Date: Fri, 23 Feb 2001 01:17:25 EST
From: MikeBranson@aol.com
Subject: Happiest Place On Earth - Part 2

DISCLAIMER: The following is just a fantasy. All the
characters in the story are fictional. Please do not
go further if you are under 21 and/or you are not
looking for stories that explicitly describe man-to-
man sex.

HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH - Part 2
Mike Branson c 2001

Confession #2: One of the first assignments in my
freshman Creative Writing class was to start keeping a
journal.  Mr. Stratton insisted that we call him by
his first name, Rick, and he dared us to "keep it
real" by not setting limitations.  "Color outside the
lines," he would say.  The journal did not have to
reflect current events, or, even, actual events.  The
emphasis was, is, and should always be on creativity.

This is what made me want to recapture the details of
the events that took place last summer.  This is how
the idea of "The Happiest Place On Earth" came to be.
This is why my first entry was a recollection of that
Saturday, the first day of the best of my life.

(Chew on this, Rick.)


Mom left at the crack of dawn this morning for a
weekend turnaround trip to Vegas with a couple of
girlfriends from work.  Before leaving, she quietly
crept into my room and placed what looked like an
envelope on my dresser.  She was trying so hard to be
stealth about it that I didn't have the heart to tell
her I was awake.  I was kind of afraid she might make
her way over to the bed to kiss me on the forehead or
grace me in some other way with a maternal display of
affection, but I was spared, thank God.  I'd had a
piss-on for the better part of an hour and hadn't been
able to bring myself to get up and pee.  My boner was
unmistakable under the sheet.  Any closer and Mom
would've embarrassed the shit out of both of us.
(Note to self: Get a damn lock for that door!)

Once I was certain Mom had left the house, I threw off
the sheet and the coolness of the morning air hit me,
hardening my nipples.  I adjusted the pillow beneath
my head in order that I could get a better look down
the length of my body.  My cock was aching for
attention but I didn't immediately touch it.
Mentally, I was able to make it move slightly.  I
watched it rise and fall as I tensed my muscles,
eyeing the piss slit open and close as if wanting to
say something.  Finally, my cock relaxed itself
against my body, its head coming to rest in the taut
depression of my navel.  From what daylight there was
beginning to make its way through the cracks of the
blinds, I could get a clear view of the shave job I'd
done on my pubes last night before I went to bed.  I
was so worked up over thoughts of Uncle Brad that I
couldn't shake the horns no matter how hard I tried.
On a whim, I got the bright idea of taking a razor to
my nads and shaving them smooth as a baby's ass.
You'd have thought I was performing goddamned open-
heart surgery for the care that I took as I gently ran
the Gillette through the foamy lather I'd rubbed all
over the twins.  I'd made quite a mess before the
procedure was complete, with little blond pubes
scattered all over the place.  But, after I'd washed
off in the shower and towel-dried myself, I inspected
my now hairless sac and the new look (and feel) was
awesome.  I remember Tony once telling me that it
would itch like a motherfucker if I totally shaved
myself, but I don't remember if that applied to a nut
job alone.  No matter, it was worth it.  Now, as I
massaged my newly bald balls, I closed my eyes and
tried to imagine Uncle Brad's sac.  I pictured
massive, man-sized nuts with tufts of fine brown hair
and the musk of a sweaty jock.  Lost in my thoughts,
it took a minute to register that my hands were now
underneath my ass, caressing the mounds of my cheeks.
First in circular motions and then, with more
concentrated effort, a parting of the two.  I brought
my legs up for easier access and with my right hand I
zoned in on the forbidden entrance of my virgin hole.
The tightness was intimidating.  I stuck my index
finger in my mouth and sucked on it, wetting it as
much as I could.  Then, I returned to my hole and
slowly, carefully, pushed my way in.  First one
finger, then both my index and middle fingers
together.  It got easier as I continued with each
thrust and before I knew it I was pounding my ass in
an attempt to gain as much access as I could
withstand.  Eyes still shut, my fingers became Uncle
Brad's fingers.  And then, without warning, as if it
were the most natural thing in the world, I pictured
his cock making that journey in and out, faster and
deeper, harder and further.OH FUCK!!!  I knew I
couldn't last much longer.  I grabbed my dick with my
left hand and squeezed it forcefully.  It took less
than a minute before the eruption introduced itself
and as I stroked with my left hand I continued to
finger fuck myself in a wild frenzy.  I arched my back
and opened my mouth, hoping to get some of the jizz in
or around my face.  Sure as shit, the second gush made
direct contact to the lower lip and I was able to
catch it with my tongue.  I let its salty warmth rest
in my mouth, savoring the reward.  When at last I
swallowed, it was Uncle Brad's cum that made its way
down my throat.  I brought my ass-intruding fingers to
my nose and inhaled what I imagined to be Uncle Brad's
scent.  Without hesitation, I placed my fingers in my
mouth and sucked gently on them.  With my left hand I
spread a mini-puddle of cum that had landed just under
my chin all over my chest and the flatness of my
stomach.  When eventually I opened my eyes, I looked
down to see my upper body glistening as if someone had
rubbed baby oil all over me.  Spent, I threw my legs
over the side of the bed and stood.  What a way to
start the day!

On my way to the bathroom I stopped to check out the
envelope Mom had left me.  There was $50.00 in cash
and a note telling me to have a great time with Uncle
Brad.  "I just did", I said to myself.  And how!


P.S. Rick, if you've made it this far, I've been
meaning to tell you-I'm a dead ringer for a young
Kevin Williams.  That's the resemblance you've been
eluding to, isn't it?  If you say the name doesn't
mean anything to you, you're full of shit.  It didn't
mean anything to me until the night Uncle Brad popped
in a classic video called BIG GUNS and forwarded it to
the scene where Mike Henson pops Kevin's cherry in a
motel room.  (How fucking hot was that?!)  When you
told me that I reminded you of someone, but you
couldn't remember who, I almost busted a gut.  Can't
let on that Mr. Creative Writing knows his gay porn
stars, can we?  You think YOU have secrets, Mr.
Ambercrombie & Fitch?  Let's swap, shall we?)


End of second installment.  Comments welcome at
mikebranson@aol.com.  To those of you who e-mailed me
after my initial effort, I cannot begin to thank you
enough.  Please stay in touch!