Boys In Heat, page 12
In the dark, as I gasp for air, I feel Jeremy’s cock against my leg and hear his urgent whisper. “Let me fuck you,” he rasps and when I offer no response because the anarchist is momentarily stunned and the professor is near death, he crawls over me, gets a rubber, applies it. My hand reaches for the lamp, turns it on because I want to see him like this. His teeth are bared, jaw clenched; he’s like a lion cub who’s just found his dick. I lie back, raise my legs and show him my hole. His mouth falls open, he licks his lower lip as he guides his prick into me. “Fuck you,” says the anarchist.
How can anyone on earth forswear the joy of penetration? As the persistent cock thrusts in short quick strokes, I am transported to ass-tingling heaven and I hitch my legs higher and clench my muscle, trying to suck his dick as he fucks me. And when he comes, which is all too soon, he is as frantic with his words as his cock. “I’m there, oh shit, I’m there, I’m there,” as if I couldn’t tell he’s shooting come up my butt.
He fucks with a stamina I envy, going on even after his exclamations have stopped, and when he finally relents and pulls out I lower my legs and leap onto him, pull off the rubber and get my mouth on his prick, tasting the come, sucking him and handling his balls as if I can squeeze out still more. He lies quiet as I go at him and it is the quiet that ultimately stops it. I hear myself, alone now, sucking dick when it’s over. I fall back, fall over, fall asleep.
He’s gone when I awaken to my alarm at seven. I leap up, rush to his room, find him absent. For a second I’m in complete panic as I fear he’s fled the nest but then I see it’s just his neatness. His handful of CDs are stacked on the desk, his clothes hang in the closet. An early class, then, and this knowledge gets me into my day. In the shower as I soap my dick I think of the night, know it was real even though there is a dreamlike quality. I run a finger up my crack, feel my pucker, push in. Yes.
In the lecture hall that afternoon I see Jeremy fourth row center. My dick gets hard and the anarchist reminds me it’s a new day. As I launch into fluid mechanics, detailing the properties of random turbulence, the anarchist has a good laugh.
TALKING TO MR. MACK
Thomas Fuchs
Mr. Mack kept his apartment dark and sat with his back to the one window that didn’t have a shade so, particularly on a bright day like this, you couldn’t see his face very well and there was no way to tell what he was thinking. Sammy wondered if that was deliberate, a way to get power over him. Mr. Mack was such a drama queen. The way he just buzzed you in without a word and then left his door half open and in you came and it was like you were onstage, kind of, a stage where Mr. Mack had the first line, which was, “What have you brought me?”
“I fucked this guy down,” said Sammy. “Not what he came for but that’s what he got.”
“That’s a good setup,” said Mr. Mack. “What did he come for?”
“Massage.”
“You got him from Craigslist?”
“He found me, answered my post. Not Craigslist. Massage-Boyz, I think.”
“How many lists are you on?”
“Too many, and some chatrooms, but I have to make money.”
“So did he come to your place?”
“Yep.”
“What did he look like?”
“Cute, actually. Surfer build. Not too old and in good shape. Rugged face.”
“Surfer blond?”
“Sorta brown. He said he’s straight, girlfriend out of town.”
“A story we’ve heard before.”
Sammy nodded and smiled. He was a nice-looking kid: early twenties, curly black hair, olive skin. Dark eyes. Not Latin, more Mediterranean. Mr. Mack thought he looked a little like Sal Mineo. Sammy wouldn’t have any idea who Sal was—very different generations.
“So, surfer bod? Smooth?”
“Yeah, pretty smooth. Nice chest hair, not too thick. Kind of silky. And you know what, he wasn’t shaved but he was trimmed, which straight guys don’t usually do.”
“No, they don’t. You said he was in shape but old. How old?”
Sammy shrugged. “Rugged look. Maybe late thirties. But great definition.”
“So he came up to your place? Was it spur of the moment or did he have an appointment?”
“Spur of the moment.”
“Do you find those are the guys who want more than a massage, when they need it right away?”
Sammy smiled. “They all want more than just a massage. Mostly. I have had a few guys say no hand job, just a massage, but mostly they expect it.”
“Particularly when they tell you the girlfriend’s out of town.”
“Yep.”
“Did you start him on his stomach or his back?”
So many questions, thought Sammy. In a way, Mr. Mack was the weirdest of his clients, and the most exhausting.
“On his stomach or his back?” asked Mr. Mack again.
“His stomach. Gave him the Sammy Special on his shoulders, his neck. Used a little oil. Cracked his back.”
“Any incense?”
“No. Just oil.”
“What kind of oil, Sammy? Details. You know I need details.”
“Uh…massage oil.”
“Aromatic?”
Sammy thought hard. What was that oil called? “Uh, sandalwood.” He wasn’t sure it really was sandalwood but the answer satisfied Mr. Mack, who nodded and said, “Okay, go on. You cracked his back, and then?”
“He had a real nice ass.”
“Tell me about it. Was it smooth, his ass?” Mr. Mack leaned forward as he said this and it seemed to Sammy that he was breathing a little faster, but he was still sitting behind his desk, so Sammy couldn’t tell for sure if he was getting excited.
“Pretty smooth,” said Sammy. “Not shaved but not much hair. Nice ass. Hard.”
“Bubble butt?”
“No, not really. But nice shape. Nice legs. Big.”
“You wouldn’t mind fucking him?”
“Well, I didn’t think about it, I guess. I just started getting hard.”
“And then…?”
“Uh,” said Sammy, “so I, you know, ran my finger up the back of his balls and along his crack and he wriggled around a little and he made these sounds.”
“Sounds? What kind of sounds?”
“Ohhh…” said Sammy, drawing out the word, and then, “Ah…ohhh” and did such a bad job of it that the moan became a giggle. “I can’t do it the way he did. I’m not an actor.”
“That’s okay,” said Mr. Mack. “You’re doing fine. So he was spreading his legs and letting you know what he wanted.”
“Yeah. Uh, no, not for sure. But I was thinking probably.”
“He didn’t actually say, fuck me, or anything?”
“No.”
“Maybe he was on the edge about it. Didn’t want to say he wanted it.”
Sammy nodded.
“Didn’t even admit to himself that’s what he wanted,” said Mr. Mack.
“Could be,” said Sammy, and thought that his head was going to explode. Could they just get on with what happened?
Mr. Mack prompted him. “He was on his stomach and…?”
“I flipped him over, did his front.”
“You didn’t want to fuck him when he was on his stomach?”
“He came for a massage so he got a massage. That’s what he paid for.”
“You said he came for more.”
“I meant a hand job. They expect that usually.”
“But they don’t expect to get fucked?”
“Not the massage clients, usually. For one thing, that’s a different rate and sometimes we discuss that after the massage, if they came for a massage but then that’s what they want.”
“What about the hand job?”
“That’s part of the massage.”
“Okay, so let’s not race ahead. About the hand job…nice dick? Tell me about it.”
“About this big around,” said Sammy, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger, big enough that he didn’t close the circle. “And about, um, seven inches.”
“And you worked over every inch of it?”
“Just teased it, got it nice and perky. But he kept spreading his legs, you know?”
“Use your mouth on it?”
“Naw.”
“Lube?”
“Oh, sure.”
“But he didn’t cum?”
“No, cause by then I was getting really interested in fucking him even if he wasn’t gonna pay for it, so I stopped and then you know what I did?”
“What did you do?” The old man leaned forward slightly and turned his head and the light fell on his face and Sammy could see the lines and the sagging pouches under his eyes.
“Well, you know,” said Sammy, “sometimes I can be bad.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“You like it when I’m bad, don’t you?”
“Just give me the details, Sammy. That’s what I like.”
In fact, it was difficult for Sammy sometimes, remembering what his different clients liked. This was Sammy’s third visit to Mr. Mack’s, or was it his fourth, and he still hadn’t quite got a handle on what the guy was looking for, what turned him on.
“You were saying you wanted to fuck him, even though he hadn’t come for that, wasn’t going to pay for that?”
“Completely right,” said Sammy.
“So after the massage and working his dick…?”
“Uh, then I sat on his face.”
“Really?”
“Well, you know, I sort of squatted and hung my dick down onto his mouth.”
“Kind of daring to do that to a straight guy,” said Mr. Mack, “whose girlfriend was…” and he paused and Sammy joined in and in unison they said, “…out of town!” and laughed and then Mr. Mack continued with his questions. “Did he say anything when you stuck your dick in his face?”
“No. He didn’t have to say anything, did he?”
“Sometimes they say Wow or something like that, you’ve told me.”
“Yeah,” said Sammy. He wasn’t a big guy, five-foot-eight, one hundred forty-five, but he was well muscled and well hung. He liked thinking about the number of times guys had said Wow. He was getting hard. Telling Mr. Mack these stories wasn’t so bad, really. Kind of fun, reliving what had happened.
“So, you had your dick down in front of his face…”
“Yeah. Well, he licked it and then I pushed a little bit, you know, and he opened wide, and I pushed it in and he was pretty good, kept his teeth out of the way but he didn’t do too much, so I pushed in all the way and he started to gag, so I pulled it out real quick.”
“And?”
“And then I got him to sit up and I stood over him and then I stuck it back in and told him to relax and I worked him like I told him I was gonna work his ass. I asked him was that what he wanted and he couldn’t say anything because I was in him but I knew the answer because he started making more of an effort. He sucked when I pulled and I told him to use his tongue and he did but he really wasn’t too good at cocksucking, I have to say, but he did get me nice and hard.”
“See, you’re not so bad at telling a story once you get going. Telling a story isn’t that much different from a good fucking. You’ve got to get a rhythm going. So then after he got you hard, did you think you were going to cum?”
“Naw,” said Sammy. “I got a little precum going, that’s true, and he lapped that up, but I pulled out and I pushed him back down and you know I was really in control. Which is one of the things I like if the guy’s bigger than me, which this guy was, did I tell you that? He turned over, back onto his stomach, that’s the way he wanted it, so then I pushed him in the ass, you know, with my foot and told him to hike it up in the air and he did.”
“You were in charge by then?”
“As usual,” said Sammy, smiling.
“Then what happened?”
“I fucked him.”
“Details.”
Mr. Mack wanted so much! “My brain hurts,” said Sammy. “I know the feeling, believe me, but we must press on. Did you just shove your dick into him or was there more foreplay?”
“I put some lube on him, worked my finger in. He took it no trouble so then I used two and worked him around. He wasn’t too loose, which is good you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But he was kinda dirty. Hadn’t cleaned himself up nice.”
“Ugh. I see. Evidence that he is not an experienced bottom.”
“I’m pretty sure I was his first. For a long time anyway. So I put a rubber on my fingers. Then I gave him the vibrating fingers bit against his prostate. He really liked that, my surfer guy. Started twisting around and…” Sammy gasped, imitating the man’s reaction. “He really liked that. Then you know what I did?”
“Tell me, Sammy.”
“I flipped him over on his back ’cause I wanted to look at his face while I did him.”
“Wait, wait. That’s interesting. That’s good. But don’t go so fast. You flipped him over. How did you do that?”
“I have my ways.”
“No, really. Details, Sammy.”
“I stood up and I grabbed his ankles and I straightened out his legs and then I stepped over, twisted him from the hips. And he flipped right over.”
“Kind of like wrestling.”
“Control your man,” said Sammy. “So then I pushed his legs back over, you know, got his ankles almost down to his ears. He was mine, all mine, wide open.”
“Rape fantasy?”
Sammy grinned and shook his head. “Naw, he wanted it, didn’t he, so it’s not rape.”
“Maybe he was playing out some fantasy,” said Mr. Mack, “because he really does have a girlfriend and he was conflicted about wanting to get fucked so he had to pretend it was being forced on him.”
Sammy shrugged. “Don’t know. Could be.”
“On the other hand,” said Mr. Mack, “a manly man might not want to admit to being raped.”
Sammy shrugged again.
Mr. Mack said, “It’s hard to know what’s on a person’s mind sometimes, what they’re thinking, what they really want and why they want it.”
Sammy said nothing, waiting for this unremarkable train of thought to play itself out.
“Ah, well,” said Mr. Mack, “I’ll work on it later. Go on.”
“Where was I?”
“You had him loosened up and on his back.”
“Not too loose, but I’m telling you his hole was pulsing with pleasure by that point. I don’t know if he wanted it, but his pussy sure did.”
“Pulsing with pleasure? Pulsating, you mean. Pulsating with pleasure, I think.”
“Whatever,” said Sammy. “He was digging it. He was twitching all over the place and I really got into it.”
“You were working that prostate.”
“I was making it sing! At first he was in a little pain, I think. Ow, ow…but then he relaxed and I was playing his prostate like a stick on a drum and he was shouting every time I slammed into him, and I was slamming my whole body into him. And then I slowed it up and then I speeded it up and his face started to melt, you know.”
“Melt?”
“You know. I can’t explain it.”
“Try. Details.”
Sammy made a face, cocking his head to one side, dropping his jaw, rolling his eyes. Then he snapped back to normal, and grinned. “Like that,” he said.
“I’ve never seen anyone go like that.”
“You never fucked anyone like I do.”
“Did his mouth really drop open like that?”
“Yeah and he was making that ah-ah-ah sound. And a couple of oh gods, I think.”
“And his head was rolling around?”
“His whole body was bucking but yeah a couple of times it looked like his neck was broken and he stopped moving. And his eyes rolled back. He’d be like that and then it’s like he got more strength and he started bucking around and growling and ah ahh and that. And then he started shooting, cum all over the place.”
“And you pulled out?”
“Not right away.”
“That wasn’t polite.”
“I wasn’t a good host, I guess. But then I pulled out ’cause I like to shoot ’em in the face. I told him to close his eyes and I let loose. It was nice and thick and there was a lot of it. He was a mess!”
“And then?”
“It was getting late. I had to go meet some friends. So I just sorta grabbed him by the hair, you know, and sat him up. He was pretty knocked out but I told him it was shower time. He blew me in the shower, by the way. Just a little bit. Felt real good.”
“I should think so,” said Mr. Mack.
“The water running down all around you and this guy on his knees sucking you. Ummm.”
“And that was it?”
“Well, I toweled him off. Rubbed him good. Made him feel good.”
“And then?”
“Then he left.”
“No final words? You know how much I like final words.”
“Yeah,” Sammy strained to think. “Oh, yeah. I said thanks for coming and he thought that was a joke, you know, cumming. And the last thing he said was, ‘Gee, I wasn’t expecting that.’”
“That’s pretty good,” said Mr. Mack, “I like that—‘I wasn’t expecting that.’”
“That’s what he said,” said Sammy.
Mr. Mack stood up. “Good report. Thank you.” He handed Sammy his sixty dollars and walked him to the door.
“I did okay?”
“You were great.”
“I was thinking maybe I should keep a notebook or something.”
Mr. Mack was startled by that, “No, no… Just tell me what happens as best you can. As directly as you can. Just the way we’ve been doing it.” He laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“I just suddenly had this image in my head of you straddling some guy, fucking him, then stopping and jotting something down on a pad, and then back to fucking him.”
“Maybe I should videotape the whole thing, with a hidden camera,” said Sammy.
