A note from the author: Hey there, fans of the Breedum Hung stories! If you like `em, send me a note at the above address. And give Nifty some monetary love too, so all this creativity can stay available for free. Ads are anti-erotic, eh?
And now, our feature presentation: Junior Goes to Town
Junior and Sirk sat by the window, watching little riverside towns slip by, then expansive views of the Hudson and forested hills on the other side. Junior had it all planned out. Taking the train down to Manhattan for the long weekend would reinvigorate his relationship with Sirk, who'd been exchanging cum loads with Junior's roommate Beeb ever since they were introduced. Junior wanted his best friends back, but worried he'd have to separate them with a crowbar. How do you manage a triangle comprising the longest dick, the thickest dick, and the biggest balls on campus, all attached to some intelligent, good-natured guys?
Three days ago, Junior slipped Sirk a note during their math class: "NYC this weekend, U N me? Tom of Finland exhibit at the Guggenheim." Sirk replied enthusiastically: "Hell, yeah! Grew up there. Usta get blown by husbands at Coney Island."
The train clattered through a long cavern and finally arrived at Grand Central. Years ago, the boys could have ducked into an out-of-the-way restroom here for some quick action, but in the modern age, an acceptance of homoeroticism made such furtive meeting places superfluous and they were shut down. Toilet stall walls are now made of impenetrable metal, so dick-sized holes can't be surreptitiously sawn in them for convenient cocksucking. The walls reach to the floor, preventing kneeling men from sliding their legs and dicks underneath for mutual masturbation. On the Breedum Hung campus, these activities were facilitated and encouraged, but in the ordinary public world practically nothing remains of the old traditions.
After checking into their hotel in Greenwich Village, Junior and Sirk walked north along the Hudson river, taking in the piers and the Meatpacking District where old warehouses were being converted to new uses. This one here had been turned into a parking garage, but with a cryptic sign out front.
Puzzled, Junior read it aloud. "Watch drive-in movies from the comfort of classic cars! Golden Era Hollywood in the evenings. Daytime smutfest! Straight: floor 4. Gay: floor 5."
Sirk explained "Sure, this is new. They black out a big room, tilt the cars up at a projection screen and fit them with speakers. Let's see!"
A service elevator brought them to floor 5. In the dark, a giant screen was showing Joe Gage gay porno films from the 1970's. Junior hadn't seen these before, and was intrigued by the raw feel of the performances. These didn't seem like actors, just guys who did this stuff all the time, caught by a camera.
"Ah! 1957 two-tone Chevy Bel Air! That's the one!" exclaimed Sirk, ogling a nearby automobile.
Junior was more deliberate. "What about the Cadillac? It's got fins."
Sirk sneered. "Too girly. Got tits and hips, too."
Junior could see Sirk's point. He looked around some more. "The Ford?"
"Ugly. It's a '52. Before '55 the grilles are clunky."
Junior didn't want Sirk's hardon to be killed by the car styling, so he quickly agreed. They slipped onto the bench seat, perfect for reaching into each others' laps. Junior hauled out his hose from his fly and rested it on the steering wheel, but Sirk was too erect and had to pull his pants down. After a bit of mutual J.O., Sirk leaned over and swallowed the end of Junior's pole, mimicking the action on the big screen. Watching a professional blowjob and getting one at the same time got Junior's balls roasting, but he didn't want to make a mess in this lovely automobile. Fortunately, a distraction soon appeared.
Two guys in the adjacent car, noticing Sirk's head bobbing on Junior's gearshift knob up near the top of the steering wheel, sauntered over to the driver's side to take a look, and started beating each others' meats once they saw the spectacular sex sausages on Junior and Sirk. The dongs onscreen, hefty as they were, couldn't compete. Once he noticed the spectators, Sirk made a more camera-friendly performance of it, exposing the whole of Junior's length while licking and stroking and pushing junior's pants fly down to expose the base. Soon, the mutual jackers were jizzing against the white and red enamel as Junior watched intently, stiffening and swelling even more in Sirk's mouth.
At the same time Sirk could feel a pair of hands on his boner, courtesy of a guy reaching in from the passenger side window. Other spectators were standing around pulling their puds as they took in the show. One of them decided Junior might like a dick to play with, so he sidled up to the door with his crank sticking out and Junior reached for it. Junior wasn't good at jacking cocks with his left hand, but it didn't take much work to extract the juice from this randy pecker, which blew a few shots onto the baked enamel then drooled the rest.
The gentleman who'd grabbed Sirk's whanger was now half inside the car, trying to stuff the head of it into his mouth, while somebody had in turn grabbed this guy's dick and was trying to make it cum, which it did with little effort. Drained, the fellow retreated and somebody else reached for Sirk's now unoccupied unit.
Junior complained "Y'know, I think we're gettin' crowded here, and I wanted to spend time with you." Sirk agreed, missing the cool-car-and-classic-porno experience they'd started with. Our heroes pushed their way out of the car and through the crowd amid a gauntlet of grabbing hands. Luckily the spectators were now occupied with each other and didn't need any help. Junior and Sirk, still erect in their pants, sported bulges that would've caused a public scandal and decided to go downstairs to the straight porn floor for a few minutes to soften up.
On floor 4, straight Junior was still inconveniently turned on by the movie and the sound of women moaning from inside the cars. He noticed a guy boffing his supine paramour in the back seat of a Studebaker while looking out the window in Junior's direction, catching a glimpse of Junior's unnaturally huge package. Junior felt like pulling a prank, so he stepped over to the car out of sight of the girlfriend and hauled out his half-hard dong for the guy to ogle. This man reacted by staring straight at it, speeding up his fucking stroke and cumming in a matter of seconds. The woman could be heard complaining that he'd busted his nut too early, depriving her of a much-anticipated orgasm. Junior was pleased with himself for having the superpower to turn studs into premature ejaculators by remote control.
Eager to see the museum exhibit, Sirk and Junior caught the L train across town to Union Square, then the 6 uptown via Lexington to 86th street. Walking from Lexington to 5th Avenue, Sirk appeared uneasy, glancing around as if he expected trouble. "Not a rough neighborhood, is it?" asked Junior, knowing full well this was one of the wealthiest, most secure parts of the city.
"Grew up around here. Just looking" replied Sirk.
At the Guggenheim, they were now gawking at huge gay dicks again, but among the intelligentsia. Tom of Finland, a popular gay pornographic artist in the 1960s and 70s, had since been recognized as a gifted visionary worth critical appreciation, now appearing in major gallery and museum shows long after his death. In his precisely drawn, imaginary world, free random sex with the nearest hunk was the norm, providing a template for the real world.
Now living in that world, Junior was amused to see expensively-dressed old ladies peering at pencil drawings of leatherdaddies with long pencils. What aspects of the art interested them? The perfect shading technique or the smooth hardons? The finely rendered musculature, or the masculine expressions on their faces as the characters shot spunk fountains into the air? Maybe these matrons had been fans of Tom Selleck in their teens, and enjoyed seeing drawings of men with the same bone structure boning each other. Sirk himself was intently studying how the artist had composed his figures in complex scenes while giving each a unique expressiveness. In this drawing, a stud leans in from the side, his face gleeful as he watches the rough mansex performed shamelessly before him. "See how the shading is purely additive, without using an eraser to define the sheen on this taut ridge of the cockhead? Superb!"
Tom's multi-page comic stories were displayed sequentially on long panels. This one starred leatherman Kake, his best-loved character, visiting "Pleasure Park (Men Only)" for a daytime romp in the bushes. One by one, all of the standard Tom of Finland hunks arrive; construction worker, cowboy, lumberjack, soldier et cetera. They get into it with Kake all at once, resulting in a wild clusterfuck of rugged manliness and cylindrical meat. At the end, Kake is leaning against a tree, wiping his brow while the rest of them keep at it. His limp, dripping dick attests to his satisfaction.
"Do you do this, young man? Do you do this?" An old woman addressed Junior with an urgent but honest question after they both finished reading.
"Every chance I get" was his reply, and an honest one at that. The woman seemed delighted, then embarrassed, and hurried away. Junior was proud that he could fully represent the Tom of Finland ideal, monstercock and all.
Back on 5th Avenue, they passed a cart advertising "Nuts 4 Nuts." Junior had seen these carts since childhood, selling a variety of roasted nuts, some coated and some plain. "Nuts 4 Nuts. Hot, sweet nuts in a bag. I'm a nut for a hot skin bag with only two nuts in it" thought Junior. But then he paused. "So, what does Nuts 4 Nuts' mean? You and we are nuts for, or obsessed with, nuts,' versus `these nuts are for people who are nuts about them?'" He'd never questioned this before because the sign was so familiar. "So, I'm crazy for low-hanging testicles, but are they there specifically for me to play with?"
While Junior ruminated, Sirk had bought Junior and himself Mr. Softee cones from a truck down the street. As he licked away the white drips, Sirk pointed to the sidewalk nearby, where an enterprising chalk artist had drawn a cartoon. Mr. Softee sits on the edge of a bed, dejected, a long soft-serve tube drooping from between his legs. Before heading out the door, Wendy the hamburger girl announces "I've had it with you! I'm going over to Hardee's!"
The boys were overdue for lunch and Sirk knew a good deli on Houston street, so they headed back to the subway. Walking past the stately brownstone residences, Sirk was even more nervous this time. They turned the corner onto Lexington, almost knocking over what Junior took to be a space alien. The old lady recognized Sirk immediately. "Oh! You've decided to come back home, have you? But who's this... OH! Is this your boyfriend, you pervert?! Are you here to show him to Mama? Are you planning to get married, you degraded scum?!" The frightening, surgically-altered creature reached into her Museum of Modern Art tote bag and pulled out a can of Campbell's soup, which she flung at Junior's head. Pursued by this screeching matron, the boys ran to the subway stairs pelted by expensive souvenirs from the current Andy Warhol exhibit.
Standing on the roaring, rattling train, Sirk leaned against Junior for support. "I'm really sorry you had to see that" he spoke loudly into Junior's ear, over the clatter. Junior put an arm around him, glad for the opportunity.
A barely intelligible electronic voice blared unexpectedly. "This train will stop at 42nd street. All passengers must exit the train. Please take the 7 line to the A, 3 or M lines..."
"Some problem. Typical. Transferring at those stations will take forever" advised Sirk as he and Junior stepped onto the platform. "Maybe we can find something to do around here."
Rather than follow the crowd onto the stairs, Sirk turned toward a metal door marked "Maintenance personnel only." Pulling the magnetic fare card from his pocket, he poked at it with a magnet on the end of his nerdy screwdriver-pen. The fare card now worked the card reader next to the door, and they stepped into a secret elevator. "Usta do this as a kid. You never know where these lead. Let's see!"
Sirk pressed the lowest button and the elevator descended into the mysterious depths under Grand Central, down past another subway tunnel, the long-distance trains themselves, under-track maintenance tunnels, and still further, through another layer of train tunnels unused since the 19th century, and finally a vast cavern of ancient steam machinery. The elevator stopped and the door retracted.
"Astounding!" exclaimed Junior as he surveyed 200-year-old iron contraptions receding into the dark. Opposite those an archaic city street glowed with neon signs and rows of little lightbulbs above haphazard shops. "Adult Books." "Massage." "Burlesk Theater." "Peep Movies." A 1960s-era subway sign identified this as "42nd Street/Broadway."
As Junior and Sirk cautiously walked the street, they saw men in long coats sneaking into the establishments, or coming from one and crossing the street into another. There was an air of erotic stealthiness, as if the men would be ashamed to reveal where their dicks had been today. Some were unable to completely hide their erections, sporting a bobbing tent pole in their coats as they walked.
"Cum on in" offered a skinny, effeminate fellow leaning against the doorway to a massage parlor. Junior and Sirk entered the front room decorated with puffy couches, purple curtains and black light posters from the 1960s.
"Actually, we just wanna know what this place is" asked Junior.
"Your pleasure palace, loverboy" crooned the swishy guy as he reached for our heroes' crotches. Upon assessing the magnitude of the meat involved, he stood slack-jawed and apologetic. "Well, I'm sorry, I really don't think I'll be able to..."
"The whole street. All these stores and stuff. What's it about? Why here?" demanded Junior.
"Um, so, if you're here, why don't you know all that? Dearie, there's a problem with you and I don't know what it is. Did you get sent here to work? Look, I don't want to get involved, so why don't you make like a tree and leave, alright?" The effeminate fellow turned and disappeared into the purple curtains.
"Queens!" complained Sirk.
"Brooklyn!" retorted Junior.
Maybe people were more intelligent at the adult bookstore, so the boys checked it out. There really were books here, those quirky, cheaply printed porno novels from the 1970s with suggestive drawings on the cover and a juicy sex scene or two in each chapter. Thin boxes containing 8mm film reels showed naked men with hairy hardons and mutton chop sideburns. Some of the picture magazines skirted an arbitrary censorship line, with hungry suckers just about to swallow rigid boners, but not quite. Smaller, cheaper magazines threw caution to the winds, depicting everything imaginable that could be done with dicks. All the models looked amateurish by modern standards, without sculpted muscles and coiffed hair and shaved genitals, but with wild, heartfelt horniness and the biggest wieners they could find on insatiable sexpigs in those days. These guys were uninhibited perverts who didn't care what anyone thought, as long as they could make other guys throw a boner.
As they perused the porn, Junior and Sirk noticed the steady stream of men in long coats entering and exiting the peep booth arcade, and motioned to each other to head on in. Past a beaded curtain were rows of plywood booths, glowing with pulsating video monitors showing an array of simultaneous smut scenes. Sirk ducked into one and closed the door, so Junior found an open booth for himself. Once inside, he sat down in the chair provided, took in the video smut and proceeded to pull his pud for the benefit of anyone peeping through the gloryholes.
Soon, he was getting propositions from both of the adjacent booths, with beckoning fingers and tongues waggling in the holes. He stuffed his half-hard whang into the larger of the two, letting the unknown stranger bring him to full erection with hand and mouth. The advanced techniques being applied to his cock indicated this guy had enough experience to provide full service and get Junior off. Junior decided to heat himself up by watching videos, so he leaned back in the narrow booth, revealing the bank of monitors. Here was a scene with three men mutually sucking each other in a triangle, there a closeup of a dick getting rapidly jacked by an unseen masturbator, another scene with a long pecker pistonning in some dude's mouth. With four small monitors going, there would be plenty of erupting cocks to give Junior's libido a boost.
Junior could feel a dick poking through the hole behind him, so, twisting around, he jacked the thing. It was bone hard and came surprisingly quickly, forcefully splattering thick spurts onto the opposite wall, then the chair, then the floor below. "This guy can really shoot!" thought Junior, getting hot enough to imagine cumming himself.
Just then, the man sucking Junior's dong moaned with his mouth full, shuddered for a few seconds, and then stopped servicing the big thing. He cleaned himself up and left the booth and Junior's looming, dripping hardon. Junior was not pleased. "Oh shit, not this again! They jack themselves off while sucking it, and then they're done. Fuckin' inconsiderate bastards!" Junior tried to extricate his protruding pecker, but it had expanded so much that the glory hole acted like a cock ring, locking him in. He'd have to wait for it to shrink so he could pull it out.
Junior's lonely dick had just begun to soften when another thrill-seeker spotted the prize from outside and rushed in to take advantage. Junior could feel the guy's hand and mouth on him, hardening him up again. "Hopefully this one does the trick" thought Junior, as he turned again to the videos. By this time, the blowjob threesome were ejaculating in each others' faces, the jacked dick was finally erupting, and cum was drooling down the passive cocksucker's chin. "That's what I want" he mused.
Meanwhile, Sirk, more inclined to serve, was yanking two dicks at once. He'd started by dropping trou and exhibitionistically handling his anaconda, showing off to any voyeurs watching through the holes. While ignoring their offers to blow him (since he couldn't fit it through anyway), his display got them so hot they needed their loads extracted. Soon the dicks started to poke through in his direction, so he sat down and jacked them. In Sirk's experience, a lot of guys got extra excited when jacked by somebody with a much bigger cock. Straight guys were especially susceptible to this, having heard how massively hung and skillful at cock milking the gays were, and now being provided with a prime example. Fulfilling straight guys' gay fantasies invariably brought forth voluminous ball juice in short order, becoming a sort of test; in Sirk's hands, quick-on-the-trigger guys were probably straight. Gays could take it for a little longer, but not much.
As expected, one of the erections in Sirk's hands started fountaining in no time, spraying drops of watery cum all over his legs and the opposite guy's cock. After a few high-pressure squirts, the hair-trigger (probably straight) dick was spent, and pulled back into it's owner's booth. Now, the extra lubrication from being cummed on made the other dick slicker and Sirk's strokes more effective. Sirk could feel it expanding in his rapidly moving hand, especially the head, and in a few more seconds this one too was expelling jets of jizz onto Sirk's legs and cock. Thinking ahead, Sirk had removed his clothes so it wouldn't look like he'd wet himself. Once it was drained, the longer lasting cock receded into its booth to be zipped up in pants again.
By then, another eager pecker had replaced the first one, once its owner had seen Sirk's spectacular endowment and the amount of semen he could extract. Sirk was beginning to pleasure this one too when he heard a plaintive sound from down the hall: "Sirk! Sirk! Please help me!"
Opening the door of Junior's booth, Sirk found his friend firmly attached to the wall at the base of his cock, unable to remove himself. Several other insensitive cocksuckers had come by, getting his tree trunk more expanded every time, only bringing him near orgasm without finishing the job. Instead, they had finished themselves and left the big dong to get worked on by the next guy. Poor Junior would never get out of his predicament at this rate, so he pleaded with Sirk. "Get me off, will ya? This is just torture!"
"Sure, no problem bro. But isn't this your cum all over the wall and floor?" Sirk was impressed by the accumulated puddle.
"Nope, not mine. Dicks came through the wall behind me, and I jacked them off to turn myself on, but that didn't work either. They're all taking advantage of me!"
Amused, Sirk obligingly entered the booth occupied by Junior's cock and set to work. Since he knew from experience what popped Junior's nut the quickest, he was able to provide just the right stimulation. This consisted of swallowing enough of the head to rapidly lick the underside, while stroking with both hands and squeeze on the upstroke for a pumping effect. After a few minutes of this treatment, Junior's whanger erupted in torrents of built-up cock juice, nearly choking Sirk until he pulled it out of his mouth and let the jets shoot onto the wall. "Such a waste, but there's no way I could drink it all" thought Sirk as he watched the heavy blasts come forth. The cleanup crew would think the booth had been used by a sperm whale.
Exiting the adult bookstore, Sirk noticed a brass plaque on the wall. "Hey, Junior. See this. It says `Here is preserved Peek-A-Boo Bookstore, a fixture on 42nd street for thirty three years before being eliminated in the Times Square cleanup. Rebuilt here by the Boyd McDonald Historical Preservation Society.' So this is a hands-on museum of peep booths, theaters, bookstores, all like it used to be when it developed organically without being planned or controlled, because it wasn't supposed to exist anyway. I mean, I wouldn't want to go back to a time when everybody was like my mother, but being absorbed into the bland soup of mainstream society is no good either. It's a false dichotomy between two evils. These guys figured that out."
Junior wasn't sure. "But, at school, our school, I don't think it's bland. We've taken the best of these traditions and amped them up. There's no whitewashing of our sexuality."
"I dunno, Junior. What's left to oppose The Man? What's rebellion look like anymore? If you can do anything you want, do you have to become self-destructive to get away? Is perfect freedom always good? Or is perfect freedom an illusion? Or can an illusion be good?" Sirk was beginning to confuse himself with permutations of words.
"You fellows are from Breedum Hung, aren't you?" A gentleman with a prominent hardon under his coat addressed them politely. "I teach a philosophy class there, and we discuss all these issues and more. I would be pleased to have you in my class next semester."
Junior and Sirk thought this was a fine idea.