Date: Mon, 9 Aug 2010 04:29:00 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Uncle Randoplh and his pals 5

Uncle Rudolph 5

by Bald Hairy Man

This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you don't like that DON'T
read it. You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, not for
minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual.  No effort to portray safe sex
practices has been made.  If you have any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com.

It may sound odd to say this but Doofus was a different man naked and hard
than he was dressed. He always wore loud and semi-stylish clothes.  He was
28 now and he tended to dress as if he were 16. That, combined with his
smart alec attitude meant no one took him seriously.  I always assumed he
was just plain stupid, but Uncle Rudolph thought he was smart enough.

Naked he was well equipped, uncomfortable and vulnerable. Giving his
preferences, he wanted to be cool, but his cock was always hard. So it was
hard to play hard to get. He had a good, if not exceptional body, and had a
hairy chest and a few muscles. His cock was as big as mine if not a little
bigger. HH seemed to like him. I didn't really want to do anything sexual
with Doofus, but I admitted to being a bit curious.

Unlike me, Doofus was uncut. He had extra skin, so his knob only peeked out
even when he was almost fully erect.  He had spent the first half of the
party on his hands and knees so I had no chance to study it. Doofus had
hardly said a word. He must have had an ultra sensitive and responsive
prostate, since it seemed as if a cock in his ass turned off his ability to
talk.  That was a lucky thing for Doofus, since most of the men had a
chance to enjoy him before he said something stupid.

As far as I could tell he was 100% bottom pig. Hugo whispered to me that
Doofus had a needy ass. "I will bet that boy needs affection and can only
feel it when a cock is up his rear."

"His Dad, Uncle Max, was an affectionate man, friendly and out going. Aunt
Flo was the opposite," I explained. "When we visited Mom and Dad would ask
me to be especially nice the Aunt Flo. They would go out of their way to be
nice to her in the name of family harmony, but nothing worked. She would
turn "What a beautiful dress," into an insult.  Doofus was a momma's boy,
and he had the wrong momma."

Mom and Dad had a hard time dealing with Flo. They were both polite and
hated a scene. Flow wasn't polite at all and she lived for a
top-of-the-line screaming and yelling scene. In some ways they, and Uncle
Max, were defenseless against Aunt Flo.

I hadn't noticed until now, but Doofus's life story was not unlike
Hugo's. Both were victims of a manipulative mother. "I wonder if Dad's
fatherly cock up his ass would help?" Hugo asked. We soon found out.

Gus was having and orgasm and Hugo went off to take care of that.  He was
closer to Gus, so he would get the thick early streams of cum before
Milkman would get in and take the good stuff.

Doofus liked it doggy style, but HH like to watch a guy's face as he
fucked, him. He got Doofus on his back, got a pillow under the ass and slid
in.  The ass was well lubricated.  My cock was near my cousin's mouth.  He
opened his mouth to moan and I let him lick it.  He was a needy cock sucker
too. When I get hard, my cock sticks up, not out. I bent over so he could
take more of it and found my face inches from his cock.  It seemed only
polite to take a lick or two.

Earlier, someone asked me if Doofus oozed as much pre cum as me. I didn't
know. I knew now. Pre cum didn't ooze or drip from his cock; it flowed. I
first stuck my tongue into the skin and immediately encountered the mother
load of pre cum.  It was trapped between the cock head and the skin. I took
that and then realized his slit had replenished it as I sucked.  It was
lovely.

This position gave me a front row and center view of HH's cock fucking the
hole. HH liked to pull his cock all they way out and then pop his mushroom
knob through the sphincter ad few times before he went deep. The flow of
cock juices turned into a flood when HH's mushroom rubbed the
prostate. Doofus tended to deep throat my cock whenever that happened.

Years earlier I ran into a hot stud muffin in the steam room of a health
club.  We went to the steam room at the same time and I sucked him a few
times.  He seemed to be totally uninterested, but I noticed he tended to
show up in the steam room every time I was there.

At one of these occasions, I slipped on the wet floor and my finger touched
his ass. The second that happened, pre cum spurted from his slit. My stud
muffin turned into a pussy cat. Precum can't lie. I had found the button
that turned him on.

I felt the same way as Doofus reacted to HH's attention. Stripped of his
stupid clothes and shitty attitude he was just a man.  Doofus wasn't just
naked because he wasn't wearing clothes. He was naked emotionally and
sexually. Most ,if not all of the men at the party had fucked him. He was
an open book.

Looking back, I'm not sure many would recommend a gang bang as therapy to
cure personality disorders, but it seemed to work for Doofus. I think he
was shocked that anyone wanted him.  I think they call that poor self
image.  It would have been different if the fuckers weren't as affable as
this group. They weren't users and had no real sexual hangups as far as I
could tell.

They were pleased as punch that a young and comparatively good looking man
would open up for them. Doofus was the energizer bunny as far as sexual
stamina.  I was watching and tasting HH fuck him and every time HH's cock
head popped through his ass lips, he reacted with enthusiasm. Every time
the cock rubbed his prostate, he spurted fresh ball juice.

"I'm going to cum shortly," HH whispered, "Do you want it?"

"Doesn't Hugo want it?"

"He's fine," HH said. He squirted a volley of his seed into my mouth. I
stuck my tongue out to and touched his cock head just below the slit. The
third, fourth and fifth ejaculations hit the back of my mouth; the rest
puddled in my tongue.

I began to shoot. Doofus took it without hesitation. I returned to his cock
just in time to receive his seed. He shot a huge load. We broke apart. Hugo
had been watching us.  He came to me and we French kissed and his tongue
tasted the mixture of Doofus and his father's sperm in my mouth.  He shot
off.  His father and Doofus shared his load.

The next few days after the party were uneventful. A few quiet days was
good for me.  I needed a rest. On Wednesday, Mitch dropped by after
work. His work day was from six in the morning to three in the
afternoon. He called first and was at my house by four. It was hot and
muggy and he was covered in sweat. Somehow that enhanced his attractiveness
for me.  I discovered I got turned on by hard working men.

We had a beer and talked.  After some small talk Mitch got down to the
reason for his visit. "I really enjoyed the party on Saturday.  I was
hoping you liked it too?"

"I loved it. I have to admit it was a new experience for me," I said. "I
had a few, "I don't think we are in Kansas anymore," moments, but they
vanished once a got into it."

"Well, I was worried. I didn't ask you if you wanted me to fuck you. I was
afraid you were offended," Mitch said. "I'm an ugly man; I know I'm not
every one's cup of tea."

"I enjoyed it," I said.

"Me too," he added. "Actually, I felt a lot more than just enjoyment. I was
hoping you felt the same."

"I'm not sure," I said. Mitch looked disappointed. "It was all an
overwhelming experience. It's hard to tell I was feeling. I was thinking
maybe a little one on one action might .  .  . clarify things."

"With me?" Mitch asked.

"It's been a hot day.  I need a shower," I suggested. We went upstairs and
jumped into Uncle Rudolph's oversized shower. I soon discovered Mitch was a
master cock sucker. We switched roles a few times. I don't think I was as
good as he was, but Mitch seemed to be appreciative. We got out of the
shower and went to the bedroom.  As soon as we got in the 69 position, his
ball juices began to flow.  I couldn't deep throat him because his cock was
so thick, but I could take most of it. When I pulled off I suctioned some
of it.

I was eager to get his cock in my ass again, but that wasn't in the
cards. While I was taking a break from my sucking duties, Mitch impaled
himself on my cock. Technically I was fucking Mitch, but in reality he was
using his ass to jerk me off.  He did a beautiful pole dance and my cock
never felt better.  I lost it and gave his prostate a sperm bath. He seemed
to like that.

I thought he would get off me, but he stayed put. He had a sphincter of
steel and my cock stayed in his ass. We talked. "That was beautiful, thank
you," he said. He twitched his ass. I was mostly soft, but it felt good.

"Do you like to bottom?" I asked.

"With you I do. I was all bottom for years. I figured that was my best bet
for getting sex. Some of my playmates weren't very playful. It wasn't that
good," he said. "When I met Roy things got better. I top mostly now."

"You don't have to let me fuck you,"

"I wanted you in me. It's been a while, and my prostate was almost virgin
again. It was beautiful. I loved it when you shot off. I could feel your
hot man seed spurting," he said, I got the impression he was almost going
to weep. "I bet you can hit the ceiling when you're not spurting in an ass,
or mouth."

After fifteen or twenty minutes of talking, I was hard again and Mitch
bounced on my cock.  I had a second top-of-the-line orgasm. Mitch was into
it too. He spurted a spectacular load. After we cleaned up he asked if I
would like to go out to dinner.  I said I'd like that. He knew of a good
local Greek restaurant.  I was one of this small local places with great
food. I hadn't realized it at the time but we had a date.  It was the first
of many.

Several days later Jim called and ask if I would like to go with him to the
Folio Club in Center City Philadelphia. My Uncle, he said, was a member. I
had never heard of the Folio Club.

"It's one of those old Victorian holdovers, a private men's club.  This is
not purely upper crust; it was for artistic types. Originally it was for
artists and art patrons.  It was a good way for the men to meet." Jim
explained. "The starving artist could socialize with potential patrons and
collectors."

"Did it work?" I asked.

"Yes it did. It helped support a number of gifted men," Jim replied.

"Artistic types has a different connotation now," I remarked.

"That is a part of the club today. The men of the club enjoy more intimacy
than the name suggests," Jim said.  "I'm going to a sketching day. They
have always used nude models since Thomas Eakins day. In Eakins studio, the
artists took turns modeling.  That is true of the Folio Club."

"I can't draw!" I protested.

Jim laughed, "Neither could Randolph!  He was a regular at sketching days,
and a popular regular too. They would be pleased as punch to meet you." I
agreed to come with him.  We went to the club on Saturday morning.  The
club was on a side street in a nondescript building. Rico waited for us by
the door; Jim had recruited him too. Jim had an electric key and we went
in. The entry was small, but beyond that was a suite of elaborately
decorated rooms, filled with paintings, sculptures and drawings. The rooms
had no windows, but light flooded down from a skylight above a grand
staircase.

It would have been a perfect idiosyncratic Victorian club, if there hadn't
been several naked men chatting to the side and another nude man going up
the stairs. "Did I mention all the members go nude on sketching days?" Jim
asked.

We went through a small door at the back into a room with hooks to hang our
clothes on. We stripped; An attendant greeted Jim. "It's good to see you
again. I see you have guests," he said.

"You may know of Enrico Adolpho, the tenor singing in La Boheme at the
Academy?" Jim said. "And the younger man is Dolph, Rudolf's nephew.  He is
in town for a while settling Rudolph's estate."

"I am most pleased to meet you both," the attendant said.  He was younger
than me, but had the manners of a 19th century butler. "Mr. Westscot is
here with Mr. Charles.  They are in a very good mood. I hope I won't shock
your friends if I suggested getting lubricated now?"

Jim laughed. "No, they will not be shocked," he said as he bent over to
allow the attendant to lubricate his ass. "Dolph and Rico, Westscot and
Charles have a warm spot to dry fucking. They are talented men and great
supporters of the club so we indulge them. Many of the members have little
foibles."

"They don't notice we are lubricated?" I asked.

"Apparently not," Jim said.  "They are enjoyable men and lots of fun." By
now Rico bent over and the attendant lubricated him. He wiped the extra
lubricant from around the hole so the lube was all on the dark side of the
sphincter.  It was my turn now. Two men entered the room and talked with
Jim. Jim introduced us and neither of the men seemed to notice the
attendant was fingering my ass. As we left the room, I heard one of the men
comment, "I take it Westscot is here today?"

The top floor was the studio level of the club. Skylights and monitors
brilliantly illuminated the spaces. Three nude models posed as men painted
or sketched them.  The studio was messy as you would expect of an artist
studio. The studios clustered around a colonnaded pool. It looked very much
like the interior atrium of a Roman house. Nude classical sculptures sat
between the columns. I heard the sound of water. I didn't see a fountain
until I discovered the genitals of several of the sculptures were in
working order. There were piles of towels stacked here and there,
indicating this was a swimming pool.

The men were hard at work on their artwork and casually talking. The entire
scene was as ordinary as it could be except for the nudity. The drawings
and paintings struck me as beautiful. Several sculptors were modeling in
clay. One older man created a beautiful sculpture that looked just like the
model. He was Cuban and we talked briefly.

Several men recognized Rico. He wasn't famous yet, but I understood he was
well on the way to becoming a major opera star. A number of men gave me
their condolences on Rudolph's death. One actually looked at my cock and
said he saw the resemblance!

Since I didn't draw, I served as a model. I was in the group with the
sculptor. I'm good about sitting still and the artists liked me. Rico had a
background in art as well as in singing, so he did some drawing. Jim talked
with friends.

I posed for twenty minutes, then had ten minutes of rest and then posed a
second time.  This time the notorious Mr. Westscot joined me in double
pose. He was a cheerful and energetic man of perhaps 60 or 65. He was
stocky, very hairy, bearded and hung. He was friendly and oddly
convincing.I sat on a classical couch and he was beside me with one of my
legs on his shoulder and his cock nuzzled in my ass.

"How are you going to keep hard for twenty minutes?" I asked.

"Don't worry about that," one of the artists said. "Westy can stay hard for
hours, if not days."  There was general laughter. "I'm afraid he may get
closer to you as he poses though," another man remarked.  It was a
good-humored group. Westscot's cock head was resting in my hole, but not in
my rectum. I was half hard.

It looked like an ungainly pose for me, but it was surprisingly
comfortable. He made some little pokes at my ass, but none hard enough to
penetrate. After a short while my asshole felt juicy.  He must have been
oozing pre cum. He was lubricating my hole.

It was relaxing and mildly stimulating. I remained half hard. Westscot did
move some and near the end of the posing session his large knob popped my
sphincter. His cock was as big as Jim's organ. I had never taken Jim's cock
but I had thought about it. One of the artists exclaimed, "Finally!" as he
entered. They were use to his antics.

It felt good and Westscot did not push further. The artists' conversation
turned more sexual as the mini fucking progressed. I got harder, but so did
the artists. I would say a third were soft, and third half hard and the
remainder were fully erect. The state of stimulation did not seem to effect
their drawing or painting. No one commented on the state of arrousal. There
were twenty-five or thirty men in the room, but only ten of them sketched
me.

Just before the end of the session, a good looking man came over to me and
chatted.  He had a bottle of poppers in his hand. He showed it to me. I
nodded and then took a deep snort. The amyl hit my brain when Westscott's
cock hit my prostate.  The artists politely applauded.  Some gathered
around while others finished their sketches.

The handsome man fed me his cock and another man sucked me. Westscott was
deep in me. He was the biggest man I had ever taken and it was good.  I
think his slow paced entry worked. I was relaxed and accepting. I had
thought the other men were only casually interested but the handsome man
shot off quickly and the sculptor replaced him.  The middle aged Cuban
sculptor, Raymundo, was brawny, hairy and bearded. His genitals were all
balls and cock head, all wrapped in a hairy ball sack and wrinkled, thick
foreskin.

He had oozed and then fermented a rich brew of man juices and
hormones. Once my tongue tasted it I was in heaven. I had experienced this
with Doofus, but the Cuban oozed high-test. As my tongue licked his
sensitive knob, the shaft, which had been hidden in his body, made its
appearance. Raymundo possessed a massive tool. I got more excited.

"Damn," Westscott exclaimed. This is too hot for me." I felt his cock
twitch in my ass. Raymundo began to squirt too. The front and rear loaded
me. For the next ten or twelve minutes several men took turns. With the
exception of Westscott, this group seemed relaxed and casual about sex. The
men at Roy's party were driven or even slightly crazed. I don't know if you
can have a "get to know you" fuck, but that was the way it felt to me.

It was almost noon and several men brought several trays of sandwiches and
a rolling cart of drinks into the room. I had a chance to look at the work
and talk. Raymundo had done an impressive figurine of me. It was sketchy in
some ways but I could easily see he had captured my physical
characteristics. It was impressive. We broke up.

The handsome man introduced himself as Robin Ware. "I have an art gallery a
few blocks from here, so I am more of a fellow traveler than an artist."
His sketches of me were not as impressive as Raymundo's, but handsome none
the less. Robin leaned close to me and whispered, "Sorry about shooting
off; I got carried away.  Rudolph introduced me to the joys of man sex. It
was like homecoming when you sucked me."

"It comes with the territory," I said.

"I was hoping you shared Rudolph's taste for man seed," he continued. "Let
me show you something." he led me to a small door at the rear of the
studio.  We entered a storage room.

"This is where we keep the prize winning art," Robin explained. "We display
the prize winners from the public exhibitions downstairs. These works are
the winners from out private exhibits." He rolled out an oil painting of my
Uncle Rudolph, nude.  It was a beautiful painting. I immediately saw he
resembled me. Robin opened a flat file and pulled out a drawing of Rudolph
kissing a man I didn't know. Another drawing showed Robin sucking Rudolph.
It was a close up but I recognized the cock.

"I need to apologize. It's acceptable to suck and fuck here, but the club
prefers orgasms elsewhere.  I broke the rules," he said.

"I won't tell," I replied.  "Do the rules apply to Westscott?"

Robin smiled. "Westscott and his lover Charley are a special
case. Westscott is the most talented man we've had in the club in
decades. He is a wild man, but that is fine when you are as talented as
he. He paints brilliantly after an orgasm."

"Does he do nudes?" I asked.

"No, he's best at landscapes, brilliant landscapes. They are almost Manet
like," Robin said. There were several more drawings of Rudolph all quite
beautiful.

That afternoon I modeled for another cluster of artists on the other side
of the pool.  They seemed to less sexually oriented but filled me in on
many of my Uncle's exploits. It was eye-opening. One of these men came up
to me afterward and introduced himself as Oliver Hurd. He was curator at a
local museum. He was a small version of the absent minded professor.  His
nearly trimmed beard and groomed hair looked like a Victorian gentleman. He
was small and delicate but was hairy like a monkey. Not a single hair on
his chest gut or back was groomed. It looked as if a Dandy's head had been
grafted onto a monkey's body.

"It's so good to meet you," he said.  "Randolph and I were close and he
told me much about you.  He was very proud of you." We chatted and I
invited him over the next day for lunch."