Show-Offs, page 12
“As I say, part of it is natural ability. But he grew up on a Montana ranch watching the animals do it. And he told me he bedded cowboys from horizon to horizon in the Big Sky Country, starting at an early age.” I laughed. “Most kids are just beginning to jerk off by then. He was already fucking. Today was our second sexual bout, and it was as fantastic as the first.”
“Call him back. I should like to observe him again. And you, too, of course. You are quite attractive as you squirm beneath him. I notice that you use two positions. In one, you face him; in the other he enters you from behind.”
“I like the first.” What was this squirrelly satisfaction I got from discussing Ajax’s bedroom gymnastics with my TV, my mantel, the light fixture, even the ashtray? “Because I can watch him do it to me. But the other way is good, too, because it’s full-body contact.”
“He prefers that, I believe,” my reading lamp suggested.
“Yes, I think you are right.”
“Contact him,” the voice, which was beginning to sound a bit like me, urged again.
“Can’t. He drove his own car today and won’t be back at the dorm yet. And you heard him tell me he has to study for midterm exams.”
“Tomorrow is what you call Sun-day. Try him tomorrow. Lure him back!” one of the tiny mirrors sewn into the avant-garde throw pillow on my lap insisted. I hastily threw it aside.
“We’ll see,” I hedged in the face of such intensity and fled outside to cut the lawn in the dark, wondering at every step if the Valdetian rode the mower with its dangerous whirling blades.
After a restless night of listening for—and hearing—rustling noises in the dark, creaks from the attic, and a thud in the kitchen, I rose and staggered naked into the bathroom looking like a wreck. I pissed, rinsed my hands, and doused my face in cold water before clearing away my eyes with a towel. Something in the mirror did not look right; it was cloudy. Vainly, I tried to wash off what I took to be soap film. At length, I stood back and regarded it for what it was.
“I see you, Valdetian.”
“No,” my mirror answered quietly. “You see only the roiling of my discontent. You shall not see the true me until it is time.”
“And when will that be?”
“When I deem you ready.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Why are you here, anyway? Your spaceship crash, or something?”
“Valdetians have progressed far beyond such archaic craft. However, you are correct in assuming that something went awry with my mode of transportation.”
“So now you’re stuck here in my house? How long have you been here?”
“Two of your months. Long enough to know you live a life of quiet desperation.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a lawyer! I make good money. The hours are not bad. I work out at the gym and am healthy. I’m passing good looking and have a decent body. Lots of people envy me.”
“Then why were you alone until Ajax came into your life?”
“I wasn’t alone. I had relationships. I just didn’t bring any of them home. Until Jax.”
“Yes. He is worth bringing home. Call him.”
“Nope. If I push him too hard, he’ll get restless and hook up with that jock he mentioned. That Robert guy.”
“And this is bad?”
“You heard him, Valdetian. He tends to stay monogamous until it’s time to move on. I don’t want him to move on.”
“But I must see him perform again.”
“Not going to happen, Val. When he comes back, I’m covering every mirror, every television screen, the works. I want my privacy with that young man.”
“When he comes, I will watch. In the meantime, I enjoy seeing you like this.”
So help me, when I realized my mirror was staring at my naked body, I started to get hard.
“Ah, that is nice. Manipulate yourself for me.”
I wet my lips and started to tell him to fuck off. But my hands pressed against my thighs and then cupped my balls. It was pleasant knowing someone…or something…was watching. I grasped my now hard cock in my right hand and tugged on it a couple of times. My nipples tingled. My back rippled. Before I knew it, I was masturbating seriously.
“Yes, yes! That is almost as good as watching Ajax fuck you. Do it, Rex. Make it come.”
I increased the rhythm as my testicles started to draw up. I leaned forward against the countertop, thrusting my groin toward the mirror. A moment later, I exploded. My cum shot all over the glass. I panted and relaxed as sperm oozed through my fingers.
“Beautiful! Beautiful. Do it again.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I wheezed. “Give a guy a break.”
Nonetheless, my butt continued to prickle as I showered and shaved. I finished dressing in my bedroom, keenly aware that I was under observation. I faced my dresser and grasped my basket, shaking it at the mirror before starting for the garage. As I reached the kitchen, my toaster asked where I was going.
“Few chores. Gotta get some groceries. Won’t be long. Unless I spot a buff kid with a nice ass. Enjoy the house; it’s all yours.”
“When will you return?”
“Couple of hours. You’re free to roam until then.”
After my tasks were done, I played cat and mouse with a kid with a cute bubble butt at the Albuquerque library for damned near an hour before some of his buddies showed up and swept him away, ruining what I think was a mutual desire for me to bury my cock between those nice buns. Following that, I had a cup of espresso at Starbucks and took a walk-through of an antique shop. Finally, I admitted I was dawdling, avoiding a return to my alien-infested home. What the hell was I going to do about that short of burning the place down? Did Terminix handle space mice?
Might as well face the music; or more to the point, the Valdetian. When I inserted my key in the lock, my peephole almost made me pee my pants.
“Where have you been? Hurry up and get in here.”
“What’s the hurry? And stop scaring me like that. Twenty-seven’s too young for white hair.”
“What is the hurry? It is our beautiful friend, Ajax.”
“What about him?” Comprehension dawned. “You didn’t! Please tell me you didn’t call him. How did you even get his telephone number?”
“You thoughtfully left it in the telephone, properly labeled Ajax Froman. Yes, I dialed his number, and he thought it was you,” my own voice said from somewhere down the hall.
I began to get a bad feeling. “What the hell did you say to him?”
“He claimed he was too busy studying, so I suggested he bring along his new friend, Robert.”
“What?” I roared. “Don’t encourage him, Valdetian. He’ll crawl aboard that kid and forget all about me.”
The voice, this time coming from the computer screen in my home office, took on that tinny quality again, and I understood Val was disturbed. “I offered to join them. That is, I offered for you to join them. I suggested they could both fuck you and end this problem of being tops, which I understand means they both wish to fuck rather than be fucked.”
“Oh, shit!” I moaned. “And what did he say to that?”
“He seemed somewhat offended. Ajax said he did not go for threesomes.”
“You’ve fucked it all up. The kid will never see me again!”
“To the contrary. Ajax is on his way over here right this minute.”
“With Robert? How did you manage that?”
“I, speaking as you, of course, offered the use of your bedroom and assured him the front door would be unlocked. I…you promised to remain closeted in your office until he left.”
I collapsed in my chair, devastated. This…this creature had screwed up my life just so he could watch Ajax perform in bed, and there was nothing I could do about it short of heading the kid off at the door and alienating him forever. The front doorbell rang, bringing me out of the chair.
“Do not answer it,” the computer warned. “He said he would ring the bell to reassure his companion no one was home.”
Moments later, I heard the rumble of nervous male laughter in my front hallway. I clasped my head in my hands and suffered in silence.
After a few minutes, the creature spoke. “Look.”
I raised my head and gazed into my computer screen. Ajax… my beautiful Ajax…held a sturdy, handsome blond kid in his arms. Robert fought the kiss for a minute, but once Ajax found his lips, the jock surrendered. I soon lost the power to protest as I watched the most erotic striptease I’d ever witnessed. Each disrobed the other, one garment at a time. Robert’s erection sent me into the stratosphere, probably someplace near Valdetia. When Jax slowly rolled a pair of bikini shorts over his own downy thighs, excitement turned to elation. That slender, tousle-headed youth of my dreams was bigger. In every way: length, thickness…sheer bulk. Robert seemed to lose some of his swagger.
“Look,” Valdetian said from somewhere over my shoulder. “Ajax is more the man.”
“Yes, but let’s see who sticks it to whom. I’m betting on Jax, although it’s gonna be a blow to the ego for that jock to take a cock up his butt.”
It was a seesaw, but Ajax played it masterfully, just as he had for those Montana cowboys, I imagine. He used his full, sensuous lips to drive the jock crazy and then lured the blond into a little payback. By the time they tumbled onto the bed, Robert was on the bottom. Ajax gave him a full, deep-throat kiss while spreading the boy’s legs with his own. When he cradled Robert’s knees in his elbows, the jock protested. Jax stilled the rebellion with another kiss while he fingered the blond’s ass. Soon he was easing that big log into Robert’s channel.
After that, my handsome stud became liquid mercury, thrusting and stabbing, slow, fast, hard, languid, his hand continuously at Robert’s groin, toying with his testicles, pumping his cock. Robert broke first. With a mighty shout, the jock wrapped his legs around Jax’s narrow waist and lifted himself off the bed. Cum flew all over both of them. That was when Jax really got down to business. His climax was awesome.
“See,” came the voice behind me. “The handsome boy closes his eyes during orgasm. And they are such beautiful eyes.”
I stood suddenly, catching my erection painfully on the edge of the computer stand. “I’m going in there! I’ve got to have him! Now!”
“Think!” Valdetian ordered. “If you barge in on them now, Ajax will be angry. He may never return again.”
“He may not anyway,” I said savagely, “now that he’s found another.”
“Look at them closely,” my computer screen ordered. “Ajax is satisfied, as he always is. Happy. He goes about cleaning up and dressing in a comfortable way. But watch the other boy.”
It was true. Robert looked as if a storm cloud hovered overhead. Things had not gone as planned. I knew he had expected to seduce the slender, graceful dark-haired kid from the northern plains. He’d intended to stuff his manhood up Jax and expected the sophomore to be grateful for the privilege of taking it. Now the big athlete was confused, mortified. Afraid.
His first words confirmed my conclusions. “Let’s get outta this joint before the guy who lives here comes back. You ever tell anybody about this, Froman, and I’ll have your ass.”
Unabashed, my beautiful lover looked him dead in the eye and ended it on the spot with an arrow to the ego. “Not like I just had yours, Robert. That’ll never happen.”
I could hardly contain myself until they were out of the house, and then I rushed into my bedroom to inhale the aroma of their lovemaking. Musk and tangy semen. I tore off my clothes and leaned over the bed, my erection pulsing wildly.
“It drove you mad, did it not?” Valdetian’s voice came from somewhere behind me. Ignoring him, I grasped myself and began to pump. “I think you are ready,” he whispered.
“R…ready?” I gasped. “For what?” I whipped my cock desperately, strangely elated that he watched.
“For me to emerge. For you to see me as I truly am. We are not entirely compatible, my handsome earthling, but I believe that I can satisfy you,” the Valdetian said over my shoulder.
I released my raging cock and turned, eager for relief, any relief!
And screamed in abject terror!
RED, RED, AND MORE RED
Doug Harrison
So, what’s with my infatuation with red? A remnant of the long, sleek, bright-red fire truck I received for my fourth birthday and obsessively played with, ignoring all other toys? Or memories of my first two-wheel bicycle, and my dad patiently teaching me how to ride, bless him? Or my first car, my very own auto, a red Volkswagen Beetle?
No matter. I must mow the lawn today, after much procrastination, of course, and choose an outfit to match my red lawn tractor. My one-acre spread in Hawaii harbors a small but comfortable home, to which I have retired. I’m bounded by jungle on three sides; I can gaze into dense foliage through a large picture window in my office as I type. But the house’s other walls are framed by lawn, far too much of it, an unfortunate reminder of suburban California neighborhoods where I roosted and a distinct surprise when I searched for property. Fortunately, my grassy meadow contains three large, rocky islands of contorted lava outcrops, hidey-holes for resting and nesting mongooses, variegated foliage, wild orchards and a smattering of stately Ohia trees. Why developers didn’t leave most of the majestic Ohias intact remains a mystery. The Hawaiian equivalent of California redwoods that survive forest fires, Ohia trees spring almost magically from cooled lava flows; a pocket of water, an airborne seed, and poof, a tree is born. But I make the most of my stately lawn and give thanks for what Ohias I do have, delighted and proud to be their protector.
My lawn tractor is a joy to ride. Whenever I ride it, I bounce along thinking of Mr. Toad in his new red motorcar “…going merrily over, the road that leads to Dover…”
But as ever there’s a short somewhere in the electrical system that no one can find, certainly not me, so I must first engage my readily accessible red battery charger.
I pass my red Camry in the carport, hook up the charger and ponder my riding outfit. Jodhpurs and riding crop are not necessary, but a cap is in order. In fact, my skin specialist has warned me not to venture into the sun without dressing like a fireman. No kidding! No skin showing! Bullshit! That’s not why this sun bunny moved to Hawaii. I know I’m toying with fire, but, at my age, I don’t worry about consequences. So I compromise with a red cap, no shirt, red Puma sneakers, and gobs of suntan lotion.
And I wait until late afternoon—low sun, but more traffic on our road, which could be good or bad. My proclivity for exhibitionism is occasionally overridden by propriety. I live in a development where lots range in size from one to three acres, different than the typical tract development. My property is on the main cross street, with more than the usual traffic. Who might cruise by? So, let’s go fishing, not trolling, whilst we mow the lawn!
Let’s see: red and white, baggy, waist-to-knee surfer shorts, red hip-to-midthigh gym shorts, red Speedos or a red thong? I prefer the thong, having been told I look good in it (who’s to argue?), but that’s pushing the envelope should little old ladies tootle by, or a young couple meander along with their baby stroller. I thank god mankind has evolved from the white cotton boxers and briefs of my youth to colorful, form-fitting, even form-enhancing underwear. It feels great to harbor plumage, and the demarcation between underwear and outerwear, like the boundary of a black hole, is nebulous. I settle on the red Speedos, the ones with the extra-narrow waistband, of course. I stuff myself into them, no cock ring needed, excitement propels engorgement, and the pouch is promptly filled. Of course I stretch the drawstring to its elastic limit (pun intended for you engineers), and secure it with a square knot.
Battery charged. Engine engaged. Back out of garage. And off we go!
The palm and coconut trees on my property provide some shade, but mostly I’m in direct sun. And my thong tan line shows it. Great for the nude beach, but that’s another story.
I’m putt-putting about twenty yards from the street and notice a battered white flatbed truck approaching. It’s towing a trailer supporting a sleek, top-of-the-line green John Deere lawn tractor. The young, shirtless Hawaiian driver decelerates and cranes his neck as he passes. He turns the corner three lots away, the motor drifts into semi-silence, and gains in volume. Must have done a U-turn, a difficult maneuver with his lengthy set of wheels. He’s obviously curious, possibly intrigued, and, goddamn, perhaps serious, with the requisite skill set. It’s time to mow the patch contiguous to the road.
He approaches.
I smile.
He slows.
I wave.
He waves back.
I brake and idle.
He pulls to a stop near me.
I rub my crotch.
He kills his engine and disembarks.
I stand, my crotch proudly perched on the rim of the steering wheel. Speaking of rimming… I hop off, and we stand chest to chest. He’s five-nine to my six feet, with gorgeous deep-brown skin, long black hair tied into a neat ponytail with a red rubber band and sparkling black eyes, that hold who knows what memories. I should have worn the thong. Nah, let him explore, if he’s so inclined. I extend my hand.
“Aloha, I’m Doug, nickname’s Puma.”
“Aloha, I like that,” he says as his eyes raster my torso, pausing on my nipple rings, and proceeding to my runner’s thighs, lingering at the elongated bulge in my Speedos and its concomitant Shmoo-shaped stain. “I’m Kalani. Means—”
“The sky,” I interrupt. “Beautiful name.”
He arches his eyebrows and nods. “Also means ‘high chief,’” he says with a slight smirk.
“You look like a warrior,” I add. “Like to see you in a native loincloth.”
He grins. “It’s called a malo.”
“Or less,” I add, returning his smile and raising the ante.
We shake. His eyes reflect his astonishment that I’ve mastered the Hawaiian three-grip, sliding handshake. He recovers and rubs his crotch. “Good going, bro.”
“Call him back. I should like to observe him again. And you, too, of course. You are quite attractive as you squirm beneath him. I notice that you use two positions. In one, you face him; in the other he enters you from behind.”
“I like the first.” What was this squirrelly satisfaction I got from discussing Ajax’s bedroom gymnastics with my TV, my mantel, the light fixture, even the ashtray? “Because I can watch him do it to me. But the other way is good, too, because it’s full-body contact.”
“He prefers that, I believe,” my reading lamp suggested.
“Yes, I think you are right.”
“Contact him,” the voice, which was beginning to sound a bit like me, urged again.
“Can’t. He drove his own car today and won’t be back at the dorm yet. And you heard him tell me he has to study for midterm exams.”
“Tomorrow is what you call Sun-day. Try him tomorrow. Lure him back!” one of the tiny mirrors sewn into the avant-garde throw pillow on my lap insisted. I hastily threw it aside.
“We’ll see,” I hedged in the face of such intensity and fled outside to cut the lawn in the dark, wondering at every step if the Valdetian rode the mower with its dangerous whirling blades.
After a restless night of listening for—and hearing—rustling noises in the dark, creaks from the attic, and a thud in the kitchen, I rose and staggered naked into the bathroom looking like a wreck. I pissed, rinsed my hands, and doused my face in cold water before clearing away my eyes with a towel. Something in the mirror did not look right; it was cloudy. Vainly, I tried to wash off what I took to be soap film. At length, I stood back and regarded it for what it was.
“I see you, Valdetian.”
“No,” my mirror answered quietly. “You see only the roiling of my discontent. You shall not see the true me until it is time.”
“And when will that be?”
“When I deem you ready.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Why are you here, anyway? Your spaceship crash, or something?”
“Valdetians have progressed far beyond such archaic craft. However, you are correct in assuming that something went awry with my mode of transportation.”
“So now you’re stuck here in my house? How long have you been here?”
“Two of your months. Long enough to know you live a life of quiet desperation.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a lawyer! I make good money. The hours are not bad. I work out at the gym and am healthy. I’m passing good looking and have a decent body. Lots of people envy me.”
“Then why were you alone until Ajax came into your life?”
“I wasn’t alone. I had relationships. I just didn’t bring any of them home. Until Jax.”
“Yes. He is worth bringing home. Call him.”
“Nope. If I push him too hard, he’ll get restless and hook up with that jock he mentioned. That Robert guy.”
“And this is bad?”
“You heard him, Valdetian. He tends to stay monogamous until it’s time to move on. I don’t want him to move on.”
“But I must see him perform again.”
“Not going to happen, Val. When he comes back, I’m covering every mirror, every television screen, the works. I want my privacy with that young man.”
“When he comes, I will watch. In the meantime, I enjoy seeing you like this.”
So help me, when I realized my mirror was staring at my naked body, I started to get hard.
“Ah, that is nice. Manipulate yourself for me.”
I wet my lips and started to tell him to fuck off. But my hands pressed against my thighs and then cupped my balls. It was pleasant knowing someone…or something…was watching. I grasped my now hard cock in my right hand and tugged on it a couple of times. My nipples tingled. My back rippled. Before I knew it, I was masturbating seriously.
“Yes, yes! That is almost as good as watching Ajax fuck you. Do it, Rex. Make it come.”
I increased the rhythm as my testicles started to draw up. I leaned forward against the countertop, thrusting my groin toward the mirror. A moment later, I exploded. My cum shot all over the glass. I panted and relaxed as sperm oozed through my fingers.
“Beautiful! Beautiful. Do it again.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I wheezed. “Give a guy a break.”
Nonetheless, my butt continued to prickle as I showered and shaved. I finished dressing in my bedroom, keenly aware that I was under observation. I faced my dresser and grasped my basket, shaking it at the mirror before starting for the garage. As I reached the kitchen, my toaster asked where I was going.
“Few chores. Gotta get some groceries. Won’t be long. Unless I spot a buff kid with a nice ass. Enjoy the house; it’s all yours.”
“When will you return?”
“Couple of hours. You’re free to roam until then.”
After my tasks were done, I played cat and mouse with a kid with a cute bubble butt at the Albuquerque library for damned near an hour before some of his buddies showed up and swept him away, ruining what I think was a mutual desire for me to bury my cock between those nice buns. Following that, I had a cup of espresso at Starbucks and took a walk-through of an antique shop. Finally, I admitted I was dawdling, avoiding a return to my alien-infested home. What the hell was I going to do about that short of burning the place down? Did Terminix handle space mice?
Might as well face the music; or more to the point, the Valdetian. When I inserted my key in the lock, my peephole almost made me pee my pants.
“Where have you been? Hurry up and get in here.”
“What’s the hurry? And stop scaring me like that. Twenty-seven’s too young for white hair.”
“What is the hurry? It is our beautiful friend, Ajax.”
“What about him?” Comprehension dawned. “You didn’t! Please tell me you didn’t call him. How did you even get his telephone number?”
“You thoughtfully left it in the telephone, properly labeled Ajax Froman. Yes, I dialed his number, and he thought it was you,” my own voice said from somewhere down the hall.
I began to get a bad feeling. “What the hell did you say to him?”
“He claimed he was too busy studying, so I suggested he bring along his new friend, Robert.”
“What?” I roared. “Don’t encourage him, Valdetian. He’ll crawl aboard that kid and forget all about me.”
The voice, this time coming from the computer screen in my home office, took on that tinny quality again, and I understood Val was disturbed. “I offered to join them. That is, I offered for you to join them. I suggested they could both fuck you and end this problem of being tops, which I understand means they both wish to fuck rather than be fucked.”
“Oh, shit!” I moaned. “And what did he say to that?”
“He seemed somewhat offended. Ajax said he did not go for threesomes.”
“You’ve fucked it all up. The kid will never see me again!”
“To the contrary. Ajax is on his way over here right this minute.”
“With Robert? How did you manage that?”
“I, speaking as you, of course, offered the use of your bedroom and assured him the front door would be unlocked. I…you promised to remain closeted in your office until he left.”
I collapsed in my chair, devastated. This…this creature had screwed up my life just so he could watch Ajax perform in bed, and there was nothing I could do about it short of heading the kid off at the door and alienating him forever. The front doorbell rang, bringing me out of the chair.
“Do not answer it,” the computer warned. “He said he would ring the bell to reassure his companion no one was home.”
Moments later, I heard the rumble of nervous male laughter in my front hallway. I clasped my head in my hands and suffered in silence.
After a few minutes, the creature spoke. “Look.”
I raised my head and gazed into my computer screen. Ajax… my beautiful Ajax…held a sturdy, handsome blond kid in his arms. Robert fought the kiss for a minute, but once Ajax found his lips, the jock surrendered. I soon lost the power to protest as I watched the most erotic striptease I’d ever witnessed. Each disrobed the other, one garment at a time. Robert’s erection sent me into the stratosphere, probably someplace near Valdetia. When Jax slowly rolled a pair of bikini shorts over his own downy thighs, excitement turned to elation. That slender, tousle-headed youth of my dreams was bigger. In every way: length, thickness…sheer bulk. Robert seemed to lose some of his swagger.
“Look,” Valdetian said from somewhere over my shoulder. “Ajax is more the man.”
“Yes, but let’s see who sticks it to whom. I’m betting on Jax, although it’s gonna be a blow to the ego for that jock to take a cock up his butt.”
It was a seesaw, but Ajax played it masterfully, just as he had for those Montana cowboys, I imagine. He used his full, sensuous lips to drive the jock crazy and then lured the blond into a little payback. By the time they tumbled onto the bed, Robert was on the bottom. Ajax gave him a full, deep-throat kiss while spreading the boy’s legs with his own. When he cradled Robert’s knees in his elbows, the jock protested. Jax stilled the rebellion with another kiss while he fingered the blond’s ass. Soon he was easing that big log into Robert’s channel.
After that, my handsome stud became liquid mercury, thrusting and stabbing, slow, fast, hard, languid, his hand continuously at Robert’s groin, toying with his testicles, pumping his cock. Robert broke first. With a mighty shout, the jock wrapped his legs around Jax’s narrow waist and lifted himself off the bed. Cum flew all over both of them. That was when Jax really got down to business. His climax was awesome.
“See,” came the voice behind me. “The handsome boy closes his eyes during orgasm. And they are such beautiful eyes.”
I stood suddenly, catching my erection painfully on the edge of the computer stand. “I’m going in there! I’ve got to have him! Now!”
“Think!” Valdetian ordered. “If you barge in on them now, Ajax will be angry. He may never return again.”
“He may not anyway,” I said savagely, “now that he’s found another.”
“Look at them closely,” my computer screen ordered. “Ajax is satisfied, as he always is. Happy. He goes about cleaning up and dressing in a comfortable way. But watch the other boy.”
It was true. Robert looked as if a storm cloud hovered overhead. Things had not gone as planned. I knew he had expected to seduce the slender, graceful dark-haired kid from the northern plains. He’d intended to stuff his manhood up Jax and expected the sophomore to be grateful for the privilege of taking it. Now the big athlete was confused, mortified. Afraid.
His first words confirmed my conclusions. “Let’s get outta this joint before the guy who lives here comes back. You ever tell anybody about this, Froman, and I’ll have your ass.”
Unabashed, my beautiful lover looked him dead in the eye and ended it on the spot with an arrow to the ego. “Not like I just had yours, Robert. That’ll never happen.”
I could hardly contain myself until they were out of the house, and then I rushed into my bedroom to inhale the aroma of their lovemaking. Musk and tangy semen. I tore off my clothes and leaned over the bed, my erection pulsing wildly.
“It drove you mad, did it not?” Valdetian’s voice came from somewhere behind me. Ignoring him, I grasped myself and began to pump. “I think you are ready,” he whispered.
“R…ready?” I gasped. “For what?” I whipped my cock desperately, strangely elated that he watched.
“For me to emerge. For you to see me as I truly am. We are not entirely compatible, my handsome earthling, but I believe that I can satisfy you,” the Valdetian said over my shoulder.
I released my raging cock and turned, eager for relief, any relief!
And screamed in abject terror!
RED, RED, AND MORE RED
Doug Harrison
So, what’s with my infatuation with red? A remnant of the long, sleek, bright-red fire truck I received for my fourth birthday and obsessively played with, ignoring all other toys? Or memories of my first two-wheel bicycle, and my dad patiently teaching me how to ride, bless him? Or my first car, my very own auto, a red Volkswagen Beetle?
No matter. I must mow the lawn today, after much procrastination, of course, and choose an outfit to match my red lawn tractor. My one-acre spread in Hawaii harbors a small but comfortable home, to which I have retired. I’m bounded by jungle on three sides; I can gaze into dense foliage through a large picture window in my office as I type. But the house’s other walls are framed by lawn, far too much of it, an unfortunate reminder of suburban California neighborhoods where I roosted and a distinct surprise when I searched for property. Fortunately, my grassy meadow contains three large, rocky islands of contorted lava outcrops, hidey-holes for resting and nesting mongooses, variegated foliage, wild orchards and a smattering of stately Ohia trees. Why developers didn’t leave most of the majestic Ohias intact remains a mystery. The Hawaiian equivalent of California redwoods that survive forest fires, Ohia trees spring almost magically from cooled lava flows; a pocket of water, an airborne seed, and poof, a tree is born. But I make the most of my stately lawn and give thanks for what Ohias I do have, delighted and proud to be their protector.
My lawn tractor is a joy to ride. Whenever I ride it, I bounce along thinking of Mr. Toad in his new red motorcar “…going merrily over, the road that leads to Dover…”
But as ever there’s a short somewhere in the electrical system that no one can find, certainly not me, so I must first engage my readily accessible red battery charger.
I pass my red Camry in the carport, hook up the charger and ponder my riding outfit. Jodhpurs and riding crop are not necessary, but a cap is in order. In fact, my skin specialist has warned me not to venture into the sun without dressing like a fireman. No kidding! No skin showing! Bullshit! That’s not why this sun bunny moved to Hawaii. I know I’m toying with fire, but, at my age, I don’t worry about consequences. So I compromise with a red cap, no shirt, red Puma sneakers, and gobs of suntan lotion.
And I wait until late afternoon—low sun, but more traffic on our road, which could be good or bad. My proclivity for exhibitionism is occasionally overridden by propriety. I live in a development where lots range in size from one to three acres, different than the typical tract development. My property is on the main cross street, with more than the usual traffic. Who might cruise by? So, let’s go fishing, not trolling, whilst we mow the lawn!
Let’s see: red and white, baggy, waist-to-knee surfer shorts, red hip-to-midthigh gym shorts, red Speedos or a red thong? I prefer the thong, having been told I look good in it (who’s to argue?), but that’s pushing the envelope should little old ladies tootle by, or a young couple meander along with their baby stroller. I thank god mankind has evolved from the white cotton boxers and briefs of my youth to colorful, form-fitting, even form-enhancing underwear. It feels great to harbor plumage, and the demarcation between underwear and outerwear, like the boundary of a black hole, is nebulous. I settle on the red Speedos, the ones with the extra-narrow waistband, of course. I stuff myself into them, no cock ring needed, excitement propels engorgement, and the pouch is promptly filled. Of course I stretch the drawstring to its elastic limit (pun intended for you engineers), and secure it with a square knot.
Battery charged. Engine engaged. Back out of garage. And off we go!
The palm and coconut trees on my property provide some shade, but mostly I’m in direct sun. And my thong tan line shows it. Great for the nude beach, but that’s another story.
I’m putt-putting about twenty yards from the street and notice a battered white flatbed truck approaching. It’s towing a trailer supporting a sleek, top-of-the-line green John Deere lawn tractor. The young, shirtless Hawaiian driver decelerates and cranes his neck as he passes. He turns the corner three lots away, the motor drifts into semi-silence, and gains in volume. Must have done a U-turn, a difficult maneuver with his lengthy set of wheels. He’s obviously curious, possibly intrigued, and, goddamn, perhaps serious, with the requisite skill set. It’s time to mow the patch contiguous to the road.
He approaches.
I smile.
He slows.
I wave.
He waves back.
I brake and idle.
He pulls to a stop near me.
I rub my crotch.
He kills his engine and disembarks.
I stand, my crotch proudly perched on the rim of the steering wheel. Speaking of rimming… I hop off, and we stand chest to chest. He’s five-nine to my six feet, with gorgeous deep-brown skin, long black hair tied into a neat ponytail with a red rubber band and sparkling black eyes, that hold who knows what memories. I should have worn the thong. Nah, let him explore, if he’s so inclined. I extend my hand.
“Aloha, I’m Doug, nickname’s Puma.”
“Aloha, I like that,” he says as his eyes raster my torso, pausing on my nipple rings, and proceeding to my runner’s thighs, lingering at the elongated bulge in my Speedos and its concomitant Shmoo-shaped stain. “I’m Kalani. Means—”
“The sky,” I interrupt. “Beautiful name.”
He arches his eyebrows and nods. “Also means ‘high chief,’” he says with a slight smirk.
“You look like a warrior,” I add. “Like to see you in a native loincloth.”
He grins. “It’s called a malo.”
“Or less,” I add, returning his smile and raising the ante.
We shake. His eyes reflect his astonishment that I’ve mastered the Hawaiian three-grip, sliding handshake. He recovers and rubs his crotch. “Good going, bro.”
