth, but his desire was overpowered by his wish to
see how long he could continue to explore before being found out.  Both
nipples responded to his touch.  They protruded and extended and got hard.
As Chris rested his finger atop one of them, a sigh of contentment and
arousal left Taylor's mouth.  As if unconsciously aware that he was being
fondled, Taylor's breathing came slightly quicker, yet no less deep.

With no further will power left in him, Chris moved to the ultimate prize.
He gently repositioned himself lower on the bed to have better access to
his next point of interest: Taylor's beautiful dick.

Maintaining his current methods, Chris just barely touched the engorged
manhood.  Toying with the glans, he prompted more fluid to seep out.  He
ventured down one side, brushed the full circumference of Taylor's ballsack
and then traced the opposing side for the sake of completion.  Next, Chris
used all five fingertips in a circular motion and touched every inch of
exposed man flesh.  The cock jumped as if requesting more
attention. Taylor's breathing continued to quicken but still insisted that
he remained in a deep sleep.

Chris became more bold and wrapped his hand around the shaft of Taylor's
cock.  He was instantly amazed at the heft of what he now controlled.  He
also realized how truly hard Taylor was.  Never before had he felt a cock
that was as stiff as what he had in his hand at that moment.  He felt
somewhat proud to think that he had something to do with it.

Slowly, Chris began to jack off Taylor.  With the lightest of touches, his
fingers encircled the raging hard on and began to coax it toward the
ultimate release.  Taylor began to flex his ass muscles and move his legs.
His mouth opened and his breathing became less steady.  Now Chris was hard.
He felt his dick brush up against Taylor's leg.

Taylor moaned as Chris continued to pump his dick.  Occasionally, Chris
would stop and spend some time tickling the two well defined balls that
hung heavily between Taylor's thighs.  He seemed to have the power to make
them dance.  Moving in and out of hiding, they seemed to be unsure of how
available they should be to the attentions that were being met upon them.

"fuck," Taylor said aloud.

Chris shot a glance up to the mouth that had sucked him so expertly only
hours before.  Taylor was now fully involved in his masturbation, but not
conscious of it.  He was talking in his sleep and Chris wanted to hear
more.

"...my dick..." he groaned.

Chris almost started to laugh.

"You feel so good," Chris whispered, instead.  "You're so hard and so big.
I want to make you come.  Do you want to come?"

"...come...want to come...so hard"

Chris spat in his hand now and lubricated Taylor's hard rod.  He went
directly to the bright red head and almost assaulted it with his
encouraging grip.  Over the top and around the crown, Chris put forth a
flurry of coaxing strokes.

Taylor gasped aloud and his left hand sailed to his right nipple and began
to play with it.  Again, Chris almost laughed as it looked as though Taylor
was trying to embrace himself and something had gone horribly wrong.

But nothing was wrong, at least not for Taylor.

"...i'm gonna plow your ass with this big dick of mine.  i'm gonna rip you
in two and cum all over your fucking face ?"

"I'd love that.  Give it to me.  Come on ram that dick in me.  Let me feel
your balls slap me my ass.  Show me how deep you can fuck me.  Oh, you are
so huge," Chris quietly encouraged.

Taylor's arm slipped from across his face and fell to the bed.  His hand
clutched the bedsheet as his hips began to move violently.

Chris let Taylor fuck his hand.  He added more lubrication and let his
thumb play with the cum-slit that he hoped would soon offer up a glorious
barrage of man juice.

"...take that you fucker.  ungh.  ungh.  ungh.  yea, you like that don't
you?"  Taylor's voice was soft in volume but gruff with a night's sleep
still wholly evident.

Chris was almost out of control himself at this point.  He knew that
somewhere in Taylor's head, he was fucking the hell out of someone and
loving it.  He seemed to have gotten even harder from when Chris begun his
almost innocent exploration of the man in his bed.  Now, Taylor was bucking
wildly and rubbing Chris' dick with the side of his leg unexpectedly.

"...ride my cock... I'm gonna cum..."

This is what Chris was waiting for.  Taylor was in a frenzy now.  Chris
could feel the slickness on Taylor's dick increase.  He was obviously being
assisted by a healthy flow of liquid crystalline pre-cum.

"...oh, take my big fuck rod.  come on.  a little more.  take my cock."

"I can't take it any more.  You have to cum.  You have to let loose.
Drench me with your jizz. You're so big.  Shoot your load, man.  Shoot it."

Taylor's face began to contort.  Chris knew he was way beyond the point of
no return.  Taylor was going to shoot, and he was going to do it soon.

At that point, Chris readjusted himself, slicked up the middle finger of
his available hand, and thrust it into Taylor's ass.  Moving around, he
found the tiny bud that he was looking for and began to play.

Taylor's eyes shot wide open.  He was awake.

"What the... Oooooh...ungh"

Sitting up, Taylor's eyes began to adjust to the bright light and saw Chris
hovering around his dick.  The sight of him hard and being completely
molested sent him over the edge.

"FUCK!" he screamed.

As if seven hours of sleep served only to increase the pressure of cum
within his balls, Taylor shot forth a giant rope of spunk than landed
squarely on his left nipple.  Two more streams of jism hit in precisely the
same spot.  Taylor threw his arms behind him to prop himself up.  His
triceps popped and the veins running over his biceps stood out prominently
as they took on the heavy load of his upper body.  His chest was flexed and
as he threw back his head the tendons of his neck shot out with the strain
of ecstasy.  More cum flew out of his dick as Chris continued his stroking
and massage his ass.  Now it was Taylor's turn to be gasping for air.

"Fu .. fu .. fu?"  was all he could get out as his orgasm ripped through
his body.

Chris' hand was now covered in the product of Taylor's release.  Still, he
pumped and coaxed ever more jizz out of the beautiful cock which now
sported a red and purple color.  Taylor's body was almost in convulsions
and a single tear was forced down the side of his face.

As Taylor's orgasm subsided, he looked down the length of his himself.
Rivers of cum flowed over the tortuous landscape that was his body.  Down
the mountains of flesh that made up his chest, through the valley that
separated his abdominals, and cascading over the cliffs of his obliques,
his load created an aerial map of ecstasy.  A large portion of his spent
liquid pooled atop the expanse of hair at the base of his dick.

Chris removed his finger from Taylor's hole and played with the balls that
were now spent and returned home to their still taught sack.  Wet and slick
with Taylor's man juice, they moved easily in Chris' hands.  Taylor's cock
began to soften and Chris relinquished his grasp laying it in the pool that
was draining down Taylor's groin.

"I had no idea you were responsible for that," Taylor finally said.  "I was
having these vivid images of me screwing a gorgeous, but faceless body.  I
could see myself from all over, from every angle as though disembodied
somehow.  It was wild.  My dick was huge, I was huge, and I was convinced
this guy was the best fuck I had ever had.  It was intensely erotic and
surreal."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I had other plans for this morning, but, hell, you definitely fulfilled
your part of the bargain.  I think I got even better than I gave."

"You know, you're probably right.  I'm sure you realized I was faking it
last night.  Honestly, you do nothing for me.? Chris joked.

"Dick," Taylor swore at him.

"No, Chris.  I thought we went through this already.  I hope your work
doesn't require you to remember a lot of people's names.  We were pretty
intimate and if you can't remember my name after that, you must suck after
just a handshake in a board room."

Taylor chuckled then gave Chris a once-over.  He looked at himself.

"We're pretty messed up right now.  How about a shower?"

"Damn, you're pushy.  What you think, one night and you get to move in?
You think you can just run the place?"

"Aren't you ever sincere for just one second?  Do you always have to be the
smartass?"

"Sorry, I was in sales for almost ten years.  It kind of became a habit."

"So, can I enter into negotiations for a shower?  After all, I am a rather
brilliant businessman."

"Make your first offer."