Best Gay Erotica 2001, page 16
My jaw dropped.
“Well,” I said. “Would you look at that!”
Sticking out of Crosby’s hairy crotch and hanging there in midair was the biggest motherfucking hard-on I’d ever seen—next to mine, of course. It was so fucking long that in Crosby’s hunched-over position, it was hanging maybe a half-inch from the back wheel of the Indian. I grinned.
“Fag-bashing motherfucker finds out he likes getting it in the keister, after all,” I growled. “Boys, this is a night of triumph for fudge-packers everywhere. Marco, get me the keys to the Indian. I got an idea.”
Crosby gave a pathetic moan of terror. He tried to find words, but couldn’t—half probably because of all the cum in his mouth from Paulie overshooting, half from dealing with the fact that he had a raging hard-on from getting ass-fucked. While Marco fished the keys out of the top drawer of my desk and Paulie climbed off the Indian, stroking his already half-hard spit-and-cum-slicked cock, I stripped off my leather boots, vest, and pants, pulled my shirt off over my head, then put the boots back on.
“Paulie, open up the window, will you? These old bikes burn kind of dirty. And turn on the fan.”
Crosby moaned.
“Looks to me like you need to learn to kiss some faggot ass,” I snarled, mounting the Indian as if I were going to ride it. “So why don’t you show me what you’ve learned so far?” Sitting on Crosby’s head, I kick-started the Indian and put it in first.
Then I leaned forward hard so my ass was right in front of Crosby’s cum-dripping face.
Marco saw what I was up to and, chuckling, grabbed Crosby’s head. He yanked it back so I could get into position, then pushed it forward so Crosby’s face was forced between my hairy black ass-cheeks.
“That big cock nice and close to the back wheel?”
“Half an inch, boss,” chuckled Paulie. “No more.”
“Perfect,” I said, and popped the clutch.
The whole Indian shuddered as the gears caught. I heard the whine of the wheel spinning free in midair, and Crosby shrieked as he felt the breeze so close to his prick.
“You better hope your dick don’t get any harder than it is,” I shouted over the roar. “Otherwise, you’re gonna find yourself minus one foreskin. Of course, all you have to do is get soft,” I laughed. “Prove you don’t want to lick biker butt as much as you know you do. Either that, or get to work with that tongue of yours, kissing my ass, and maybe I’ll be nice enough to ease up on the gas a little.”
I hit the accelerator, and Crosby shrieked. Then I felt his tongue burrowing into my asshole.
“Oh, yeah,” I sighed. “That’s right. Nothing I love more than feeling a homophobic fucker tongue my asshole like he knows he was meant to do. Paulie, you hard again?”
“Like a fuckin’ rock, boss,” said Paulie eagerly. “Any time you say, we’ll nail this guy again.”
“That’s what I love about you, Paulie,” I said. “The Italian fuckin’ Stallion.”
“Watch it, boss! Don’t call me a fuckin’ Italian.”
“Oh yeah,” I chuckled. “I always forget. It’s the Sicilian Million.” I reached back and patted Crosby’s eagerly bobbing head as his tongue worked back and forth into my asshole. “That’s the number of times Paulie here’s shot his load in a nice hairy butthole like yours, Crosby.” I clutched, and listened to the back wheel spinning down as the Indian shuddered and vibrated.
“You keep licking me like that, Crosby,” I said, “and all you’ll get is a reaming. Once that gorilla Paulie climbs on top of you, though, the suspension of this fuckin’ bike is going to be taxed to the limit. I think you’ll find your dick pressing hard against that back wheel.”
“Let’s find out,” said Paulie, and I heard a muffled groan from my ass, felt a hot exhalation of breath as Crosby took Paulie’s organ into his butthole.
“Is that dick pressing against the wheel?”
“Nice and hard,” said Paulie with a chuckle. “You pop that clutch, boss, and it’s ciao, fucker.”
“Keep that in mind, Crosby, while you’re licking my ass. I like a nice, deep ass-licking. You lose interest, and I just might let my hand ease up on the clutch.”
In response, Crosby’s tongue dug deeper into my butthole. Damn, that felt good. The guy’s beard was rubbing rough and wiry against my ass, and if there was one thing I wished, it was that I could unstrap him and ram his dick up my hole without losing the coherence of the lesson. I would just have to be satisfied with a nice long rim-job.
“Oh yeah,” I sighed. “You suck biker asshole just right, Crosby. I bet you always knew you wanted to be a faggot when you grew up.”
I pushed back further on the seat of the Indian, careful to hold tight on the clutch—no way was I going to lose this Crosby guy’s monster schlong to an accident when I’d just succeeded in converting him to our way of thinking. I started to stroke my cock while he licked my butt, and I heard Paulie groaning as he pumped harder into Crosby’s asshole.
“This time, shoot it on his cock and balls, Paulie,” I said. “Smear that fuckin’ big cock of his with your cum, capische?”
This guy really knew how to lick biker ass. Coaxed by his tongue, I was gonna shoot my load all over the instrument panel of the Indian. And I didn’t even fucking care anymore—sure, I would have liked to get a piece of that tight hairy ass, but his tongue up my hole felt so good, I wanted to do it right now. I began to jack my cock harder.
Then Marco was on me, his mouth over the head of my cock, his hand jerking himself off as he sucked me. I groaned, feeling his hot mouth engulf me, and then I came, my whole body shuddering as Crosby’s tongue worked my spasming hole and Marco took my hot load down his throat. I went crazy, bucking hard on Crosby’s face—and that’s when I heard his scream, heard the choking grind of gears, and realized that I’d let my clutch hand slip.
“Oh fuck!” I shouted, reaching for the key.
“Goddamn it, boss,” said Paulie. “If I hadn’t already shot my load and climbed off of this fucker, his goddamn dick would be in the next county.”
I switched off the Indian, climbed down, and walked around to look, just to make sure that his dick was still there. It was there, all right—big and thick and so beautiful it made me want to cry, hairy and dripping pre-cum like he couldn’t wait to shoot his load all over the motorcycle tire that’d just almost made him a eunuch.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty fucking lucky for you, Crosby.”
“And lucky for me,” I said, eyeing that still-hard, throbbing dick. Eleven inches long if it was a fuckin’ centimeter, and thick around as a can of green beans. If I didn’t get that thing in my fuckin’ asshole sooner or later, I was never going to forgive myself.
Crosby was sobbing, whimpering, still squirming on the bike. That last trick had given him a bad scare. But even he wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
I heard screaming outside my office, Sammy Jane shrieking, “I told you, he’s not taking any visitors! He’s in a meeting!” And then the splintering of wood as the door came bursting in.
“Holy shit,” gasped Paulie, scrambling for his revolver in the pile of his clothes. Marco was reaching for his, too, when we all realized it was Long Tooth Eddie sprawled on the floor in the remains of the door.
“Jackson, Jackson,” Eddie was sputtering. “You don’t understand, you got it all wrong!”
“Eddie,” I chuckled. “Don’t worry, we took care of the sonofabitch that worked you over.”
“No, no, no,” sobbed Eddie. “I fuckin’ asked for it!”
“Eddie,” I said, helping him to his feet and patting him on the back. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, that’s classic blame-the-victim thinking! I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk from you, pal. You did not ask for it. A man has a right to go to whatever sleazy fuckin’ faggot bar he chooses, especially one run by me, without risking harassment by reactionary elements in society—”
“No! I fuckin’ paid him thirty dollars!”
I stared blankly at Long Tooth Eddie.
“Oh, shit,” said Paulie.
“I paid him thirty bucks to work me over in the alley,” said Eddie. “I’ve been cruising him for weeks.”
“But you’re Mr. Vanilla!” I said to Eddie. Eddie was famous for wimping out when a guy even tried to tweak his nipples.
“I guess I wanted to walk on the wild side a little,” said Eddie. “And damn, he was fuckin’ good. If I’d known leather sex was like this I would have done it years ago. My mind was so fuckin’ blown from the way this guy did me, I couldn’t talk for an hour. By the time I came to my senses, I was in the back of Paulie’s car outside your office. When I finally figured out what happened…well, I figured I’d better come over and make it right.”
Crosby spoke for the first time. “You’re a little fuckin’ late,” he rasped, his throat raw from Paulie’s thick cock.
“I thought you’d been casing the joint,” I said to him weakly.
“Just getting my nerve up,” he choked. “I’m a city councilman.”
“Holy shit,” I said. Lester Crosby. I remembered him from the newspapers.
“I’m not exactly, um, out of the closet.”
There was a long silence as I just stared at Crosby, wondering how fucked I was.
“See, now I feel terrible,” I said.
I sat down and fumbled for a cigarette in my shirt pocket for a minute before I yanked my chest hair and realized I was naked. Paulie grabbed a pack from my desk and tossed it to me, with a lighter.
“Marco, Paulie,” I said. “Let Councilman Crosby up.”
They uncuffed his wrists and freed his ankles from the stocks. He slumped to the ground. Paulie grabbed a bottle of Jack and poured the councilman a drink. He slugged back that one, and the next, and the next.
When I’d taken a few good drags, a thought occurred to me. “Oh, damn,” I said. “You’re not, like, on the Zoning Advisory Board or anything, are you?”
“Matter of fact, yes,” growled Crosby, looking at me.
“Councilman…I don’t know what to say. It was just a simple misunderstanding.”
“Hardly seems ‘simple’ to me,” he said nastily.
“If there’s any way I can make it up to you…” I began. The words were already out of my mouth when I realized that Crosby’s dick was still hard—as hard as it’d been when Marco was porking the guy’s ass. So maybe I’d noticed before, without realizing it, and that’s why I’d said it.
“Well,” he said, standing up with Eddie’s help. “Now that you mention it, there is one thing….”
His hand closed around his big, hard cock. He stroked it a little. A drop of pre-cum oozed out of the pisshole and dribbled to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” I said, feeling my asshole clench, remembering the eager tonguing Councilman Crosby had just given it, and the way my butt had hungered for that huge, beautiful municipal cock.
“You’re joking,” I said.
“Uh-uh,” said the councilman, and Marco and Paulie looked at me, their hairy faces a curious mix of fear and excitement.
I looked one more time, briefly, at Crosby’s dick—and that’s all it fuckin’ took. I was already hard, so I just looked at Paulie, at Marco, and nodded once.
The two gorillas came for me, broad grins on their faces. I heard Councilman Crosby laughing as Marco and Paulie dragged me to the Indian.
Heart
Simon Sheppard
I was in my senior year of college, a good-looking kid if I do say so myself, when my American Lit professor invited me to dinner. To discuss Melville, he said.
Only—and you’re way ahead of me here, I guess—Billy Budd wasn’t what was really on his mind.
“I like you,” I said, after we’d polished off a bottle of semi-expensive wine and he was staring at me as if I were dessert, “but—no offense—you’re old enough to be my father.”
“Your grandfather,” he said, and kind of smiled.
“Both my grandfathers are dead,” I said. I have no idea why I said that.
His smile went away. He laid his hand on my knee. I was what you might call sexually confused back then. I’d had a couple of girlfriends in high school, had screwed the second one. And since I’d gotten to college, I’d fucked around with both girls and, later, guys, but nothing really serious. And now there I was, sitting on my teacher’s back porch, the warm Ohio sky overhead, while Professor Starr, gray-haired, balding, and thick around the middle, was working his way up my thigh. I didn’t know what to do. It’s not that he grossed me out; he was still sort of decent looking, and must have been attractive when he was young. But that had been a long time ago.
His hand reached the edge of my shorts and I started to get a little jittery.
“Listen, Professor Starr…”
“‘Hank,’” he said. “Call me ‘Hank.’”
I’d been calling him “Hank” all evening.
“Hank, I’ve gotta take another pee.”
“Well, you know where the bathroom is.”
As I walked through the house, I noticed a wall full of pictures of him and some woman—his wife maybe, his dead wife most probably. The whole thing was just pathetic. But while I pissed, my hand started working my dick, and I was half-hard before I was through. I don’t know, I figured maybe he’d give good head or something. Maybe he wore dentures.
When I got back to the porch, I pulled my chair close to his, put my hands behind my head, and kind of leaned back, shoving my crotch forward. I sighed and closed my eyes, and, as I knew it would, his hand quickly found its way to my dick and started kneading it into shape. I kept my eyes closed. I sighed again. He unzipped my cutoffs and in seconds I felt his wet mouth on my cock; I didn’t wear underwear back then.
I opened my eyes. His place was out in the country, with nothing but a big field behind his house, but still…
“Maybe we should go inside,” I said.
He took his mouth off me. “You don’t mind, then?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “You can suck me off. If you want to.”
In his bedroom there was no sign of the old lady who probably had been his wife.
“Would you do me a favor?” my professor asked. We were both naked by then. His body was hairy and pudgy, and his dick was chubby, too. He’d made it clear that whatever happened, it wouldn’t influence the final grade he’d give me for his course. Which I found more than a little disappointing, because I was pulling maybe a C.
“Depends on what the favor is, Professor. I mean, Hank.”
“I want you to put your hand inside me.”
“You want what?” I was, back then, a lot more innocent than I am now.
“Your hand,” he said. “Inside me.”
What the hell, I figured. Maybe it would help my grade, no matter what he’d said.
He pulled a can of Crisco from under the bed. “I’ll tell you just what to do,” he said. And he did, instructing me on every move. Just like in the classroom, he was a bit imposing, even though he was lying naked on his back with my fingers in his ass.
When I got my hand in up to the knuckles, I was a little afraid I’d tear something if I went any further.
“What are you waiting for?” the old guy said. “Keep rotating your hand back and forth. Keep pushing. And get your fucking fist inside me.”
“Yes, Professor,” I said.
When he opened up for me, I was kind of amazed. His hole just stretched right out to swallow up my hand.
“Ohhhh, Jesus, FUCK!” Professor Starr moaned.
He was hot and wet inside, slippery raw meat, alive.
“Close your fingers down into a fist, son. Gently…gently.”
I was sweating like a pig, just astonished at what the old guy’s body was capable of. I punched my fist slowly in and out like he told me to, staring down at his flesh stretched around my greasy wrist. Weird. And the most amazing thing of all was that my dick was still hard, and it was drooling like a motherfucker.
Then, following his instructions—ever the apt pupil—I straightened out my hand and began to slide further up into him.
So this, I thought, is what people feel like from inside. Empty.
I negotiated the twists and turns of his guts, my forearm sliding into his heat. The old man was clearly somewhere else, his eyes rolling back in his head, his dick just oozing gallons of cum. He was damn near speaking in tongues.
And that’s when I felt it, or at least realized I was feeling it. His heartbeat. I could feel his fucking heartbeat on my hand. Man, I felt as if I could just reach around his fucking heart and squeeze. And squeeze. And squeeze. I reached down with my free hand, intending to jack off, but as soon as I touched my cock, I shot off all over the place, wildly. Big spewing strands. And, astonishingly, my cock stayed rock-hard.
“Oh, fuck me with that fucking arm, son,” the old guy begged. I thought I saw goddamn tears in his eyes. And then he started pissing all over himself, the piss dribbling over his hairy belly and soaking into the bedsheets.
I didn’t wait to be told what to do. I grabbed his stiff cock with my cum-slick hand and jacked him off, his heart beating faster and faster to my touch. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-fucking-dub. Since he’d already leaked all that sperm, when he came it was dryish, more as if he were having a spasm than having sex.
And then, at his instruction, I pulled my arm out of him.
I didn’t know what to say. “This place is a mess,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
I looked down at my arm, the whitish coating of grease speckled with shit and blood. Dude, you could have killed him, I told myself. And that made me feel…oh, I don’t know, but whatever it was, it wasn’t bad.
We talked about it a few days later, about what we’d done, but I didn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t want to know. And we never did it again.
I got a B+ in his class. I’d been hoping for an A, but what the hell. Before graduation, he asked me to dinner again. I accepted, but like I said, nothing happened. I knew he wanted it to, I could tell; but I guess I enjoyed having the power to turn him down.
