Fireman's Burning Desire To Help Pays Off

In the city where I live and work, firefighters are extremely well known for their dedication and willingness to help others. I'm sure it's not unique to this part of Ohio ... or even this part of the country ... but our firehouses and the men on duty in them have forged a proud history of coming to the aid of their communities, and not just to fight fires. Fires stations are focal points for community education and dozens of important charity programs. Right now, I'm finishing an interview with a local fire captain who is spearheading a food drive to help food banks "gear up" for the demands of the year-end holidays.

Very pleased with the words and images I'd captured, I thanked the older fire specialist ... an attractive, barrel-chested man in his late 50s ... enthusiastically for his input into my article and retreated to my car parked a few spaces down from the modern firehouse on a wide residential avenue. Once I had stowed my messenger bag and was belted in, I started my trusty Chevy only to be rewarded by a horrendous grinding noise. The motor had definitely engaged but it didn't sound healthy. Startled by the noise, I immediately turned the engine off. After about 30 tension-filled seconds, I mentally crossed my fingers and tried the ignition switch again. My vehicle roared to life, but the engine noise was even louder and more pronounced.

Several scenarios ... all of them expensive ... were flashing through my mind when a thunderous clap reigned down on the roof of my vehicle. I nearly shit my pants. The source of the noise was standing beside my car ... a tough-looking man in fireman's yellow "bibs" and a dirty athletic shirt that hugged his beefy, alluring torso. "Hey there, buddy," he bellowed over the engine noise. "Shut that fuckin' thing off before you kill it for sure!" My hand obeyed him robotically, turning off my car's motor, but my eyes were glued to the hunky body posed in a relaxed stance outside my vehicle.

Through my partially-open window, the good and gorgeous Samaritan ... from his mode of dress I assumed he was a fireman ... asked me in a more measured tone to pop the hood of my car so he could take a look. By the time I had extricated myself from the car, the hunk had my hood propped up. He looked intense as his eyes scanned my car's innards and he leaned in to twiddle with various handles and hatches.

"Any idea what the problem might be?" I offered as I stood beside the handsome figure. I could smell a mixture of sweat and soot emanating from his well-developed arms. Glimmers of perspiration showed in his dark, closely-cropped hair. Then I saw the wedding ring. Oh well, I mused, even in a crisis a boy can dream!

"Actually, bro, I don't know shit about cars. I just know that opening the hood prevents dangerous fumes from accumulating. My specialty is fires ... not motors." He looked at me with an endearing sadness, like a man trying to lighten the mood but also genuinely sorry that he can't make the situation better.

"Hey, I just appreciate you slapping my car and jolting me out of my indecision. I probably would have sat there and let the engine grind itself into dust." His intense gaze brightened slightly and the corners of his very-kissable mouth relocated into a subtle grin. "I'll just call AAA to help me get it to the dealership and then I'll figure out how to get home from there."

The fireman's seeds of a grin suddenly grew into a full-fledged smile, and his strong hand reached out to playfully pat my shoulder. "Now that I can help you with! I'm just about to go off-duty ... you make your arrangements while I get cleaned up, and I'll follow you and then drop you at home. Where you takin' it?"

"That's a nice offer, buddy, but I can't let you do that ... my dealership is like half an hour away at least. And then I live in the other direction. It's too much of an inconvenience ... maybe somebody at work can help me out." Then I nodded my head in the direction of the gold band on his left hand. "And besides, it looks like you have a wife keeping the home fires burning ... hopefully with a proper extinguisher nearby. I wouldn't want to make you late for dinner ... or whatever." I laughed and winked at my own lame way of turning down his kindness. I sincerely didn't want to take advantage of his generous nature, and I also DID NOT want to encourage the growing hardness in my briefs.

My excuses didn't hold water, though. He insisted on helping me out. In fact, his reply had another tinge of sadness to it. "Believe me, buddy ... THAT'S not a problem. I'd really like to help you out."

So the whole "plan" just fell into place. AAA sent a tow truck and, after a quick inspection, transported me and my car to my Chevy dealership about 25 minutes away ... it took more like 35 with late afternoon traffic. In the back of my mind, I had hoped I could get a rental car on the spot, but it was late in the day and I was lucky that anybody in the service department was still there. The manager signed in my vehicle and promised me a call by 10 a.m. the next day with a "preliminary diagnosis." He also told me that, since he couldn't hook me up with a rental that day, if they needed to keep my car he'd give me a "loaner" vehicle for up to three days at no charge. Sweet! screamed the inner cheapskate in me.

As I exited the service bay through a side door, I immediately noticed a shiny dark green Chevy Silverado idling in anticipation of my arrival. It's driver ... his name was Christopher, but "my friends call me Chris" ... smiled and honked his vehicle's shrill horn to assure he got my attention. I crossed the pavement and entered the manly vehicle. Chris had changed into a tight gray Henley and a pair of form-fitting jeans. His cologne was citrusy, mixing nicely with his natural masculine scent. I hoped I didn't swoon during the ride home ... or try to grab his junk!

"Thanks again, Christopher, for the ride ... most guys I know wouldn't drop what they were doing to help out a total stranger."

The firefighter looked at me sheepishly, dazzling blue eyes contrasting nicely against the tan flesh of his handsome face. As he put the truck in gear and pulled into traffic, I watched the muscles in his arms flex ... hopefully in a covert manner. "Not really a 'total' stranger," he confessed, "and please, call me Chris. I saw you a few times earlier in the day talking to the Chief and taking a tour of our house. You probably didn't notice me ... I was just finishing up some odds and ends before my shift ended. You and the Chief have a good conversation?"

"Yeah, he was very helpful. He seems like a really good guy ... he's sure as hell proud of all of you. He was tossing names and stories around so fast I told him I was sure I'd be phoning him to repeat a few details."

"That man is probably the most decent administrator I've ever worked with. He's very respectful and tries to get to know us as individuals. Plus he tries to keep up with all the shit happening in our lives." Then Chris smiled a little conspiratorially. "But don't let the man fool you ... he's a Class-A ballbuster when he has to be. He doesn't suffer fools and knows that keeping us in line means keeping us safe and effective."

We talked a bit more and I gave Chris directions to my neighborhood. We continued the standard small talk, exchanging bits and pieces and edited details of our lives. He was one of two children, I discovered ... both firefighters ... from a family in New Jersey. Chris had moved to Ohio when his wife was transferred here for work. He had been a firefighter for nearly 16 years ... he was 38 ... and had completed extensive EMT and dispatcher training. He made his professional life sound routine, but I was fascinated by the work. And the man. So I told him so.

His reply was very down to earth and humble. "You know, I'm not trying to downplay the importance of what I do, but it's 24 hour shifts of sleeping in a drafty firehouse with messy, smelly guys, sharing cooking and cleaning duties, filling out paperwork, making lots of needless bullshit fire runs that end up being nothing, and only occasionally getting to do the 'heroic' stuff we were trained to do." He paused to take a breath. "I wouldn't trade it for the world, but if I didn't have administrative access so I could sneak into the office and watch some computer porn, I'd go bat-shit crazy!!"

I looked over to judge if Chris was teasing me or not. He was facing dead forward, eyes locked on the road. But his mouth twitched in a barely restrained devilish smile. My cock jerked wickedly in my pants as I watched him fight the urge to laugh.

About 15 minutes into the drive, we hit an area of town dominated by restaurants and diners and cafes. Chris asked if I would care if we stopped and grabbed something to eat. I had a sexy remark on my tongue, but chose to keep it to myself. "I'm really craving a good burger and I hate to eat alone," he explained. Intrigued, I agreed to the "detour" and Chris promptly swung his vehicle into the parking lot of a run-down looking pub ... The Rookery. The lot was about half full.

"Have you been here before?" he asked as we locked up his truck and moved toward the door of the Tudor-styled establishment. "Never ... any good?"

"Hell yeah ... the best damn french fries in the whole city. Steak fries ... you know, big crispy planks of potato that you can smother the shit out of with ketchup. Fuck, I'm really starving!"

We entered the dimly-lit eatery both laughing at the intensity of Chris' appetite. About two-thirds of the tables and booths were filled with noisy patrons, but the bar was surprisingly deserted. We took two stools at the far end, nearest the door to the kitchen and farthest away from the other diners.

Just as I was about to comment on the place, a voice boomed its way down the bar. "Well, if it isn't Fireman Frank ... and a cute pal who doesn't strike me as a hose jockey!" If she only knew, I giggled inside my head. She was well into her 50s and dressed like a sloppy Bavarian barmaid. A goofy wreath of dried flowers sat askew on her graying hair and her eyes ... topped by smoky blue eye shadow ... had a worldly quality, like she'd seen more things than anyone could imagine. A cigarette dangled from her tangerine-tinted lips.

"How ya doin,' Gretta ... me and my buddy here are dying from starvation so I hope you got the frig all stocked!"

"Won't be anything but empty after you're done!" she quipped back as she moved closer and crushed her "cancer stick" into a nearby ashtray. Gretta leaned over the bar and exchanged a quick hug with Chris. Then she composed herself and took on a more business-like tone. "What'll it be, men?"

Chris turned to me expectantly. "Do you trust me, bro?" I nodded, not entirely understanding the profound query. He cracked another gorgeous smile and turned excitedly back to Gretta. "Two half-pound burgers ... aged cheddar, bacon, red onion, and some of that killer Wasabi mustard ... a BIG basket of fries, and ask Joey to please put the garlic salt on the spuds BEFORE he puts them in the fryer."

"Picky much?"

"And ... a pitcher of Molson and two mugs."

"You could have just said 'the usual.' " Gretta shared a wink with me and sauntered off to place our order.

I swiveled to the side to look at Chris. "I'm gonna make a guess and say that you come here a lot, 'Fireman Frank,' " I joked as I reached over for a few stale pretzels from a bowl beside Chris' elbow. I managed to casually graze his hairy forearm. As I chewed, a look of comfortable ease crossed the stud's face.

"A bunch of us guys come in here on nights we have off ... and Gretta is like our unofficial den mother," he explained while also capturing a pretzel and popping it into his mouth. "She has a special 'name' for just about all of us, except the Chief. She likes to flirt ... the guys love her to death!"

While we waited for our food, Gretta delivered our beer with minimal fanfare. I'm more of a martini guy, but the dark amber brew was surprisingly rich and very refreshing. As we drank, Chris shared more of his personal history. He had married young to the first girl he had ever dated seriously; it was a second marriage for his wife. She had a son and Chris had taken on the role of surrogate father for just over a decade. "I loved being there for him, making sure he stayed on the right side of things," he explained. "His real dad hasn't been in the picture much ... a good guy but he's had lots of problems."

I nodded as he bragged about his "son" and his academic accomplishments. I also patted his arm sympathetically when he told me how the kid had been pulling away from him in recent years. Our food arrived, and God damn if the fries weren't everything they'd been promised to be. Spicy and cooked to perfection ... we nearly killed the bottle of ketchup between us as we each slid potatoes onto separate platters. Gretta looked on from a distance with a motherly smile.

And the burgers were huge ... medium well ... with the slice of onion being exceptionally biting and delicious. Chris fell into a reverent silence as he demolished half his sandwich in about three bites. He suddenly sat up very straight, took a huge gulp of suds, and then let out a relaxed sigh as if a switch had been thrown. Fuck, he really was hungry!!

Conversation returned between bites, and Chris' dialogue took on moodier themes. "I really appreciate you sharing a meal with me, man. To be honest, the wife was probably not gonna be at home anyway and our frig stays pretty bare unless I hit the market. We've been living separate lives for a while now ... we're more like roommates than husband and wife." His confession made me a little uncomfortable, but I could tell he needed to say some things out loud. "It's been almost two years since we've done ... well, um ... been intimate."

I was in mid beer-swill and put my mug down with a loud "thunk." The surprise must have been easy to read on my face. "She's a good person ... really ... I just feel like more of a provider and a source of security and companionship than a man. Shit ... I can't believe I just told you that."

"Hey, don't be embarrassed about having feelings," I said. "And what you just described ... that's more than a lot of married people have."

Chris placed his hand on top of mine briefly, then suddenly seemed overly-conscious of his public surroundings. Gretta wandered by and Chris ordered a second pitcher. We talked some more and eventually played a few games of pool. Chris also majorly "schooled" me in darts at a board in the back of the pub. We were pretty much by ourselves, and a few times Chris moved up behind me ... very close ... and took my hands to help me improve my throwing technique. He was turning into a fairly "touchy-feely" guy. I felt warm and dizzy when I sensed his body pressed close behind mine. I swear his cock was hard and thick as he pressed into me. In response, my pecker was leaking steadily into my shorts. We sat down again and ordered postprandial coffee; we also split a piece of cheesecake. I feel like I'm on a date, I inwardly stammered as my pulse raced a bit. A really great date!!

It was close to 10 p.m. when Chris pulled up in front of my building and shut off his engine. I thanked him again for the ride and the meal ... he had insisted on picking up the check. Just as adamantly, I agreed to it only if I could leave the tip. I was extremely generous.

I shook Chris' hand in the cab of his truck. I got out and moved toward the stairs that lead to my second-floor unit. "Aaron," a deep voice called from behind me. Chris was standing on my side of his vehicle. I retraced my steps and stood a few feet in front of him. He looked deflated ... unsure. "I just wanted to say that I really appreciated you letting me talk your ear off. I just don't have any friends who I can share that shit with ... the guys at the station are great, but they'd bust my chops over and over and over again if I ever told them that stuff. You just seemed really nice and sympathetic ... and once I started spilling my guts it was hard to stop."

I slapped him playfully on the bicep. "I enjoyed listening, Chris. You're a great guy ... it makes me sad that you're in such a bad place right now. I wish I had some easy answers for you, but I ..."

Suddenly, I found myself in a tight hug. Chris' solid body molded against mine, so close I could feel the flutter of his racing heart. And again, his rod felt stiff and engorged as he squeezed me in a lengthy embrace. His breathing was deep and warm against my neck. After a few lingering moments, I decided to take a chance and moved my hands lower to cup and caress his muscular ass. A low whimper escaped his lips and vibrated against my shoulder and chest; his grip tightened even more.

"Would you like to come up for some coffee?" I stammered into the side of his head.

He pulled away from me, his eyes burning in the feeble light provided by nearby streetlamps. "We already had coffee, goofball," he responded, a definite chuckle layered beneath his sultry baritone voice.

I swallowed and pressed on. "Well, do you wanna come inside anyway?"

He whispered "yeah" directly in my ear and we proceeded to my narrow stairs at a brisk walk.

Once inside, I flipped on a few lights and made inane comments as I dropped my keys in a bowl and my messenger bag on a counter. I absentmindedly fluffed a couch pillow and rearranged a stack of unopened mail. Damn, why am I so nervous? I asked myself.

The answer was quick to come ... because he's a married man!

Chris still stood just inside the apartment door. He didn't look like he wanted to escape, but his body language was not that of a man at ease. His eyes were turned toward the floor as he spoke. "I've never done anything like this ... with a guy ... with anyone. I've thought about leaving her but this is ... this is ..." His voice quivered as he continued. "I've just been so lonely lately. I just want to feel like I matter to someone ... even if it's only for just one night."

Swiftly, I walked over to Chris and led the sturdy stud over to my sofa. I put a hand affectionately on his knee and gently squeezed. His still wouldn't look me in the eyes. "Chris," I started. "I've known you for less than five hours and I know ..." I gripped him with more force until he looked up. "I KNOW you're a great guy with a big heart. Hell, I'd kill to have a friend as kind and funny and respectful and fuckin' sexy as you. And I REALLY want to make you feel like a man right now, but I also don't want to make your situation at home more complicated than it already is. And I don't want you to do something out of feelings of appreciation or ..."

"Please stop," he muttered, taking my hand in his and moving it up to his crotch. His dick felt warm and very thick through his jeans. "I really want this ... want you. Please, I just want to stop thinking and start feeling!" Like a slow-motion effect in a movie, Chris leaned into me and placed his moist lips against mine. Initially tender, the kiss burst into a raging inferno. He sucked hungrily on my flexing tongue, demanding as much aggressive contact as possible. He explored my lips ... my teeth. His hands drew me to him, smoothing and ruffling my hair and then caressing my back in soft circular motions.

We broke apart ... me to catch my breath and him, I think, to gauge my response to his first man-on-man liplock. I quickly started unbuttoning my shirt, tossing it aside to reveal my very-average torso. Chris' eyes widened as he took in my hairless chest and bare tummy. Like a mirror with a time delay, he responded by removing his own shirt. While I was slightly taller, Chris had me by probably 40 lbs. of solid, plated muscle. His chest was broad and dusted with dark hair. His nipples were a succulent pair of pinkish nubs. A trail of fuzz followed the gentle contours of his toned abs. Chris had the body of a man who works his muscles everyday, but naturally ... not hours of vanity-induced gym work. Yummy!!

After his shirt fell to the floor, I dragged the flat of my right hand across his meaty pecs, moaning softly from the sensation of rubbing his fur and alert nipples. He shuddered from my touch, but his gaze never faltered. I rose to my feet. First, my shoes joined my shirt. I danced a bit to remove my socks as gracefully as possible. I probably looked silly, but Chris didn't crack the smallest of smiles ... he sat rapt, motionless. He did wet his lips which made me feel sexy and desirable. I stepped out of my pants and stood in only a tight black jock strap. I had no idea why I had chosen to wear it that morning when dressing, but as I closed the distance to where Chris still sat and he pressed his mouth into my groin, I was sure glad I did.

His hands circled around and kneaded my smooth, plump butt cheeks. He kept my body tight to his face, mashing his lips and darting tongue against the ribbed fabric covering my equipment. Up and down ... back and forth ... he trailed spittle across my crotch, making lewd noises as he traveled. Soon, my jock was wet and sticky. As he lavished attention on my genitals, I looked down to watch his buzz-cut head. He squirmed and writhed in pleasure, clearly enjoying being close to another person ... another man, I hoped. For the most part, his eyes remained closed as he prodded my encased member, but occcasionally he would raise his eyes and glare at me lustfully.

"Fuck, Chris," I moaned. "That feels sooooo fucking good! Just nuzzle me like you'd like to be ... oh, daaammmmnnnnn!!"

"I didn't know it would be like this," he huffed and stammered in between licks and gentle tugs with his teeth on the pouch of my garment. "I've thought about other guys before, but I never imagined it would feel so hot ... just sooooo natural!"

After a few more seconds, I stepped back, fearing I might come in my strap just from his sensual revelations. He looked up at me in disappointment, but I lovingly helped him to his feet. I moved in close to nuzzle his cheek ... his wide nose. I dotted his bowed lips with light kisses. And all the while, my hands were busy unfastening his pants. The zipper on Chris' jeans sounded thunderous in the quiet of my apartment as it descended. "Your turn," I whispered and then sank into the couch cushions to watch him undress.

Chris had to exert considerable force to peel off the thigh-hugging denim. Wiry hairs decorated his thick legs. In the center of his tanned limbs, a worn athletic supporter ... white with frayed edges ... hung packed with fireman dick. Unlike Chris, when I pulled him close I immediately pulled the pouch to one side; his thick tool and fuzzy balls dangled free. I licked along the full length of his bloated prick, tasting hints of floral soap and sweaty flesh. I rolled my tongue over the crimson head, catching a milky drop of goo before gravity pulled it away. I savored the salty taste and dug into his piss slit for more.

"Shit, dude," Chris hissed. "It's been years since anyone has sucked my dick. I almost forgot how fuckin' great it feels. You're amazing ... I've been missing sooooooo much. Hell yeah ... YEAH! AGGGGHHHH!!"

"Way too long," I gurgled around his piece of lumber ... about seven inches of chiseled, veined wood. And thick - a real assbuster! I could feel my hole winking with thoughts of being plundered by Chris' meat. My mouth closed over his sweet cock, taking more than half down my gullet. I squeezed the base, wanting every inch of his shaft to feel loved. While I kept up the vacuuming, I petted his shaggy nuts ... normal sized but throbbing with built-up sexual tension. My fingers explored his scrotum with tiny pinches and nips ... each illiciting a deep gasp or sigh from their owner. I even rubbed the area just shy of his furry hole, almost grazing the taut rim.

Drool was dripping off Chris' pole as I slurped another inch into my warm mouth. He was flexing his legs repeatedly, responding to my touch as my hands traced the straps of his jock as they dug into his globes of glorious ass flesh. After a few moments of working his rump, I worked his jock strap to the floor. He stepped out of it deftly. I let Chris slip from my mouth and rose to stand beside him. Using my hands, I guided him by the hips onto the couch ... on his knees facing into the back cushions.

"Are you going to ...?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh!" I cooed. "I just want to show you another way to feel good." I touched his cheek lightly as I continued to move him into position. "But Chris, if something I do hurts you or feels bad ... or if you have second thoughts about what we're doing ... we stop. No arguments. No recriminations. This is about you, not me." He looked back over his shoulders, fixing me with moist eyes. He acted like he had something to add, but Chris remained silent and swung his head forward, breaking the connection.

Chris' ass and crack were magnificent ... tanned and chunky and speckled with dusky hair. His crack was deep. I dropped to my knees to get a closer look. Nudging his legs further apart, I became transfixed by the sight of his light brown knot of anal flesh. When I touched the rim of his rectum, Chris flinched and sucked in a massive breath. His asshole was pinched tight and surrounded by a downy circle of fur. I licked my right hand, leaving a slick trail on the back edge from wrist to the tip of my pinkie. Placing it at the top of his crevice, I worked my hand down his hair-lined canyon. "Oh shit," he moaned as seldom-sparked nerve endings sent signals of pleasure to his brain. "That feels sooooo ... I never ever imagined anyone would be chewing on my asshole ... fuck, that feels sweet!!"

I sawed my hand along his crack a few more times, pushing deeper and increasing the speed. Chris' body was really humming from the friction I was creating. I suddenly stopped the motion and used both my hands to spread him open wide. Chris jumped forward when the first wad of spit landed on his abraded hole. The second and third globs merely made him gasp. A long line of slime leaked toward his exposed balls. I thrust my face closer and lapped a wide swath all the way along his crack. Chris' "fuck yeah" gave me all the permission I needed to go crazy on his shitter. I poked my tongue against his tiny cunt, wiggling it until the tip sank into his molten core. Using my thumbs, I popped open his sphincter and attacked the blossoming hole with quick swipes and licks.

"Can I try a finger," I pleaded, surprised at the desperation in my voice.

"Just go slow."

I slicked up my middle finger and tickled Chris' rosebud, jiggling my digit until it started to disappear up his damp chute. Chris pushed his ass back, engulfing my extended finger in silky warmth. Excruciatingly slow, I withdrew the finger and then worked it back in. After only a few moments, Chris' ass turned all slutty and I was jamming three fingers deep in the married fireman's most private place. I twisted my attacking phalanges, causing squeals each time I grazed his prostate. Chris' hole was making tiny, squishy noises that had my cock going insane. With my spare hand, I worked myself out of my jock and began to jerk my glad-to-be-free pecker. Chris continued to emit the kind of glossolalia reserved for someone new to assplay. My cock throbbed and pulsed to each and every lewd sound.

I could see a sheen of sweat on Chris' lower back, small droplets threatening to trickle off his handsome flanks. I withdrew my fingers and gave each of his glutes a simple kiss. Chris' head lurched around to watch me climb to my feet. "Why are you stopping?" he asked, his mouth formed into a boyish pout. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Relax, buddy," I reassured Chris as best I could. "I just have to grab something."

I darted into my bedroom ... my rigid cock bouncing painfully as I went ... and returned with a condom and a small bottle of Astroglide. Now let's see what he can do with that cock of his! I thought with a leer to match my horniness.

Chris was sitting awkwardly on the sofa, his weight all on one hip and butt cheek. He's ready to resume "the position" so I can eat his ass more, I mused. So easy to please ... and so totally unaware how sexy he is!!

"Ready to play safe?" I asked, displaying the contents of my hands and dreaming of the feel of his thick shaft embedded in my steamy hole. Although his face was already flushed, Chris' cheeks turned even deeper, brighter red.

"Aaron," he began somewhat hesitantly, "I'm not sure how these things work, but I know how I'm feeling right this second. And Aaron ... I want you to fuck me! I want you to leave your mark on my ass and make me remember tonight as something special ... for me, anyway."

I walked further into the room and over to Chris. I sat the rubber and grease on the coffee table and took his face in my hands. Looking deeply into his crisp blue eyes, I said, "It means something to me too, Chris. If you doubt that, maybe we shouldn't do this."

His hands immediately clamped over mine. His nails painfully dug into my flesh. "I don't doubt any of this ... please, do me!"

Chris scooted to the end of the sofa and relaxed onto his back. I climbed between his legs and carefully dribbled a drop of lubricant on my cock before rolling the rubber firmly down my eight-inch prick. "This might feel a little cold, but it'll pass," I warned as I smeared some goo onto Chris' already moist anus. He didn't flinch; Chris' eyes rolled shut and fluttered as I worked some Astroglide an inch or so into his channel.

Chris raised his hairy haunches up toward his chest; I placed his feet slightly over my shoulders to make him more comfortable. Carefuly I placed the knob of my sheathed shank against his oiled pucker. "Just breath," I advised and pushed forward slowly. My dick met fierce resistance. I rubbed Chris' flanks and smiled down at him; he grinned back. And just like that, his muscles slackened and I fed him the bulbous head of my throbbing rod.

I stayed very still for a moment, then stroked Chris' cock a few times to keep him hard and happy. With my hand still working his pud, I pressed deeper and more of my dick disappeared into his ass oven. "Agghhh!," he said with a flinch. I immediately stopped my forward movement.

"Are you okay? ... I can take it out if you ..."

"NO! No ... just need to get used to it. I feel so packed full ... stuffed ... but awesome! Just take it easy."

I withdrew my cock a bit and then nudged it back in. Pull back ... nudge ... pull back ... nudge. After about a dozen thrusts, my cock was sliding freely into hot, seething ass. And Chris' head was thrashing from side to side. "Give it to me," he heartily demanded. "Feed me that big cock!!"

I flexed my knees and dug in, pumping his ass with maximum force. My face and chest were drowning in sweat, and my breath was beginning to sound labored. Thankfully Chris' eyes kept drooping closed as he moaned in ecstasy because I was mesmerized by the sight of my pale uncut meat puncturing the fireman's hairy, steamy butt pit.

"You're making my ass feel soooooo good!" Chris' statement jolted my head back up; he was staring at me, his face also awash in perspiration and bearing a look of satisfaction that only one man can give another. His furry chest was damp and a nice reek wafted up from his arm pits.

"You were built to be fucked, baby! I love the way your hole is milking my stick!!" He winked lewdly at me and, just to make a point, flexed his internal muscles to pinch my tool like a boa constrictor. Playfully I reached down and viciously twisted both of his tits in retaliation. "SHHHHHIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!," Chris screamed and shot a stream of thick cum up onto his hairy stomach.

I looked on in astonishment, never slowing my cock. "I didn't know you were so close," I said apologeticaslly.

He smiled, his body bouncing slightly from my continued penetrations. "I didn't know either!"

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and smoothed my damp, clinging hair away from my forehead. "Doesn't matter," I huffed, " 'cause I'm not gonna last much longer anyway!"

I pounded Chris' ass, rabbit-punching his hole mercilessly. Each thrust made a little "blurp" of cum bubble out of the tip of his prick. Seductively, Chris ran his left index finger along the slimy crown of his cock and raised the gooey digit to his parted lips. "FUUUCCCKK!!" I bellowed and blew my condom-contained load up his ass in four or five violent jabs. I continued punching my dick along his chute as it softened.

After I withdrew, I tossed the condom into a small wastebasket and collapsed beside Chris on the sofa, planting a delicate kiss on his mouth and a few subtle pecks on the side of his neck and his shoulder. We laid there in utter silence as our breathing evened out and night and traffic noises started filtering into our perceptions. I like this, I though, being so physically close to another man ... his warm flesh starting where mine ended. I could get used to this.

Eventually, I got up and padded quietly into the bathroom. I took a quick piss and returned to the living room with two wet washclothes. Chris was fast asleep, looking very peaceful. I tossed the washclothes through my kitchen pass-thru onto my counter and then burrowed back in beside the slumbering stud. Once situated more-or-less comfortably, I too drifted into a light doze.

The clock read 2:15 when my consciousness swam to the surface. I was still on my sofa ... alone and tacky with dried jizz. I heard the soft murmur of conversation and noticed that the bathroom light was on. I focused on the sound and deciphered Chris' voice. "Just wanted to leave you a message so you knew I was alright ... I got caught up in some business and it ended up being more complicated than I thought it would be ... everything ran late so I just stayed over. Guess I'll see you when I see you." Succinct ... vague ... not an outright lie.

The light clicked off and Chris emerged, still naked with his thick, stubby dick nestled against his hairy sack. He immediately saw that I was awake and walked over to sit at the end of the couch. Chris' hands were clasped between his legs and he was staring at a point on the floor, eyes downturned. He looked pensive in the dim light streaming in through a window. "I can leave if you want me to ... go to the firehouse and crash. I know some guys have rules about letting 'dates' sleep over," he said flatly. I only hesitated a second before kicking him squarely in the ribs. He grunted slightly but did not look at me, so I started massaging his hip with my foot.

"I want you to stay ... how else am I gonna get to the dealership tomorrow?"

Chris' posture stiffened. I kicked him again. "Hey ... I do need a ride, but that's only after YOU fuck ME silly with that fat prick of yours. And we figure out how this 'friends who fuck' thing is gonna work!!"

Chris turned his head and, in the near darkness, his smile lit up my living room like a tropical sunrise.

HEADLINE: Fireman's Burning Desire To Help Pays Off

Journalism Student Researches Roles

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Postal Workers Providing New Levels of Full Service

I'm totally pissed at my editor. I've been turning in good work for months now and he keeps sending me out on these silly stories that are "dubious" at best in regards to being newsworthy. In my opinion, my current assignment in 100%, pure unfiltered fluff. See, my editor has a buddy that works for the United States Postal Service (USPS) down in the state capital. He pitched my editor some human interest topic and now I'm stuck with the follow up. I think the local USPS mucketymuck just wants some good press ... especially in the light of some postal malfeasance that's been making the news in Washington, D.C.

So it was with less-than-sincere interest that I approached the sandy-colored brick facade of a nearby post office "station" to interview one Sheila Bowman, a 57-year-old black woman celebrating her 30 year anniversary with the USPS. As instructed, I pulled around to a small parking lot near a series of three loading docks. Waiting for me on the farthest ramp was an African-American woman ... Bowman, I assumed ... and a squishy-looking white man. I killed the engine and jumped out of my vehicle with notepad and camera bag in hand. Taking a moment to plaster a fake smile onto my face, I pulled in a cleansing breath and stepped over to the pair for introductions.

"Richard Milton?" I inquired of the puffy man. He was so visually bland, from his pale complexion and amber eyes to his mousy brown hair, shiny chocolate-colored dress pants, and tan short-sleeved work shirt. The tiny blue diamond pattern of his umber tie was this man's only attempt at embracing the color wheel.

"Yes, sir ... that's me!" he piped up with a ruddy rise of color to his cheeks. I started to reflexively extend my arm for a handshake but I had barely moved an inch before Milton grasped my hand and shook it enthusiastically. His other hand covered our entwined appendages. "We're so glad to have a member of the Fourth Estate visiting with us today!" I guess I shouldn't judge a beige book by its ecru cover, I thought. He's really jazzed.

"You're extremely welcome," I replied, warming to the man quickly. I turned toward the lady and nodded. "And this must be the lovely and esteemed Ms. Bowman."

The roundish face of the dark-skinned woman split into an effervescent grin. She shook my hand with equal vigor. "And you must be the newspaper's 'king' of flattery ... so now we all know each other," she joked, punctuating her statement with a wink. Ms. Bowman was emitting a great vibe, so I decided to set aside my feelings about my editor and act like a journalist. Find the news, I internalized. Make the story.

"Why don't we go inside and show you around," Milton suggested. "We're really proud of all the work we do for this part of the community." Ms. Bowman and I proceeded Milton up the ramp and through the thick metal door. Inside, the place was a bundle of activity and noise. People were hustling everywhere I looked. Some were working on sorting mail whizzing by on conveyor belts, while others sat at tables looking through some large indices. Still other workers pushed large wheeled bins toward the metal accordion-style doors of the loading area. I asked Milton if I could take a few photos. He agreed and stood behind me as I snapped off maybe six wide-angle and zoomed shots, trying to properly convey the level of frenetic activity.

Both Milton and Ms. Bowman chatted or touched shoulders of the people they passed as we threaded our way to a small office to one side of the large work zone. Milton took a seat behind a small, cluttered desk; Bowman and I took the two remaining chairs in the room. Once settled, I opened my notebook and quickly looked over my questions.

"So, Ms. Bowman ..."

"Sheila, please."

"Sheila, do you remember your first day here?"

Bowman leaned back, a dreamy look flashing across her face before her gaze steadied. "Like it was yesterday. I hadn't wanted to take the civil service test, but my friends convinced me that it was the right direction to go. I was 27 at the time with two baby boys to worry about ... and I had just buried my husband after he was in a terrible car accident on his way home from work. This job was a gift from Heaven in so many ways."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, I was hurting inside and I needed to focus on something else. From day one, Richard here demanded my best ..."

Milton reached out and affectionately patted her stubby hand. "And she gave it. I remember starting Sheila out front, but within six months she demanded a street route because she wanted to pull her weight just like everyone else. I'll tell you what ... she earned everyone's respect that first week out in the field. It was record cold weather and she never complained once."

Bowman let loose with a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, I complained plenty ... just ask my family."

For the next 15 minutes or so, Bowman and Milton treated me to a great story. Bowman continued to take on every challenge she could, including some management courses sponsored by the USPS. She eventually became the second-in-charge and the ad hoc computer system expert ... she was the person they always sent to training seminars because she was a natural at bringing complex information back and explaining it to everyone else.

"We're gonna throw this lady a helluva party to mark he 30th anniversary next week and beg her to stay around until she gets sick of us!" Milton looked slyly at Bowman, as if fearing the anniversary might give her thoughts of retiring. Just as Ms. Bowman looked about to reply with a clever comment, some rapidly-approaching footsteps drew all out attention to the office door. Suddenly a very handsome young face peeked around the corner of the door frame. "Hey, Mr. Milton, Grandma ... did I miss the reporter?"

Bowman's face crumpled into a slight frown. "Manners, Decker ... manners. Is it polite to interrupt people when they're talking?"

"Oh, Grandma ... I waited until no one was ..."

"Decker?" Her reproach was both loving and stern.

"Sorry everyone ... I'll wait out here."

I looked at Bowman first, and then Milton for some explanation. It came from Milton. "That's Decker Bowman, Sheila's grandson and pride and joy." She beamed but kept silent. "He's been with the service for a few months and I thought maybe the grandmother/grandson angle might add to your profile on Sheila."

"That really would be a great addition," I concluded. "I'd love to get a few good quotes from him."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd be agreeable to go out in the field with Decker. Your editor said you loved to get a 'feel' for your stories and, since Decker is running late, he's really got to get out of here."

Damn editor, I muttered in my head, but Ms. Bowman turned to me and gave me a hopeful look. "He's such a good boy, but he works hard and doesn't get any 'passes' around here because of me. In fact, I make sure his butt is where it's supposed to be doing what he's supposed to be doing."

So, after a formal introduction and a hasty departure from the postal station, I was moving down a residential street at a leisurely speed sitting beside the adorable Decker. The street noise was fairly loud in the small postal vehicle ... a kind of Jeep/truck/van hybrid thing with a busted air conditioner. The humid afternoon air moved through the open windows in a heavy, continuous stream.

Decker was a lanky 6' 2" at least. His eyes were dark and serious, shaded by a fierce and unruly afro hairstyle. His smooth skin was a light mocha color; a broad nose and full lips painted a very sensual picture. His regulation uniform fit snuggly. He was nicely groomed and clean shaven, with the only item of individual "style" being a tiny silver ankh earring in his left lobe. My cock stirred in my pants every time he spoke ... or moved ... or breathed. I felt like a caged animal wanting to tear into something. Good analogy, my cock told my brain.

Decker Bowman proved to be a very gregarious fellow. He shared some great stories about growing up around his grandmother and her work at the post office.

"You and your grandmother seem really close," I offered.

Decker split his attention between me and keeping track of the traffic around us, but my comment rewarded me with a meaningful glance. "As a teenager," he recounted, "I was always getting into trouble ... some of it kind of serious. It got to where my Dad and me were constantly at each other's throats and my Mom just didn't know what to do. Finally, Grandma had me come live with her for a while. It ended up being close to seven months, but things just sort of worked themselves out. I realized I was hanging out with the wrong people and now me and my folks are closer than ever."

"So working together has never been a problem?"

The postal carrier chuckled at that comment. "Oh, I didn't say that. Grandma doesn't take shit from anyone ... especially her own flesh and blood. We butt heads constantly, but it's all about doing good work. And besides, I'm only going to be there a couple more years ... I want to go to school and study chemistry. I haven't decided exactly what I want to do ... pure research or maybe be a chemical engineer ... but the science fascinates me." Decker glanced again sideways and I could see the genuine sparkle in his eyes brought on by talking about his future. He added that he was currently just 20 and hoped to be enrolled at a good university by the time he turned 22.

"Grandma even said I could probably get a part-time job at a post office wherever I end up ... and Mr. Milton has been looking into scholarship opportunities that the USPS offers."

Our conversation stilled a bit because Decker had to stop the vehicle frequently to empty those large postal mailboxes. As often as possible, I got out and snapped a few photos of him "at work." In reality, I had maybe two good frames of him offloading envelopes and packages and dozens of shots of Decker's muscular legs flexing when he stooped to unlatch a access plate on a mailbox and of his incredible ass being outlined by his slate-blue shorts. I have to remember to switch these shots over to my flash drive, I ticked off to my mental "to do" list.

Eventually we wound our way into an "unsavory" section of town. Decker pulled his vehicle up to a large, dilapidated apartment complex. The whole neighborhood was awash in the noise of cars, radios and TVs playing through open windows, children laughing, and the constant hum of overworked window air conditioner units. The din was occasionally punctuated by the snapping of laundry as it dried on makeshift lines. Unlike previous stops, Decker actually turned off his truck's engine. He opened his door and retrieved his oversized mail bag. He lingered a moment, rolling up his window.

"Close the window and grab your stuff, buddy ... I need your help on this delivery."

By the time I had complied, Decker was halfway up the walk to the middle of the building. I had to hurry to catch up. He led me through a shadowy alcove and over to a row of battered postal boxes. I figured this was our destination, but Decker continued walking and began ascending a nearby stairway.

The steps were formed of pitted cement in bad need of repainting and the path was poorly lit. We climbed a total of three floors but I barely noticed as I was following the rise and fall of Decker's delectable rump. On the third floor, we jogged to the left and Decker stopped in front of a brown metal door with gold letters spelling "3-B." The sound of jingling keys and a door unlatching was quickly accompanied by a blast of much cooler air.

I followed Decker inside. We stood briefly in a small entryway. "Make yourself at home," the black man said as he dropped his postal bag and sidestepped to the left into a small but well-appointed kitchen. As I moved forward, soft lights came on and I was faced with a large room that served as a living room, a sleeping area, and a place for work and studying. The furniture wasn't new but very fashionable and built for comfort. A large flatscreen TV and some video components looked relatively expensive. The place looked lived in, especially the nook in the far corner that housed a desk holding a personal computer set-up and stacks of books and magazines.


I was so intent on my "spying" that I jumped ... and squealed ... when something cold and wet touched the back of my neck.

"Sorry," Decker said with a smirk that plainly conveyed he had enjoyed startling me. "I couldn't resist." In his hands were two Bud Lights in glass bottles, their condensation running onto his cafe au lait skin and forming shiny rivulets. I took one of the longnecks and threw back a hefty slug. Decker did the same.


"Do you usually take 'breaks' like this during the workday?" I teased as I continued looking around the living space. Several large and exciting modern art images adorned two off-white walls. The carpet underfoot was also tan and a bit worn, but overall Decker appeared to be a pretty good housekeeper. The queen-sized bed, however, was in disarray. Although it was separated by a dividing screen from the rest of the room, a mess of puddled blankets was easily observed. A bedside table was similarly "messy" with paperbacks and miscellaneous items.

After several seconds, I realized that the studly postal worker had not answered my lighthearted query about this unscheduled stop. I took another sip of beer and turned to gauge my host's mood. I sputtered as beer flooded my windpipe and my eyes bulged as I beheld Decker ... his shoes and socks had silently been discarded beside his mailbag and he was undoing the last two buttons on his thin work shirt. As he peeled the garment away from his body, I wiped spittle from my lips and gazed at the smoothest, creamiest, sexiest torso I had ever seen. Each muscle was defined, little movements causing his whole musculature to shift and create new and pleasing shapes. He was hairless, and his sculpted chest held two Hershey "Kiss" nipples begging to be licked and chewed.

"Come on, dude ... I don't have any time to waste and the minute I saw you sitting in Mr. Milton's office, I knew I had to fuck you!"

I sat my beer on a small occasional table and watched as Decker started to remove his belt and unfasten his pants. Frantically I pawed open my camera bag and pulled out the digital camera. I was clicking away as Decker smiled seductively and slid both his pants and underwear down his sinewy thighs. His 10-inch hose popped out and dangled semi-hard with a gorgeous curve. Decker's cock was on the thin side and a deeper tone than his light skin. An almost white "band" marked where his tool had been clipped. The large crown had a puce tone ... spicy brown tinged with blood-engorged pink. I'm gonna enjoy this, I mentally drooled.

Decker stood there naked, smiling coyly. I snapped off another few photos. "Those for your scrapbook?" he quizzed me, grabbing his cock with both hands and turning to the side in a most provocative "rock star" pose.

"Nope," I replied very matter-of-factly. "Gonna put these right beside a photo of your Grandma. I'm sure she's seen your junk when she changed your diaper ... or wiped your little bottom when ..."

With the speed of a panther, Decker leaped and had the camera in his hands. "It's been quite a while since Grandma's seen my thing ... and never when I'm about to drill it into a pretty white boy!" As I fought to reclaim the camera, Decker delivered a series of delightful "punches" and slaps and pinches and tickles. Either I was incredible distracted or this African youth had some kind of shamanistic powers, because suddenly I was naked as well. My own pecker ... uncut with a sensitive foreskin and just barely eight inches in length ... looked like a toy compared to Decker's shiny, still semi-hard shaft. Decker mirrored my earlier actions and took on the role of photographer. His subject matter ... me ... was trying to hide and cover up more than strike any sexy poses. My cock, however, was fully erect and dripping pre-cum.


I stepped up to the cocoa-colored hunk and took the camera from him. After sitting it aside, I slowly circled Decker, drawing my fingers lightly over his hips, stomach, sides, and back. Tracing his ass, I was delighted to find a small ankh tattoo ... like his earring ... at the base of his spine.


Completing my circuit and returning to face him, I locked eyes with Decker as my hands roamed lower and grasped our cocks. Squeezing them rhythmically, Decker's breath caught in his throat as I worked both fleshy columns. When I dared a glance down, I almost reeled from the beautiful contrast of light and dark steamy skin. My body shuddered with barely-contained desire.


After a few more tugs, I released our twin tools and backed Decker up against the lower edge of his bed. Once the backs of his legs felt the solidity of his mattress, he sat and spread his legs wide. I immediately went down on my knees. After staring into his eyes for a brief instant, I placed one splayed hand at the base of his hot dick and lowered my mouth to his tapered cockhead.


"Just get me hard, dude ... then I'll show you what I can do!" Decker's voice was husky, barely more than the whisper of a sinner sitting in a gloomy confessional. His hands pressed my head deeper into his lap and several inches of sweaty black cock eased down my gullet. I choked loudly but didn't let up for a second as his meat lodged against my throat.


"Easy, man ... go easy. You'll get used to it ... yeah, eat my dick nice and slow! Ummmm!!"


I could barely catch any air, but his sexy encouragement spurred me on. I worked my tongue up tight against his throbbing shaft, my flesh fluttering against his dark meat. I drew my cheeks inward reflexively to massage his smooth penis, tightening and relaxing all my face muscles to pass along every subtle vibration I could muster. More and more inches of meaty rod disappeared into my moist oral cavity. My one hand still firmly grasped the base of Decker's dick while my other caressed and pummeled his hairless nutsack., occasionally straying to tickle and rub his perineum. Slowly ... noticeably ... Decker became hard as steel, surely hitting close to the 11-inch mark.


Decker pulled his mighty prick back over my traumatized tonsils for a final time and abandoned my mouth. He quickly moved up to the head of his bed and beckoned me to follow. I crawled between his legs again to continue my minstrations, but Decker halted my forward momentum with the flat of his left hand. I was breathing heavily, my nostrils flaring with every compression of my lungs. I watched the smooth form before me turn slightly to the side as Decker reached over to a bedside table to retrieve a condom ... the "big" kind ... and a tube of lubricant.


"Safe is okay with you, right?" he asked, his breathing also strained.


"Absolutely."


Decker handed me the lube while he carefully tore open the foil wrapper and rolled the prophylactic over his towering member with practiced ease. I dribbled a good amount of lube onto his sheathed prick until it glistened in the room's weak light. As he spread the oozing gel around, Decker had me inch forward and prepare to straddle him. My favorite way to take a big cock, I thought with lust in my eyes and a fluttering in my excited asshole.


Before swinging my leg over Decker's milk chocolate frame, I poured some lube into my hand and reached around to smear my anxious gash. I had two fingers sliding in and out freely before Decker moved me into position and placed his pecker against my hole. I dropped down quickly to allow the head and another inch to sink into my chute with a jolt of sensation. The mix of pain and pleasure was delicious!


There was some additional pain as Decker, without hesitation, thrust up into me, driving nearly his entire dick deep into my rectum. The discomfort passed quickly, replaced by that buzzing feeling of being filled with cock. Hard, molten, throbbing dick!! Soon I had relaxed into the fuck and was bouncing on Decker's pole, grunting each time my anal rim touched his humming balls. From time to time, I rested my head on Decker's warm chest or defined shoulder. His reaming of my hole, though, kept us in constant motion.

Time passed in a blur of passion. Decker whimpered a little but remained subdued for the most part. But while his voice was quiet, his face expressed every loud feeling and aggressive grinding that my internal muscles were causing his rutting rod. His forehead was dripping sweat. I, on the other hand, was growling and snarling like a creature of the forest. I've always been vocal, but Decker was impaling me so deeply that I was creating nonsense noises to express my incredible feelings of pleasure. At some point, Decker must have assumed ... and rightly so ... that I was getting close to climax, because his groin dropped out from below me as he simultaneously raised me up, allowing his tool to be released from my snapping anus.


He gently manuevered me onto my stomach, trapping my quivering cock tightly against the rumpled and damp bedding. Decker draped himself carefully on top of me, slowly increasing his weight as my body acclimated to the pressure. I turned my head to admire the bits and pieces of our bodies that touched and intertwined, creating a beautiful difference in tone and texture. Decker hung his head and cooed in my ear, "Love your ass, baby ... it's soooo hot and tight! I've never been with a dude that fits me so perfectly ... or works so hard to take my cock! You're so totally sexy and willing, boo! Are you enjoying it? Are you digging my dick, man?!"


"Fuck yes!!" I stammered. "Feed me more of that horsecock, you fucker! Ahhhhhhh!! ... I'm so in love ... love that fuckin' dong rapin' my hole!! Just fuck me, Decker ... keep pounding me!!"


Decker hissed loudly and slid into my ass to the hilt. I yelped with surprise and pure ecstasy and instinctively thrust my ass back to take his rod as deep as possible. With a combined scream, Decker filled the condom with his nubian cream after just a few strokes. And I nutted ribbons of spunk all over his comforter.


Decker remained inside me softly thrusting as his pulse tried to return to normal. Our bodies were glued together with perspiration and when he had softened, Decker lifted his body off mine with a tantalizing "tearing" sensation. I rolled over, not caring about the sticky mess matting my faint patch of pubic hair to my body, and was sadly surprised to see that Decker was already off the bed and scrambling to get back into his uniform. He casually tossed the bloated rubber into a nearby wastebasket before pulling up his briefs and shorts.


I must have looked dejected or angry or something because Decker stopped getting dressed, trotted over to where I was reclining, and dropped down to reward me with a brief but deep and powerful kiss. His lips were soft and surprisingly sensual for someone who had just fucked the shit out me.


"Gotta go if I wanna make up my time, buddy ... where are your car keys?" He was rummaging through my pile of discarded clothing as he shouldered his way into his shirt.


"My keys?" I replied. "Why the fuck do you want my car keys?"


Decker placed his hands on his hips, looking for a moment like a teacher about to scold a recalitrant student. "Because, boo, I took the bus to work today and we can't leave your car there at the post office all night."


I started to protest and explain my not understanding when he abruptly raised his hand to ward off my interruption. "There's two big Porterhouse steaks in the frig ... and all the stuff for a nice salad. Try to have everything ready at 5 ... that way we can refuel, talk a little, and then you can show me what that pretty white dick of yours can do to my tight hole!!" He winked as he picked up his mailbag. "Oh, and help yourself to more beer or anything else." Decker then blew an imaginary kiss in my direction and was gone.


I laid in a stupor for a few moments, enjoying the deeply relaxed feelings of my body. Was I a prisoner? I pondered. Who cares?! my dick answered as it stirred from it's slimy, wilted position against my thigh. I rolled over and wormed over to the very edge of the bed. I leaned out and retrieved the used condom from the trash. Carefully, I worked part of Decker's discarded load out into the palm of my hand. I smeared the mess onto my thickening pecker and then licked the remaining goo from my hand and fingers. Luckily, there was plenty of cum to go around.


I stood up and padded naked into Decker's kitchen to survey the contents of his refrigerator. Then I found my pants and retrieved my cellphone. I hoped that I could present a convincing pretext ... food poisoning is always a versatile ailment ... when I called the office to tell them I wouldn't be coming back in today. I licked my lips, detecting the sweet, lingering flavor of Decker's jizz. And maybe tomorrow, I mused.


HEADLINE: Postal Workers Providing New Levels of Full Service