As he bounded up the subway stairs to street level Brad Jensen announced to himself that his Labor Day weekend had at last officially begun. Was it overdue!! They had been knocking themselves out for weeks to get through the state inspection, and only that afternoon word had come down they had passed with flying colors. Nothing to do for the rest of that Friday but schmooze and run out the clock; even old putty-butt had figured out it was spitballs and paper airplanes time and had found an excuse to be somewhere else until 5 PM.
Even so Brad's real holiday weekend started only when he set foot again in the free world. In Chelsea.
Damn. It couldn't get any better than this. Thirty-six, looked maybe twenty- five, felt crazed, sixteen. Tanned and ready. Blond, blue, and bursting at every seam except his waist. Cock, ass, everywhere he looked. Then more cock, more ass! Temporarily encased in 501s, spandex, yes, ...but that was just a formality. Three days stretched out, his only job now to float into pure fuck...fuckness?... fuckhood?... whatever. The sample menu was right there in front of him, both sides the avenue.
He knew he fit in. It hadn't been easy turning down the fries and the ice cream every time or working out when he felt like vegging out, but baby did it pay off. He caught glimpses of his double in store windows. "Fuck the living shit out of that dude any day of the week...then suck him inside out. Just for starters..."
He hoped most of the studs in the parade had been as thoughtful as he had been that morning and finger-painted unwiped turd all over the inside of their cheeks for sniffing later on. That had been right after getting down and lying on his back in the empty tub and weaving his dick back and forth to piss hot gold on his nipples and lips and bellybutton and everywhere else he felt like, slowly caressing it dry as he ran his hands all over himself like a fucker. He knew his dick tang would ferment as the workday's sly teases and fantasy scenes inspired beads of pre-cum to ripen with piss drops and crotch sweat. And late August heat took care of pits. "Want some?" he silently challenged as his eyes darted from hunk to hunk and he pictured his nine inches jutting straight out.
But then once in a while a guy was so perfect even Brad had a moment of bashfulness and looked away.
Like the god waiting for the light next to him.
As he waited to cross the street Brad became dimly aware that someone nearby was saying "Beej?? Beej??" louder and louder. ...Funny. BJ was his name, once, in college... "BEEJ, right??" It was close, insistent, and Brad finally realized it was being directed at him. ...Had he told one of his goofy-ass friends his college nickname? He finally found the nerve to look to his right and saw that the dream fuck was focused completely on him.
A George Clooney look-alike, only cuter. Gray eyes consumed Brad calmly, eyes that said: "You're here. I'm here. You want to look. I want to look. So let's just look, man! Let's just look." Brad could feel waves of heat pulsing toward him. The guy broke the trance with a sunrise grin: "Brown, 1986, right?" He stuck out his hand: "Kenny Davis!"
"Hey! Holy shit, Kenny! I'm sorry, man! I was in another world! Kenny Davis! Damn, you look great, man!"
Yadda, yadda, except that in this case it was so right on the money. Brad's thoughts raced: "Let's just get down right here on the street and fuck," but the words came out: "What brings you to New York?"
"I live here, Brad," he smiled, "at least since April. In fact, I was able to get a fabulous price on a townhouse just a few blocks from here."
"Yeah?" Brad asked, shifting to New York's second most favorite topic.
"Yeah. It's turned out perfect for what I want. Just finished making the whole garden floor into a state-of-the-art gym and media center. Opens on to the garden in back, so I can unwind my own way for hours, and then if I want to take a break and step out into the garden I just wrap on a towel...you'd love it, man!"
"Sounds great," Brad stammered, trying hard not to think about swallowing everything that might come out of Ken's ass and cock in any 24-hour period. "Tell you what, I was just thinking about dinner. Wanna join me?
Just as Ken was about to reply, a voice broke in on them, two voices in fact. Brad blinked as two vaguely familiar gym bunnies suddenly fell all over Ken. A feeling of irritation came over him, momentarily dampening his mood. Just as his holiday weekend was starting to look good, he would have to share his new/old friend with this pair of ditzy young hunks? But too late. The Latino one was already up behind Ken and humping his crotch against Ken's butt, while his buddy grabbed at Ken's basket. Ken flashed the sunrise smile and broke away from his assailants as the Latino guy complained: "My god, the trash they're letting run loose on 8th Avenue these days!"
"Geez," Ken shot back, "it's the slut sisters! What happened, they close down the men's room in Times Square?"
Things changed since you left, honey!" the other one squealed. "The place got some class. Who's your friend?" The bunnies flashed eager, appreciative smiles at Brad and the Latino one said:
"Any friend of Kenny's has to be our kind of people!"
"Yeah," his friend rolled his eyes, "the kind of people our mothers warned us to stay away from!"
"Hi," the Latino guy continued, "Luis," and looked deep into Brad's eyes as he grabbed his hand, pulling Brad toward him slightly. His friend grabbed Brad's other hand, lisping to Luis as he did so:
"Share, bitch! I saw him first!" and went Luis' look one better with a smoldering let's-fuck stare: "I'm Roger, Luis' parole officer."
Ken broke in: "I apologize for these lowlifes, Brad. I really do have respectable friends--unfortunately they're all out of town for the weekend!" By now Brad was starting to see the possibilities. He glanced around at the three men and began to fix Luis and Roger in his mind alongside Ken.
Luis, he guessed, called the shots in that duo. Behind those glossy black curls was a flashing intensity that Roger--short, wiry, and a little slow on the uptake--nestled comfortably into. But then who really had the upper hand in a relationship like that? Roger was the mascot type, definitely, but maybe he played it for all it was worth. Luis noticed Brad looking at Roger's tattoo and told his boyfriend to explain it to Brad. Roger rolled his eyes and made a show of lisping exasperation as Luis, right on cue, took over the story and told Brad that a trick had talked Roger into it one night, adding that anybody could have his way with Roger, to which Roger simpered:
"Yeah, right--once you climb off their dick!"
"Ladies, please!" Ken broke in, "let's go eat!" playfully whacking two succulent asses in turn, winking sideways at Brad and licking his lips. Brad sensed he was getting three different variations on the same urgent, hungry stare behind the laughing, friendly eyes of his companions.
"You read my mind," Luis said, and Roger chimed in:
"I'm starved! Let's go. That is, if we can tear ourselves away from the dick parade!"
Brad had been thinking of things he wanted to eat a lot more than dinner, but then realized he also wanted to keep these new connections going, so they became a posse of four. Questions shot back and forth, baring more and more in common as they walked up the avenue, repeatedly forgetting they were supposed to be looking for a restaurant. Around eight they finally all remembered dinner at the same time and agreed on an upscale new place.
Heads turned as they filed in. Two heads in particular: Rob and Joey, old fuckbuddies of Brad's, who called out to him and waved him over to their table. Brad stepped over with his friends.
Boisterous hugs, introductions... "Joey"... "Luis"... "Hi"... "Ken"... "Hi"... "I'm Roger"... "Len?"... "No, `Ken'"..."I'll never remember..."
"Hey, guys, why not join us? We just got here." The foursome glanced quickly at one another and nodded just as a cute young waiter with a world- class ass, a giant basket, and dancing eyes materialized and helped them move three tables together.
"All right, guys, I'll be your slut...er...waiter, tonight. Wanna hear the specials?"
Now it was Brad's turn to sit back and watch as Joey and Rob did the connecting--to Ken, Luis, and Roger. Glances kept shooting back and forth. The holiday spirit was definitely mounting. Obviously all the men liked what they were seeing, and the gay vibes were starting to ricochet around the table.
Joey was a fast, funny Jewish stud who had refined listening to a high art. When Joey turned his full attention on you, which he often did, it felt like he was giving you a very serious fuck. His boyfriend, Rob, wore a ribbed olive-colored muscle shirt and a spiky haircut. Brad reacquainted his eyes with his old fuckbuddies and remembered that it was always hard to detect what Rob loved more about Joey: his partner's one-liners, or other people's delighted reaction to them. But when Rob spoke it came back to Brad what had drawn Joey to him: a hypnotic baritone that made you want to piss right in your pants. As they gestured and talked to the newcomers Brad could sense Joey and Rob shaping themselves comfortably around each other. Definitely a couple, and yet a couple, Brad knew, that craved company.
The six guys cued into one another's conversations, riffing, taking turns as they shared stories, opinions, travels, reminding one another of even more stories. The waiter had his hands full just getting their orders, but he was in his element, charming and flirting with six hot guys at once. Brad watched him and thought of a puppy quivering to run with the big dogs, eager to get in on whatever might be going on, but never certain exactly when to tease and snap and when to submit meekly. When the waiter eventually reached platters to them he would lean way in, bending further than he needed, or brush up rudely against his customers, apologizing for his "clumsiness" each time.
While they shared dinners (they had agreed to order six different entrees and sample around) Joey asked Ken to say more about his new home gym/media center.
Ken was happy to oblige: "Love it! Completely air-conditioned, and 100% soundproof! I could run the sound system full blast and the neighbors would never know. Thick rubber cushioning over the tiles, so the whole space cleans quickly. A couple of fridges are stocked with drinks and, well, various... party stuff...I've got high-speed Internet connection, and the system has 60-inch plasma flat-screen monitors mounted at an angle near the ceiling at each end of the room. I leave lots of big vinyl pillows around so I can sprawl out anywhere and totally relax and still watch one of the screens."
"Wait a minute...," Joey broke in, "so where's the bathroom in all this?"
Ken glanced away from Joey for a baffled second, then flashed him his sunrise smile: "Well, I just...sort of...really relax...you know...?? But, anyway, the sound system is acoustically perfect because, I figure, if you're going to spend money anyway, you might as well do it right..."
Ken and Joey became aware of a lull in the other conversations. There was a moment of uneasy silence as everybody noticed that everybody had gradually tuned in to Joey and Ken's conversation and that each one was absorbed in his own private reaction to it...
Luis came to the rescue with a story about his grandfather and his Uncle Cesar and the jalopy they had worked on for weeks and the big test run that ended in an collision with an ice-cream truck and his Aunt Connie screaming in Puerto Rican hysteria to her saints...
The waiter broke in on Luis' story with an announcement: "Okay, guys! You have half an hour before closing. It's time for a tradition of the house, called Hoot. I guarantee you'll love it. Here's how it works: I give each of you a pen and a piece of paper, and you write down your hottest, most secret scene. Be honest. But don't let anybody else see what you wrote. Then, fold it in half and give it to me. I put everybody's paper in a box and shake it up, and then you take turns picking out a piece of paper and reading it out loud. If you see you've picked up your own scene, just put it back and get another one. If you want, I'll put in my own scene. Everybody in?" The guys were feeling so mellow by this time (several bottles of wine hadn't hurt) they probably would have agreed to karaoke just to keep the party going. ...It would be a hoot to react to six other guys' most secret fantasies, all anonymous. Sort of anonymous, anyway. So each one reached eagerly for the pens and paper the waiter handed out. They became absorbed in the new project, each one making a barrier with his palm around his paper so the others couldn't peek. Luis couldn't resist quipping that Roger wanted to know how to spell "German Shepherd," but then even he got down to business and wrote out his own scene.
The waiter made a production of gathering all the folded papers into the box, adding his own and then shaking the box. He held the box out over the middle of the table: "All right, who's going to read out the first scene?" Rob reached in and took a folded sheet.
He yelped as he read and turned bright red. "I can't read this!" he protested.
A chorus of "You gotta, man!" and "That's what we agreed to," and "That's the rule, Rob!" broke out, so he took a breath and said:
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you, guys! Here it is:...`I want to fuck and suck everybody who's here right now.'"
Now it was the other guys' turn to blush: "Oh-oh!..." "Oh, shit!..."
Recovered and off the hook, Rob barked: "Next!" Ken reached in carefully, took a folded sheet, and read it to himself.
"You're not going to believe this one, guys: `I want to be in the middle of a fuckpile with everybody at this table, plus the waiter.' " The group was getting very quiet, hardly daring to look around.
Definitely not the hoot anyone had imagined. But no turning back now.
Luis was next: `I want to be in an all-night orgy with everybody here!'
Joey took his turn, his voice hoarse: `I wanna suck the dick and asshole of each guy at this table, including the waiter.'
Roger took a deep breath and read: `I wanna get fucked over and over by everybody who's here.'
Brad reached in slowly and took the next-to-last folded sheet: `I wanna be the personal fuckhole and urinal of all the guys at this table, plus the waiter.'
The waiter was all business, finally. He took the last sheet, looked at it, and, without looking up, squeaked: "It's unanimous, guys." And then: "I'm Tom."
A small commotion broke out nearby, not a moment too soon. The owner motioned the waiter over, and the six guys turned to watch a quiet, heated exchange. Finally the owner walked over: "Guys, we gotta close...old lady's waiting up for me in Queens. ...But we got a small problem. Seems boy wonder here has fucked up his checks. Totally lost track. He's usually pretty sharp, but for some reason not tonight. What say each of you pays me ten and we'll call it even. Just tell your friends about my place, OK? Settle with Einstein here any way you want. And have a happy Labor Day!"
The guys recognized the bargain and agreed. Very quickly. As soon as the owner was out of hearing range Ken said: "...528 W. 20th...528 W. 20th...528 W. 20th...fuck please please hurry fuck." Moments later seven studs marched nervously out the door Tom locked behind them and down the street, quiet and focused like a crack SWAT team about to make the bust of their careers.
Ken unlocked his outer door fast, disabled the security system, and quickly opened the inner door, locking each door quickly in turn as soon as the last guy was through. "There's heavy duty plastic bags" he pointed, "take one and put everything you want to take off in it and just leave it right here." He pushed open the door to the space they had been hearing about (and thinking about) during dinner and flicked on a few low lights. He yanked his own clothes off as he stepped into his gym/media center, clutching at his dick and his ass. "Drinks, dope, poppers in the fridge." He flipped a few more switches and the home page of an orgy group filled the screens of the giant monitors, then blipped to a fifteen-man fuck then in progress, loud moaning and panting coming in sync with the scene on the screens from the room's hidden speakers. "This one's coming from Belguim." Ken said, jerking his cock and poking a finger into his hole, "it's already Saturday morning there." Brad thought he could detect a French sound in the grunts and moans coming out of the gym/media-center's speakers. "If we want, I can turn on our own cameras, so they can catch us while we're watching them. ...As soon one group gets off and takes a break, you just switch to one that's still going..."
But Ken's guests barely noticed. He turned and joined as the other six guys telescoped slowly, hungrily, into each other. The Chelsea holiday dinner was still on. Just starting to get to the main courses. "Everybody here came to eat, right guys?" Roger reminded them. "And so we're gonna eat, right? No hurry, guys, OK? ...Sniff up some stink..."
Just like at the restaurant, everybody taking tastes...of holes, pits, dicks... back and forth for different flavors, different aromas. The guys grinned at each other.
Heading for fuck.
But somehow they all remembered they wanted to keep it nice and slow.
Gradually, each one stepped back and stood up to face the others in a circle, arms linked brother-style. Three guys let out a reflex whimper as a dizzying jolt of male pits hit their noses at exactly the same moment.
For a while they just stood gazing silently into each other's eyes. Then Tom laughed as he thought of a next round for Hoot: "Now let's have each guy tell everybody the most perverted thing he ever did when he was home all alone."
Six faces lit up: "Yeah!!" and "I'll do that!" and "Hey!"
After a few moments Rob broke the ice: "Anybody here eat his own cum?"
The guys flinched backward in mock exasperation and laughed: "Shit, dude; everybody eats their own cum!"
"How about piss?" Luis demanded, and the guys immediately flashed each other hungry wolf eyes around the circle, licking their lips and nodding "oh yes oh yes..."
"Shit...?" Brad rasped loudly.
Dead serious hunger stares now.
"Yeah" from somewhere, and then scared whispers everywhere: "...shit..." "Yeah, shit...." "Oh, baby...."
Cocks lengthened, tightened upward, some angled straight up, others curved back. Shiny beads formed in piss slits then slowly dangled down, forming long, glistening threads. The guys looked down and gazed quietly at the beautiful ring of tight, straining cocks.
Know what I did once?" Ken asked after a while, "I made myself a bowl of pasta, but I was so hot I had to take out my dick and piss in it before I could eat it."
"Wish I could have eaten it with you, babe," Luis said quietly.
"Hey!" Brad demanded, "ever wipe your hole with the seat of your jockeys so you could sniff your raw shit while you're jerking off."
"Yeah, man, I do that all the time," several guys said at once.
"I've got a confession to make," Tom said.
The guys looked at him inquiringly.
"When you guys came in for dinner tonight I suddenly had to take a shit so bad! I mean, I hadn't crapped in two days, and all of a sudden it was time! I wanted to hold it in longer but my ass said no."
The guys' eyes were opening wide, and some were starting to lick their lips as Tom talked.
"So I ran into the john," he continued, "and I took a dinner plate and a plate cover in with me. I was so hot I put the plate on the floor next to the toilet and squatted down fast and shit right on the plate. You should have seen it! It felt to fuckin' good to take such a long shit! That sucker must have taken a couple of minutes to slide and twist out. It came out of my ass in a long, glossy roll the color of peanut butter, and stunk spicy. It felt so fuckin' good to take a long, slow shit like that!!"
Guys were nodding and grinning, their eyes shining.
"Then I put the plate cover over the plate," Tom continued, "and quietly stepped out of the john and put the plate on a little serving table where they chef couldn't see. Then I brought your plates over one by one, stuck a couple of fingers into the turd and swirled some of it into whatever on your plates was already dark and loose, and brought them out to you!"
Joey touched three fingers to his pursed lips in a kiss of gourmet appreciation while other guys searched with their tongues for aftertaste, mm- mmming slowly. Arms started to lower so guys could finger assholes, every hand pushing a finger into a hole so that each guy wound up with two fingers up his butt.
Guys began weaving, very slowly, in and out, in a delicate fuck of shitholes against double fingers in a deliberate, unhurried rhythm, smiling shyly at each other. They murmured and moaned softly in their seven-man gently swaying tease, once in a while turning and licking each other's ears, hair, or necks. Their feathery, roving fingertips and hips brushing lightly against each other said everything they needed and wanted to say.
After a long time Roger shifted his weight back firmly onto the two fingers in his hole, and strained and grunted until the two guys with fingers in his hole began to feel the wet. A dense smell of rusty old iron, overlaid with dark, rich spice and a cutting, mustard-sharp nose-biting tang took over the room. Ken brought his finger back up to his chest and smeared his nipples with Roger's turd. Joey and Luis leaned forward to sniff and lick Ken's dirty tits.
The guys stared into each other's eyes, confidently prolonging the heat of hovering just two millimeters away from detonation.
After about ten minutes Rob's eyelids fluttered and he whispered, hoarsely, "I wanna fuu-uu-ckkkk!"
Tom was the first on the floor, on his back, his legs up and splayed out, stretching his brown-packed asscheeks apart, rocking from side to side, mouth slack, tongue lolling, humping up and down and moaning. As Brad watched, Rob dropped down on his back beside Tom and slammed up against his back as Tom rocked away from him, instantly plunging his eight inches deep into Tom. As they rocked back together the other way, Roger, whose own dick had pronged up another inch watching Rob jam himself into Tom, got face down on top of both of them and stuck his cock right into Tom's ass on top of Rob's cock. Rob and Roger synchronized their fuck and Tom started pushing up and down against the double dicks like a piece of trash, sucking them into his shitty hole in time with their thrusts. Roger leaned up and back without breaking his rhythm with Rob so Ken could straddle in over Tom's mouth and sit down hard on it, then lean downwards to suck Tom's stiff red dick. Tom started vacuum-sucking Ken's ripe hole, pulling it into his mouth like a starving shark.
Rob shouted from under Tom, Roger, and Ken: "I gotta piss," and Roger, fucking Tom's ass with him, yelled back:
"Me too, baby! Let's piss together straight into his shit!"
Brad took in the whole scene from the floor where he was lying on his back and sucking tight on Luis' hole while Luis was stretching his mouth open as wide as he could to suck Joey's puckered hole plus the cock Joey was pointing back between his legs, as Joey himself leaned forward to sniff Roger's hot farts.
Luis slowly ground his ripe, sticky brown stink into Brad's face. Brad tongued back hard into Luis' hole, feeling it loosen as Luis relaxed to piss. Luis' hot piss arced up a little and then jetted down directly straight onto Brad's own pisshole.
Roger couldn't help it, he cut hot ones every time he pissed. All his life. If hot piss came out of his cock, even when his cock was way up inside another guy's slick rectum, sour hot gas would demand instant release from his back hole at the same time...it felt so good, and stunk so bad...He could take his own fart-stink because he knew the exact moment a hot one was going to cut and, well, it was his own fart...but you could never tell with other guys...suppose it was an ugly guy?...but if he knew for sure it came out of a hot young guy's ass, that would be different....he could get off on that....yeah...sure could... a dense cloud of burning turd-vapor from a cute young stud's butt? oh, yeah.......Hey, no problem, man, he already knew everybody in the room was hot. Anybody's farts would be OK, or even everybody's all together. And Roger's farts sure were OK with everybody. Joey sniffed deeply and moaned with pleasure as his dick pissed out behind him into Luis' wide-open mouth.
Rob was pissing, too, letting loose right alongside and under Roger's pissing cock, upwards into Tom's ass...maybe Rob was down there letting out some silent piss farts of his own...? Come to think of it, Tom's next shitload was oozing out around their pissing twin cocks--lots of knock-you-out stink of raw shit right there, all mixing in. It was bringing everybody in Ken's gym/media room dangerously near let's-all-shoot-right-now so Ken momentarily freed his hands and clapped, twice, to activate the room's cameras.
The lights, some of them colored like stage lighting, came up slightly. Movement sensors started to transmit the actual tempo of the seven guys' writhing animal fuck into a their own personal pounding disco beat. Their disco-fuck sound was, clearly, enhancing the video for the fifteen Belgian sluts on the screens now watching them out of the corners of their slinky eyes on their screens Saturday morning in the suburbs of Brussels.
Half the guys in the fucking world all fucking and watching each other fuck in one giant World-Fuck!!
In New York, guys throwing themselves violently against each other in love- suck, shuddering in spasm, absorbed in gorging on and feeding one other everything they could expel from their cocks and holes, the hot desserts each one knew they all had been secretly craving for hours. Their whimpering and throbbing came in rapid pants as piss looped and spattered and arced in every direction and farts trumpeted out, filling the room with the dense, sour hot exploding stench of seven young guys' intestines processing the last few days' meals and snacks as they fucked and sweat nonstop. They got into a steady pumping that kept them going in hot in-and-out jacking they could keep up for hours, moaning and panting "...don't-stop, don't-stop fuck me fuck me I gotta fuck fuck fuck I gotta fuck and fuck ... ...fuck...Ahhh...Ungh!...aahhhh...Ungh!... MMMmm .. switching from ass to ass, cock to cock like a single being caught for hours in a delirium of grunting fucking it couldn't--and never wanted to--escape.
Give me a reaction, guys! Bkcycler@aol.com