He laughed and told me to fuck off. Then he took one of the pillows off the bed and hit me with it. I put up my hands to protect myself and then turned to the bed and dove for a pillow of my own. While I was on the bed I threw the first pillow at him and reached for another. He got on the bed on his knees, towering over me, and started pummeling me with his pillow. I was holding one up as defense while I kicked at him with my foot. I managed to knock him off balance and off the bed and I was able to get in a few good pillow-blows to his face. We were both panting, out of breath and laughing at the same time.

  Then he charged me, wrapped his arms around me, and pushed me back onto the bed. He pinned me down so that he was on top, and started hitting me with the pillow. I was too busy thanking god for putting me in this position—with Hot Sales Guy straddling my crotch—to fight back; he managed to hold his pillow down over my face. I was totally leaking precum and my cock hurt trapped inside my boxer-briefs and jeans. I figured he had to feel my boner, his thigh was resting against it, but he didn’t act like he noticed it. Trying to break free, I was grabbing at his back and arms, feeling their strength and muscular suppleness while sort of trying to pull him off me, but not really trying very hard.

  Finally I got out from under his pillow, wrapped my arms around his abdominals and got him onto his side. I had my arm up on top of his side and I was leaning against him, holding him down, and trying to win the fight. I was momentarily transfixed by the view of his pecs and his nipple while his muscular arm was fighting me, and he somehow got out from underneath me and pinned me down again. I sort of surrendered, hoping he’d rape me or something; he got me facedown on the bed and twisted one arm behind my back. He made me call uncle before he’d let me go. Like I wanted him to let me go, please; I kept yelling “Aunt!” instead. Every time I did he pulled my arm tighter and tighter until finally I had to say uncle or risk seriously injuring my arm and shoulder. (I did think about risking the injury….) He got off me and then off the bed. I turned over and watched as he walked back to the chaise lounge thing and slouched down into it. He didn’t put his shirt back on, which was fine with me. “You’re lucky I wasn’t trying,” I said, “or I’d have kicked your ass.”

  “Sure thing there, big guy,” he said, grinning.

  We were both out of breath and my cock was pulsing so hard I looked down at my pants for a wet spot. There was none—thank god. I went to the bar and opened the other twist-top bottle of wine. We turned the TV back on and he surfed the channels for a little while. I was staring at the TV, not really registering anything, just going over the pillow fight of my dreams in my head. Then I tried to turn my attention to getting the massive hard-on that was still throbbing in my jeans to subside.

  I started focusing on the TV when a Bowflex commercial came on. They showed this ridiculously ripped guy using the machine and they were saying for just twenty minutes a day, three times a week, you could look like that. Bull-fucking-shit, I thought. That model probably spent half his fucking life at the gym and never ate anything other than raw fish and meat. I looked over at Hot Sales Guy to make some comment about the suckers that would believe that shit and he was totally passed out. His head was hanging back in what looked like a really uncomfortable position, and his mouth was wide open. I called his name but he didn’t answer. I called it again louder, still no answer.

  I got up and walked over to the chaise. He was wearing only his pants, belt, and socks, and he was absolutely beautiful. His chest was rising with each breath and I was close enough to see the tiny hairs on his beefy forearms. He started to snore a little and I jumped, feeling like I had been caught. But he was out. I poked his shoulder and called his name again and got no response. The snoring continued and then stopped and then started up again. I went back to the bed rubbing my hard-on through my jeans and flipped through the channels for a little while. I kept turning to look at him and he kept being passed out.

  I watched an old episode of “The Golden Girls”—I know, so gay—and finished the wine. My cock was pulsing—it needed to shoot. I got up and went over to Hot Sales Guy and shook his shoulder and called his name again. No response. He was out like a light. I went back to my bed and my heart was pounding. I was really nervous. Should I do what I wanted to do?

  I unzipped my pants, pulled down my boxer-briefs, and released my prick. It was hard and dripping and red from the excitement. I was leaning there against my bed, just a few feet away from him, and playing with myself. It was too much to handle: the visual of him and the feelings in my dick. I pulled up my jeans and put my cock away; I was so afraid of getting caught.

  I walked back over to him and once again tried to shake him awake and got no response. So I just went for it. Like I was diving into an icy cold pool, I held my breath and unbuckled his belt. He didn’t move. I unbuttoned his jeans and he still didn’t move. I unzipped his jeans and almost had a heart attack I was so excited and scared of being caught at the same time. I pulled his pants open and saw that he was wearing regular boxers. Fuck it, I thought, I’d come this far. I pried open the fly of his boxers and got a good look at his sleepy, soft cock. I touched his stomach below his belly button and ran my hand along the top of his boxers. I then took my hand and moved it up to his brawny chest and cupped one of his pecs and lightly grazed the nipple with my thumb. This was too much, I kind of felt like I was violating him and I had to stop.

  I pulled his boxers open as far as I could so that I could see his cock resting there. Then I walked back to the bed and pulled out my cock. I spit in my hand and knew it would be like a five-second stroke off. While staring at the more than half-naked object of my obsession I had the hottest and shortest jack-off session of my life. I shot like a fucking geyser while staring at his hard body. I came onto the floor and all over my hand and my jeans and the nightstand. I couldn’t stop cum-ming and right in the middle I imagined him waking up and seeing me and what he’d say. So fucking intense. After my orgasm was finally over, and I had a few aftershocks, I pulled up my jeans, wiped my hands on the bed, and went back over to him. I zipped his jeans and buttoned them again and buckled his belt. He still hadn’t moved, he was still snoring, and I leaned over and kissed his lips lightly.

  I put a blanket on him and went into the bathroom and got undressed. I was like, Holy shit, and I couldn’t get my heart to calm down. I felt weird about the whole thing. Was I some pervert? Why had that been so fucking hot? Was there something wrong with me?

  I went back out and got into bed. I tried to sleep but my mind was racing. Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I was awoken at about seven thirty by a groan. I looked over at the chaise and he was starting to sit up, his head in his hands. He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows in a “hey” gesture. I rolled over facing away from him and told him to go back to sleep; we still had a few hours before we had to get to the airport. He got up and I heard a whole bunch of rustling— he must have been putting on his shirt. He said he’d see me later and walked out the door Oh my fucking god. The minute he was out the door I whipped out my cock and jerked off again.

  Tuesday, November 29, 2005: Away with Hot Sales Guy I just found out today that on Thursday Hot Sales Guy and I have to fly to Oklahoma City together for the night. I hadn’t seen him since I’d been back and when he came into my office this afternoon, his hot fucking body bursting out of his clothes, my heart skipped a few beats and all the blood in my body rushed to my cock. Seemingly oblivious to his effect on me, he plopped himself down in a chair across from my desk and leaned back in one of those straight-guy leg-spreads. I could see the bulge of his cock all scrunched up and trapped in his pants and it was everything I could do not to jump over the desk and let that puppy free. But that was not to be. Instead we talked about our trip; or I should say, he talked about our trip and I stared at every inch of him. He told me that he had booked us rooms (and yes, unfortunately that word was plural) and flights and left the info with me. He told me we’d have fun, that we’d have a few drinks and unwind after we were done with the client. Then he left my office and I watched his ass until it was well out the door.

  Needless to say I was a little preoccupied for the rest of the afternoon. All I could think about was the pillow fight and him nearly naked and how I had had the balls to jack off right next to his naked body. By the time I got home I had a raging boner that wouldn’t subside. It almost felt like I was going to break my cock off as I walked. When I got inside I tried to put my mind to other things but it didn’t work. I knew it wouldn’t; I knew I’d have to take matters into my own hands.

  So I went to my computer and booted up Jake Cruise. I had watched his new buff, hairy guy video Sunday night when I got home and was reminded of how great his site is. One of the best things about it is that you can save the videos you download and play them forever—even when you’re not paying anymore. The two-load-worthy video I found tonight while cruising though his archives made it onto my hard drive for keeps. Anyway, Jason and Mikael were the boys I found and let me say: Yum.

  Jason and Mikael had soloed for Cruise before but neither had ever done any real gay shit. This video was one of his gay-for-a-day or gay-for-pay movies and for enough cash he had gotten them to shoot an incredibly hot video. They blew each other and fucked and all the standard stuff that straight guys do to each other when they’re bribed with a boatload of cash, but the hottest part was them making out. Two handsome straight guys making out is always an amazing sight. Throw in some fucking and sucking and, well, you’ve got a celebrity-chef-worthy recipe.

  So the video was a little too hot and I blew my load after like ten minutes—but I didn’t feel like I was done yet. I was still so horny and I felt like there was still a bunch of cum trapped in there that needed to get out; my boner didn’t really subside. So what else was I going to do? I kept watching, got some more lube, and started stroking off again. By the end of the flick I was ready to pound out load number two. Wow.

  But despite how hot the video was, I knew that Hot Sales Guy had a lot to do with those two loads. In fact, I had a feeling that when I climbed into bed, I’d be rubbing out load number three.

  Thursday, May 18, 2006: Hot Sales Guy Makes Me Hard God. I just want to lick him all over.

  Hot Sales Guy and I spent about two hours this morning working on this presentation we have to do in a few weeks. He just radiates sexiness and I can’t keep my dick soft around him for more than five minutes. A few times while he was talking my mind wandered and I got fixated on his nipple pressing against his shirt or on the cords of his neck disappearing into his shirt. Then I’d realize he’d been quiet for a minute and was waiting for me to respond, and like in a sitcom I’d have no clue what he’d said. Eventually we’d get back on track and then I’d have to spend the next ten minutes thinking about dead bunnies and mass travel accidents, trying to get my boner to subside.

  We took a break around noon and went to lunch. I was staring at his beautiful body, so tightly wrapped in much less beautiful clothes, and I was marveling over his diet. He had a double cheeseburger with bacon and fries. I meekly ate my grilled chicken salad with balsamic vinegar and thought how unfair it was that he can eat anything and look like he does while I have to eat roughage and vinegar with a fancy name to stay trim. I was thinking that I should start a diet of my own. Kind of like the Atkins diet but I’d call it the Alex diet and it would be an all-cock diet. I had it all figured out: you’d save your bigger cocks for lunchtime when you are supposed to eat your largest meal, therefore giving yourself time to metabolize it properly. Then, for dinner and breakfast, you’d try to stick to some smaller cocks for lighter meals. And to be certain that your diet was balanced you would make sure to incorporate cocks from multiple food groups, such as: black, hispanic, caucasian, and asian. For snack time you could munch on a nipple or take a lick at some nonfat abs and then if you were really good you could munch on some warm ass for dessert.

  Do you ever wonder how the shit that goes through your head gets there? I mean, how random was this dumb diet I was thinking about? I must have smiled or something and Hot Sales Guy was like, “What?”

  Feeling like a total lunatic, and not wanting him to think I was a cannibal or something, I told him I was thinking about a guy I fucked around with last night.

  “Tiny cock?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Is that what’s funny? Didn’t measure up?”

  “No—”

  He cut me off before I could say more and puffed his chest out and said in a half-joking, half-not manner, “Not everyone can be hung like me.”

  “Please…” I said, remembering the tent in his shorts I’d been lucky enough to see a few times. “Spare me.”

  “Then what was his problem?”

  I told him the story about how the guy was a little weird and standoffish and afraid to be naked, but that I still found him and the whole scene hot. Despite the conservative slant, he still did it for me, I told him.

  “Jesus…who doesn’t do it for you?” he asked.

  Lying like the biggest motherfucker ever—Pinocchio’s nose would’ve wrapped around the earth twenty times from a lie this big—I said, “You.”

  He laughed and said, “Yeah right. Like you’re not jonesing for a crack at me.”

  “If you’re lucky, stud, I’ll lower my standards one of these days.”

  “You’d be the lucky one and you know it,” he said.

  Back at the office I couldn’t stop thinking about him and our lunch and our conversation. I totally read too much into things but I mean he was totally flirting, right? What straight guy says shit like that to his gay friend? Especially when he knows that there is something weird there?

  Anyway, when I got back from lunch I had this thumping, distracting boner I had to do something about. I walked into my office and closed and locked my door. I leaned up against the closed door and undid my belt and then my pants. I let my pants drop around my ankles and I pushed down my underwear and I leaned my naked ass against the door. I spit in my hand and wrapped it around my cock and started to stroke. I couldn’t do it slowly and I couldn’t use much restraint.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Hot Sales Guy sitting there at lunch and telling me how much he knows I want him. I imagined him getting up and unbuttoning his shirt and asking me if this is what I wanted; was his body what I wanted. I kept telling him yes. My hand was flying all over my cock and my other hand was yanking on my balls. I imagined him with his shirt off and his pants open now like in the hotel that night. I imagined him pulling them down slowly and releasing a giant boner that he would point at me and say, “Today’s your lucky day.”

  I squeezed the base of my cock and then started to tickle my nuts as I imagined myself on my knees with him feeding me that hot cock. I was looking up at his stacked slabs of muscle and into his face that was lost in pleasure. I couldn’t go much longer. I was holding my breath and jerking my dick in these really short intense strokes and then I came. I bit down on my tongue and I squeezed my cock as hard as I could and then I shot my load out onto the office floor.

  I had gotten a little sweaty during my workout and my ass stuck to the door as I pulled myself away. I licked my cum off my hand and looked down at the mess on the floor. I pulled my pants up and buckled my belt and went to my desk for a paper towel. I was on my knees wiping up the mess when someone knocked on my door. I got totally nervous but I stood up and opened it. It was a lady named Judy who worked for me and she looked at me while I was holding the paper towel covered in cum. I asked her what she needed and made some excuse about the people who water the plants getting crap on the floor. I tossed the paper towel and got her what she needed. She didn’t seem too suspicious even though she—hopefully unwittingly—stepped over some small dark stains on the carpet as she left.

  I felt a little more relieved by the time Hot Sales Guy stopped by at four thirty to say good night. But then, watching his ass as he walked out of my office, I got rock hard again. Fuck…

  THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEP:

  A GOTHIC TALE

  Jay Neal

  At that time of year on the rocky coast of Maine—not long after the summer solstice— twilight extends well into the late evening. However, it was now pushing on toward later evening and a thick blanket of clouds, which had already been responsible for several days of rain in the area, conspired to make it a dark and rather stormy night, as required by the conventions of gothic literature.

  Additional needed elements were in place as well: the intrepid and unsuspecting traveler— yours truly—his transport in difficulty —car stuck in mud at the side of the road— trudging along in search of assistance. Sure enough, I finally spotted a light glowing in the window of a not-too-distant cottage.

  A cottage, mind you, situated next to a dark, looming lighthouse that obviously hadn’t operated in years. I dragged myself toward the cottage, the sound of surf crashing against rocks growing louder with each step.

  I knocked loudly at the door of the cottage, which precipitated some loud crashing noises and considerable swearing within. At last the door creaked open and I was facing a short, gnarly man of indeterminate age. His face was a fine collection of wrinkles on weathered skin, largely obscured by a silvery beard that descended halfway down his chest. However, he couldn’t have been more than an inch over five feet tall. The gnomish effect was completed by a knitted cap pulled over a mass of unruly silvery hair, and a pipe clenched in his teeth. To be honest, it was all I could do to keep from giggling.

  “Arr,” he said, “which it’ll be: lost or car trouble?”

  Arr? I thought. Was he for real? “Car trouble, actually. Stuck in the mud about half a mile back.”

  “Lot o’ rain last few days. Makes lots o’ mud. Best come in for the night. We can pull your car out come mornin’.”

  He opened the door wide to let me in then closed it quickly against the wind, which was beginning to howl around the corners of the cottage. Most of the small house was dark, so he led me into the kitchen and invited me to sit at the table. “Coffee?” he offered.

 

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