Date: Mon, 19 Nov 2001 09:32:21 -0800
From: auto1264@hushmail.com
Subject: Men of Survivor 3

Again, Survivor doesn't belong to me. Brandon, Lex, and the other men of
Survivor don't belong me. This is written only for fantasy purposes, and
has no bearing on the real lives or sexualities of the men involved. Don't
archive or distribute this story without my permission.

Don't read this if you are under 18, or under the age of majority in your
area.

Thanks to those who responded to my last chapter. I appreciate your kind
words. As always I'd love to have more feedback, as constructive criticism
or praise. I know Lex isn't hunk of the month, but I think he's sexy and
wanted to expand the story to include more of the Survivor Africa men.
BTW, his tattoos are Japanese, but I made up the rest of the information
about the tattoos.


%%

Brandon trudged to the water hole, canteen in hand. Not a sashay, just a
trudge. He was born to party. Work was for boring people. Unfortunately,
the life of the party wouldn't be alive too much longer if he didn't start
doing at least as much work as ever-perky Kim.

"Thank you so much Lindsey, thank you so much."

He sniffled as he whispered, because he knew it wasn't her fault. But if
she hadn't been so whiny, so ready to cry, the denture gang would have
spared her and picked an easier target, like...Silas. Hmm.

Kim and Lindsey took Silas's departure really bad. Brandon was upset, but
hey, he'd had flings before -- this time he had a pickup in the desert
instead of the dance floor. Anyway, behind that fine ass and highly
impressive cock, there was a shocking lack of grey matter. Apparently God
only blessed him in certain areas.

Brandon dipped his finger in the water, amazed at the clear blue tint only
slightly dulled by the view through his sunglasses. Almost as blue as his
large, oval eyes, his best feature.

As Brandon filled his canteen, he heard footsteps. Lex, new alpha male of
Samburu, walked up. Brandon smiled, partially out of a good almost-morning
affection, mostly because he was at face level with Lex's shorts-draped
crotch.

"How are you doing man?"

Lex smiled his warm, only slightly condescending Daddy smile at Brandon as
Brandon finished filling the canteen. Brandon knew Lex's words probably
meant, "how did you get off your ass before sundown?"

"I'm just dandy Lex. I tell you, I would have come here more often if I
hadn't been so afraid Frank might drown me."

His grin grew wider, because he enjoyed insulting Frank. Even if he wasn't
the open homophobe Brandon had expected, Brandon knew the type, and he knew
the more he bitched about him the better the chance Lex would target Frank
after the merger.

Lex nodded, ruefully, breaking Brandon's crotch-stare as he kneeled down
beside him. As he quickly pulled his green tee over his head, his extensive
collection of body art came to life in the sunshine. Blue scales, purple
dragon tails, stamps from other languages, other cultures, other lifetimes.

His skinny-but-powerful legs were marked by less tats, but more circular,
larger and individual. Brandon admired the artwork, quickly flitting his
eyes up and down the expanse of mostly bare thigh.

Lex turned to look at him a few times, smiling as he washed his shirt in
the once-muddy waters. Brandon pretended to check the cap on his canteen,
only staring when Lex wasn't. Years of checking out bulges had taught him
how to peek with some stealth.

What really interested him was the huge display on Lex's flat stomach,
creeping into his shorts. How far did it go? How far had Lex gone in his
desire to change himself?

"...when I pissed in Lindsey's mouth when she was sleeping, you do know it
nothing personal against her."

Realizing he'd missed part of the conversation, Brandon nodded quickly.

"Of course not. I totally understand that."

A warm laugh emitted from Lex, his aquamarine eyes briefly alive as he
shook his head at Brandon.

"Y'know, I'll be glad to answer any questions."

Brandon rolled his eyes when his mind processed what Lex had actually said,
smacking his palm into his sunglasses. He decided to be honest, or at least
partially honest.

"Well, I know you're a family man, and I never really pictured family men
as having so many..."

"Earrings? Tattoos?"

"...yeah. When did you get the tattoos?"

"A bunch of different times."

His thin fingers swept up his moderately muscled arms.

"These, right after I got out of high school. It took all my money. Of
course I'd been saving up for five years."

Brandon hesitantly extended his left hand, waiting for Lex's quick nod for
permission to touch. When he agreed, Brandon used a spider's slow,
spindling touch, skiing up and down the ink river and enjoying the feel of
warm male flesh besides his own.

"What about the rest?"

Being brave, he slid his hand across the spiny circles above Lex's right
nipple, making sure the heel of his hand brushed across the small, dark
nub.

"When I got married."

"Did your wife get any?"

A small smile.

"Hell no. Well, no tattoos."

Brandon, genuinely curious instead of rolling his eyes through another
boring family conversation, asked his question as he kept his hand on Lex's
chest.

"How do you mesh everything? Do you miss your old life?"

Lex sighed, Brandon's hand pushed closer to Lex's heartbeat at the exhale
of breath.

"Man, I wish I could lie. I miss parts. No responsibilities...who wouldn't
miss that?  But I lived that life as hard and as fast as I wanted to, for
as long as I wanted to. Now I've got my family, I make my own hours, I work
by my own rules, I play drums in a rock band. I've always done whatever the
fuck I wanted, not what other people or this great big society around us
expected, and I don't regret any of it."

When Lex smiled, his face lost the usual serious tones and became
comedian-rubbery, set off by his shock of black hair, spiky and
punkish. Brandon took in his features, glinting against the shadowy shield
over his eyes, a long moment of silence, of nothing but short breaths,
until Lex grasped his frail wrist.

Brandon expected the hand to be placed on the ground, hopefully not broken
or twisted. Instead, Lex placed it against his left thigh.

"The one on my calf..."

"Looks like a Magic-8 Ball."

Lex laughed, running his right hand through his hair.

"Well, I did get that for luck, when I applied for Survivor, but it's
Japanese."

"Are they all Japanese?"

A slow nod.

Brandon wondered why a man with a rebellious spirit would want to be
stained by such an orderly culture, but there was so much about Lex he
would never understand.

Another long pause passed between them, Brandon's hand at his side, Lex
putting his shirt onto a rock to dry. Brandon watched him walking away, his
back mostly bare, his rib cage straining in his tightly skinned frame as he
returned to his seat. Brandon felt Lex's eyes on him, almost evaluating
him, the way Lex did with them all, but with more intensity this time.

Carefully, knowing he could be sealing his own doom, Brandon slid his
fingers into the left leg of Lex's camouflage shorts, an entry into his
shadowed slab of thigh. As the massaging circles grew, Brandon gaped at the
explosions of red, green, and yellow on Lex's belly, rubbing that belly
with his free hand, thumb digging inside his navel. Pinkie scraping Lex's
zipper, Brandon finally caught his breath long enough to ask his question.

"How far does this tattoo go?"

Looking down at himself, Lex had another fuzzy, patriarchal grin, sitting
back on his elbows.

"Take off your clothes."

Brandon shook his head, hand on his hip. This was certainly going to be
more elaborate than the desert delights with Silas.

"What?"

Lex peered at him through slitted eyes, eyes suddenly dark and detached.

"No offense dude, but the way I see, this is a fair exchange."

Brandon considered telling him to go fuck himself, with all these types of
sexual mind games he was trying to play in the middle of the 500 other mind
games going on. Sex was usually getting clothes off as fast as
possible. Strippers were for stripping. His tricks cared more about a few
crucial parts of his body than the body itself anyway.

But the stare was waiting for him, bemused, studying him, so concentrated
he half-expected his clothes to tear off all by themselves. Something about
the easy control made the thickness in Brandon's shorts swell.

"I bet that's the only type of tent you've ever pitched."

Staring down at his khakied erection, Brandon rolled his eyes yet again.

"I don't know WHY I'm doing this."

A little bit of music would've made the situation much more comfortable,
but if they asked for music Jeff Probst would probably walk out humming the
theme song. And that would only be entertaining if he walked out naked.

Summoning up his courage, Brandon wrapped his arms around his waist, slowly
lifting his white undershirt, exposing his barely tanned, flat
stomach. Arms upraised, hairy pits sweating in the sun, the material
scratched his nipples as he tossed the shirt to the ground beside
him. Running his elongated digits down his smooth midsection, he unsnapped
and unzipped his shorts, each separation of the metal teeth echoing through
the dry air. Sliding his other hand through his close-cropped brown hair,
he sucked the thumb into his mouth, gliding it down his ostrich neck, over
his bumpy Adam's Apple, painstakingly between his large, dusky nipples
until the small tits hardened.

Shorts careening to the ground, his hands dived into his white underwear,
turgid pink shaft leakingly transparent against the paper-thin cotton.
Toying with himself, he caught Lex's eye for a moment, his analytical gaze
growing into lusty appreciation, casually adjusting the bulge in his shorts
as a sign of approval.

Thumbs in the waistband, Brandon spun around, bending over to unlace and
remove his combat boots. Kicking them to the side, he stood upright,
exposing his tight buttocks a layer of flesh at a time. Finally, totally
nude, his loose sac dangling between his legs as he tossed his briefs
away. He was about to turn around, give the final piece, when he heard
Lex's voice, determined, no hint of desperation.

"Spread your cheeks."

Biting back a moan, not wanting to break the atmosphere, he slid his hands
back, one on each small cheek, displaying his puckering, wet hole. A bead
of sweat dribbled from the small of his back, nesting in the damp hairs
surrounding his chute.

Several moments passed, Brandon imagining Lex's intense, hooded stare
boring inside him, marking each and every body part with a tongue, a
finger, a penis, mentally shifting his engorged phallus up the waiting
orifice, biting at his ear and neck until he drew blood.

"Turn sideways."

Shifting with a quarter-turn to the right, seeing that as his better side,
his half-hard cock weighed heavily between his legs, occasionally dripping
clear, slick seed onto the African floor. He would have been fully hard by
now, he always was, but something in Lex's behavior told him the best had
yet to happen.

Lex stood, now clad only in his black boxer briefs, taking a small step
forward. His gaze was concentrated, studied, arms folded at his
waist. Brandon could see the invisible notebook in his hands.

"You know what to do."

Swallowing a large gulp of air, Brandon shakily placed his right hand on
his prick, greasing the dry pole with oily pre-cum, fondling the sensitive
area between his balls and the base of his cock, scratching a thumbnail
against his shiny, blood-red crown.

His left hand journeyed between his quivering mounds, methodically
inserting index and middle fingers into his waiting cleft. Nails grinding
against soft tissue, first knuckles pushing past the inner walls, middle
finger nearing his prostate. Two more fingers joining, stretching him open
as Lex graded him, giving him silent points with a turn of the head when
Brandon's seething, slippery hardon reached for the skies, a hand on his
hip when Brandon finger-fucked himself deep enough for his ass-mouth to
begin stuttering shut.

At the point where he was ready for the final stroke, Lex motioned for him
to walk over. Not the easiest thing to do at the moment, 6 and a half
inches, fully hard. It wasn't huge but it wasn't comfortable.

Standing face to face, Lex ran his hands across Brandon's forehead, over
his eyelids, down his nose and lewd, large mouth, neck, shoulder blades,
back, buttocks, kneeling to reach thighs, calves, feet, insides of thighs,
between his balls, squeezing a string of goo from his erection, hands up
his porcelain, soft belly, chest, pinching his juicy nipples almost
scientifically, finally back up to his forehead.

Brandon had never been a gym queen, and was never going to be. He'd always
been skinny, weak, and if that wasn't acceptable then fuck
acceptable. Under Lex's probing touch, his satisfied, complimentary stare,
Brandon knew he didn't have to be ashamed of his body. Lex, nearly as
skinny as he, was an epicenter of power, one of the sexiest men Brandon had
ever met.

Feeling a hand against the back of his head, Brandon complied, leaning to
kiss the scattered artwork across Lex's chest, suckling and biting his
nubs, leaving a teeth tattoo on his neck, circling his tongue inside the
tempting navel. Starting back at the top, he smelled his morning-washed
hair, suckled the lobes, tugging on the small golden hoops until Lex
grunted and pushed him onward. Switching to the shoulder blades, he
extended his tongue, making a soppy saliva trail down and across the
multicolored inkmap in front of him.

Kneeling now, he looked up, his oceanic eyes silently asking permission,
permission granted with a stroke against his hairline. Pulling down the
boxer briefs, he tilted his head backwards, better to take in the museum
that was Lex's crotch.

Bold, brave streaks of every shade in a rainbow path down his left hip, a
panorama of language, articulate and alive. His dark, curly pubes and tight
balls were the contrast, a perfect contrast to his foreskin. Brandon gasped
at the blue and green flames, overlapping above two dark red, wafting
objects. Curtains. They were curtains, billowing, slowly receding, inch by
inch with the foreskin. Brandon ran his fingers across the disappearing
masterpiece, worshipful.

"That's so beautiful."

Lex nodded, his thumb scratching behind Brandon's ear as Brandon took in
the pinkish penis, only slightly shorter than Silas's, with a decided hook
to the left, steadily leaking onto his fingers and Lex's hairy thigh.

The shaft, surprisingly thick for his body type, marked with the usual
veins, and a dark circle around the base, was untouched by the illustration
coloring so much of the rest of his body.

The ultimate contrast.

As if to answer Brandon's questions, Lex pushed the back of his head toward
the prize, Brandon opening to feast.

"Bob, my tattoo guy, said...right there yeah...it was already enough on
it's own. The curtains were his idea, said it was li-like the preview of
coming attractions. He sucked me dry about 3 times until I could stay
flaccid. Shit..."

Brandon moved his mouth away, leaving the spit-shined length to nip at his
balls, coating them one at a time, then together, before moving up, grazing
his teeth against the sensitive skin of his underside.

Moaning loud now, Lex shoved Brandon's head back on his shaft, shifting to
whispering as he roughly pushed Brandon through the face-fuck. Brandon's
unflagging cock nudged against his calf throughout, as stickily insistent
as Brandon's hands were as they squeezed Lex's cheeks.

"Wanna see you jacking yourself off...pumping cause I told you to -- yeah
just like Ethan, like my baby Ethan - gonna do what I need, drain me, suck
me like a bottle, all mine...NGGHH..."

Brandon caught most of the semen that suddenly exploded his
throat. Pivoting in and out of his mouth, Lex began controlling the shots
from his gun, as easily as he controlled everything else in the camp.

Hurriedly masturbating, Brandon stroked himself until the pain of the
largest swelling started, Lex nudging his big toe into Brandon's sac being
the final push needed to send him ejaculating all over his space in Mother
Africa's wide open plains.

Groggy, Brandon stood up, part of him wondering what grade Lex gave him for
the day. If this changed their relationship. He didn't really want to ask;
he wanted to keep the moment for what it was.

Lex took another long, accumulative look at Brandon, gently kissing him on
the forehead as their final contact. Brandon smiled his biggest Cheshire
cat smile at his new lover, a smile for once drained of all acidity.

Brandon watched Lex walking towards the water hole, his small, supple
cheeks in motion, still red from the tight grip. And he smiled, at the
unexpected bond, at finding out what he'd already suspected of Ethan, and
at getting his share of protein for the day.

"Thanks Daddy," Brandon whispered with a smirk as he gathered up his
clothes before walking to the water hole. "Thank you so much."