From: davist@dsp.com (davist)
Subject: The Spy who came in from the Closet
Date: Thu, 28 Nov 1996 01:31:49 -0700
Organization: Arora

The Spy who came out of the Closet.1/4
by davistrell@aol.com

   I was staying in a boarding house, in a middle of nowhere city, 
the eastern seaboard behind me and the Pacific west lay ahead. Stuck 
between two points of the compass with no idea of where to go next.
I was in a no man's land kind of mood getting over a broken heart, a loss
of job, took the golden shower of the golden handshake, packed all
my belongings. Threw them in my car, my only a companion a pewter 
framed picture of Charlie. Charlie with the lying eyes.

   He'd fallen off his bike, right in front of me. I told him he ought to
have that knee attended to. I took him up the three flights of stairs to
my lonely apartment, sat him down on the john, went to the medicine
cabinet, pulled out a band-aid, ready to apply, after I'd tended his
wound. I would've kissed the broken skin, tasted the dribble of blood, but
used a clean white wash-cloth instead.
   Knelt down as I was, upon the bathroom floor, I could see a 
hardness trying to free itself from his too-tight Spandex shorts.

   "That's not where it hurts," he said.
   "You need a Advil or something?"
   "I need relief."
   He put his thumbs to his waistband, lowered it down, so his 
cockhead could smell the air. I had no choice. No excuse, no backup 
plan for such an eventuality. So I reverted to type, put the shiny 
thing, between my lips took all of it in, till cockshaft and almost 
balls were in my mouth. He didn't care if it hurt his knee, all he 
wanted was to expel a large quantity of excess in my mouth, and of 
course I let him, I encouraged the delivery with up and down movements,
my head bobbing, just wanting him to come. Which he did, eventually.
   We exchanged phone numbers, dated, met him for lunch, bought him 
dinner, took him to bed, where he let me make love to him, sex took over,
insertion and penetration, in his secret places, in nooks and crannies,
not a part of his body was unknown to my tongue, and my cock, pushed into
him, into his ass, and I came, he came, and we both continued to come
through many exciting, intriguing nights. 
   He liked it, wanted more, and so moved in. Our bedroom became pagan,
animalistic rites, the usual thing, you know, it's a familiar story. Every
night I would come home, I'd wait, then he'd come, then I'd cum. It was a
perfect match, me egocentric, but my world revolved around Charlie. We
even did the dumb photo booth thing, passport size photos, me kissing him,
him kissing me, me jerking off, let the miniature photo show my cum spill
over his face.

   Then came the betrayal.
   A man much older, much richer, fat and ugly looking, took Charlie
in hand. He'd sold out to the highest bidder, joined the enemy, I
surrendered, didn't fight, Charlie walked off into the sunset with a 
fat, bald man, with money; he's married, fourteen children, for all I 
could care.But now he's husband to Charlie, my Charlie who I'll have no
more. I am widower again.

   And explains why I'm here. In an insignificant boarding house, 
whitened picket fences, calico curtains. Where I can re-invent 
myself, find a new life, even changed my name. Call myself Mitchell now,
shaved off the mustache, dyed my blond hair brunette, disguised my 
height with a slouch. Trying to make money, writing for magazines, but 
the pay is real low. Just like my spirits. So I filled out my resume, 
but in the section, "positions wanted", I'd scribbled, on top of 
Charlie, under Charlie, in Charlie, up Charlie; fucking Charlie.
   I took the sheet of paper, scrunched it up, tossed in the wastebasket,
retrieved it, tried to straighten it out, tore it up, swearing to eat the
pieces, but instead, like a jigsaw, reassembled the pieces, glued them
together, but finally took a match and started a small fire, which burnt
briefly till all was left were the ashes, and a stale smell which filled
the room. 
   I opened the window, to let in fresh air, and went to bed but 
couldn't sleep. Charlie, where are you? Not here. I cried, wet the 
pillows, stained the sheets with tears.


(The Spy who came out of the Closet...2/4)
by davistrell@aol.com

   I was nodding off when I heard a tap, tapping on my door.
   Landlady? Shit! I put on my pants, and went to the door. 
   No-one there.
   I was about to close the door, when I saw a sheet of paper on the 
carpet. Folded four times. I picked it up, unfolded it and tried to read
the tiny writing by the light of the bedside lamp. I put on my reading
glasses and peered. Utter nonsense, I couldn't make any head or tail of
it, just a jumble of letters forming words, in no language 
I could recognize.
   Suddenly it hit me. A code.
   Only a few words long, barely enough to make a sentence. 
Two single letters separating word clusters. Must be an indefinite 
article "A"  or personal pronoun "I" . It took me twenty minutes, and
a mind for crosswords, and I had it.
   "I think I love you." 
   I have an admirer. No florid feminine flourishes, just a man's 
handwriting. No way am I gonna cross over and do the landlady. I am a
patriot. Or at least loyal to the cause of my homosexuality. 
   I went down the hall way, barefooted, silent, to the bathroom at 
the end of the corridor. Just me in my underwear, went down the hall, 
down to the bathroom, I looked into the shower, empty. Looked in the 
mirror. For the first time in a while, I liked what I saw. Not built 
like a buffed guy, but acceptable.
   My eyes sleepily sexy, a handsome face. Oh, well.
   I peed, remembering to put the seat down. And returned to my room.
   I was about to enter, when in my peripheral vision I saw the hall
closet open, caught sight, shyly stepping out, a young man, blond and
unlike me, completely naked.
   "I've been watching you..,"  he said.
   "I watched you, I watched you when you arrived, I watched you 
check in, I've been watching you for the last five days." 
   It was the strangest of conversations, out there in the hall, he 
too good looking, too naked, for me to ignore. The door of my bedroom was
ajar, and I'd turned out the light, before I left. He pushed me gently
back into my room, and closed the door. Shadows raked over the two of us,
cast by the moon pouring in through the open window. He pushed me back to
the wall, and rubbed up against me, raising his leg, so I was trapped,
like a bee overladen with too much honey, his crotch and all it contained,
pressing up, against mine, even through my boxers, my dick found out he
was circumcised, even before I did. He made small humping motions, shoving
his pelvis close, he was taking no prisoners.

   He was about eighteen, I guess. Fully in blossom, nature had done a
wonderful job, moulding him, shaping him. I was full of curiousity, wanted
to interrogate him, get him to reveal all, show his true colors.
   I wanted to ask him who he was, show his I.D., but as I felt his
erection exploring me, his hands hugged my sides, his breathing loud, the
only audible sound, apart from my whispers when I asked him what he
wanted, but it was abundantly clear. He wanted sex. He wanted me.
   "I'm Taylor...my mom owns the place..." 
   If you've kissed a man before, you know what it's like. 
 Maybe he had only recently begun to shave, but he scratched my soul and
tickled my libido. 
   I managed to pull away and sat on the bed, looked at the young
stranger, bathed in moonlight. Half his face was hidden in shadow, as he
came toward me. He was the stuff that wet dreams are made of.
   But I acted coy, not wanting to rush, to savor every sentient moment.
Each acting to our pre-assigned roles, the mission, the assignement, given
top importance, to be successful in it's accomplishment.
   My pants he peeled down and we held each other close, cock to cock, 
hands circled around, clasping each others buttocks, pressed together like
a forget me not flower crushed in between the pages of a book.
   "You do this all the time? Nocturnal adventures with the paying 
guests?" 
   "No, you're the first. As soon as I saw you I knew..." 
   "Knew what?" 
   "Knew you'd have to be the one." 
   "The one what?" 
   "You know..."


(The Spy who came out of the Closet..3)

   He pushed me back, kissed my chest, licked my sparse chest hair, and
his hand went between us, felt the hardened cock in there.
   "I think I've wanted to have sex with men always. Fooled around 
with girls, been there, done that. But not this. I want to come over to 
the other side, I want to defect." 
   The quilted coverlet of Shaker design was pulled back, and he lay 
next to me, examining, looking, feeling, touching, rubbing. I saw the 
mole on his neck, felt the sizzle of his breath, asked no questions, 
capitulated to his blandishments, felt skin against skin. His hand had no
hesitation, as his fingers wrapped around my erection, his lips felt
nothing but pleasure as he tasted the tip, enflamed with his kisses.
   "You seem to know what you're doing.." 
   "Oh, I have magazines, lots of magazines, and everything I saw in 
them I want to do. Will you let me?" 
   Let me see me try to stop you, I thought.
   He took my cock into his mouth; it felt good, his tongue lapping 
the shaft while his lips moved in pursing movements up and down. His 
hand cupped my balls, then he slipped off my rod, and sucked first one 
testicle, then the other. Kisses kept me silent. His hands slipped down 
to my waist trying to bring our erections closer together, if that were
more possible.
   "I want you..,"  is all he said.
   "Not as much..." but my voice trailed off, my voice had gotten heavy,
overladen. 
    
   He was a man man on a mission possible. I caved in. I folded. I gave my
self up to him, let him do as he wanted, let him lick my asshole, let him
push his tongue in, let him lick, until he got tired, out of breath. No
more secrets left to reveal.
   "God you're beautiful, you taste just how I imagined a man would 
taste, only better." 
   I put my hand to his head stroking the thick blond hair, looking 
into his prying eyes.
   "Make love to me..." 
   Not a request, an order. Of course I obeyed.
   Bearded in Daniel's den, he was a lion, wanting to devour me. 
   Temptation embraced, I would give him succor. Was it me, in my 
abhorrence of all things physical, or should I tend care, not fuck with
his fragile ego? To refuse him; he would think himself unattractive, 
he'd end up at gloryholes in the seedier parts of town. But if I gave 
in, to his imploring need, I would be giving up Charlie; te adoro. He 
was precious, lustful in his abandonment, simply spoils of war. His 
penis undersized, I held it between thumb and fingertip, rolled back a 
foreskin, saw a drop of jewelled vice. The moral dilemma ambivalent, if
I continued in this vein, I would become, one of the gray anonymous 
faces; that I'd be the first, in a line of equivocal lovers; that 
thought gave me no solace. Maybe my features would be sharper, in
memory, if truly I was to be first; was that all that mattered? His eyes
became petulant, thinking that I didn't want him, though every fiber of
my being should've told him that that was not true.
   "You're beautiful," I told him, I had no need to lie. I moved my 
arm closer to his body pulled him close, in an embrace that showered 
roses. He held hard onto my hardon, there was no way to conceal the 
boner, he tried to rub to make it even harder, like an unborn child 
birthing he wanted to enter my world.
   "You know where this will lead," I told him, "to a life of of 
secretiveness, where you'll call no man friend. You'll tell lies to 
avoid the feelings of disenfranchisement, you'll be alone, apart from a 
few deceitful casual encounters, you'll tell lies, lies will be told to 
you. For every strapping blond stud, you'll meet a basher, someone who's
out to prove he's more man than you. There will be tears, there will be
joy, but no-one to love. You will live in shadows for the rest of your 
life. Always undercover not brave enough to emerge into the warm light 
of day."
   The speech hung on my lips but the words didn't come out.
    He was of a newer generation, one that had seen the causalities of
war list, saw they took no prisoners, shot at the dawn of early young 
lives. All this he took into account.
   "I like the way your breath smells, I like all of you."
It's funny how love starts; as a preamble to sex.


(The Spy who came out of the Closet..4/4)
by davistrell@aol.com

   So we kissed, I gripped his buttocks, as cute as a Smiley face, he
had a leg free, draped it round my waist. Our bodies melded together, he
and I a perfect fit. My hand grazing across his ass crack, stroking his
egg-ballsac, his penis merging between my thighs.

   "Please will you jerk yourself off, I want to watch you cum..."
   So I lay back, my hand full of my own penis let him watch, as I 
masturbated openly. He stared, held, tickling at my balls. Saw me cum, 
saw the fluid abstraction, he seemed totally fascinated in the act that 
had filled me with such self disgust.
   "Can I lick it, can I taste it, please, please."

   He ended up lapping up my dribbling excretion, then fastened his 
mouth around my dick and swallowed, like he'd seen it in a magazine, 
after all, and was convinced he knew what to do.
   His fingers wormed their way into my pubic hair, he lifted his hand
up, the trickling cum-string forming a cat's cradle. I was disarmed: 
the killer in me, is the killer in you, my love.
   We hid in a crepuscular darkness, our two worlds colliding.
   "Now do the same to me, let me cum in your mouth..."
   I sucked on his small erection, savoring tastes and smells that I 
had long forgotten. Sweetness, male sweetness, the heart of the 
matter,the human factor, a tremor of intent, of course he couldn't come. I
laid him back, jerked him off, turned him over, still rubbing, kissed his
butt, slipped my tongue, into brown pinkness, as his body writhed in
delight. I got armory from the dispensary, rolled it on my dick, entered
him, from behind, he let me in. He gave up the password.
   "Fuck me, fuckme, fuck me..."
   "Bite hard on the pillow, Taylor, this should hurt..."
   "I want it to hurt, and then feel good..."
   My cock, not huge, under cover, went in like barb-wire, penetrating
to the otherside, a place of earthly paradise. I felt his pain of my 
pleasure as I pushed inside him slowly, he could feel my cock throbbing,
felt the passage where boy turns into man.

   I slipped my hands under his armpits, gripped his shoulders, 
pulled him toward me, buried so deep in his ass, pulling while my hips 
were pushing, crushing him between the two movements.
   It had to hurt, it was supposed to hurt, I kept hurting as he 
moaned, cried, whimpered, but he wouldn't have exchanged this moment, for
all the CIA secrets turned into hot, hard cash.
   He couldn't speak, while I fucked him, and when I came, shuddering 
like a locomotive stopped in its tracks, he shuddered, shook, while I 
tried to bury the whole of myself into his ass, wanting to be swallowed,
so we'd both become the same person. My cock kept on spurting long after
having run out of ammunition, till I waved the white flag.
   Oh, it hurt him so much, the pain of infiltration, but he was so happy,
as we both now were tired, just wanted to fondle, we lay together like
warriors in the trenches, holding each other, hugging, both full of 
tears, with kisses, lips comforting, hands holding secrets.
   "It was better than I thought it would be. If I kiss your cock till the
morning, will you do me again, but this time so I can watch you, let me
wrap my legs around you, so you can drive more deeper, deep in my 
ass?"
   "Of course, I will, but first you must sleep."