This story is completely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The story also contains explicit sexual acts between males, so be warned!
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Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
IT STARTED IN A PARK
by Macout Mann
Chapter 15
Semester End
Now that Christian was Sammie's advisor, they met in Christian's office a couple of times before the semester came to a close. Christian took a much greater interest in Sammie than most faculty advisors took in their charges. He discussed Sammie with the teacher of his beginning art course, who agreed that Sammie should be placed in a more advanced class. His pen and brush work were both far superior to the other students'. Sammie's work in Freshman English was sure to earn him an A, which would exempt him from the second semester's work; but Christian suggested that he to go ahead and finish the course. "The readings are really interesting," he said, "and it will be an easy A."
They met on Monday, December 15, and finalized Sammie's second semester schedule. He would be in Christian's Art History class, an intermediate painting class, Freshman English, and Calculus. Also he would take beginning swimming at the gym. Sammie still got a hard on every time he looked at Christian, but true to his word, he never mentioned sex to his advisor.
It was finals week. Christmas break would begin Friday. Sammie had told his parents that he would be home Monday and could stay until Friday, the twenty sixth. They thought that was the extent of the Christmas vacation. Actually, Sammie had arranged to spend the following week with Merritt. School would resume Monday, January 5. Dorms closed on the nineteenth, so Vernon was happy to offer Sammie a place to stay over the weekend.
Jim and Christian had their usual Thursday get-together on the eighteenth. For Christian it was a pleasant respite from grading exams. Over the previous twenty-some weeks, the two men had become very close and not just sexually. Christian knew of course that both Jim and Vernon were also tapping Sammie. He wished that he could too. And he and Captain Worthington were also bedmates. The sex with Jim was especially satisfying, although in a sense it was also just something that they did to satisfy each other's needs.
Jim Hart, despite his lack of formal education was a very complex and interesting person. He had a true love for his wife, Myra, and for this three boys. And for Sammie. He valued "good work" on the job. He was not in the least religious, but he had a strong sense of ethics, which he said he got from his dad.
Christian never understood how Jim reconciled his sexual activities with his marriage vows. Jim simply said, "Fucking's just something a guy's gotta do. It don't have anything to do with marriage, except for making kids. Guys that get married just to have a steady source of pussy got it all wrong. Yeah, I wanted Myra to have my kids...and I love to fuck with her just like I love to fuck with you, but I married her because I wanted to be with her and take care of her...and have her take care of me. What I do with my dick otherwise don't have anything to do with it."
Christian had been dying to ask, but hadn't wanted to piss Jim off, but as they both basked in the afterglow, he finally got the courage to ask, "Does Myra know you mess around?"
"I think she suspects," Jim answered, "but she don't really want to know. When Sammie's around, she gets some vibes. She's told me that me and Sammie sometimes get awful lovey-dovey. I tell her the poor kid never had a father that loved him. I'm not old enough to be his father, but I don't mind him getting a little crazy sometimes."
"Does she...?" Christian didn't have the guts to finish the question.
Jim grinned as he responded. "I don't think so. But I wouldn't give a damn, if she did. As long as it didn't affect what we got going."
Christian reached for Jim's softened prong, ready to get it hard once more.
Friday the gym was closed, so there was to be no workout, no workout at the gym, that is. Vernon picked Sammie and his luggage up at the dorm and headed to his pad.
"Are you goanna let me sleep with you?" Sammie asked.
"Why the hell you think I offered to let you stay with me?" Vernon laughed. "And you know what's goanna happen tomorrow night? Jim's coming over. We thought you'd like to have some fun like you and Merritt and I had Thanksgiving."
"Oh, super!" Sammie exclaimed as they pulled up at Vernon's apartment.
The evening began quietly enough. Pizza and tv. When bedtime came, though, Sammie was so excited he didn't know what to do. He'd never actually slept with another guy, but Vernon took the lead; and after Sammie had been thoroughly screwed, Vernon spooned him until they both slipped into a deep and satisfying sleep.
They both awoke with morning wood.
"You ever been sucked off with a piss hard?" Vernon asked. Without waiting for an answer he went down on Sammie. It took several minutes, but Sammie's prick finally responded by feeding Vernon his first ejaculate of the day, then Sammie had to rush to the bathroom before he wet everything in the bedroom.
When he returned, Vernon was still lying in bed with his pole pointed up, so Sammie gave him the same treatment. "First time I ever had cum for breakfast, somebody else's that is," he giggled.
Grades were due in the office on Monday, so Vernon spent most of the day grading tests. He suggested Sammie do pushups, situps and other exercises, since they hadn't worked out yesterday and wouldn't for the next two weeks. "Try to keep in shape while you're gone," he urged.
Jim arrived around seven. Both of the others had remained shirtless all day, so the first thing Jim did was to dump his jean jacket and canvas shirt. Both he and Vernon looked awesome, but then Sammie was getting to where he wasn't ashamed to be bare chested.
He immediately came over and started nibbling on Jim's nips. "I'm so glad you came," he mumbled.
"So am I," Jim giggled. "Myra's on the rag."
"That don't happen to me," Sammie giggled in response.
Vernon approached Jim from behind, reached around to his abs, and planted his basket squarely against his ass. "Makes you glad you're male," he said. His hands found Jim's belt buckle, undid it, opened his fly, and pulled out a hardening shaft. "This does act like it needs servicing," he added."
Sammie dropped to his knees and took it between his lips, stabbing the piss slit with his tongue. Vernon didn't move away. He just began to massage Jim's pecs, blow hot breath into his ear and to rub his back with his own well developed pecs.
"Fuck, yeah," Jim moaned. "That's what Jim-boy needs."
Next Vernon freed his own dick from his jeans and pushed Jim's jeans down. Now his own pole could rest between Jim's now exposed cheeks.
"Hate to interrupt this, but let's get more comfortable," Jim said.
They each finished stripping, leaving their clothes scattered on the living room floor, then headed for the bedroom. The three of them stretched side by side across Vernon's queen-sized bed. Jim's sausage got played with by both of the guys on either side of him; Jim played with each of their boners. Just a relaxing moment before the real fun began.
Sammie resumed eating Jim's dick, while Vernon looked on appreciatively. But before the task was complete, Vernon straddled Jim's chest and lowered his treasure toward Jim's open mouth.
"Yeah, fuck my face," Jim said. Vernon did just that.
As he sensed that Jim was going to climax, Vernon accelerated his strokes so that they came almost simultaneously.
Then it was Sammie's turn. Vernon pushed him onto his back and took his house guest's still rigid pole into his own mouth, his head bouncing up and down, as Jim enjoyed the spectacle. Sammie was totally ecstatic. He was thrilled by having his dick serviced, but more than that by what he was sure was going to come. He would be fucked by one of these hunks while blowing the other. Pure heaven.
At Captain Worthington's house, Rick Worthington was slipping his dick into Christian's anus at about the same time as Sammie was being spit roasted. The two of them had spent a relaxing evening, free of concerns about students, lectures, or tests. And now they were enjoying each other in the special way only men can. Rick was about forty years past the age when boys are supposedly most virile, but he could still get it up with the best of them. He was a very considerate fucker, however, trying to give his partner as much pleasure as he was getting. After he dropped his load, he held Christian close, his dick still buried in Christian's chute until it had become limp. After pulling out he poured snifters of VSOP Cognac and they talked. They had had some very deep and far ranging conversations. Tonight was to be no exception. One of the few times the discussion touched on sex.
"I've been wondering lately," the captain began, "about the midshipmen. How many are gay?
"Do you have any idea how many of your students are?"
"One for sure. I'd guess a couple of others in my art history class are. But there's no way of knowing. Social scientists can't even agree what percentage of the general population is. I always suspected about ten percent, but studies seem to suggest it's much lower than that.
"I'd guess that art, music, theatre majors—students in any of the creative disciplines—would have a higher percentage of gays than the population as a whole. Your students probably a lower percentage, maybe by half."
"Well, the navy as well as the other services have always been hipped on the idea that homosexuals in the ranks would destroy morale. Obviously I've never thought so.
"There was a big scandal involving the carrier Kearsarge after the Second World War. Everybody called her `the Queerbarge.' But she seemed to have functioned just as well as the other carriers.
"Maybe one day gay guys can be open about it, in service and in civilian life."
"Not in my lifetime," Christian mused.
"Did you ever consider coming out?" Rick asked.
"Never saw any need to," Christian responded. "I'd established this macho image from the time I was a kid, so why change? Oh, I'll hit a gay bar, if I go to a strange city, but I've never wanted to make a habit of hanging around with a bunch of limp wristed faggots. My parents may suspect that I'm gay, and I don't think they'd care either way. After all, he is a violinist and she is an artist.
"Will you come out after you retire? Christian snickered.
"Not on your life," came the answer.
They talked until way past midnight. Christian considered staying over, but finally decided to head home.
Monday morning Sammie took the bus to Atlanta. He had a long wait before the bus to Columbus took off. It was almost dinner time when he got to Columbus. His dad was waiting at the bus station.
"You don't talk as funny as you did," he exclaimed. "College must be good for somethin'."
When they got home and Sammie took off his jacket, his dad also noticed his improved shape. "Damn, looks like you mighta been doin' some real work, boy."
His mother was a bit more interested in his progress at school. Asked about his grades. He said he wouldn't get them until he got back from Christmas break, but he was sure they'd all be good. He told his parents that he'd been moved to an advanced art class.
"Art!" his dad harrumphed.
His mother also commented on the improvement in his lisp.
They had a simple supper, and Sammie announced that he was going out to check in with some of his friends.
"Didn't know you had any," his dad mockingly said.
The holiday season might not be the best time to hustle. People have a lot to do. But around a military base there are a lot of lonely guys. Especially around Christmas. Sammie found a couple of 'em willing to part with a twenty to be consoled.
And that's how the week went. Sammie spent his days hanging around the park, servicing a trick from time to time. (One really hot kid he blew for free.) Nights he strolled around in the vicinity of Dunbar's and found enough trade to make it worth his while. Even met up with two or three guys he'd been with before he went off to school.
Christmas was really dismal. Sammie had bought his mom some stockings, his dad a flannel shirt. They hadn't bought presents for Sammie or each other. Christmas Dinner was nothing special. His mom was not a good cook.
The next day Sammie left for Atlanta. He'd made all of two hundred bucks. Good enough, he thought.
Sammie was not prepared for what he found in Atlanta.
Merritt picked him up at the bus station. He was driving an MG. Not a new one by a long shot, but it was a real sports car. They drove from the bus station past the main library and the Capital City Club into Peachtree Street and turned north. Merritt pointed out points on interest, including the Fox Theatre, the Georgian Terrace, where he said Christian and Vernon stayed when they were in town. They passed Symphony Hall, where he said the orchestra played, and the High Museum.
"We can go through the High one day while you're here," he suggested.
"That would be great. I've never been to an art museum," Sammie responded.
On West Peachtree they finally reached St. Phillip's Cathedral and fashionable Buckhead, the city's "old money" neighborhood. Merritt turned into Pharr Court and The Habersham, an older high rise apartment building that still had a doorman. They parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to the sixth floor. "Well, we're home," Merritt sang out.
Sammie was overwhelmed. Merritt's one bedroom apartment looked out on downtown and was the fanciest place that he'd ever seen. It was very sparsely furnished in very masculine décor, but everything was super high quality. The living room was dominated by the largest and softest couch Sammie had ever seen. It had to be at least eight feet long.
"You must promise not to tell Christian and Vernon," he began, waiting for a response.
"Oh, I promise," Sammie said.
"but I hustle too," he ended his sentence. "Oh not walking the streets. I'm more of a call boy. When I first joined the symphony, one of the board members took a fancy to me. Told me he'd pay, if we could get together. I had no problem with that, of course. He felt he got his money's worth, so he introduced me to some of his friends. Some of 'em even live here. And as long as I have my boyish figure I can make enough to live here...and have a hell of a lot of fun fucking around."
"Gosh." Sammie was completely stunned.
"I've made some appointments for you," Merritt continued. "Leave the negotiations to me and I promise you won't have to worry about spending money for at least a semester, when you get back to Sparta."
"Gosh."
"Of course I'm goanna have your ass too. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Merritt fixed a simple dinner of Spaghetti Romana, Green Salad, and Rolls. He said that everybody ought to have salad at every meal. Keeps you virile.
Afterward he told Sammie his first "client" would be coming soon. "He likes it if I'm naked when he gets here. If that bothers you, you can keep your underwear on...but you don't wear any, do you?"
When the man arrived, Sammie saw that he was probably about sixty. It was hard to tell. His skin was perfect, like he saw a dermatologist every week. His nails were perfectly manicured. He was dressed in a suit and tie.
"Roland, this is Sammie," Merritt said.
Sammie stood as if to shake hands, but Roland almost shouted, "Oh he's so delicious!" He immediately grasped Sammie's still soft equipment. "Such a nice, big dick." He reached for Sammie's chest. "Such lovely little pecs. He grabbed Sammie's ass cheeks. "Such a nice, round rear. I can't wait."
He shed his coat, tore off his tie, and kissed his way down Sammie's front until he had the youngster's dong in his hungry mouth. It didn't bother Sammie that Merritt was watching, but Merritt's dick sprang up so that it seemed about to tear itself free from his tight jeans.
The passion of Roland's attack thrilled Sammie so much that he grabbed Roland's head and began to face fuck the older man. Roland relished it.
Sammie rammed his dick in as far as it would go as he dumped ribbon after ribbon of hot cum down Roland's throat, then let go of his head and pulled away.
"So special!" Roland panted. "Now, boy, you must undress me."
Sammie complied. Then Roland guided him to the couch and spent the next half hour worshiping Sammie's body, kissing and feeling him all over. The old perv was obviously turned on by "fairy boys," but this one was special. He was not quite effeminate, but not macho. The Sammie makeover project had worked wonders. Merritt knew Sammie would be irressistable.
Merritt had placed a jar of KY on the cocktail table, and Roland used it before finally sliding his thick shaft into Sammie's ass. He was very gentle, but he was a consummate fucker. He knew how to use his dick to get maximum satisfaction for himself and equal pleasure for his partner. His orgasm wasn't as spectacular as Sammie's had been, but it was more than adequate, given Roland's age. And Sammie now understood why Merritt had spread a silk sheet on the sofa. He had cum a second time.
"I've got to come back," Roland enthusiastically proclaimed. "I want to have both of you. Can I do that?"
"Sure," Merritt said, "but it will cost double."
"That's fine. When can we do it?"
"It'll have to be Thursday afternoon. Can you tear yourself away from the bowl games?"
"You know I don't watch those damned things."
Roland carefully put his clothes back on, and as he left he pressed a corporate check into Merritt's palm.
"Well, Sammie, you just made yourself $500. Now it's my turn. I don't mind taking `sloppy seconds.'"
Next day Merritt spent most of the morning practicing. Then they went out to lunch and in the afternoon went to Grant Park to see the Atlanta Cyclorama. It is a painting of the Civil War Battle of Atlanta, and was for decades the largest oil painting in the world. Merritt also told Sammie that Grant Park was one of the cruisiest spots in town.
That evening another "gentleman caller" came to see Sammie. He was also beyond middle age, but unlike Roland he wanted to pretend that he was just making a social call. The three of them sat in the living room, drank martinis, and made small talk, until the john smiled and said, "Sammie, you are adorable. Why don't you and I go into the other room and get together."
Merritt continued to enjoy his martinis, while listening to the sounds of ecstasy coming from his bedroom. Bryce was senior partner in one of the city's most prestigious law firms.
When he and Sammie emerged from the bedroom, Bryce volunteered that he was having a New Year's Eve party for a few of his male friends. "I think Sammie could add a lot of spice to it," he added.
"Sorry. The symphony has a pops concert New Year's Eve," Merritt replied.
"Oh, we won't be getting started until ten. You can come over after the concert."
"It'll cost ya," Merritt grinned.
The two men held a mumbled conversation about how much it would cost. Merritt also asked, "Will I know the guests?"
"I imagine that you will know some of them."
"Then don't expect me to participate in anything. I've got my reputation you know."
Again, Merritt received a check for Sammie's contribution to Bryce's enjoyment.
Merritt also told Sammie that he had obtained a seat for the concert for him. "You'll be way up in the balcony, but a lot of people say the acoustics are best up there."
"But I didn't bring my suit," Sammie protested.
"No sweat," Merritt answered. "You won't be the only one up there in jeans."
Sunday and Monday passed in similar fashion. Violin practice in the morning, sight-seeing in the afternoon. Fucking and sucking with customers and later with Merritt in the evening. Sometimes even more sex before breakfast.
Tuesday they went to the High Museum. Sammie was enthralled. He'd never seen any masterpieces themselves before, only reproductions in books. "I'll always remember this," he told Merritt.
Back at Merritt's apartment, he informed Sammie that he had to go to a rehearsal, but that Sammie could expect another visitor. "Make sure he gives you a check before he leaves," Merritt instructed. "It'll be made to me, but don't worry. I'll give you one before you go back to Sparta that you can put in the bank."
When Sammie answered the door the guy in the hall was drop dead gorgeous. Couldn't be over thirty. Six feet tall and built, he had regular features, wavy auburn hair, and a nice tan even in December. He was wearing a hundred dollar burgundy golf shirt and a pair of 501s. He had the thighs and hips that old man Strauss thought every guy should have. The jeans clung to his body so that the pouch above his legs clearly outlined the goodies underneath the denim.
"So you're Sammie," he said. "Nice. I'm Winston." His voice was deep and melodious.
"H-hi. Come in."
Winston didn't waste time. He immediately stripped, and Sammie did the same.
"You go commando too I see," Winston commented. "Must be a real man." No one had ever called Sammie a "real man" before, even in jest.
Sammie couldn't take his eyes off Winston's prong. It was the biggest he'd ever seen.
"Yeah, it's good sized," Winston grinned. "Think you can take it all?"
"I can try," Sammie responded, and he knelt in front of this beautiful specimen, took his huge balls in one hand and began to lick the head of his massive pole. By opening his mouth as wide as it would go, he finally got all of Winston in his cavity.
"I want to be first," Winston interrupted.
He pulled his dick from between Sammie's lips and led him to the couch, which again had been covered with a large silk sheet. Merritt knew his clientele well. He then took Sammie's sausage—which itself was certainly nothing to be ashamed of—he took Sammie into his own mouth and sent the younger man into unbelievable euphoria. His legs writhed under Winston's massive chest. He cried out. "Oh, I've ever felt anything like that." His partner was certainly well trained, and he always wanted to be first to suck in order to bring his companion to a height that made him want to please even more.
And when Sammie went down on Winston he tried to do just that. Despite the fact that just getting Winston's boner into his mouth was a strain, Sammie did everything he could to bring Winston to the height of passion, edging him several times until he finally cried, "Oh let me cum."
It seemed as though Winston drained at least a cup of semen into Sammie's throat. Sammie didn't spill a drop.
Winston went down on Sammie a second time before time came for Sammie to have Winston's monster shoved up his ass. Winston used ample gel and was as gentle as he could be, but his entry still pained Sammie enough to bring tears. But once Winston began to slip his pole in and out, Sammie was again enraptured.
"That was so wonderful," Sammie exclaimed.
"I could tell you were enjoying it, and not just by your moans. I did too. You're one good fuck. Better than Merritt. If you get back to town, I'd like to do it again."
"Oh, I would too."
Before he left he handed Sammie his check. It was on the account of Southern Real Estate Development Corporation, made to Merritt, and was for $500. On the memo line was typed "for music."
"You didn't tell me this guy was going to be such a hunk," Sammie chastised Merritt when he returned from rehearsal.
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Merritt laughed. "Winston was a quarterback for Bear Bryant's Crimson Tide. After graduation his dad sent him to the Harvard Business School. Not long after that his dad had a stroke, and Winston inherited the company, so his MBA has come in handy. In such a macho business he can't afford to be out, so he uses guys like me, although I hear he sometimes bangs some of the younger workers in their construction division.
"I hope he didn't rip your ass."
Wednesday, Merritt practiced more than usual. The two of them looked rather strange driving to the concert, Merritt in white tie and tails and a lambs' wool topcoat, Sammie shivering in jeans and a jean jacket.
The concert was standard New Year's Eve fare, everything from von Suppe to Richard Rodgers to Johann Strauss. Sammie thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but then it was time for work.
They arrived at Bryce's home, the party was already in full swing. No egg nog. Scotch and Bourbon were flowing, however, and most of the eight or ten guests were already feeling the effects. Bryce had answered the door and slipped a check to Merritt and took Sammie into an adjacent anteroom. He decided he'd like Sammie to take off his shirt but put his jacket back on, leaving it open. He also removed his shoes and socks. "Be as slutty as you can, son," he said.
Merritt stayed in the background. Sammie was brought into the midst of the guests. "Men," Bryce announced, "we have a special guest ready to have fun with us. I hope you enjoy him."
The guests immediately started to paw Sammie, which he encouraged. Soon, his jacket was pulled off and then his jeans. First, they sucked him. Then they began to open their flies and offer their dicks to Sammie and to other guests. Before 1981 arrived, Sammie had allowed a couple of them to fuck him.
Then Friday, New Year's afternoon, Roland returned. He found both Merritt and Sammie naked and waiting. He wanted to both participate and watch. He almost creamed without touching himself while watching Merritt fuck Sammie. He also stuck his dick up both their asses, but he saved his cum for Sammie. The orgy ended with Merritt fucking Roland.
On the seventh day, both Merritt and Sammie rested. That is they didn't get into anything until they went to bed around eleven o'clock.
Before taking Sammie to the bus station Sunday afternoon, Merritt handed Sammie a check for $5,500, more money than he had ever seen before. "I should deduct a fifteen-percent commission," Merritt said, "but I'm even giving you my share of Friday's romp with Roland. I figure I got enough just tapping your sweet ass."