Hot Daddies, page 8
“Like this?” I asked.
“Yes, but cross your legs over a little more. Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Sway your hips and walk gracefully. Try to glide and look confident. That’s it.”
“This takes concentration.”
“After a few years, you’ll forget you ever walked any other way.”
More than a year elapsed before Pop Tingle showed Swim Slurp, one of Mr. Jack’s movies. The cold January night we watched it, Pop Tingle made Mr. Jack and me wear vibrating butt plugs. In addition to these accessories, Mr. Jack was dressed in whisper-thin spandex while I wore a cheerleader outfit with a skirt so short it barely covered my butt. After we watched a young Mr. Jack suck off the whole swim team, Pop Tingle ordered Mr. Jack to suck my dick. That was the first time. Excited, I sat in my chair with the vibrating plug up my ass, with Pop Tingle working the controls, while Mr. Jack blew me. I lolled back, relishing the vibrating fullness in my ass as the waves of pleasure grew in my dickhead. Raptures followed as my semen gushed. Mr. Jack’s throat was working as he took my cum. When he finished, he scrubbed my cock and balls with a warm washrag.
Pop Tingle was sitting in his chair, fondling his cock and working the controls of my vibrator. “Don’t start thinking you’re a top because you got a blow job, Bottom,” he ordered. “You’re a receiver, not a penetrator.”
Grinning, I stood and bent forward so my skirt pulled up over my ass and showed off the plug in my ass. “I could never be a top, Pop Tingle. I wish that you’d fuck my ass right now.”
“Jack-Off, pull that plug out of Bottom’s asshole.”
Mr. Jack hastened to comply. Pop Tingle put the remote control aside and came close behind me. “Let’s pretend we’re going to play leap frog, Bottom. You bend, and I’ll jump over you.”
I assumed the position, joyfully aware that he wasn’t about to jump over me. “Keep your legs closer together,” Pop Tingle ordered.
His cock was positioned a little above my asshole, so when he inserted his cock I gasped with surprise. “Keep your legs closer together, Bottom,” Pop Tingle ordered.
“Won’t that hurt?”
Mr. Jack rushed to reassure me. “Pop Tingle and I call it the Flying Doggie, but some gay guys say it’s Leap Frog,” Mr. Jack contributed. “In this position, keeping your legs shut slackens your anus, which is important because Pop Tingle’s angle will be downward—good for you because his cock will kindle special parts of your rectum and asshole.”
“Thanks for the lecture, professor,” I quipped, which made even Pop Tingle snicker.
Pop Tingle took me in the flying doggie position. Mounting my back, he drove his cock downward. When his dickhead hit my prostate, I felt a burst of sexual thrills so intense that I nearly came. Had I not just shot my load into Mr. Jack’s mouth, I would surely have gotten my rocks off.
Mr. Jack smirked as Pop Tingle worked his cock in my ass. He lubed his hand and started pounding his shaft and thumbing his dickhead. Abruptly, Pop Tingle saw what Mr. Jack was doing.
“Stop that, Jack-Off. Stop it now.” Pop Tingle continued humping me while he admonished Mr. Jack. “Did I give your permission to beat your meat, Jack-Off?”
I craned my neck in order to view Mr. Jack’s face. He looked so crestfallen that I giggled.
“Uh, no, Pop Tingle. I just thought…”
Pop Tingle was giving me a slow, comfortable butt fuck. He did not vary his stroke in the least as he said, “Don’t think, Jack-Off. And never jerk your cock until I order you to jerk it.”
My cock was hard again. Little tingles sparked in the head of it. Pop Tingle maintained his slow rhythm, pulling back until the head of his cock swelled my asshole and then pushing forward until he buried his whole shaft. Every stroke hit my prostate most deliciously. My dick grew heavier; I would come soon. To my disappointment, Pop Tingle got off first. He emitted a keening moan that turned into howled words: “Oh, Bottom. Your ass is so good. Oh, you sissy. Here I come, Bottom. I’m shooting cum into your ass.”
Pop Tingle pulled his cock out before I could come. I had been so close. I bit my lip, forbidding myself to speak. How could I complain about one missed orgasm when he had been so good to me? He took care of me, and all he demanded was my devotion, obedience and submission. Counting that night, he’d deposited his cum in my ass one hundred and forty-nine times. I knew the number because Pop Tingle required that I keep a diary. Every day I wrote an explicit account of my sexual adventures, the sissified clothes I had worn, time spent tanning or exercising at the gym and other assorted tasks such as doctor and dental appointments and shopping trips with Mr. Jack.
“I have a treat for you, Bottom. And one for Jack-Off, too. You’re going to blow him.”
“Bottom is going to suck my dick?” Mr. Jack purred.
“Yes, Jack-Off.”
I blanched. I’d never taken Pop Tingle’s—or anyone else’s—cock in my mouth. “I’ve never done that,” I managed.
“Time to learn, Bottom,” Pop Tingle said. “How can you be a successful sissy if you don’t swallow cum?”
Mr. Jack sat on the couch, and to my dismay, his cock hardened instantly. “Touch your lips to the head, Bottom. Kiss it.”
My heart thundering, I did as Pop Tingle ordered. I kissed the head of Mr. Jack’s dick and was surprised by the smoothness of his skin. His dick had a pleasant tangy taste. I had a dark suspicion regarding the substance I was savoring, but it didn’t taste bad. Truth to tell, it pleased my taste buds. I licked his dick head, letting the head slip over my lips and into my mouth.
“Go down on him, Bottom,” Pop Tingle ordered. “Let his cock slide along your tongue. You’re going to like it.”
I lifted my head. “How does he know I’m going to like it?” After all, Pop Tingle was a top, through and through. What cocksucking experience could he have? None!
“Take it into your mouth, Bottom,” Mr. Jack whispered. “You will like it. You’re a natural sissy. All sissies like to suck cock. You’ll see.”
“Suck him, Bottom,” Pop Tingle ordered.
I let Mr. Jack’s cock slide along my tongue. I pulled my head back and went down again. His cock was filling my mouth. I teased his cock with my lips, then I licked down the shaft. I was in ecstasy.
“You’ll suck Jack-Off until he comes, Bottom,” Pop Tingle said. “You’re going to swallow his cum. Meanwhile, I’ll be giving you your present. He held an elegant wooden gift box, which he opened to reveal a golden prostate massager. The goldplated massager did not vibrate but had fluid curves, and it was the smoothest metal I’d ever felt. Pop Tingle warmed it between his hands, and then he coated it with a thick lubricant.
I slid my lips over Mr. Jack’s dick while Pop Tingle inserted his finger through the massager’s ringed end and slid it into my ass. Delicious feelings swept over me. I went down hard on Mr. Jack, sucking him ravenously. Pop Tingle slowly worked the massager inside of me. My body was a rapture of sensation. I felt Mr. Jack’s cock slacken for three seconds before it stiffened to supreme hardness. As I worried the head with my lips, it twitched. A hot tasty fluid covered my tongue. I swallowed it down while deep pleasure sensations filled my ass. My cock was not fully hard, but it was dripping cum. Delirious pleasure swept over me. More cum was in my mouth and I savored it before I swallowed. Meanwhile Pop Tingle kept massaging me with the golden tool, driving me to pinnacles of sexual rapture that were beyond imagining.
Shortly after that day, I became aware of how much I’d changed. I’d been a good student in high school with all that implies: conformist, mundane, lackadaisical and ordinary. While I lived on the street I hadn’t read serious works, nor had I exercised my brain much. Pop Tingle gave me the leisure for study. He owned an impressive library, and one day I picked up a copy of Emerson’s Essays. I struggled through “Self-Reliance” until I had a fair idea what Emerson meant. I dipped into Thoreau, enjoying Walden and coming alive with “Civil Disobedience.”
For the next six months I read my way through the greatest American authors, the profound and the downright fun. Meanwhile, Mr. Jack watched old movies. I watched classic films with him, but mostly I read. I moved into British literature, philosophy, history and religious studies.
In August of my second year since my rebirth as Bottom, the three of us were sunning at Rooster Rock, a legal state-operated nude beach. In spite of our sunscreen, we three had tanned nicely that summer. My tattoos had taken on a special glow. I was hotly aware of the leers I collected from the numerous gay men who enjoyed the ambiance, but never did I consider any disloyalty toward Pop Tingle.
Emerging naked from the river, I strutted to our beach blanket and sprawled facedown between Pop Tingle and Mr. Jack. “Don’t burn your cock, Pop Tingle,” I warned.
“Never fear, Bottom. I’m looking forward to planting it in your ass tonight.”
“I’m looking forward to that too,” I agreed.
“I miss those days,” Mr. Jack said. “I miss your cock in my ass.”
“I fucked you silly just last week, Jack-Off,” Pop Tingle remonstrated, “while Bottom blew you.”
Mr. Jack giggled. “Bottom and I were doing the nine and sixty, Pop Tingle. We were both sucking cock while you fucked my ass.”
“I know. I read Bottom’s diary. Our Bottom has a promising future as a writer. He certainly has become well read lately. What are you reading now, Bottom?”
The sun was making my ass hot, so I rolled over, rubbing my bare buttocks against Pop Tingle as I did so. “I just read your entire ten-volume set of The Golden Bough. It really puts religion in context. I’m understanding literature in ways I never did before. The paintings in the art museum too.”
I felt as if the sun had grown much hotter. It was burning into my brain. I sat up, and the beach was bathed in a golden glow. Naked men of all shapes and sizes cruised under the summer sun. The men outnumbered the women, just as gay people outnumbered the breeders. Enlightenment struck me. In submitting to Pop Tingle, I had found a perfect freedom. I was not bound to a life of wife, job and children. I had recaptured Eden. I was having the best sex imaginable, and in between I could exercise both body and brain. My spirit swelled. I realized then just how deeply I loved Pop Tingle, and Mr. Jack too. I had rejected my parents’ cosmic viewpoint, and after passing through a homeless nightmare, I had awakened into a peace that their cramped mentalities could never understand.
MARKEY
Mark Wildyr
Take the shot,” I whispered as the four-point buck left the cover of the pine forest and hesitantly stepped onto the narrow meadow. The animal took a long look around before carefully lowering his head to the pale autumn grass.
“Me!” Markey gasped aloud. The white tail’s head shot up, ears flicking nervously. The animals were skittish as hell this late in the season. We had glimpsed a button buck and a spike, both of which were legal, but this was our first decent shot of the hunt.
“Yes, you!” I hissed. “Take it.” For someone who had been so blessed eager to come on the hunt, Marcus Markey seemed downright reluctant to pull the trigger. “Markey, point that fucking rifle and shoot.” I allowed a little exasperation to seep into my voice, knowing that would motivate him.
He eased the Remington thirty-aught-six over the edge of the blind and took a bead. I watched as he drew a breath, held it and squeezed. Judging from the stricken look on his face as the report echoed against the far hills, his aim had been good. The second last thing the kid desired was to kill a living animal; the very last thing was to look like a pussy to someone he looked up to…and that would be me.
There was a gulp and the strangled words, “Got him.”
“Good shot, buddy. Your first kill.”
“Yeah…kill,” he responded with another gulp.
“Well, let’s go collect him,” I said, leaving the blind and starting down the hill.
I had recently returned to my Oklahoma hometown of Victor for the first time in fifteen, tumultuous years. If the navy had tamed my wild side, the SEALS handed it back in spades. You won’t have read or heard news reports about the clandestine missions I’d been on, but I have killed and collected commendations for the killing. Quiet heroes, the SecNav once said of my team.
I would likely have finished out my career and retired to a restless pastoral life of secret memories had it not been for Beet. When Beet—Warren Borak—a lithe, dangerous man four years my senior, took a nineteen-year-old tadpole under his wing, neither of us suspected powerful forces had been unleashed. He guided me, counseled me, nurtured me and protected me. And one memorable, moonless night in Lebanon, he fucked me vigorously in the excitement of an especially brutal action while we waited for the team to reassemble.
My life was never the same after that. Nor was my future… our future. Ten years into my enlistment, Beet and I got drunk with some buddies in Naples and our physical attraction for one another surfaced. We were kicked out of the navy in record time and with as little fanfare as possible.
We became mercenaries, fighting for causes just and not-sojust all over Africa and Southeast Asia. Happy and open about our relationship, we dared the macho world of mercenaries to do something about it, but those intrepid warriors didn’t give a shit. So we hired out for buckets full of money to do what our government had trained us to do for peanuts.
Then last year, my beautiful Beet…a nickname hung on him by the SEALS…died in a firefight with a vicious gang in Africa. That he, a superbly trained professional, should die at the hands of rank amateurs strung out on local drugs was almost beyond belief. I completed my contract, taking a terrible toll on the tribal militia that had killed my beloved. Collecting my own pay and a whopping life insurance settlement as Beet’s beneficiary, I returned to the United States and tarried in the East until it was clear Uncle Sam had no beef with me for my activities of the last five years. Then I returned home.
Marcus Markey was an eight-year-old neighbor kid when I left for boot camp at Grand Island Naval Training Station. The boy had lived next door to us since the family returned to Victor upon the death of his GI father in Kosovo. Markey, who had adopted me as his big brother, struggled beside me with all the push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, dips, flutter kicks, running and swimming I did for a month to get ready for boot. He even attempted the Ninjutsu and Israeli Krav Maga moves recommended by the BUD/S—that would be the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training—website. After each workout, he liked to run his hands over my sweaty biceps to test the hard muscle; it bothered me in a vague way I didn’t understand back then. Markey went to the bus station with my family to see me off, and I still recall his thin arms locked around my waist in a good-bye hug, and the tears that soaked my shirt.
Now, glancing at him as we strode down the meadow, I could still see traces of that shy, adoring kid in this lanky twenty-three-year-old. He’d retained the creamy complexion and black sloe-eyes that gave him a slightly foreign cast. A once shaggy mop of black hair was cut short in a vaguely military style. But if Markey ever joined up, he was in for a bad time until he got tough enough to secure his own ground. It wasn’t just that he was far beyond merely handsome; his long, curled lashes alone would earn him grief in the barracks. Markey could have been a beautiful girl except for the Adam’s apple. I wondered if he had ever cross-dressed. There wasn’t a sign of a beard on his smooth skin, although I’m sure there was one; it merely cleaned up well. There wasn’t much of the kid I knew fifteen years ago in this fantastic youth—except for the shy, diffident demeanor.
“Kinda small,” he observed wryly as we reached the fallen stag.
“It’ll make good venison. Well, let’s get at it,” I suggested, noting the absence of any pride in the kill. “We’ve gotta field dress him.”
“You mean cut him up?” The words were almost strangled.
“You want to leave him for the coyotes?”
“N-no. Of course not. But I don’t know how.”
“We’ll gut him now and pack him back to camp to dry out a little.”
“Uh…okay. Will he be all right tonight? You know, he won’t go bad?”
“No. It’s cool enough. He’ll hold for a couple of days.”
We hauled the buck away from the kill area and strung him up in a tree. After a couple of false starts, Markey slit its belly with a grimace of distaste. When that job was done, we hauled the carcass back to camp where we hung it again, washed out the cavity, and left it to dry. Then I grabbed a bar of soap, stripped, and waded into the lake. Ignoring the shock of cold water, I lathered up while Markey stood on the shore staring at me in disbelief. After all, it was November.
“If I’ve learned one thing in the last ten years, it’s to keep clean,” I called. “Keeping clean is half of staying healthy. Coming in?”
I watched as he undressed in the late afternoon sun, revealing a long-limbed, clean-muscled physique with unblemished skin and little body hair except for a pubic bush. Visibly embarrassed, he turned with his flank toward me, which merely silhouetted a long cock sprouting from curly hair. He rushed into the water and gasped aloud at its frigid grip.
I continued lathering, well aware of black eyes studying me closely. I rinsed and repeated the process until my skin squeaked. When I tossed him the soap, he seemed frozen in place. Then he floundered frantically until he recovered the bar. As Markey scrubbed, I could tell my inspection bothered him, so I swam out into the lake. Sufficiently warmed by my exertions, I silently submerged and covered the distance to the shore underwater. When I surfaced beside him, Markey was frantically calling my name.
“Right here,” I said quietly, startling him.
“Damn, Daniel! I thought something happened to you. You were under for a long time.”
“A fifty-yard underwater swim is mandatory for SEALS.” I laughed. “You’d be surprised how many tadpoles had to have water pumped out of their lungs after their first try.”
