Group Project Encounters TIGHT Resistance

Well, here I am in Madison, Wisconsin. I think I'm kind of being rewarded for doing a lot of work without complaining much ... at least out loud or to my co-workers.

I've been sent to a three-day conference designed to share ideas about revitalizing the flailing newspaper publishing industry, and it's going to be filled with heady lectures, great panel discussions, and a last-night dinner dance. It's also held near the University of Wisconsin campus ... home to 41,000 undergraduate and graduate students of which about 43 percent are MEN!!

I went on the Web to look at the convention site ... the Monona Terrace Community and Convention Center which is an ultra-cool facility designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and only about a dozen or so blocks from the edge of the U of W campus.

I'm traveling with three other employees of the paper ... Gwen, a 43-year-old wife and mother who is more excited than me to be escaping Ohio (and her family) for adventure, is the only one going I consider a friend. The other two are higher-ups ... I'm not sure I had ever seen them before the airport. At least the paper is giving us each our own accommodations, but it's at a Motor Lodge about 15 minutes from the convention site so we're all going to be crammed into a little rented sub-compact several times each day. Oh, well ... I really want to learn something on this trip, and maybe have a little fun along the way.


DAY ONE

We were 10 minutes late for the opening breakfast ... a guy named Sid in our group had an "intestinal issue" this morning, thus our tardiness. After a continental affair, we were welcomed and thankfully split into smaller groups with all management types hustled away to a separate set of meetings. Bye-bye, Sid.

During two morning sessions, Gwen and I ... we were approaching this like a comedy team ... learned about ways for not letting the Internet run the "flesh and bone" newspaper out of business and how to attract new readers with polls and contests. Gwen also doodled over 100 names for male genitalia on her conference workbook. I've never confessed my homosexual lifestyle to Gwen, but what an odd thing to be sharing with a male co-worker. Oh, shit, I thought, I hope she isn't making a clumsy pass for a steamy entry in her middle-aged memory book!

Lunch was on our own and Gwen and I strolled over to the beautiful and nearby state capital building and found a gyro vendor ... a surprisingly young and buff gyro vendor. He was of Mediterranean decent, with olive skin and wavy, dark brown locks. His nose was wide, as were his overworked biceps which threatened to bust the fabric of his pale green polo shirt. I know Gwen was telling amusing anecdotes about her last time away from family, but I was watching Gyro Boy's every sultry, cat-like move.

The afternoon ... which actually ran until nearly 6 p.m. ... consisted of more seminars and an actual demonstration of new software that made it much easier to file stories from our laptop systems. I really tried to pay attention because this was something that would help me do my job more efficiently. Gwen was a better sport during the afternoon ... she really enjoyed a section we attended about using area high schoolers as effective interns and gauges for popular culture reporting.

After the last session, Team Gwen and Me met up with Sid and the other attendee from our paper, Terry ... a pushing-50 white guy with bad breath that was evident from 20 feet ... at our rental in the parking garage. Terry's friend back in Ohio had grown up near Madison and had recommended a great steakhouse for dinner. I had wanted to explore a bit, but I was honestly just hungry and tired. The steakhouse turned out to be awesome ... one of the best filets I've ever had ... and we even saw several individuals with conference name tags still pinned to shirts and blouses. Mine dangled from a lanyard, always the trendsetter.

I think I was in bed by 10 p.m. and had one rubbed out and was asleep very shortly after.


DAY TWO

Sessions ... lunch ... sessions. Lunch, today, however consisted of a small group of weekly paper publishers who talked about their unique place in the media pecking order. These moguls tossed out some pretty fabulous advertising ideas and I saw nearly everyone scratching furiously in their note books or actually texting their home offices.

After the last session of the day ended, we returned directly to the motel where I had hoped to commandeer the rental and see if I could dip my toe in some warm pool of trouble. Madison sits on an isthmus, after all ... gorgeous lakes on three sides ... how hard could it be to find a little "wet 'n' wild" man-on-man action? But the Fates are cruel ... Gwen and Terry actually begged me to let them come out and play; Sid was going to call his wife and grab dinner at a diner just down the street. So after changing into a pair of olive cargo pants and a tight black sleeveless tee, the three of us went to an Italian restaurant ... the kind with kitschy violinists and even a waiter who sings opera if requested. The food was beyond good ... I had ravioli stuffed with four kinds of mushrooms and a light salad. Terry got this giant plate of heavy-looking fettuccine alfredo. I actually have to admit that Terry, when dressed down in jeans and a short-sleeved hoodie, was pretty hot! And maybe the garlic and herbs would tone down his halitosis. Gwen ... poor Gwen ... drank most of her dinner and about an hour later I was in a men's room stall holding her hair while she forcefully emptied the almost-all-alcoholic contents of her stomach. Terry agreed to see her safely back to the motel; I opted to stay out and take a cab over to campus to check things out. As we got Gwen secured behind a seatbelt in the backseat, Terry came closer and said to call if I needed a ride or anything. I realized then that in a game of Rock/Paper/Scissors, Terry's breath would beat them all hands down ... thank God Gwen was nearly comatose!

There was still plenty of light left when I reached the capital building area. The cab dropped me off on Dayton and I proceeded down one of the precise-grid streets that is closed to automobile traffic. Restaurants and pubs were noisy with patrons, as were outdoor cafes and curious little shops and boutiques. And besides all the foot traffic, bikes, 'boards, and 'blades abounded. I walked for blocks and blocks ... winding my way through pedestrians and crisscrossing trendy urban blocks. Occasionally, I just stopped and sat on a bench or grabbed a water at a cafe and watched all the terribly attractive young men walk or roll by. I even followed two frat dudes all the way to the shore of Lake Mendota to a spot dubbed "University Bay" ... I hoped maybe I could watch a little necking or maybe even a clandesting BJ. They kept wandered further west, so I gave up and retraced my steps back to those first few blocks where the bars were located.

Suddenly, on my right, I noticed a wide set of stairs that led up to a second floor of a building ... neon signs for "pool" and "billiards" glowed warmly. I love to play pool and I hoped that some buff U of W students did as well. I entered the noisy place and was thrilled to see so many young people. There were jock types ... some with obvious girlfriends ... and hippie types and biker types and even a few stoner dudes. It was like a buffet of beefcake. I think I was actually licking my lips when I saw this older black guy waving at someone behind me. I continued to scan the room like a raptor for prey when I noticed the black guy was still waving in my direction. I turned my head and was confused that nobody was behind me or really that close to the doorway.

I swiveled back to face this guy and saw that he was pretty cute, even though he seemed a little out of place. He was probably in his early 40s, and he wore colorful board shorts and a crisp white t-shirt. His chest was meaty but nice, and his waist looked like he worked out but carried around some extra pounds ... but it looked really good and natural on him. His hair was cropped short and his eyes were a strange mix of brown and amber. Under the blue fluorescent lights, his skin was a lustrous ebony.

Some new arrivals came through the door so I moved a few feet forward to accommodate them. And damned if being a little closer didn't make this blank guy look familiar. I continued to close the distance and the connection clicked. "Evan?" I asked. "Evan Gordon, right?"

"Got it in one try, hotshot ... how's it hangin'?" We bumped fists like two good friends (which we weren't) and he motioned to the stool opposite him at his bar table. I got as comfortable as a tall person can on an uncomfortable elevated chair and asked him what in the world he was doing here in Madison.

"You do remember that I worked at the paper where you work ... and that I left for another newspaper job ... and that there's a newspaper conference in town?"

I smiled sheepishly to cover for my stupidity. Evan and I had crossed paths for only three weeks before he left our paper to take a top management position at a small daily in Illinois that was closer to his aging parents. I remember Evan as being a very friendly, easygoing guy with a sweet wife and a young son just starting junior high school. His going-away party had been my first chance to meet everyone at the paper. "Yeah, I remember the 'quitter' who left to report about cornfields and scarecrows!"

"That'd be Iowa and Kansas a couple states over," he grinned, taking a long sip of his beer. "In Illinois, we write features about county fairs and petty crime." I laughed along with him and stopped a passing waitress to order a Sapphire martini.

While I waited for my drink, we passed the time with me filling him in on people in Ohio and how I was enjoying my growing career. In turn, I asked him how the conference was treating the "management" and if his sessions were worthwhile. "I've actually got a notebook full of ideas to take back and explore. My team is actually pretty progressive for a small paper and I think if we throw it all against the wall, a few good things will stick."

I was about to respond when my drink arrived. The buxom server placed it on a napkin and I was about to grip the stem of the martini glass when a thin and pale man-boy with ultra-spiky hair and a flawless youthful complexion stepped up to the table, lifted my glass, and downed half its contents. "What the fuck, dude," I screeched, "you get lost on the way to your own fuckin' drink?"

"Hey now," Evan said calmly, lifting his hands like he was a referee separating two prize fighters, "he's with me and I'll gladly get you a fresh drink." He turned his attention toward the slim Asian fellow and narrowed his eyes. "Say you're sorry, Retro!" Retro?, I thought, what kind of name is Retro? The hunky stud ... maybe 20 tops ... muttered something, but it was lost in the background noise. He retrieved my glass and began drinking more gin as he wandered off to wave to a few friends and watch a nearby pool game finishing up.

"Thanks for the refill offer, but I probably should be heading back to the motel," I told Evan as I shifted my weight to stand. "Do you remember Gwen Fischer? She's here at the conference too and had a lot to drink tonight with dinner. I sent her back to sleep it off ... and you seem like you've got your own employee to babysit." With that remark, I motioned with my head back behind Evan. He turned in his seat to see Retro hassling some guy about who got the pool table next. Evan just turned back with bright eyes and a wicked smile ... bright teeth against killer dark skin. Yum!

"Well, Retro's a local so he doesn't exactly work for my paper," Evan answered, lowering his voice as if telling me vital secret information ... I had to actually lean closer to hear ... "but I did pay him for the whole night!"

Suddenly all the noise in the room receded to a spattering of hushed words. Paid for him all night, I thought to myself, like a hustler?

"I think I got that wrong," I said before the silence at our table grew uncomfortable. "You 'paid' for him like in 'renting' him ... like a rent boy?"

Evan's golden eyes sparkled and he practically bellowed his reply. "Damn, you do have superior reporter instincts, sport." He leaned back into a boisterous laugh. "See, when I go away for business I try to play the way I can't at home. And you," he added, "always seemed like a young man who could get behind playing some hard ball if it involved your own balls!"

So, one settled check and a 20-minute cab ride later, I was standing in an alley behind a Mexican restaurant. Retro, who looked like a well-muscled fashion model in his dark jeans and tight t-shirt and vest, unlocked a small unmarked door and flipped on a switch that lighted a view of a narrow staircase. Evan and I ... in that order ... followed the slim, sexy waif up the stairs and into a very spartan apartment. There was a decent TV, a coffee table with some porno mags, and a mini-frig filling the main room. Dead center was a lumpy-looking king-size mattress.

I was about to question Evan about the intelligence of this encounter when Retro noisily threw his keys on a pass-through counter connecting the living room and darkened kitchen. "The place isn't much, but the rent is cheap and when I'm late the guy that owns the cafe downstairs lets me blow him for a little extra time," he said, but it was mostly muffled because Retro was pulling off his shirt, revealing a sculpted and hairless torso. I think my mouth unhinged a bit when he kicked off his expensive sneakers and shucked his pants in a practiced move. Before me stood a hot Asian boy shifting his weight from side to side as the obvious bulge in his royal blue designer briefs grew and twitched.

Again, I wanted to question Evan about the sense of all this, but when I turned to my left, he was already peeling off his own shirt, revealing a smooth chest capped with large, aroused nipples. A trail of wiry hair split his slightly puffy abdomen and descended into his pants. Fuck it, I decided, and furiously began to toss off clothing to catch up. Minutes later, the three of us stood in a circle on the springy mattress completely naked, using our hands to caress each other's stiff bones and fondle our ample ballsacs. As I looked up, I saw that Evan and Retro were already tongue wrestling, sloppy noises filling the mostly-quiet apartment. I smiled and quickly dropped to my knees to inspect Evan's chocolate pole.

Close to nine inches, Evan had a very slender, very dark-skinned rod. The base was much thicker than the head, like a little fuck missile, and covered in wiry pubes. He was uncircumcised with a hefty foreskin. I started chewing and working my fingers and tongue into the sensitive crevice between his skin folds and cock knob. "God damn, you really are talented, sport. Get in there, fucker ... lick out my black cheese ... sniff that black hog before you swallow it!"

Spurred on by the dirty talk, I began snorting like a little piggie and licking sloppy stripes down Evan's heavy cock. He was dripping pre-cum like a leaky faucet ... appropriate for the dingy tenament setting. Evan muttered and moaned while still kissing Retro, and occasionally he broke the liplock to urge me on with creative profanities. Soon I had a good six or seven inches buried down my throat and Evan had terminated his kiss to grab my head and really facefuck me. "Take it, bitch ... take my meat ALL the way down. ALL THE FUCKIN' WAY DOWN!!" he commanded.

"Yeah, eat my man ... eat that dick!" Retro wasn't as good at the sex talk ... surprising for a young hustler ... but when he stood closer and began brutally whacking the side of my face with his stubby cut dick, I began vacuuming in overdrive. My lips were soon buried in pubes and abdominal flesh.

Breathing got a bit difficult, so I slid off Evan's prong and stood panting and red faced. He pulled me into a bear hug, our swords knocking about ... our nuts grinding together in sheer ecstasy. I then moved to stand beside him, our arms draped over each other's shoulders like lifelong pals, and he presented me with a less aggressive but three-times-as-sensual kiss. "Fuck, can you kiss!" I exclaimed between tender pecks and playful tugs on my bottom lip.

"I can do much more than that, buddy," he threatened with a wink of his eye.

Well, Retro must have heard that friendly exchange because suddenly he dropped to a squat and took over my ministrations on Evan's dick. This is why he hustles, I screamed in my head as, without missing a beat, Retro plunged his face forward and Evan's schlong disappeared, as well as about an inch of surrounding flesh. He's got no fuckin' gag reflex! I was just about to share this observation with Evan when, without warning, Retro released Evan's peter and took my own hard pecker in his lusty mouth and proceeded to lash his tongue all over my tool like a dominatrix with a whipping cat o' nine tails.

"FFFUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK!!!" I moaned, "How the hell do you do that shit with your tongue?" Retro turned his eyes upward, locking on to my own gaze. He was smiling around my dick and I got a feeling that the rest of the night was gonna be without any more animosity or jealousy.

So with only good tidings, Retro continued to deepthroat Evan's and my dick alternately. Then we all got down on the mattress and formed a different chain with our bodies a bit contorted. Retro was silent except for the sounds of his tongue digging into Evan's bristly buttcrack. Likewise, I was lapping at the hairless pucker between Retro's pale cheeks. I hummed loudly, knowing the vibrations would travel inside his chute and straight to his dick, which I was milking madly. And finally, Evan was the loudest, sniffing and fingering my own shaved gash before plugging what felt like half his face up my shitter. I was close to tears ... it felt so damn good having him root around like a wild animal. It just pushed me harder and caused my rimming to become more frantic and crazed. Soon I was licking all over Retro's smooth can, licking and cooing over the sexy dimples created when he flexed his beautiful ass.

Eventually, Evan's swearing and muttering became almost deafening and he ceased his work on my hole abruptly. "Okay, Retro, my little fucktoy," he said as he licked his lips and savored the combination of his spittle and the juices from my now fragrant asshole. "This is where you earn the other half of your money!"

Retro apparently knew the drill very well. He scooted up to the top of the mattress and buried his face in a fluffy pillow, his ass pushed back and out to display a glistening hole that was pink and slightly irritated from my hectic rimming. Evan wasted no time going down on all fours behind the young Asian whore and notched his cockhead against the tiny, trembling boy pussy. With a slight forward thrust, Evan was in and half way to heaven. He growled deep in his barrel chest and withdrew entirely, Retro's ass lips clinging desperately to the departing phallus. Then BAM! ... that cock plunged back in almost to the hilt. Evan continued to longdick the young man within an inch of his life. And the whole time, I held on to Evan's broad shoulders and pushed him a little forward on every stroke, becoming a small part of the fuck.

On one backstroke, Evan's sizable prick exited Retro with a slight "plop." While the boy dropped his pelvis a little to rest his spread haunches, Evan scooted back a few feet, rubbing his almost-eggplant colored dick and wickedly smiling. "Your turn, stud," he said looking directly in my eyes.

Now, what a smart guy in a situation like this does is ask for a condom. And what a kind guy in a situation like this does is apply a little lube to the bottom to ease the entry. Me ... I almost kicked Evan as I jumped in, got into a squat that put a delicious burn in my hamstrings, and buried my pecker to the balls! I know Retro was experienced ... and I know Evan had loosened him up good ... but that little fucker let out a girly squeal as I sank my meat into him and quickly began to jackhammer his hole. It felt great, but I was on a time clock. The whole time that Evan had been exploring Retro's colon, I had been rubbing my shaft and it was ready to explode. I figured maybe two ... three more strokes ... and I was golden. And that was when Evan's meaty paws grabbed my arms and pulled me back aggressively, tossing my off the edge of the mattress. By the time I had righted myself, that big black son of a bitch already had his cock back in Chinatown!

I was hurting, but inspiration always strikes at the eleventh hour. I stood up and wobbled to where Retro's head rested all sweaty and mashed into the pillow. I nudged him with my foot with more force than necessary and he tilted his head to the side to see what was up. I motioned for the young man to raise up and he did. I pushed my pelvis forward and he took my throbbing member inside his spitty maul. Within seconds, I was coating his tonsils with my worked up froth. A little stream of jizz leaked from the corner of his mouth. I stooped to scoop it off with my finger before languidly placing the sticky digit in my own mouth. I dropped to one knee and lovingly cupped Retro's chin. He looked exhausted but I moved in and shared a cum-filled kiss with him, hopefully sharing a bit of my strenght with him.

The shout of "MOTHERFUCKER!!" broke the moment when Evan detonated inside the Asian. I scuttled back quickly to see dribbles of white leaking from Retro's battered sphincter around Evan's still-engorged log. It was then that I noticed a puddle of scum smeared between Retro's groin and the surface of the mattress. I think he nutted hands free!!


DAY THREE

I texted Gwen in the middle of the night and told her mostly the truth ... I had met up with an old friend and it got so late that I stayed in the extra bed in his hotel room. I also typed that I was running late and would get to the convention center on my own.

Arriving about half an hour late, I claimed the seat that my female co-worker had thankfully saved for me. She quietly asked for more details about my "old friend," but I think I kept it very neutral and not at all question-raising. Our first session on day three was a joint meeting, so I thought I might see Evan sneaking in at some point. He never surfaced, and I wasn't totally surprised because when I did leave his room after a few hours of nothing but heavy sleep, he was snoring softly. I didn't have the heart to wake him, but I did go through his wallet and take a business card that contained his cell phone number and e-mail address. What, you were thinking his money, weren't you ... hell, I'm not a whore but I know a good one!!

Anyway, during a break in the afternoon, our whole team met for coffee and discussed the idea of leaving early. The concept of skipping the dinner dance was fine by me, and Sid had called to see if the airline had any seats on an earlier flight ... they did. Actually, I was scheduled to just drop off my co-workers for their flight home and drive the rental back to Ohio. My editor back home had an interesting assignment he thought I'd enjoy and I could cover it on the drive back. All I was thinking about was contacting Evan and seeing if he was up for another round with just him and me!!

HEADLINE: Group Project Encounters TIGHT Resistance

New Business Venture A Great BANG for the Buck

I'm scheduled to meet a gentleman who opened a small office park dedicated to helping small businesses establish an identity in this tough economy. He has 40 units which come in small (ideal for 10 to 25 employees) and medium (25 to 40 employees tops) sizes, as well as centralized storage and free assistance in buying computers and other office equipment and furniture at volume-discounted prices. According to the data obtained while arranging my interview time, the complex currently has 28 "renters" and is hoping for full occupancy by March of next year.

Driving under the fear of my powerful "always late" gene, I arrived at the business park ... a modern double line of buildings outfitted with lots of polished surfaces and large areas of glass ... about 35 minutes early. The friendly guard at the entrance gate directed me to the manager/owner's office and I parked a few spaces away from a cluster of nice looking professional vehicles. It was very warm out, so I rolled down all four windows and opened another button on my dress shirt. I guess I can go over my questions and see if anything new comes to mind, I thought, figuring I could go inside into air conditioned comfort in another 10 or 15 minutes.


I was about to retrieve my note bad when a powerful droning noise pulled my attention to the lawn to my right. As the sound grew louder, I saw an indistinct head pop over a deceptively-steep rise in the ground. The labored mechanical sounds of a platform landscape mowers ... I call them "hovercutters" ... drew nearer, and the oversized machine itself whizzed by the edge of the parking area carrying an extremely hot young stud.


With longish hair that hung over his eyes in a shaggy curtain and a deep, healthy tan, the rider ... a landscaper, I assumed ... appeared carefree, making mowing look more like tremendous fun than actual work. He was shirtless, with cut abdominals and a light dusting of blondish hair on his stomach and the planes of his chest. His face was young and scruffy ... I pegged him at college age, maybe 21 or 22 ... and his hands were covered in dirty work gloves. His arms and shoulders were athletic but not overworked. I know I stared ... hell, I might have been drooling ... but I had on sunglasses and tried to keep my head from following my ogling eyes. He's just so fucking gorgeous!, I lustily concluded.


As he made the turn to avoid shaving the asphalt, I saw that the young laborer appeared to trim his torso, but his legs and pits were forested with coarse, dark blond hair. He wore baggy work shorts that didn't give much of an impression about how much dick he might be packing, but his devil's shoulders ... those grooves that really tight guys get running from their hips down to Pubeland ... were fuckin' phenomenal. And at the pedals of his mower, dirty but fluffy socks peeked over battered work boots. He was a total package!


I continued to watch this young Adonis make a few more swaths near my car when he and his trimming "steed" descended back over the rise. The sexual arousal I felt had pumped up my body temperature; sweat beaded my brow and my hair looked slightly limp in my reflection in the rear view mirror.


I gathered all my materials up in my messenger bag and turned on my alternator to raise the windows to a near-closed position. Moving quickly, I locked the car and moved to the trunk. Popping the lid, I spied the cooler I had packed for my long day of work and errands. In it, I had placed about four bottled waters, a Snickers bar, an apple, and two granola bars ... along with two coolant gel packs and a smattering of ice. I placed my bag in the trunk and pressed the button which allowed the cooler top to slide back and open. I selected a water and twisted off the top. Taking a long, leisurely swig of refreshment, I checked the edge of my trunk to see that it was clear of grime and then sat down to wait out my time and finish my water.


"That looks really good, brah," came a young and deep voice from my left. "Do you mind sharing?" I jerked my head, starting at the sudden sound of the sexy landscaper who had snuck up on me like a ninja. He stood maybe 15 feet away, glistening in the sun as he used a dark blue bandanna to wipe sweat from his face and chest. Trails of perspiration flowed down the ridges of his taut tummy.


"Sure, man ... I've got plenty?" I reached into the cooler and presented a bottle.


"Thanks," he replied, closing the distance rapidly and plopping down right beside me. His weight made my car rock lightly on it's springs. "I've got my own supply, but it's down in my van ... and you were the closer choice." He looked over at me, green-gold eyes peering through a curtain of sweaty, stringy bangs. He winked and took a long draw of liquid.


We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, just the sound of other distant mowers and the workings of our throats as we drank. He finished his water quickly. Suddenly he hopped up and away from my car and struck a "three-point" basketball stance. The plastic water bottle sailed into my open trunk, rattled for a few seconds, and then lay still.


"Nothing but net," he laughed and just stood there smiling, slightly stooped while he shifted from side to side with natural nervous energy.


"Pretty big target, though," I maintained in a similarly playful voice. "Most hoops aren't the size of car trunks."


"True, but a target's a target," he stated with a sly shrug. "What you doing killin' time around here, man."


I capped my water and replaced it in the cooler. "I'm here to meet a guy who's going to tell me more about these buildings and what they do inside."


"Shit," he giggled in a way that made my cock twitch, "they work in there. Work, work, work ... with stale air and stale doughnuts."


"Probably ... not hard work like you're used to, I'm sure." I couldn't help but rake my stare over his shapely bod.


He squinted one eye and cocked his head as he returned my gaze. "I got a much better plan." Now he leaned forward at the waste and fidgeted like a man on a seesaw. "You shared a water with me, so it's only right that I share a water with you. Like I said, I've got some on ice in my van ... and I've got plenty of break time left. Why don't we walk over there and you can get a better look at my body than you did just now ... or on my drivebys when I was cruisin' you." And with that challenge, he broke into a huge, shit-eating grin.


I was momentarily shocked, but not so much that I didn't think about canceling my appointment and seeing how far this hottie might be willing to take things ... my growing thing, in particular, into his warm mouth, to be more specific.

"You're on the shy side," I chided playfully, drinking in his beauty and candor.

"Why waste time?"


I summoned my reserves of self restraint, planning to let this slammin' piece of ass down gently ... maybe get a number or actually make a plan to meet later. "Man, I appreciate the offer. I have a major bone developing for you, but this is my job and my appointment's in just a few minutes."


He didn't look mad or disappointed. In fact, he still looked very flirty and content. "That sucks, dude." He took up a seat beside me again and, without asking, reached into my cooler for another water. He opened the beverage quickly ... like he was desperately parched ... but just took a small sip. "Is it important ... like rrrrreal important ... that you meet with the man today?"


"Yeah, dude," I firmly explained, "it's my job."


"Well, that's a real shame," he said right before jumping to his feet and pouring the almost-full bottle of water over my head. I was drenched, hair plastered to my forehead and my shirt was clinging to my skin. And upon further inspection, it looked like I'd pissed my pants.


"Fuck!!," I shouted, also jumping to a standing position. "What the fuck was that for, you idiot! Shit ... I don't have a fresh shirt ... what am I supposed to do now?"


I looked over at my landscaper friend ... he wasn't really frowning or smiling, but he was digging into his front pocket. He raised his arm and tossed me a cell phone. "Now you call and cancel, and then we go fuckin' play!!"


Without hesitation, I threw his cell phone back ... hard. He barely snagged it from the air. "You think that's all it takes ... a rock-hard body and a stupid prank?"


"Yep."


After maybe five seconds, I retrieved my own cell phone and made apologies to the complex owner. I lied and said that I was swamped at work and was running so late that I wasn't sure I could make today's meeting. Relief flooded over me when the owner told me that he was in a bit of a snag himself ... apparently, a tenant with some problems was putting pressure on him, and it would be great for him if we could reschedule for later in the week. I thanked him repeatedly for his flexibility and promised to call him tomorrow about setting up another time to talk.


So there I was, abandoning my locked car and walking side by side across newly-cut grass with a totally anonymous young stud who had me by the shorthairs of lust. I was the first to break the quiet. "So what do I call the guy I'm about to fuck?'


"You're sssooooo funny, man," he declared without missing a beat. "You think I don't know a hot bottom when I see one?" Busted!!


A bit flustered, I asked, "still, what's your name?"


"It's Charlie, but everyone calls me Clever."


"Why Clever?" I questioned.


"Because I am," he stated in a way that said the subject was closed.


After a few more minutes of walking, we arrived at his vehicle. I'm not sure what I expected ... a used but in great shape SUV or a beater pick-up with a roomy cab for clandestine sex. But Clever's wheels were dented and dinged and rusted and very, very yellow.


"Welcome to my home away from home," he gestured with obvious pride. "This is Sally ... she's a sweet 1956 VW bus, and a bunch of her innards are original. The rest, me and my Dad take care of on the weekends when he's free." Clever patted his van lovingly. "She's seen me through some tough times ... she's handled scrapes and near-misses and the occasional spilled load." The last part got my attention.


"What's she like inside?" I asked, placing emphasis on the last word.


"Same thing I'm wondering about you, dude!" I think I blushed, but not for too long because Clever had opened the back doors of his antique treasure to reveal a cavernous space appointed with nothing more than some books and magazines, an overflowing tool box, a dinged up red Igloo cooler, some rags ... cum stained, I hoped ... and a filthy looking mattress.

Before one "clever" remark could leave my lips, the flesh-and-blood Clever hopped up into the vehicle and extended an arm to help me in. I hesitantly complied; the sound of the doors closing behind me was ominous and sent a shiver all the way to my semi-hard dick.

The interior of the van was sweltering. I saw that the windows ... old fashioned sliders ... were open all the way, but the air was still dry and harsh, reeking of human sweat and the scent of rich, loamy dirt. As I stood, my eyes further adjusting to the reduced light levels, Clever dropped to the mattress and began stripping off his pants and shoes. He was quick as a jack rabbit, moving so fast that my lusty brain had trouble committing any details to memory.

Clad only in grungy grayed socks, Clever rested flat of his back. His body was all tan flesh ... no tan lines anywhere, go figure ... and wiry musculature, and at the center of his being was a wonderfully erect uncut cock nestled in a thick thatch of dark pubic hair. My mouth was dry but desperate for the saliva needed to properly "worship" on Clever's heavenly cock. But I didn't have much time to ponder my dilemma because with another burst of speed, Clever crawled over to where I still stood and worked open my pants until he had freed my plumped-up pecker from my boxer briefs and had it rolling between his mashing lips.

"Damn, boy, that feels so fuckin' good," I moaned. "I needed this more than I realized." I worked my hands through his damp tresses, tangling my fingers and pulling his head further onto my tool. With tongue and a touch of teeth, Clever worked my johnson in quick bursts. His technique was frantic and thrilling and soon had me panting from more than the heat.

Clever rode my dick a bit longer before releasing my member. He continued to stoke me, rubbing my foreskin vigorously up and over my knob, while leading me forward. I tipped over and fell playfully on top of him. He laughed while untangling his limbs from mine to assist me in undressing. No sooner was I naked ... my shirt tossed off onto the grubby vehicle's floor ... when Clever used his strength to flatten me against the dirty mattress. He held my hands over my head while he nuzzled my ears and lapped at my chin like a horny hound. Neck ... shoulders ... the tongue bath continued down my body, spending a few delicious moments at my nipples before reaching my neatly-trimmed bush. Clever bit and nipped at the dark hair above my cock, eliciting painful yelps from me. With each nibble and gnashing of teeth, my rod bounced and flexed. With renewed vigor, Clever descended again onto my prod, taking all of me down his throat before resting his mouth at my wide base.

"God damn," I muttered, thrashing my head from side to side, "choke that fucker down, bitch! Work me like you mean it. Eat my dick!"

He mumbled something, the guttural vibrations only adding to his assault on my bone. I responded by grabbing the sides of his head and slowly withdrawing from him a few inches before ramming my dick back down to the hilt. He took the facefuck like a champ, grunting and lifting his shapely ass in the air. I wanted to feel his muscled glutes, probing his hole recklessly with my fingers, but I kept hold of his head as I jammed his gullet with my oozing meat.

Clever broke our sexual circuit when his groans turned into a desperate gagging sound. He forced his mouth off my cock, tears streaming from his eyes and fluid escaping his nostrils. "You're a tough fucker, huh?" he playfully challenged. "Like it rough? Like to push people around? Well, Clever can play any game you bring, you dirty motherfucker!"

I was unprepared for this reversal of personal polarities, but so turned on I didn't care. In a flash, Clever's full weight had me again immobilized; his upper body strength was uncanny. He squirmed up my body until his right arm came across my neck, reducing my ability to breath and sending a fear impulse straight to my frenzied brain. He held me like this for a few terrifying and tantalizing moments until the pressure released slightly. That taut arm crept up and up until I was presented with his bushy, rank pit. The hair glistened in the feeble light from the van's windows, but I could see moisture dot the follicles and surrounding skin.

"Lick me, you prissy little fucker ... see how a real man tastes!"

My tongue darted out on command, and I took a tentative swipe. "I said lick my pits, you fuckin' faggot. Get me nice and clean!! Learn what hard work smell like, you bitch. LICK ME!" My brain had turned over control of my mind and my boundaries to my prick ... I couldn't lick and suck on his rank hair fast enough. I made pig noises as I inhaled his musk. His breath came in ragged hisses as I gnawed on his ripe flesh. Clever seemed pleased with my performance. "Fuck, yeah ... that's it ... that's fuckin' how I like it! ... Shit!" I worked on his pit for who knows how long, until I felt him work himself into a sitting position. Clever still had me pinned in place so I had no idea what exactly he was doing, but he grunted softly and I felt the muscles of his chest and other arm straining.

"You're one obedient little fucker, dude ... soooo easy to train. Here's another little treat for my hot little bitch. You do a good job, slut ... clean me up good ... and Clever will give you what you really want. Give you what every little queer wants!"

My eyes were half closed ... I was in such a daze. When Clever's body lifted I assumed it was to give me access to his other armpit so I didn't even try to sit up or show any resistance. What I received ... laying there in the dark with my pud leaking pre-cum all over my crotch ... was round and stubby. No way is this his dick, I thought to myself. My eyes opened to reveal Clever's hairy foot pressed against my face. He was slowly jerking his cock while rubbing his grimy hoof against my cheek. His toes were pale with patches of bristly hairs. I'd never paid much attention to feet before, but at this point I was crazed with hormones and desire. I turned my head slightly and sucked the smallest two toes into my mouth. The taste was fetid and dirty and totally awesome. I worked those little bastards like tiny pricks, swishing my tongue along their contours and into the space between. Clever moaned louder and louder as I gave "head" to his toes. He whacked his prick furiously as I released his smaller piggies and moved to the chode-like big toe. I sighed along with him as I vacuumed this phallic phalange into my piehole, licking and swirling at the sweaty flesh. With one hand, I started caressing his cracked heel ... his high arch ... his rough and scratchy instep. My other paw found my own neglected prick and began rubbing rapidly.

Amidst all the slippery sounds of foreskins flapping and nubs being nursed, Clever announced that he was extremely close to cumming. I looked up dreamily ... my view down his sinewy legs to his lust-crazed eyes was a unique and thrilling perspective. "I'm close too, man," I barked hoarsely after releasing his foot and laying my head back to relieve my back and shoulder muscles. I was close to cramping.

"Then flip the fuck over and let me get at that hole!!"

I was too turned on to argue, so I rolled onto my stomach, careful not to crimp my engorged wang. Clever wasted no time in draping his body over top my own. He nibbled the nape of my neck lovingly as he reached over into a nearby pile of debris to extract a container of lube ... the serious shit that looks like Crisco. Should I even ask about condoms? I questioned myself. I knew that Clever was too amped and primed to take the time to consider that option and, to be completely honest, my hole was twitching like an epileptic ... I needed plowed bad!!

As if reading my mind, Clever found the entrance to my backdoor and slathered on a good amount of lube. He worked a finger up inside me to smear the glaze around. Fuck, that's the stuff! Littles "oohs" and "aahs" escaped my throat as he teased my hole. Clever withdrew his slender digit and I heard the squishy sound of him applying the thick lubricant to his gotta-be-close-to-nine-inch schlong. Being a man of few words, he gave me no warning ... the pain of an abrupt entry was apparently Clever's way of giving me notice that he was ready to fuck. He grunted as he ground about half his length up my shitter. He stopped to allow me to get accustomed to his size. "Nice and tight, dude ... but I can tell you haven't been a virgin for a long, long time."

"Uuughhh," I groaned, "go slow, stud ... you feel like you're using a baseball bat on my starfish. Just give me a chance to ... AAAAAGGHHHHH! FUCK!!" The remainder of Clever's cock lurched up into my colon. I saw sparks behind my eyelids, and my body tried to instinctually crawl away from him. But Clever's body weight held me firm ... I couldn't work an arm up to push him off ... or even get to my own needy prick ... if I tried.

Clever pulled back to the edge of my love tunnel before plunging back in clear to the balls. After repeating this move a few more times, I was feeling nothing but incredible friction; comforting warmth radiated through my whole body. My mind reeled with sensation layered upon sensation ... my body reacted to the battering inside me, butt muscles clenching to cling to Clever's length club.

Clever knew how to use his dick; he was shredding my hole but good! I could have endured a little longer, but the previous stroking and the tightness of my ass was taking a toll on Clever's stamina. After maybe another dozen long thrusts, he withdrew his massive cock. "Here I cum?" he shouted. I raised up on my arms and felt him slime me from the middle of my back to the top of my anus. I was on sensory overload, but I still managed to feel the jizz fall prey to gravity and slip leisurely down my sweat-covered body.

I was just shifting my weight to roll over and take my own dick in hand when that sleazy little fuckwad took his frosted pecker and jammed it back up my hole. "Not done, little faggot ... not done 'til I rape some spunk up your can. You'll be shittin' spooge for days ... ugh ... uuggghh ...uughhhhhhh." Clever's outburst wound down and his softening dick fell from my battered orifice. He laid there smiling and blissed like a kid coming down from a sugar high; his hand shot out and played in the goo covering my hand and cock ... spunk I hadn't even realized I'd nutted.

Using the old rags, Clever and I wiped ourselves off ... he actually took great care helping me clean up and get dressed. As we headed back toward my car, he was very upbeat ... spirited ... not like the aggressive maniac who apparently emerges during sex. He even gave me his cell number and said to call him if I didn't have plans for the weekend ... maybe we could get together again, he suggested ... take the van to the beach.

I made no commitments and drove back to the office.

HEADLINE: New Business Venture A Great BANG for the Buck

College Diver Goes Deep for the Win

Sometimes at smaller newspapers, reporters have to cover for their peers ... or take on stories that are outside their comfort zones. Case in point: Kyle Roth.

Our sports reporter, Benjy, went out of town on a family emergency with a story almost completed and he asked me if I'd do a quick interview with this college platform diver and get a pic or two of him in and around the pool. Benjy was a pretty good guy and very dependable about returning favors ... I agreed to help him out and file my additional paragraphs with our editor so the story could run in the upcoming Weekender.

I'd never heard of this Roth kid, but apparently just about everyone in upstate New York had. He was the only child of a prominent Manhattan family who had made early millions and retired to the Bainbridge area. Kyle was a good-looking, outdoorsy kid with a love of the water, and his father soon got him involved in competitive diving. Training was tough and began at the age of 8, and from Benjy's notes, I guess the Roths were extremist "stage parents," throwing around money and harsh words to make sure their son had the stellar high school athletic career he deserved. In the files, Benjy had a photo sent by the Roths of the family's "trophy room" littered with extravagant trophies, colorful ribbons, and gleaming medals of various shapes and sizes.

After high school, Kyle came south to a small college within our paper's primary circulation area. The institution didn't offer athletic scholarships, but the rumor was that "things happened" to get talented young athletes into its hallowed halls. Of course, financial aid probably hadn't been a deciding factor for the Roths. Kyle would only be a sophomore this fall, but he had already blasted past five of the college's three-meter diving records.

As I drove through the attractive campus, I half expected tumbleweeds to blow across my path ... activity was minimal. Summer session was in full swing, but I knew that four-year schools ... especially private, supposedly conservative ones ... often all but shut down June through August. Benjy assured me that Kyle Roth was in residence, actually living in a nearby apartment through the summer to avoid any interruptions in his training. The sports complex that housed the gym, running track, and pool was on the west edge of campus ... with the reduced student body, traffic and parking was not problematic. I arrived about 10 minutes early, so I took a moment to check the camera (battery life excellent), my notebook and supply of pens (ample), and my back-up digital recorder (never leave the office without it!) before zipping them all up securely in my battered-but-trusty leather messenger bag. I also did a quick hair fluff and applied a bit of concealer under both my eyes. Do I ever sleep? I thought. I locked my car and headed for what appeared to be the main entrance.

Inside, a pretty, trim girl sat behind a desk, her focus on an open textbook. She must have saw movement in her peripheral vision, because once I cleared the entrance, she looked up with a bit of a shocked expression and closed her book as if I'd caught her diddling herself.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to the Kolmann Rec Center," said the pretty smiling co-ed with all the genuine emotions of a fembot. "How can I help you?"

"I was told I could find Kyle Roth here this afternoon. We're scheduled to do a short interview for a newspaper article a colleague of mine is finishing up." Almost immediately, this girl's demeanor did a 180. "Kyle," she beamed. "We all love Kyle aroud here ... he'd be just finished with his workout and probably in the locker room."

"Then I can just follow the signs?" I asked, pointing to the graphic bands of color on the wall that I supposed led you to the major areas of the building.

"No, the swimmers and divers have a smaller private locker area donated by some wealthy alumni the Coach knows ... Kyle and Ted will be there. Just take the elevator right down there one floor down and its the third ... no fourth door on the right. There's a big mural of a pair of swim goggles right beside the door. I actually know the girl who painted it."

"Thanks," I sincerely said, "but who's Ted?" But the young lady just motioned me with a "whatever" finger and hurried to pick up the phone in response to a red blinking light and soft buzz.

The building was eerily quiet, my footsteps actually making light padding noises on the cement floor as I moved to the elevator door and pressed the "down" arrow. The elevator arrived with the sound of thunder and was just as noisy as it descended and deposited me on one of the complex's two lower floors. I thanked the gods for my safe arrival and exited the lift. I could immediately see the painting inquestion, so I sauntered over and tapped lightly on the adjoining metal door. After a few seconds and no reply, I tried the handle. It was not locked, so I collected my thoughts and entered. The damp, cool smell of collected water and the sharp smells of chlorine and cleaning agents assailed me immediately. It was a small, dim room with two vinyl chairs immediately to my left and a small table with a few sports tables sprinkled about. A fake fern attempted to give the space a sense of the living. To my right was another door with a small window ... it appeared to be an office, a "Coach Livingston" brass placard was attached near the door frame on a light aqua cinder block wall. Straight ahead I saw an open doorway with soft light and voices carrying from within.

I moved to the doorway and leaned in for a look. "Fuck me!" I said under my breath. The room was long and narrow and completely tiled in watery blue and soft green tiles. The part closest to me was walled with dark green lockers ... maybe 10 each side ... with a wooden bench bolted to the floor dividing the space. At the far end was an upscale open shower area with eight shower heads and a raised seating area in the middle. And in the place where the two areas met stood a naked god being carefully toweled off by a scruffy but very hot young man.

I guessed that the nude stud was Kyle Roth. He was tall and slender and chiseled and, other than his head and a bit of beard stubble, completely hairless. Kyle's chest was magnificent, like precise planes of pale marble, marred only by deliciously small chocolate nipples. His abdomen was taut but not overly defined, visually teasing my eyes with hints of tight, corded muscles just below the surface. His ass was surprisingly plump from my viewpoint, but parts of his body were shrouded as the other man applied a large terrycloth towel to blot up drops of water on his skin. "Non-Kyle" was on the shorter side ... maybe 5' 10" ... with reddish-brown curly hair and a face featuring a prominent nose and delicate freckles. His Irish looks were a nice contrast to the creamy Dutch-heritage complexion and dark and moody Iroquois-derived features of "Real Kyle." This, I figured, was the mysterious Ted.

I remained silent and motionless. I desperately wanted to see how this scene played out, and so did the raging pecker in my pants. As if cued, Ted dropped the towel to the bench and moved in much closer to Kyle. He immediately set to work on a nipple, chewing on the area and moaning softly to himself. In response, Kyle stretched and hissed and muttered encouragement. "Ted, you know all my buttons ... make me happy, make me so happy." Ted moved to the other nipple, his hands reaching around to knead the muscles of Kyle's back and to lightly rub the top of his luscious butt. Glimpses of a succulent dick peeked from between Kyle's strong legs.

Ted was very intent on his work, but not so much that his eyes didn't wander a bit ... and that was when he notice me. "What the fuck, man," Ted shouted as he straightened up and stood protectively in front of Kyle. Kyle seemed to accept his role as the "man in danger," but I also noticed that he made no move to shrink back or to cover himself up. "Who let you in here?"

"No one ... uh, the door was open and I had an appointment with ..."

"Fuck, Ted ... this is the guy from the paper. Coach set it up and I completely forgot." Kyle playfully smacked the side of his head sending little sprays of water from his longish, dark hair.

Ted looked a bit miffed at Kyle, but he still stood ramrod straight between us. "It's okay," he mouthed to his sexy buddy. And to me, "Sorry, sir, you just startled me ... us ... I'm Ted Conway, Kyle's roommate and the diving team manager." He relaxed a bit but I could tell Ted was still very aware of the sexually-charged environment around him. "Uh, could you give us a moment? Maybe we can find a space up in the lobby and ..."

"Or maybe," Kyle piped up in a rich baritone, "the reporter man would like to watch us play some more?" He leaned out a ways so I could see his sly smile more easily

"Kyle, don't dick around. We need to ..."

"No," I started. "That would be really, well, awesome." I moved forward before they could squabble any more and stood almost nose to nose with Ted. With no menace, I raised my left hand and lightly brushed his cheek, playing a bit and running a finger along the makings of a goatee. Kyle suddenly appeared to my right with a definite grin and I placed my right palm flat against his smooth pectoral ... his heart was racing like the pulse in my dick. I was working his nipple a bit and then started to trail my hand a little south when Ted stepped up to nudge me back with his shoulder.

"Dude," he declared, "if Kyle wants to play, we'll play ... but you'll be watching from the sidelines. No more touching ... Got it?!"

I was getting a little pissed by his attitude, but the testosterone in the room was ramped up so high that I was feeling slightly dizzy being so close to this pair of young college studs. "What the hell," I stated, and before I lost their attention, I walked over to the bench and dropped my messenger bag to the floor. With exaggerated motions, I undid my belt and pushed my open pants down past my knees. I was wearing a bright blue jock strap that made my pale skin almost glow. I double checked to see that Kyle at least was watching ... they both were ... and then tugged the pouch aside to free my very hard, very engorged cock. I think Ted licked his lips, but that fucker had set the rules. So fuck him!, I thought. Then I plopped down on the bench seat and began to slowly stroke my meat, stopping only to play in a bit of pre-cum.

The pair of college students took my brazenness as a "go" sign. While Ted stretched to remove his pullover, Kyle began to run a loving hand along his own prong. With Ted out of the way disrobing, I got my first clear look at Kyle's manhood. He was circumcised and probably topped out at a slender nine inches. I thought about what a sweet ride he'd be, but remembered that I was just here for the show.

By then, Ted had shed his top to reveal a pale, slightly beefy chest with large rosy nipples that looked so very tasty. While Kyle continued to stroke, his eyes closed as he got lost in the jack, Ted dropped his loose cargo shorts. His legs were stocky as well, covered in coarse, darker brown hairs. He wasn't wearing briefs and his dick hung thick, pudgy, and angry. His balls were glorious, one of those very round, very red sacs that doesn't show where the 'nads separate ... just one impressive pouch of masculinity covered in ginger down.

"Kyle, baby, let's show this guy how helpful I can be ... how much I love helping you any way I can." Kyle didn't answer. He did open his eyes and turn sideways so his dick stood straight out. With a bit of force, he pushed Ted into a squat where the team manager wasted no time in swallowing his star diver's pud in one quick gulp.

"Oh, fuck ... shit, man ... you're so good ... so fuckin' sweet to my dick. Aaahhhhh ... AAAAAAHHHHHH ..." Kyle writhed on his feet, cooing encouragement and flexing his stomach while he pumped his cock greedily into Ted's wet mouth. I, likewise, was a blur of motion. My hand was flying over my own stiffy, lubed with occasional dribbles of spit. I was literally hypnotized by the subtle flexing of Ted's throat as he dined on his friend's prolific prick. I need to slow down or this is gonna end way too soon for me, I kept thinking, but my brain and hand were in disconnect. The sensations just felt to fucking good!

It was probably only a few minutes later that Ted released Kyle's member and carefully laid down on his stomach across the bench. Kyle leaned in to place Ted's shirt and pants under his knees to provide some padding against the hard floor tiles. With a lustful look at me, Ted bent his head down, his curly hair in utter disarray. Meanwhile, Kyle continued to stroke his slobbery, now-crimson cock while he spit repeatedly into his hands. I imagined he was going to gently loosen up his friend and roommate, but with a sudden thrust Kyle plunged two sticky fingers into Ted's hot hole.

"FFFUUUCCCKKKKK!" was the sound echoing off the locker room walls. "OOOOHHHH, SSSHHHHIIIIITTTT! Don't ... DON'T STOP ... Don't ... DEEPER ... fuck those fingers deeper. AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!" I stopped stroking momentarily to watch this rough invasion. Ted's head was lolling from side to side, and the look on Kyle's face was a mask of almost-anger. He was getting off on the harsh treatment of his buddy's ass. And I was ssssssooooo getting off on watching them!!

I went back to jacking ... really all-out shucking omy uncut cock. I was trying to match Kyle's brutality stroke for stroke. My eyelids fluttered as I surrendered to the beat. I wasn't aware of time passing, but a sudden and loud "Get over here!" snapped me out of my carnal reverie. Kyle was still fingerbanging Ted, but he was motioning me to come closer. I stood and hobbled over, pants still encircling my feet ... my jock pressing tightly around my clean-shaven scrotum. When I got close enough, Kyle used his free hand ... wet from his jerking ... to steer me into a stooping position. There before me was now three pale fingers slamming into a reddened, moist ass slot. Kyle seesawed his hand maybe four more times before withdrawing his digging digits and we both just rocked slightly on our feet, watching a tiny trail of spit dribble from Ted's crinkled hole.

Like I said, Ted was slightly chunky, but his can was well muscled, its center surrounded by a mossy ring of ginger hair. It was young and beautiful, but I could tell that gash had seen plenty of dick. Ted's hole pulsed a bit, finally winking it's assent. "He's ready," Kyle said, barely a whisper of sultry breath. "Put your hand here," he instructed. The palm of my free hand resumed its place above his beating heart.

With a red, winking asshole at my feet and a locker behind me to steady myself since both hands were "occupied," I watched in awe as Kyle Roth, champion college diver, drove his spike of manflesh into the vacuuming anal abyss of Ted Conroy, team manager. Kyle's cock rested just a moment in the heat of Ted's anus, and then he quickly began an in-and-out assault, feding more and more flesh into his writhing buddy. Their union was loud with lots of grunting utterances and squishy noises. Each thrust was met by an ass backing up to take as much pole as possible. Ted moaned ... Kyle moaned ... I concentrated on not passing out.

Then I shot a stream of goo down my leg ... followed by three more massive ribbons of white. I panted as I leaned against the cool metal of someone's locker, never removing my hand from the hot skin of Kyle's heaving chest. "I'm gonna blow ... I'M GONNA BLOW MY ... SSSSHHHHHIIIIITTTTT!!!!" was all we heard and I saw a sizable puddle of ecru pool beneath Ted's sweaty form. He convulsed a few times and then lay very still, his breath coming in large, audible gulps. Kyle removed his slender tool from his friend's spent hole and stretched to his full height ... and then I think he extended onto his toes, both his hands jerking wildly at his lengthy cock while he used the connection with my arm to keep from toppling over.

It had all been so wild that I was expecting cum to hit walls and ceilings. With a guttural cry, Kyle Roth thrust out his pelvis and dribbled a small amount of semen onto Ted's damp back.

The room instantly took on an air of awkwardness.

Ted got to his feet ... still a bit unsteady ... and retrieved towels for us all. I wiped up and got myself presentable fairly quickly. "Guys ... that was so fucking incredible. I've never seen two hotter dudes go at it ... but, um, I still need to talk to Kyle for just a few moments." I felt so odd asking this polite question to people I had just watched screwing like weasels.

Kyle was sitting on the bench, a towel draped across his shoulder like a beaten prize fighter. Ted had pulled on his pants and was just zipping up. "Give us 10 minutes and we'll meet you up by the entrance." With that, Ted pushed Kyle to his feet and steered him toward the showers. I had been dismissed.

It was more like 20 minutes before we all regrouped. Kyle was much less dazed and he answered the few questions I had, giving me pretty good quotes. Ted jumped in often with more details, and he also had a disk of photos I could use for the story ... no need to go back down to the pool area. It was a pleasant exchange, but I barely noticed ... I was still lost in the hot sex I'd just witnessed and of which I played a peripheral part. I just hoped the digital recorder could help me sort out the double somersaults from the full pikes and half tucks.

HEADLINE: College Diver Goes Deep for the Win

Security Extra Tight at Local Paper

I was so excited to be back in the office for a few days. I knew when I signed on at this newspaper that I'd be away on goofy little assignments most of the time, but it was great to see co-workers' faces and have a solid desk to call my own. My laptop and me were buds ... where else would I get my on-the-road-again stroker porn ... but I just felt more grounded within the physical walls of the newspaper building.

Anyway, it was after 9 and most everyone had called it a day. I had filed my major story for the "Weekender" but still wanted to catch up on a few "housecleaning items" that I tended to let go until the last minute. I was so intent on my computer screen that when someone cleared their throat behind me, I nearly lost control of my bowels. When I turned around, I know I lost control of my jaw muscles and the portion of my brain that controls drool production because I was staring open-mouthed at one of the most breath-taking young studs I'd ever seen.

He was blond, fair with gray eyes ... my favorite ... and maybe 5' 11" but he seemed to fill up the room. He wasn't over-muscled or anything ... in fact, you'd probably describe him as slender ... but there was an intensity in his eyes and brows that just made the rest of the many-cubicled-room go out of focus.

"Sorry to startle you, sir" said a surprisingly deep voice, "but I was just making rounds and didn't recognize you as one of the regular night owls. Didn't recognize you at all, in fact."

"S'kay, um," ... I looked at his name tag hanging from a clip on the chest pocket of his form-fitting security guard uniform ... "Troy. I'm Aaron and I'm usually out and about so it's rare I spend much time at my desk." While I was talking and ogling, I reached for my messenger bag and produced my newspaper ID. He gave it a cursory look and nodded that I could put it away.

"No problem, sir. I've only been on the job three weeks so I try to stick to the policies and ask lots of questions." I, again, suggested he call me Aaron and asked him if he worked alone or as a team. He parked his left ass cheek on the corner of my desk and began telling me a bit about building security, all the while trying to look at my monitor without attracting my attention. I saw his eyes take in everything, but I leaned back a little to clear the view since I knew I kept nothing of a scandalous nature at work. When Troy's eyes dilated slightly, I remembered that earlier I had been transferring some data and had my laptop powered up. And there ... serving as an arousing background for my desktop icons ... was my favorite photo of a dark-haired twink having his ass expertly eaten by a 30-something, half-dressed police officer. Can you say "busted?"

"So, Troy," I stammered, closing my laptop with more effort than necessary, "did you train for security or is this just something you fell into?" I could feel a few beads of sweat dot my forehead, and the room was suddenly exceptionally quiet.

Troy just smiled, revealing white teeth with a few gaps and the cutest dimples to grace North America. He pawed at his shirt sleeves a bit, like he was warm too. "Actually, I'm still in college ... didn't start until I was 20. I'm studying business management and a friend mentioned the paper was looking for a part-time evening security person. The hours are great and never interfere with classes. And, so far, the people have been real nice." He moistened his lips. "Real nice."

We chatted a bit more ... he telling me he was 23, a junior, grew up about two hours north, and was sharing an apartment with two other male students ... and me revealing a bit about my job and my ambitions. After maybe 10 minutes, he excused himself to use the restroom, but he did it in a way that implied he would be back to talk a bit more. In this wing of the building, there is a set of restrooms about 30 feet past a partition and down a dead-end hallway. We call them the "Writers' Retreat." Once Troy was out of site, I quickly shut down my "sleeping" laptop and stowed it away. I also hit myself with a blast of breath spray ... why, who knows ... and settled back into logging a few photo release forms into the records system.

I really couldn't say how much time passed ... maybe 15 or 20 minutes. I actually got my head into my work pretty deep, but then I heard the out-of-place sound of running water. I stood and took a few steps toward the sound ... the dead-end hallway. As I peered around the partition wall, I could see that the men's room door was propped open and the light was on.

I knew this end of the building was deserted and that the press crew had bathrooms not 20 feet away from the press and binding area. And the cleaning crew never showed up until after midnight. Cautiously, I inched toward the open door to the increasing volume of running water. Maybe Troy left the water running accidentally, I thought ... it seemed like the only reasonable explanation. That, or the reality of Security Officer Troy was sitting on the toilet of the open handicap stall stroking his pale, thin cock!

It was beautiful ... probably seven inches long and shiny with pre-cum. He glanced at me in the doorway and nodded toward the running water faucets and the waste basket holding open the door. His hair was damp with sweat, tiny reflections played under the fluorescent lights.

"What took you so long?" Troy whispered huskily. "Mixed signals, I guess," was all I could think to say. His shirt was open and he was forcefully pinching a nipple while he whacked. His nipples were small and pale, his chest nearly hairless. I just stood there taking in his smooth, innocent appearance.

"Hey!" His voice boomed in the small space and jolted me out of my stupor. "I really want to keep this job, so I gotta get going on my rounds." His hands moved away from his tool and the thin column of flesh teetered a bit. "But I really, REALLY need you to suck this cock ... if you're interested." The smile ... sneer, actually ... that graced his face was anything but innocent.

I had the door shut and water turned off in seconds. I entered the "roomy" restroom stall and latched its door behind me. Troy looked to me, to his cock, and back to me. I was instantly on my knees inhaling security guard pecker. Troy raised off the seat a bit and lightly held my head in place as he fed me a beautiful cut dick. I worked my way from head to root quickly, licking, nipping, and gagging a little on the "back stroke." Troy's breathing was ragged and, between inhalations, he muttered how good I was and how he'd only done this kind of thing once or twice. He didn't label himself as "straight" or "gay" or "bi," just moaned and hissed as I plied all my skills.

After a few minutes of "praying to Peter" and tickling his bald sack, Troy's rod got noticeably stiffer. I was preparing to take his youthful load when he pushed me back and stood up on wobbly-though-well-defined legs ... his member exited my mouth with an audible "pop." He whirled and placed his hands against the back of the stall ... leaning over the toilet with his ass hoisted up high ... and turned his head to look at me. "Enough," he panted, "enough ... I can't take much more. Just ... just wrap that thing up and fuck me already!" And like magic, he held a condom in one trembling hand.

To be honest, I was hoping for a little reciprocal head and a taste of ass. But to be TOTALLY honest, this would do for a meet 'n' greet. I got my belt undone and my pants down past my knees. Troy slipped me the opened rubber and I took a few seconds to stroke my 8-inch stiffy to full mast before donning it. He was shifting his weight slightly from left to right ... right to left ... in anticipation. I then spit into my right hand several times and worked the bubbly fluid into Troy's hairless pink hole. It was very small and tight. With his aggressiveness, I didn't peg him for a virgin but this manpussy had not seen much action.

"Be gentle," he responded as if reading my mind. "Like I said, I've only fooled around with guys a few times."

"Troy, I'm not fooling," I severely stated, hoping I sounded rakish and experienced. I lined up my throbbing cock with his spittle-moistened hole and pushed. Troy howled but pushed back, and the head of my dick fought its way in. I paused, holding Troy's sides, stroking his ribs and hips through the open shirt. I reached down and found his prong as hard as it had been ... maybe harder. I pumped it a few times and renewed my slow thrust forward. Troy actually worked his way back over my dick, and with a low growl from us both I hit bottom.

I'd like to say I kept up an unbelievable pace, and that we switched positions, and Troy came without touching his cock. But it was an angry, fast fuck. I long-dicked his sweet hole with abandon and came in the condom. Troy roughed up his dick along the way until, with me still inside him, he dribbled a decent load into and onto the toilet. His seldom-used ass nearly crushed by dick!!

And there was no awkwardness or embarrassment afterward. We both heaved a bit until our pulse rates leveled out. I exited the stall first and tossed the condom in the trash ... give the cleaning crew something to gossip about, what the hell! As I washed my hands, Troy moved up beside me at the sinks, wiped up with a paper towel, and got his pants up and shirt closed and tucked. As we walked out of the men's room ... both presentable ... I was about to say "thanks" or feel him out about a repeat performance sometime. But before I had anything concrete in mind to say, I basically ran into him ... he had abruptly stopped and turned. I barely had my lips parted to speak when Troy said everything with a gentle kiss. After a several soulful seconds, he backed away a bit, grinned like a kid with a secret, and walked away ... around a corner and out of sight.

HEADLINE: Security Extra Tight at Local Paper

Ohio Fireworks Law Prevents Big Bangs

We're coming up on July 4th or, as I like to call it, "National Blow Off Your Thumb and Visit the Emergency Room Day." My editor wants me to visit a few fireworks vendors in a three county area and see how Ohio law affects their livelihood. I've also been instructed to state from the start that I am with the media and am in no way connected to any law enforcement operation. Can you spell F-U-N?

My first three stops are easy-peasy ... cooperative owners and managers with some good quotes. Stop number four on my itinerary looks dubious. It's a bunker-style building painted a sickly yellow. Out front, attached to anything that isn't moving, are ribbons and banners and streamers and balloons and spinners in red, white, and ... you guessed it ... blue. The windows have bars over them and what greenery exists is badly overgrown. But the parking lot is packed; I park illegally and enter the shop with press credentials at the ready.

Inside, the place is a free-for-all. People ... mostly families and couples ... are everywhere loading up on sparklers, roman candles, "sizzlers," bottle rockets, "screamers," "black cats," and things that look like surplus military ordnance. I wait until I see a clerk ... a young woman about my age ... who isn't totally overwhelmed and ask to see a manager. Her face tightens up, thinking I'm wanting to complain about something. I quickly show her my newspaper ID and tell her I only need 10 minutes of the manager's time.

I wander aimlessly for maybe five minutes when I see a striking, rugged-looking dude coming toward me. He's on the short side and slightly stocky, but it's muscle mass ... he's built to pummel, not dance. He's wearing a dark green sleeveless T that shows of his collection of tattoos and obviously often-worked guns. In his ears are two large rhinestones, I mean supposed diamonds ... after all, he sells fireworks for a living. His hair is light brown and cropped short and his eyes ... playful while slightly mean ... are chocolate brown laced with liquid gold. On his face he's sporting two or three days worth of stubble and some old acne scars ... I figure he's probably in his early 30's ... but his overall look is as hot and flammable as the stuff he's selling.

"You looking for me?" this rural demigod says with no preamble. His resting position is relaxed but hints of someone whose dealt with trouble before. The jeans containing his surprisingly slender legs are ripped, faded, and molded around an impressive cock bulge. My tongue feels thick and pasty as I lift my ID from its lanyard and fumble for words of introduction.

"If you're the owner and/or manager, I sure am." I try to sound professional and manly and non-confrontational all at the same time.

"Name's Dusty." Dusty makes no attempt to define his role or take my proffered hand. His right foot taps in an irritated fashion.

"Well, thanks for seeing me, Dusty. The local paper wants to do a story on fireworks and how businesses like yours have been affected by legal limitations on selling. Got any problems you'd care to share?" Before he could react too much, I had my digital recorder out and running. Dusty looks at it like it's a foul-smelling turd.

"Everyone's got problems, but I don't see how making 'em public helps anyone."

Tough cookie, I think to myself. How do I get this guy interested in me? I mean the story? "Well," I reply, "Lola over at Brinker's Novelties had a mouthful of things to say. So far, she's given me my best quotes. Nice lady."

Dusty's brows raise just a notch, and his eyes focus quickly to see if I caught the tell. "Lola, huh?" Then he rubs his chin and his face transforms into a scowl. "Bitch" is all he mutters.

I stand there trying to look like I really don't care whether we talk or not. He looks for my tell ... my bluff. Finally, his body relaxes just a tad and he motions for me to follow him. I barely hear him comment about the noise because, well, it's noisy ... I'm thinking he's moving us to a quieter part of the store, which will help with the interview immensely. We walk, me trailing slightly behind, about 60 feet down the length of half the store, dodging customers and piles of explosions waiting to happen and pass through a weathered wooden door. It's a dingy office space, crates piled haphazardly among pieces of shelving and packing materials ... weak sunlight filters in through windows in need of a good cleaning. I expect this stocky stud to enthrone himself at his substantial oak desk ... the dominant piece of furniture in the room ... but instead Dusty goes behind a small antique glass display cabinet tucked in a far corner and leans his beefy ass back against a modern storage rack. I position myself in front ... I guess I'm playing the customer today.

"So your business," I start, "has it changed much over the last few years?"

Dusty chews his cheek for a moment and I hope this isn't a lost cause. But he focuses and begins. "A bit. We still rely on the bulk of interstate tourists for cash flow, so as long as they sign the waivers about leaving the state with the 'works in hand, we have no problems with the law. Never had a citation. And we've never got into the big-end items for displays and festivals, so that paperwork doesn't ever happen."

I'm nodding along, hoping my body language shows I'm interested and keeps him talking. "My biggest problem," he continues, "is them fuckin' super stores selling sparklers and little bitty stuff. We stock a shitload of that junk ... those pissant things bring the kiddies and parents running, and after looking around they end up buying all kinds of stuff out of curiosity. Or a damn sense of danger. I've had to double my advertising to keep a steady customer base. Of course, I can always count year-round on the young idiots who buy the big stuff to impress the panties off their sweethearts!"

This is good,I'm thinking, once I clean it up a bit. "You do seem to have a lot of inventory" I compliment as I stoop a bit to peer into the case. It has one or two of probably everything he sells arranged perfectly, puddled red velvet fabric and small acrylic holders showing off the unique shapes and colorful packaging perfectly. "I remember smoke bombs ... and those snakes made out of ash ... and you have some huge rockets out in the main store."

Suddenly, the air in the room seems more still. Something unseen shifts. "You like big rockets, son?" There's no malice in Dusty's voice. Only a quiet, genuine questioning. His facial expresion is neutral ... unreadable

I figure I can tease with the best of them, so I say "I've been known to shoot off a big rocket or two." I meet this ruggedly handsome man's eyes; the color has shifted into molten. He comes up even to the counter. "Let me show you a one-of-a-kind item, then ... but I don't think your paper's gonna wanna cover this." And with no pause whatsoever, Dusty pops the buttons on the fly of his jeans and hauls out a hog of a cock.

Gotta be 10, maybe 10 and a half inches, my brain says inside my head. My eyes bulge and my dick leaks into my boxers. I just stare as Dusty uses one veiny hand to peel the foreskin off the almost purple knob of his dick, and the other to extract his hairy plum-sized balls through his zipper. Once out and constricted by the opening in his jeans, Dusty's meat spear quickly plumps up and hangs heavy at I'm sure 10 inches. I swallow to allieve my dry mouth. I also adjust the rock-hard pecker in my own slacks.

"I call her Clara," says the man casually rubbing his fleshy wang, " 'cause when I fuck a bitch ... or a dude," he adds with a sexy wink, "you can her 'em holler 'clara' over there." He chuckles and looks to see that he has my attention ... of course, he does ... then looks down again at his mammoth meat. Dusty grabs the base of his wide pole aggressively with his right hand ... he has large knuckles, I notice. And once he's flattened his left, he smacks his dick hard against it ... repeatedly. Thwack ... THWACK ... THWACK!!

I don't wait for an invitation. My more modest model of penis is out and proud in no time through my own unzipped khakis. His eyes widen just a fraction when my pale prod is fully revealed, but he returns to the business as hand swiftly.

We're now trading glances and raspy intakes of air as we massage our prongs and shift our weight from foot to foot. I'm uncut as well, but with no way near the excess skin as Dusty, and when I'm as hard as I am now I don't have much room to play. I've got my cock coated with a good amount of spit and am enjoying a leisurely stroke, but this isn't enough for the surly business owner before me. Using his foreskin like a shammy, he pumps up the pace, buffing his rod rigorously. He's really rough on himself, cupping his fingers to support his length and then drawing his hood forcibly downward in a kind of slicing motion ... his cockhead strains at the end of each slice. He softly murmurs on the downswing, too ... like a tennis player on a boisterous serve. He whispers "motherfucker" occasionally like cooing to a lover. He's so hot, I think, I wonder why the room hasn't caught fire?!

My face and arms are beaded with perspiration and my breath is noticeably ragged as I jack with a little more pressure, incredibly turned on by this man's masturbatory techniques. Just as I work my throat to produce more spit, Dusty starts grunting. My eyes snap up just in time to see him tumble forward to rest his bull nuts on the top edge of the display case. Two more jacks start a slow cascade of cum running down his colossal cock; more dribbles as his stroking lessens. The pool of Dusty's cum that collects on the case is impressive, but for some reason I'm a little disappointed. I was expecting some shooting ... some distance ... I guess I was expecting fireworks!

But I was nothing even close to sad when Dusty surprised me with his "afterglow" rituals. Before his pecker diminished much, he seductively rubbed his goo all over his cock ... I mean working it into the folds and crevices and even into the fabric of his jeans. He was also creating a massive smear all over the glass case, dragging his dick from side to side like a dog wagging its tail. Then, with an upturn of his now-drowsy brown-gold eyes, he lazily crouched down and began lapping up the mess ... slow, sanguine licks employing his plump pink tongue.

I barely noticed the friction my hand and dick were creating from the sparks of Dusty's performance ... I was like a Boy Scout trying to start a fire with no matches. I nutted at the precise moment his tongue met a particularly clumpy pile of goo, streaming and spraying like an unsealed fire hydrant. My pants were streaked and drops of cum sat silently on my tasseled loafers and the rough planks of the office floor. The sound of my heart raced in my ears as I used my uncoated hand to steady myself against the display. Dusty, tongue still swishing but with his eyes glued to my crotch, smiled at the reaction he'd produced.

He think he's got my number, I conclude, thinks he's impressed the little reporter on assignment. Not wasting another second of analyzing this macho merchandiser, I raised my right hand and, as loudly and lustfully as possible, began cleaning myself and moaning as I swallowed more and more of my own still-warm seed.

"Fuck me." A man of few words, indeed.

HEADLINE: Ohio Fireworks Law Prevents Big Bangs