Date: Sat, 7 Nov 2015 15:05:34 +0000 (UTC)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Business of Pleaaure, chapters 6 & 7 (gay incest)

The following is a work of gay erotic fiction.  Any resemblance to any real
person or situation would be entirely coincidental and wildly improbable.
In fact, the author has no clue in real life of what he is writing about.
The story does involve, it is to be hoped, vivid descriptions of sex acts
among adult males, including male relatives, who are unlikely to produce
deformed offspring as a result.  All characters are above the age for legal
consent to sexual activity, and all are eager participants.  Do not read
this if you are underage in your locality or if downloading homoerotic
material would be illegal.  This is masturbatory fantasy material, guys,
not to be attempted at home.  In real life, be faithfully monogamous, or
wrap it up!  And slide me an email to let me know someone is out there!
letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com

Please-- You were raised better than this!  Kick in your share to keep this
site up and running by sending a contribution to Nifty right away.


THE BUSINESS OF PLEASURE

By Kevin Donovan

CHAPTER SIX

"POOCH"

 Though he spent a great deal of time at Mansfield, Cooter mainly moved
back to his own home, since Ditto was now working full time, nights, and
sleeping through much of the day.  That meant that Ditto usually went to
bed alone when he came in at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning.

 Not all nights were fully booked, of course.  After that first Monday
night, those tended to be slower, and occasionally, there would be an open
Tuesday night, or a night with only one or two tricks scheduled.  Even so,
the money was much better than with any hourly job Ditto could have gotten,
and the weekends were very busy and profitable.  When he was free, Ditto
called Cooter over, and they would often go down to the river to the
fishing camp to enjoy the water and the informality of the riverside.
Pooch and the Twins were often there, too, but the boys had separate spaces
in the rambling old wooden lodge, so they were able to engage in their own
sexual pursuits in private there.  Sometimes, Benji and/or Deuce would join
them.  But on work nights, Ditto usually wound up in his own bed alone.

 One early morning, just before dawn, he was sleeping deeply, but he began
to be aware that someone was sucking his dick, deeply and sensually.  The
guy was pretty good at his craft.  At first, his somnolent mind just
enjoyed the feeling uncritically.  Then, as he awakened slightly, he
assumed that Cooter was with him, though why he should appear at such an
hour was not explained.  He cracked an eye and looked downward.

 The head he saw at his crotch was not Cooter's.  It was dark, and the hair
was longer.  It was Pooch.

 Ditto continued to breathe evenly, as though continuing to sleep, while he
figured this out.  Pooch sucked, and Ditto resisted ejaculation, though it
was tough with such a stimulus.  In a while, Pooch tired of his activity
and began to stroke Ditto's thigh and hip languidly.  Very gently, he
rolled Ditto over onto his stomach.  Ditto continued to snooze.  He felt
his legs being pushed apart gingerly.  There was another pause, then a wet
mouth fastened itself onto his anus.

 Damn.  Pooch was sucking his ass!  The younger teen licked and probed
gently for several minutes, then withdrew.  A finger carefully wormed its
way inside, where it met lube from the previous work-shift.  It began to
slide in and out, slowly and softly.  It went deeper, hitting the Spot.
Ditto moaned, but still feigned sleep.  A second finger joined the first,
and they began to twist around.  They were removed.

 `Damned if that sonofabitch isn't going to fuck my ass,' thought Ditto.

 And he was right.  The softly-blunt head of a full-size erect Mansfield
cock pressed against his opening.  He sighed and relaxed, still feigning
sleep, and it slipped inside.  It seemed like it kept coming in for a long
time!  It was easily as long as Cooter's, and as thick.  Pooch's hands
pressed the mattress on either side of Ditto's shoulders, and the weight of
his hips forced the cock in to the max.  Trimmed pubes brushed his
buttocks.  The rising and falling of a long rod fucking him began to
torment his anus with pleasurable sensations.  Ditto snorted as if his
slumber were being just slightly disturbed.  Pooch held still cautiously
for a second, then resumed thrusting as soon as Ditto's breathing became
normal again.

 Pooch was too young and horny to keep it up for very long.  He ejaculated
forcefully into his big brother's colon, breathing raggedly but quietly.
Ditto lay very still as the youngster carefully withdrew his dripping dick
and disengaged his limbs from atop his partner.  He slipped off into the
darkness.  Ditto chuckled.


 When he awoke late in the morning, he was perplexed.  Did that happen or
not?  There was a dream-like quality to it, as he had been at least half
asleep most of the time.  Yet it seemed completely real at the same time.
He flexed his rectum, and felt a glob of cum drool out.  Oh, yeah, it was
real alright.  Pooch sneaked in and fucked him in his sleep last night.
Should he charge the boy $250 plus tax and tip, or should he just chalk it
up to family relations?  It felt pretty good—-better than either of the
two tricks Dit had bottomed for the previous night.  And Cooter hadn't been
around to satisfy his cravings for cock.  He grinned.  "Let's call it a wet
dream," he said to himself.

 Ditto showered, cleaned his ass, and went down for breakfast, which was
lunch for most people.  Benji had the bases covered with a grilled BLT with
egg.  He and the twins, with Pooch, were just finishing their sandwiches,
and speaking of going down to the river.

 "I had the damnedest dream last night," Ditto said wonderingly.

 Nobody seemed much interested, but he persevered.  "It seemed absolutely
real, it was so weird."

 Still no response, but Pooch pushed back from the table.

 "You were in it, Pooch."

 The guilty party stopped, looking a little unsettled, then resumed taking
his plate to the dishwasher.

 "Oh, yeah?  What did I do, Dit?"

 "You fucked me."

 The Twins guffawed in perfect unison.  Ditto could usually tell them apart
only by the small mole Peyton had on his left hip.  Parker punched Pooch on
the butt cheek.

 "Way to go, Pooch.  You got a freebie off the Workin' Man," he teased.

 "Yeah, right," chimed in Peyton.  "He now thinks EVERYbody wants his ass.
He does it so much, he dreams of it."  Pooch just grinned.

 "I have what you only dream of, you mean, Peyt," Ditto retorted.
Obviously, the secret was out about his activities at the Rosebud.  Who
gave him away, he wondered?  Some of their friends had heard from somebody,
who heard from somebody, who had been with him, no doubt.

 Peyton smiled slightly guiltily at Parker.  `Well, that settles that
question,' Ditto thought.  Guess they have some of that fucking outside of
dreams, too, like we've all been thinking.' The Twins got up, put away
their dinnerware, and moved toward the door.

 Benji was looking slightly bemused and puzzled by the whole exchange.  It
was sure great having a `mom' who couldn't care less who was fucking whom
under his roof, Ditto realized.
 "Let's go," said Parker to Peyton, "Before those two get to dreaming
again.  I don't want to be around when that happens."  Interestingly, his
dick seemed about half-way extended.

 They headed for the back door, with Pooch close behind, but Ditto added,
just before Pooch escaped through the closing door, "Well, I just wanted to
say, it was a pretty hot dream, seemed totally real.  I hope I have it
again sometime.  I got off on it."  The door slammed.

 Benji burst out laughing, as Ditto resumed eating his sandwich innocently.

 "Oh, you boys," declared Benji, "You're worse than my brothers and I
were."

 "Are," corrected Ditto.  He'd seen them carrying on down at the river all
his life.

 There wasn't much time for levity after that, though.  Within the hour,
Cooter called, as upset as Ditto had known him to be since his mother died.
His dad was back from work, way early.  He'd been laid off permanently from
his job at the parts plant.  Cooter was distraught.  The old man was
apparently destitute, had virtually nothing saved.  He'd lose their house
within months, and there would be nothing to contribute to Cooter's upkeep
or schooling.  He, in fact, would have to pitch in to help support his dad.
He had two weeks left before he could start work—what would they do?

 "I'm hanging up, Cooter.  I'm calling Deuce right now.  Call you back."

 In an emergency, action came first with the Mansfields, comforting words
later if at all.

 Filling Benji in as he phoned, he rang his dad's cell-phone and explained
the situation.

 Deuce was sympathetic, but not immediately helpful.  He had nothing to
offer, job-wise.

 "Can't you hire him at the Club? Bouncer, anything?"

 "Have you ever looked at the men who work for me at the Club," Deuce
asked.  "They do not look like Larry Lang."

 That was true.  Every single guy who worked at the Club was a magnificent
specimen of manhood, no matter what his job.  Hell, even the janitor used
to escort, and looked like he still could.

 Benji cleared his throat.  "How about me?" he asked.

 "What do you mean?"

 "I can hire him.  I need him, as a matter of fact."

 "Oh?  To do what?"

 "To manage the farm for me.  He has excellent mechanical skills, can fix
anything, and we sure have a lot needs fixing.  He can supervise day
workers and farm help.  Joe Johnson just quit and moved to North Carolina
with his new girl friend two weeks ago—-frankly, I was glad to see the
back of both of them-- and I haven't even posted the job yet.  Things are
kind of starting to build up, actually."

 Ditto ran over, phone still in hand, and kissed his uncle on the mouth.

 "That's perfect! You're the greatest!"  He filled Deuce in on the idea,
signed off, and began to call Cooter back.

 "Oh, and don't forget, it comes with a house."

 "Huh?"

 "Yeah, you know.  That white house with the porch that's on the farm road
to the river?  It's as nice as the house the Langs have already.  He could
sell that one and not be in such a tight situation."

 Just then, Cooter answered his phone.

 "You and your dad get out here, now, Dude!"

 So in short order, Larry and Ricky Lang moved out onto the Mansfield
estate, into the farm manager's house.  In passing back and forth from
house to river, Ditto saw Ricky sun-bathing nude in the yard several times
and stopped to chat (after all, he was always nude on the property, too),
and invited him to join the boys down on the river, which he sometimes did,
if he wasn't working.  One of those times, Larry was on the porch having a
beer.  He was naked, too, and looking much fitter, very quickly.  The farm
work was good for him, and it soon became much more apparent where the Lang
boys had gotten some of their looks, though it remained obvious that most
was from their pretty mother.

 Awhile back, Ricky had revealed to Cooter that Deuce had called him into
the office at the Club to invite him to do a live show with his brother.
He had eagerly agreed and was looking forward to it.  Together, they told
their dad, who promised to stay away this time.

 Cooter didn't move into the farm manager's house, though.  He moved into
the big house with Ditto.  The two made the decision, just about that time,
that they were not just friends and sex-buddies, they were a couple.

 That meant that Cooter shared Ditto's king-size bed, and it meant that he
would be in it alone until Ditto came home from work, and until Cooter
himself started working.  In the two weeks since Ditto's first experience
of vivid dreaming, there had been some further developments.

 "You need to prepare yourself, Cooter.  If you sleep in this bed alone,
you may have some very weird dreams," warned Ditto.  Cooter, of course,
wanted the whole story.

 "They come in two kinds, at least for me.  We'll have to see if you get
them, too.  Anyway, in one kind of dream, you're tired as can be and
sleeping away very soundly.  Suddenly, you become aware that your cock is
being sucked, very well. You can't imagine who.  Now normally, it might be
me, right?  But this will be some time when I am not due home yet for a
while.  So you become dimly aware that someone else, some unknown person,
male—-you can tell because he is doing such a fantastic job-—is
sucking you off.  In your case, Mr. Quick-trigger, you may actually cum in
his mouth.  But I advise you, at all costs, to stay asleep.  Give no sign
of being awake.  Because, Dude, there is more!

 "Your dream bed-mate will soon get you in position to go to work on your
ass.  I've learned you might as well just roll over or spread `em.  He gets
horny and impatient.  But remember, stay asleep.  He will fuck your ass
from here til Tuesday.  Then, he slips away, and you just keep on sleeping.
But you wake up next morning with a butt-load of cum."

 "Have you gotten a look at this dream lover?"

 "Just a glimpse.  He looks a lot like Pooch."

 "No shit.  Well, I guess I'm up for a good dream about Pooch.  What else?"

 "Then the other kind of dream happens less often, well so far only once
for me.  Same routine, really, so just stay asleep, but in it you'll notice
right off there are two body-weights on the bed.  Your dick gets worked
over super-good.  I KNOW you'll come for these dream suckers.  And then,
they both fuck your lights out."

 "Don't tell me-—these apparitions look like the Twins, I bet."

 "You got it.  So be prepared, but let me know when or if it happens."

 "Damn, Dude, I'll have a hard time going to sleep now, just waiting and
watching."

 "Well, in that case, I won't have to wake you when I come in.  I'll be the
one that looks like me and makes you fuck me back."

 "I may fuck those other dreams back, too.  You know, I like to fuck."

 It was less than a week before Ditto came home from work on a Wednesday
night to find both Cooter and Pooch in his bed, sound asleep.  Ditto slid
in beside Cooter and shook him.

 "What's this?"

 "Oh—well, he was fucking me, and I wasn't finished yet, so I kind of
grabbed him and rolled him over and fucked his ass back."

 "Cooter, I told you to stay asleep."

 "I can't fuck in my sleep, Dit."

 "How do you know he's OK with getting fucked, Idiot?"

 "I could tell because he kept saying, `fuck me, fuck me.'"

 Pooch stirred across the king-size bed.  "Huh?  Whazzup? Oh, Ditto."

 "What the fuck, Dude!  Why are you in here fucking with my man?"

 "Well—YOU weren't using him.  And he had that big hard-on."

 "He always has a hard-on.  And how did you know unless you were in here in
bed with him?"

 "Busted."

 "Pooch, who else are you fucking with?  Because we are very strict about
who cums in our asses, Dweeb. This could be serious."

 "Only one other guy."

 "And?"

 "You, Stupid.  You're the only other one."

 "That means your were cherry in your ass, then, because I never did you."

 Pooch grinned at Cooter, and Cooter raised his eyebrows at Ditto.

 "Score another cherry for the Big Dog," crowed Cooter.

 "Well, roll over, Pooch.  I owe you."

 Pooch got on his hands and knees, and Ditto, who was rock hard just from
listening to the account of Cooter taking his cherry, slid his obelisk into
the soft, dark hole.  Pooch got a faraway look in his eyes.

 "Damn.  You guys are both huge."

 "Yeah—have you looked down lately?  You're no weenie yourself."

 Ditto gave his brother a royal fucking and bred his gut.

 "You're mine, now, Bro.  And I'm yours, I guess.  We've each planted
seed."

 Ditto rolled over in the middle, between the two, and pulled the sheet up
over them.  Both were quiet for a moment. Then Pooch said softly, "Does
this mean I get to sleep in here with you guys now?"

 Cooter snorted.

 "We'll see," said Ditto tiredly.  He was almost asleep.


 * * * * *


The following is a work of gay erotic fiction.  Any resemblance to any real
person or situation would be entirely coincidental and wildly improbable.
In fact, the author has no clue in real life of what he is writing about.
The story does involve, it is to be hoped, vivid descriptions of sex acts
among adult males, including male relatives, who are unlikely to produce
deformed offspring as a result.  All characters are above the age for legal
consent to sexual activity, and all are eager participants.  Do not read
this if you are underage in your locality or if downloading homoerotic
material would be illegal.  This is masturbatory fantasy material, guys,
not to be attempted at home.  In real life, be faithfully monogamous, or
wrap it up!  And slide me an email to let me know someone is out there!
letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com Have you sent in that monetary contribution to
Nifty yet?




THE BUSINESS OF PLEASURE

By Kevin Donovan

CHAPTER SEVEN

"DUET"

 In the interest of full disclosure—and Deuce always found out about
everything almost instantly, anyway--Ditto went in to see him the following
late morning, as he read his paper and sipped his coffee in his sitting
room next door.

 It was as if Deuce was awaiting him.  He looked up expectantly.

 "You aren't going to like this," Ditto began.  The story of Pooch's
illicit seduction of, first him, then Cooter—-how he somehow, as yet
undetermined, got the Twins involved in it, how he and Cooter had fallen
for it, through their own fault--and how Pooch was now ensconced in his bed
with his own lover, Pooch thought permanently, came out in bursts.

 "Well...I guess I can't say anything about the relationship issue, can I?
And I don't want to.  You can't pick who you love.  But, I'm
confused—-do you love Cooter, or Pooch?

 "Both, far as I can tell, and I think they are very fond of one another,
too.  They've known one another forever.  The age difference is not that
big."  Not as large as the one between Deuce and Benji, he left unspoken.

 "Sexual fidelity is not what it's cracked up to be, and besides, that's
been blown out of the water with you two being sex workers, and let's face
it, we know Pooch will be, too, in a year and a half," Deuce admitted.

 "So there's only the age.  Not the age gap, the actual, absolute age.  You
can't carry on with Pooch in this house yet, Ditto.  I'm firm on that.
When the time comes, fine, you have my blessing.  But Pooch has to wait
just like you did."  He sighed.  This would not be easy to break to Pooch.

 "Send him in to see me."

 Ditto trudged downstairs to help Benji finish making pancakes, and he took
a tray of them, with coffee, up to his sitting room.  He woke the others.
They ate, and afterward, he told Pooch that Deuce wanted to see him. Pooch
turned pale and looked grim.

 He returned in ten minutes in a sour mood.  The boys were hardly ever down
on their dad, because he hardly ever said `no' to them.  When he did, they
knew he had a reason.  They also knew better than to argue.

 "We'll survive, Pooch.  YOU'll survive.  And in a few months, Bro, we'll
still be here, count on it," said Ditto.

 "I hate being the youngest!" Pooch burst out.

 Ditto held him and caressed his hair and patted his shoulder like he did
when the boy was little.  That little boy was now six feet tall, and would
be taking his brother's place next fall as quarterback and leader of the
local football team.

 "We can do anything except penetrative sex and inappropriate touching,"
Pooch said.  "Shit, that doesn't leave much. Can I still stay in here with
you?"

 "Don't you think that will be awfully hard?  Because we ARE going to have
penetrative sex with inappropriate touching, a lot."

 Pooch's head hung.

 "Let's try one night at a time, see how it goes."  Pooch hugged him
tighter.  They kissed.  Cooter came up and kissed Pooch on the neck, too,
then Ditto as well.  Cooter's dick was pressed against Pooch's crack, but
Ditto did not question whether that constituted inappropriate touching or
not.

 Pooch lasted three nights before he had his friend Sam over for a couple
of nights and abandoned the big boys for the river camp.  Ditto and Cooter
wondered just what those two might be up to out there, but they left that
alone, supposing that it almost certainly had some penetrative sex and
inappropriate touching in it.  But why not, they were buds of the same age.
Sam was a cute kid, and he would be a fine distraction for young Pooch.

 The eve of Cooter's birthday arrived, on a Friday, as Ditto's had been.
Benji threw a party for him poolside at dinner time, and Larry and Ricky
were present.  Benji made his usual gorgeous birthday cake, this one a
chocolate-iced football.  There was to be a football theme to the
performance, too.

 Ditto had the night off: Deuce did not want to risk having him detract
from Cooter's big event, so he was keeping the family out of it.  Deuce
would be at the Club, but Ditto would be watching the monitors at home with
Benji.  Ricky and Cooter could show up down the hill around 11:30, in
costume, and be in plenty of time.  Jason, the sexy Club janitor, who also
happened to be another cousin, would be working overtime serving drinks to
the guests, along with Cousin Andy, the stage manager.

 After dawdling with the Mansfield boys over video games until they
couldn't stand it any longer, the Lang boys suited up in their football
uniforms one last time—down to jocks and cups, full pads, long socks,
and cleats.  They rode down the hill to the Club in Ricky's Mustang.  They
found the two waiters, in white jocks and shower sandals, with white towels
thrown over their shoulders, serving beer, wine, and soft drinks to a
growing number of guests.  They waited in back for their music to begin.

 Ditto didn't ask if Deuce knew about it, but Benji let Pooch and the Twins
view the monitors with them from the master suite.  They all piled up in
the bed and watched, rapt—each of the younger ones thinking, no doubt,
that it would not be long before his own turn came.

 This performance was to be different from the others, with none of the
simplicity of the sex between Deuce and Ditto.  The room darkened, then the
stage lit up.  The two performers entered, to applause, in their uniforms,
even shoulder pads.  There was a long bench down the middle of the platform
rather than a bed, as in a dressing room.  Ricky threw a wobbly, soft pass
to Cooter, and Cooter caught it effortlessly, just like on the field.  The
men clapped.  Cooter put the ball down and approached his brother.

 Ricky began to remove Cooter's uniform a piece at a time, and Cooter
followed suit with his.  They left the clunky shoulder pads on until they
were down to jocks and cut-off tee shirts, with long white socks,
underneath.  Then, the pads came off, and their natural forms expressed
their shape.  The tees came off.  They strutted around a bit to the music
in their white jocks and socks.  Then Ricky dragged Cooter's jock down, and
stepped back while Cooter displayed his goods to a clapping audience,
stepped out of the jock, ripped off the socks, and stood completely naked.
He did the same for Ricky, to more applause.  Ricky had been working out,
and he had beefed up some.  He looked good.

 Ricky came over and kissed Cooter, reaching down to fondle his sack.  From
there own, it was classic man on man sex.  The extra bonus was that Ricky
didn't just fuck Cooter—the two brothers fucked each other.  They took
turns sucking each other's dicks.  They made out a bit.  Ricky took charge
and bent Cooter over the locker-room bench.  He knelt and ate out his kid
brother's ass.  Then he reached for the lube bottle and slicked it up
adroitly.  He slid on a rubber and entered Cooter's love canal.  The men
cheered.

 As the platform slowly turned, they could see Cooter's smiling face and
Ricky's earnest one, as he hunched behind Cooter's ass.  The audience was
full.  Coach was there again, but mercifully not the men's father.  Several
townspeople were recognized, many repeats from the previous month.  There
were also many out-of-towners.  Ricky's thrusts quickened, and he squirted
his seed into the latex. When he pulled out and removed the condom, he
tossed the slimy thing toward a thin man in the audience, who snatched it
out of the air.  He tied the end and put it in his pocket, to enjoy the
contents later.

 Cooter raised up and kissed his brother.  Now he took the lead.  He sucked
on Ricky's firm, smooth tit and stroked his buttock gently.  He swiveled
his brother around and pushed his shoulder, so that Ricky leaned on the
bench.  Rick drew his knee up and spread his legs, crouching a bit.

 Cooter knelt and tongued Ricky's hole for several minutes.  The suspense
mounted.  When he rose up, he had the lube in his hand already.  He smeared
some onto the target and onto the lance.  Ricky reached around and handed
him an opened condom, which he applied smoothly.

 "You know, that's one thing we didn't practice," said Ditto, "since we
don't use them with each other.  Lucky he's good at it."

 "He and Ricky have used them.  Rick is a pro, you know."

 Pooch changed the subject.  "When my time comes, will you do me, Ditto?"

 They all looked at Ditto.  "Sure, Pup," he answered kindly.  "I'll be
happy to do you."

 "When OUR time comes," began Peyton, "We'll do each other," Parker
finished.

 "No surprise there," Benji commented.

 Cooter had his dick all the way up Ricky's ass by this time, and his
amazing buttocks were clenching with the exertion of his pistoning motion.
The spotlights made his damp butt gleam like carved and waxed wood.  The
two Lang boys were magnificent to watch in action.  Suddenly, Cooter pulled
out, ripped off the condom, and rushed to Ricky's face.  Ricky turned to
meet him Cooter trembled and closed his eyes as his balls unloaded their
treasure all over Ricky's handsome cheek, nose, and mouth.  Ricky raised
up, and the two men kissed again, Cooter licking the jizz off of Ricky's
face, and Ricky licking his lips and Cooter's lips to get his share of the
load.  The house erupted in applause.

 It was a sensational performance, and wildly successful.  This was another
one the men present would remember and talk about for years.  Cooter and
Ricky mingled casually with their guests, receiving pats on the butt and
outright gropes of the tackle as they chatted.

 At the farm, the younger boys were sent packing at that time, and the
performers left the stage to get on with their tricks, which Pooch and the
Twins were not supposed to know about.  In a moment, Cooter and Ricky
showed up, in shorts and tee shirts, in their motel rooms.  Ricky, of
course, was a seasoned professional (and he only got his usual rate for
these johns, for that reason).  He met with a man in his fifties, whom he
clearly knew.

 "Jack Halbert," said Benji.  "He's been around a long time, does all the
boys one time or other.  He'll be with you soon enough, but after your
price settles down.  He won't pay premium."

 Jack let Ricky remove both their clothing, then he lay face-down on the
bed, and Ricky mounted him, stroking on a rubber.  The object seemed to be
to make it last.  Ricky slowed and recouped several times to slow things
down.  With ten minutes to go in the fifty-minute session, he picked up the
pace and drove to his climax five minutes later, leaving time to dress and
say farewells.  Halbert seemed well serviced.  He left a bill on the end
table.

 In the other room, Cooter seemed a little nervous at first.  His movements
were quick and jerky.  His boner was untamable!  His john came in, and it
was Coach, of course.  They talked, and Cooter settled down some.  Coach
pulled out his pecker, and Cooter knelt to suck it, not seeming to have a
lot of appetite for it, not that coach noticed.  Then, Cooter got on the
bed and Coach mounted him, just like Ricky was doing in the other room.
With Coach, it went much quicker.  He was finished with twenty minutes to
go.  The two sat and chatted a few more minutes, then Coach dressed, shook
Cooter's hand, and left.  Cooter looked up at the tiny spy camera and made
a comically horrified expression, sort of like "The Scream" painting.

 In a few minutes, Cooter went to the door and let in his next trick, who
turned out to be Stan Jones, the men's clothing store manager.  Stan was in
his fifties, and his measuring tape was a permanent fixture around his
neck.  He had effeminate affect, and all the football players had made
jokes about having him measure their inseam—-no one was quite sure which
direction the man was measuring.  Cooter would be beside himself!  Still,
the guy paid his fee, and he would get professional service.  He bashfully
stripped, as Cooter's shorts hit the floor and his shirt came over his head
in a single smooth motion.  Mr. Jones was mesmerized by the stunning male
specimen before him, and actually gulped at the prospect of Cooter's big
cock violating his insides.  They could actually read the man's lips,
saying "Now, Son, you be gentle."

 Jones took the bitch stance at the foot of the bed, and Cooter gamely
lubed him up, taking his time about it.  Stan must have been wide open as a
seven-eleven by the time Cooter rolled on a casing and slipped him the
sausage.  Apparently, Jones was wailing pretty loud, but at the same time,
he was eagerly leaning into Cooter's thrusts.  It was pretty obvious that
his protestations were all dramatics.  Cooter nutted him, pulled out, and
smacked him lightly on the bottom.  Mr. Jones was beaming when he turned
around.  He insisted on giving Cooter, who was six inches taller than he, a
tight hug.

 He dressed and left, just as Ricky was coming over to remind Cooter they
had to move on to get their gear on for the next show.  They disappeared
from camera view.  In the show room, Andy and Jason in their jocks were
serving again, with a new crowd gathering.  It was amusing to note how
almost every man managed to get a feel of the waiters' hairy buttocks as
they took their drink Before the performers returned to the stage, Larry
Lang appeared in the bedroom, at Benji's invitation, to watch the second
show with them.  He was nude.  It was a little bit weird having him be part
of the scene, but Ditto couldn't argue the rightness of it.

 The second show proceeded pretty much just like the first.  Again, each
fucked the other.  Again, it was hot.  Larry watched intently.  He was
clearly proud of his sons.

 "Good thing those boys got the Bennet family looks, not the Langs," he
commented wryly.

 "Their mother was a fine-looking woman," Benji agreed, "But I think their
dad is looking pretty good, too, especially lately."

 Lang blushed—all over.  "You guys have been so good to me, and to my
boys.  I want you to know I really appreciate all your kindness," he
declared.  Then he laughed.  "But you don't have to go too far!  I know my
boys have me beat all directions in the looks department!  The advantage
is, I get to look at them, and you guys, too—-but you have to look at
me!"

 They all laughed then.  Cooter and Ricky were finishing their socializing
and leaving the performance room to service their final trick in private.
In a few minutes, each appeared in one of the motel rooms.  Larry excused
himself, saying he really didn't need to see this part.  Benji put his arm
around Ditto, and they lay propped on pillows and watched the two scenes
unfold.

 What they saw caused each to erupt in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Ricky met a nice-looking businessman in his thirties over in his cabin, and
the man proceeded to make, in all appearances, sweet and passionate love to
his date, paid or not.  Benji didn't know the man, but hoped he'd be back,
and maybe ask for him next time!  But when Cooter settled into his room,
who should appear at the doorway but Wallace Mackey, the ugly-as-shit
knuckle-dragger whose son Eddie was one of their football team offensive
linemen.  The guy was as wide as he was tall, with low forehead, triple
chin, and hair in only the wrong places.  When he took his clothes off,
they thought Cooter was going to make a run for it.  They were screaming
and howling with laughter.

 "Deuce would not have set that up on purpose—-would he?" Ditto asked as
soon as he could catch his breath enough to speak.

 Benji was shaking his head vigorously, but he was unable to answer
verbally.  Eventually, he caught his breath.

 "No, Ditto, Wally must have just been the high bidder on the tips.  If
Cooter can just hold it together for this fifty minutes, I'll bet he'll be
pretty happy to see the take he gets."

 That condition was an open question.  Cooter looked sick.  Wallace
unfastened Cooter's shorts and let them drop.  He ripped Cooter's tee shirt
off of him, tearing the seam.  Cooter stood naked and paralyzed, like a
fawn standing alone before a raging grizzly bear.  Mackey pushed against
his chest, and he fell back onto the bed.

 The hulking man leaned over Cooter's wilting cock and engulfed it into his
ogre-ish maw.  Cooter's face seemed to indicate he was screaming. Mackey's
lips were pressed around his pubic area, and the entire cock had
disappeared within the cavernous depths.

 "Holy fuck!" shouted Ditto, "He's got Cooter's whole cock AND BOTH BALLS
in there!"  Mackey's mouth worked like a gem refining tumbler.  Abruptly,
Cooter shuddered with a devastating, full-body orgasm, down to his
trembling toes.  He screamed again.  His genitalia emerged, dry and
unscathed from their confinement.  Mackey had consumed every drop of his
nectar.

 Then, he rolled Cooter over, seemingly semi-conscious, bending him over
the end of the bed, and he rolled a condom onto his own fire-plug dick.

 "Cooter isn't even going to be aware that's in him," commented Ditto.

 "I dunno—it's pretty thick!" responded Benji.

 Mackey ravished the young man.  He hunched for a good fifteen minutes,
while Cooter just lay there.  There couldn't have been more than the fat
head going in.  Finally, he lost his nut in the rubber, pulled out, and got
dressed.  Cooter still just lay there.  Mackey swatted his victim on the
ass, turned, and walked out.

 It took Cooter half a minute, which seemed like forever, to roll over and
sit up on the bed.  He glowered at the spy camera, shaking his head sadly.

 "We'll never hear the end of this," said Ditto.

 "No.  We've only had one actually quit after the first night.  That was Ed
Meeks, about ten years ago.  He got a guy who took his belt and started
whipping him with it.  Security ran right over and beat shit out of the
john, but Ed said, `that's it, I'm outa here,' and he walked out.  Shame,
he was a good-looking kid.  He runs the Dairy Queen now."

 "Cooter won't quit.  He'll just whine forever."

 Benji phoned Deuce, down at the Cat.  They spoke a couple of minutes, and
Benji hung up.

 "Well, he won't whine that much.  Mackey's tip is $500, where the others
came in at $250.  Apparently, he's been wanting that kid all through high
school, and willing to pay big time for the chance."

 Still chuckling occasionally, Ditto walked the hallway down to his own
suite to await Cooter's triumphant return.  He wasn't so sure Coot would be
willing to bottom for him after this last scene.  That was O. K.—they
both liked it better with Cooter atop Ditto.

 He was relieved to see that his bed, though neatly made with clean sheets,
was empty—First, that meant that Myron, the fem housekeeper, had been
there.  The General, then Emmitt, now Benji, always had housekeeping help
for this big place, and Myron was the present manifestation of it.  He was
mostly invisible, but had been heard more than once saying he didn't
understand why they didn't charge him to work here, it was so full of
interesting sights and sounds.  He worked nude, but was thin and scrawny,
not much to look at.  Deuce suspected he ran his mouth at his brother's
barber shop about what he saw at the house, but he figured it was probably
good advertizing and let it go.

 The empty bed also meant that Pooch had been gracious enough to give the
two older boys their space tonight.  What to do about Pooch?  That was a
puzzlement.  He did love his brother in a complex way that was tender,
affectionate, protective, and lusty all at the same time.  One day soon, he
and Cooter needed to talk about Pooch, too.  But for tonight, they needed
to laugh, and brag, and lament together, then have Cooter fuck his brains
out to get some tension out of his system so they could sleep well.

 He was lying naked on the bed with boner soaring when his lover came in,
gave him a kiss, said, "DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT?" and hurried off to the
shower.

 It took an hour for Cooter to debrief.  Ditto paid him all kinds of
compliments on his performance, his professionalism, and his aplomb.
Cooter ate it up.  As Cooter lamented for the fourth time his victimization
in falling prey to the cave-man Wallace Mackey, Ditto let drop the part
about the $500 tip.

 "I thought it was just $100," said Cooter, confused.

 "Why $100?  This is your debut, Dude, they'd have to pay more than that to
get you."

 "Well, he left $100 on the night stand."

 Ditto was flummoxed.  That put the tip up close to the total charge for
the trick.

 "Man, that guy has it bad for you, Cooter.  You may be his new boyfriend!"

 Cooter pushed Ditto back on the bed, grinning, and they had another good
laugh together.  Now more relaxed, Cooter was ready to fuck his lover.  It
was past 5:00 when he finished.