Date: Tue, 7 Feb 2006 17:48:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Abbey 3

The Abbey 3

By Bald Hairy Man.

This is an adult gay story for adult gay men. I this offends you, DON'T
read it. This is a fantasy, not a sex manual. Play safely.

I was afraid my show on Franz's cock would be a problem. I was the leader
of the group and no one is more vulnerable than in the throws of sexual
passion.  I was afraid they'd lose respect for me.  It wasn't a problem at
all. All of the men had either been there or wanted to be there. I remained
the leader, but they saw me as a human being too.

Given the variety of the brothers' background, we got along well. Two men
joined us the next week. Branford was a retired Art History professor.  His
partner had died and he had no other family.  His partner had been
uninsured and his final illness wiped out all of his savings. They had been
together for 25 years and Branford was lost.

He loved the Abbey the minute he arrived. In some ways the Chapel was an
Art Historians dream. He set to work researching and documenting the
place. He appreciated Franz's efforts at restoration and soon was helping
him. I later found out Branford's lover had been a slim, effeminate
florist. Branford was attracted to Franz.

The other man, Buster, was a brick mason. He had been a good family man,
until his wife left him ten years earlier.  He had a business, but when he
fell and broke his leg, he lost it all. The leg didn't heal properly and
there were four years of operations trying to get it right.  It wasn't
quite right even now, but at least it didn't cause pain anymore. "If I
could afford it, I'd have taken up drink," he told me. He wasn't old enough
for social security and wouldn't take welfare. He was 56 but looked a lot
older. I would have guessed he was 70.

Buster joined us not because he wanted to be here.  It was us or living on
the streets. A social worker found him and sent him to us. Ivan took him
under his wing. Buster wouldn't take charity, but he would work for room
and board.  Ivan understood this. With the 80-year-old Abbey there was
always work to be done.  Once he got working, Buster was happier.

Branford was a talker and tended to babble nonstop. Buster had a hard time
using words of more than one syllable. He was a strong silent type who
found himself weakened by disease.  They had to share a room until we
finished fixing up other rooms. Branford was as academic a man as I had
ever met; Buster was 100% redneck. I was afraid this was a recipe for
disaster.  Fortunately, there was more to Branford than met the eye.

He had nursed his partner through two years of cancer therapy. Branford was
a sympathetic man and Buster's aches and pains were a challenge.  Branford
knew something about massage and helped the somewhat unwilling Buster.  I
knew things were good when I overheard Buster asking Branford if he could
get a massage that night.

Buster was uneasy about Ron. He had worked with black men, but never lived
with one. Ron was strong as a bull, and when Buster found out he was a hard
worker, they got along well.

When you met Branford you knew he was gay.  He wasn't exactly effeminate,
but there was a distinct air about him. It was hard to believe Buster was
gay. Don, the social worker who brought him to us, told me he was.  I asked
him how he knew.

"Let's just say I have some personal experiences with him," Don said. "He'd
never say it, but he loves man sex."

Branford looked a little like Elmer Fudd, except he was more than six feet
tall. He was bald and had a small mustache. The first time I saw him in the
lavatory I realized he was a nudist.  He was tanned from top to bottom with
no tan lines. He had a covering of white hair on his chest and a treasure
trail of white had to his cock.  Branford was slightly pudgy, but not
flabby, and had an average size cock.

Buster was gaunt, with bones that seemed bigger than his body.  He was pale
and almost gray in skin tone.  He had a good sized, uncut cock and low
hanging balls. You almost had the feeling his balls had stretched the ball
sack. He was shy and sat next to Ivan almost as if to be protected by
Ivan's bulk and his outgoing personality.

At first both men just watched the other men in the steam room.  Branford
joined in the general activity first.  He had been leading a non sexual
life for several years. His partner's death had devastated him, but he was
coming out if it and was feeling sexual urges again.  I was positive he was
a bottom when I met him, but Branford was a top. His cock was thin, but a
good seven inches long.  Branford didn't shoot off easily and he stayed
rock hard until he ejaculated. That turned out to be a very desirable
quality.

Buster held back because he was embarrassed at his sexual interests.  I
later found out he was almost 100% a bottom and a cum hound. He liked
anything that came out of a cock, including piss. It took him a while to
understand his likes wouldn't shock us and they wouldn't make us look down
on him. Buster was up tight and had a hard time relaxing.

When Buster watched the activities in the steam room, he got hard, but
didn't do anything else for a week or so.  Ivan was siting on the marble
bench with Buster by his side.  Everyone else was occupied, so Ivan asked
him to suck his cock. Buster did that.

I watched from the corner of my eye. You could see Buster's body relax as
he sucked his friend's meat. Branford was watching too. He went over to
Buster and worked some lubricant into his ass. Instead of tensing up the
way most men react to having your ass touched, I saw Buster relax even
more.

Branford toyed with Buster's hole with his cock head. He just popped it in
and out of the sphincter, then he pushed his entire organ into Buster's
hole. You could sense the tension leaving Buster's body as the organ
penetrated deeper. Buster continued to suck Ivan.

When Branford began to thrust, Buster's enthusiasm for sucking Ivan
increased. After five minutes Branford pulled out.

"Don't stop," Buster moaned,

"Do you mind if someone takes my place?" Branford asked.

"Shit no!"  Buster replied.

Bob coated his cock and slipped it in Buster's ass.  Bob had a nice, thick
cock, Buster sighed in relief. He was happy when there was a cock in his
ass. When we went to the pool, Buster came alone a bit unwillingly. Ivan
made him come.  He got Buster to get on the bench and lie down.  Then he
placed Buster's legs on his shoulders.

"Do you mind if I sample your ass?" Ivan asked.  Buster smiled in answer.

"You're nice and open," Ivan remarked. "It's always soft and warm inside an
ass.  Are you comfortable?"

"Never been better," Butch said. "I've never done this before."

"Never been fucked?"

"Never been fucked while sucking a cock," Buster replied. "It's
nice. Really nice."

"I told you, you'd get to like it here," Ivan said. "Everyone's friendly
and helpful."

"I didn't know the guys were that helpful," Buster remarked.

Bob joined in the conversation. "I will say the Abbey has changed my view
of the golden years," he observed. "It's not what I expected."

"Shit, I was raised Baptist," Buster said. "My Ex was the church goer. She
left me for the Choir Director. This is the last place I expected to be."

"It's nice here," Mario said. "Everyone's nice."  He came over and stood
beside Buster and Ivan. Bluster turned his head and began sucking Mario's
cock. Mario responded immediately to the stimulation. Mario caressed
Buster's head as Buster sucked his cock.  For the first time since he had
come to the Abbey, Buster was relaxed and happy.  He looked contented.

On the other side of the pool, Franz was sitting on Branford's lap. I could
tell from the expressions on their faces Branford's cock was deep in
Franz's ass.  Franz was slowly twitching, I knew he was trying to work
Branford's cock into a better location. When it hit the spot, Franz would
moan. You could see him rubbing the cock against his prostate. The slender
rod of Branford's organ did the trick for Franz.

I glance over at Ivan.  It seemed Buster's sphincter was hitting his hot
spot too. Ron was next to me in the pool.

"All the bothers are having a good time, aren't they?" he asked. "We are
brothers."

In the course of the next few weeks, Buster was transformed. Buster was
downright ratty looking when he came here. He hadn't been eating well, or
exercising or sleeping.  He told Branford he had been living in a flop hose
with drug addicts and people he called "hippies."

I would have to admit, Franz's cooking helped Buster a lot. Having a job
also helped. He was weak when he came, but he quickly built his strength
up.  Ivan was a good gauge of men and eased Buster into a full schedule.

Branford was a mother hen with respect to health he watched over
Buster. Branford's massages soon included an extended anal
session. Branford told me he could ease it in so slowly Buster hardly knew
he was being fucked. "He likes it when it's really slow," Branford
explained. "It's hard to believe, but he's fallen asleep while I was in
him. He must be the most up tight man I've ever met, but as soon as a cock
pops into his ass, he relaxes. It's as if you flipped a switch and turned
off the anxiety."

While Branford talked nonstop, he was a good observer of men. He noticed
everything.  This included noting the sexual likes and preferences of each
of the men in the Abbey.  That included me. Branford was very well educated
with a PhD and post doctoral studies. I was surprised when he got along
well with Ron, Mario and Bob as well as Buster. At first I though he was
slumming, but Branford genuinely liked the other men.

Branford became interested in finding Ron's friend Edgar. It was obvious
Ron loved Edgar, but they had lost touch. Branford was a computer wiz and
went cyber hunting. Edgar's last name was Smith, so it was a difficult
search, but Branford was dogged.

He found Edgar one hundred miles away in Roanoke. Ron called his friend.
Branford had a car, so he arranged for them to meet. The meeting was
apparently a success. Ron asked me if Edgar could visit us.  I told him,
"Sure." A week later Edgar appeared at the Abbey. He was driving a
twenty-year-old Dodge, badly in need of a paint job. Ron hadn't described
Edgar, so I had no preconceptions. Edgar was a slight, almost delicate man
of about 40. He was about 5'-6", but weighed no more than 120 pounds.

Ron met him at the car and brought him over to meet me. "Brother Jules,
this is my friend Edgar," he said.  I shook hands.

"Hiya, Brother Jules," he said. Edgar had a very strong Southern accent. He
had a deep bass voice. The contrast between his small body and deep voice
was startling.  He had a big handle bar mustache and a week's growth of
beard. "Pretty place you have here. Ronnie said it was nice."

"Why don't you show him around, Ron?" I said. They went off. The two men
rejoined the rest of the brothers just before dinner. Edgar was quiet, but
began talking after he got use to us.  He was a cautious man.  He confessed
he had a poor background. "If you need a poster boy for fucked-up,
know-it-all teenager, it's me," he said. "I though I knew everything when I
was 16. Every year I get older, I get stupider."

"That's the way I feel sometimes," Butch said. "I thought I did everything
right, but that's not the way it turned out."

"Look on the bright side," Edgar suggested. "At least you didn't spend time
in the pen."

"What did they get you for?" I asked. I was afraid I had insulted him, but
he didn't take offence.

"Grand larceny," he replied. "I had a warm spot for red Mustangs.  The cops
noticed. I'd been in jail before for drunk and disorderly and for petty
theft, but the Mustang belonged to the Judge's daughter."

Butch laughed.  "Bad luck."

"Maybe it wasn't so bad.  I was headed downward and I could have done
something really bad," Edgar said. "The pen was awful, and I've been on the
straight and narrow ever since. Being an ex-con doesn't look good when you
want to get a job."

"I met you in the pen," Ron said.

"Well Ron saved my ass," Edgar explained. "Being a small, know-it-all,
twirp is really bad in the pen. Ron was big enough to protect me. Besides
he was in there for murder. They kept away from him."

"He was innocent," I said.

"They didn't know that," Edgar said. "You know, most of the men in the pen
said they were innocent.  Ron's the only one I believed. We got to be
friends. I'm sorry we lost touch."

"Why is that?" Branford asked.  Edgar was quiet and looked embarrassed.

"I wasn't too good at school," Edgar said. "To tell you the truth, I can't
read or write worth shit."

"That doesn't help you get a job either, does it?" I said.

"Dishwashing and short order cook are about the best jobs I can get," Edgar
said. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Once he got comfortable, Edgar was funny and had a store of odd stories. We
had a festive dinner and went to the steam room.  Ron must have told Edgar
about the steam room. Edgar didn't object at all. When he came into the
steam room, he said, "I know I look like the missing link, so you don't
need to say it."

"Don't worry, we're missing link friendly," Branford said. Edgar's hair was
reddish-brown and he looked like a scrawny orangutang. His head was large,
but the rest of him was undersized. I couldn't tell much about his
cock. The hair was so thick you couldn't see.

He sat between Ron and Branford. Ron put his arm around him. Franz entered
with Ivan. Bob, Buster and Mario sat next to me. While we talked, Mario got
on the floor and started to suck Buster. Franz did the same to Ivan.

"You're a friendly group here," Edgar remarked. "Are you guys couples or is
this a more open group?"

"You can't get much more open than us," Ivan replied. "We're all free
agents. Do you see anyone you like?"

"Damn!"  Edgar replied. "There's nothing here I don't like!"  He looked
around the steam room. "You're all available?"

"I guess you could say if you're available, we're available," I said. " I
thought you had enough sex in the pen?"

"Only with Ron," Edgar replied. "No one in the asked, except for Ron.  It's
not the same."

"We can all agree with that," Bob said. "Ask away!"

Edgar turned out to be a sexual spark plug. We all liked sex, but not as
much as Edgar. Actually I think we did, but we didn't express it the way
Edgar did. Edgar liked it and let you know just how much he liked it. He
provided a running commentary on what he was feeling.