Wherein, "if a woodchuck could chuck wood" failed as a workable introduction, while "cock robin" seemed a bit closer, without doubt, it was "the cow jumped over the moon," that finally made it. Not that long confirmed long-distance trucker, J. O. Cox deserved any sort of degrading title or anything to suggest his well shaped habits, but. . . . Within similar limitations as facts versus exaggerations, rumors had it that J. O. was more likely to come than to have gone. Wherein kids could never understand why this good neighbor never offered any of them a ride in his giant red truck, certain men could count on his reliability to the extent of almost replacing transportation to work and back. However, there was one catch that only those closest to J. O. were ever aware. For starters, happen in the showers at the gym as the same time J. O. was either showering or checking out the place. On the other hand, wherein the changing room at the local community park served as second choice, the one most preferred by confirmed devotees had to be a free ride on one of his overland trips away from town.
At twenty one his last birthday, of all likely candidates, Harvey Peabody seemed the most likely candidate. Wherein in was not common knowledge that J. O. had caught him in the nude at one of these most likely location, but the more exciting other less known and close to clandestine personality attribute. One evident bulge in the crotch of a young man's pants or better shorts, and it was like being at the top of Santa's list of most wanted toys. Commonly shared knowledge that circumstances were more often adjusted to fit the outcome translated more reliable as outcome was most likely to supersede circumstances. For a man known to be capable of either loading or unloading a giant eighteen-wheeler in record time all by himself even when not pressured with unavoidable circumstances, was also known to some men as more capable of coming before his partner had adequate time to go off. In other words, where classes in grammar go, "come, went, and gone," herein lies one of the most distinguishing personal characteristics of the one and only. J. O. Cox, not to mention that well past expanded metaphor comparing his sexual endowment with animals or exhibits in a zoo or a sideshow at a circus.
In the Hollywood movie with title "What do you say to a naked man," the meaning and/or purpose appeared hidden for the sake of pubic reactions. However, to "A few good men," it soon became common knowledge that the object of most interest resembles a complete reversal of participating candidates. What young man has not been completely captivated with the sight of a sexually aroused stud horse, circus or zoo elephant's taking a leak or a monkey drinking his own urine from his fully erect penis! As luck would have it for these very limited few, greater than attempting to believe the length and girth of this trucker's most atypical sexual endowment, the load J. O./ emptied outside of and not immediately associated with his truck lacked any closeness to a comparison with any state-wide sperm bank or stored for artificial insemination of cattle nationwide. Translation: 1) if a man chose not to be able to sit down or to sleep lying on is back for weeks, 2) experience incessant confusion between needing to piss or to find a way to shed some cum, or by no means the end to possible aftereffects 3) no longer able to distinguish between needing to go and not needing to go when he thinks he needs to go, and discovering that he has already been when he gets there. "Where is the light at the end of the tunnel" translates in this unique situation as "who the hell needs light when fact outdoes fiction without leaving any margin for error?" Once fucked my trucker J. O, and any remaining alive and breathing man will always remember that he has been fucked!
Chapter II -- That Long Haul to California
Who the hell needs fiction in the form of a written story? Or a violated promise disguised as such for the same of admitting what said was a lie. If there was one great outstanding characteristic about J. O. that tended to separate him from the ordinary, it had to be his gregarious and most inviting personality. In fact, we were well on our way to California when reality finally struck me in the face with authenticity. Wherein many if not most men are guilty
of daydreaming, seems as if I just woke up when J.O. pulled into the specified parking area at a motel. On second thought and yet not agreeing with myself that I should reveal my true identity at the moment, discovering that my eyes had been so glued to his crotch, that I lost awareness of anything else in the world. Still remembering that it was his taking in my naked body at the gym shower that eventually led to inviting me to go on the freight hall to California, how I was to explain my present situation? "It takes one to know one," I had heard so often especially when growing up, However, before enough time passed to let that thought bother me or to interfere with plans building up in my mind, the inverse of that same memory hit home instantly. If it takes on e to know one, how does that also define the other one? Give and take; come to think of it, that represented my present evaluation of J.O, the atypical trucker.
At first after stopping and J. O.' s parking his truck, I seemed to have made the same mistake of assuming one more time. Thinking the reason he failed to speak before making his way to the motel office was simply another inverse of a situation. Loosing count of innumerable hours I had spent hypnotized by his heavy bulging crotch up until this rising situation, the assumption made sense that J. O. chose to do the same. However, was I to learn a very significance when I decided to trace his steps to the registration desk. "No problem with the complete silence," I was telling myself as I watched while J.O. signed for the room and the clerk's actions gave more than any hint or suggestion that this hung trucker is more than a simple motherfucker, but a son-of-a-bitch of a hot and juicy suck! In motel business talk, frequent flyer.' In the absence of the familiar tickling with a finger the palm of the other man's hand as a sex signal, not only was the proper room key already resting on the counter separating the office space from the entrance and lounge areas, the hot clerk's tongue was wagging like a dog heavily breathing while J. O. s cock had puffed up until it came close to getting itself released from the captivity of his pants and underwear.
Still with no words exchanged between us and J. O. was approaching room number 169 like a late night piss call back home where the setting is more familiar, Before that last step and turn of the key, J.O. was buck baked save his boxer underwear and used-to-be white cotton sox. Had I not known better, my fairly perfect vision pictured his well educated cock unlocking that door. "Coup
de maitre," I could hear that old maid French teacher saying for masterstroke,' "Hell!" A sudden application of common sense finally struck home. " If that colossal fucker can unlock a door, perhaps I should have worn a metal chastity belt in stead of knitted soft cotton briefs!" (They didn't call himdoor jam' for the real hardware.)
No sooner was the more famous than first suspected trucker already completely naked and lying on the spread-covered bed than a call from the office came over the speaker in the room. Wherein news that room service would be later than usual suggested more than a meal on a portable table, how I was to fit in seemed less important than my next meal. Meanwhile, I caught myself storing more inquiries than facts much like a computer, One similarity is whereby the computer stores information as to where the operator has been online, in my case, and more trying to foresee the future as versus where J. O. and I had been, I was beginning to anticipate my very first ever threesome. *Buy one, get one free, Then buy two and get a third one thrown in." Most recent, it was evident that three not for the money and unattached were soon to be united in ways in which only inexperienced fools fear to tread, (Like Uncle Fuck used to say: "don't knock it `til you've tried it!" Of course, these was reasons
behind his dates back to high school days, nickname, Juice! Some attempted to get another non-birth certificate handle for J.O. going as far back as upper elementary grades. However, missile launcher never made it!
Chapter III -- Anecdotes and Who Eats Oats?
A little very good mouse died and went to heaven. As a reward, not only was he given anything he wished to eat, he had his choice of toys. After weighing all possibilities, the mouse settled for a miniature pair of roller skates. Once the nine lives of a pussycat placed him inside the pearly gates, his first request resulted in satisfying his hunger for food. Meanwhile trying to decide from a very lengthy menu, the cat finally indicated his preference, "I see that one's choice for entertainment and exercise is a case wherein size is adjusted to suit the need, I sure like the idea of meals on wheels!"
Meanwhile, rather than a feeling of choosing between two alternatives, ` along for the ride' fluctuated, (and probably later would vacillate) between " where to? What next?" ruled the roost. What at first gave an appearance of an emergency trip to the bathroom to relieve himself soon found long-haul trucker buck naked and in the bathtub with water still running. At this point not sensing any reservations, I made my way to the scene of most likely record-breaking exciting action in progress. Mental images from childhood placed a floating bar of soap as a ship set at sea and I the captain controlling the waves. Little did I know way back then that there were large fresh-meat hungry sharks and two supporting ballasts in case of a wind-tossed sea, As I continued to watch as if that boy visiting Sea World at feeding time, the head of this one-eyed sea mammal seemed to be burping up a whitish thick liquid. "What does it take to spell fool?" I found myself asking myself. "Should I invite myself to join J.O. in his bath? Suggest sharing the shower built into the bath? Or let it all hang out for a quick response per chance to establish my own identity for a change?"
"If you've seen one, you've seen `em all!" J.O.'s soothing words daunted my ears like soothing warm drops of oil to relieve an earache, "Hell!" I was thinking to myself. "If I had ever seen one this big before I inadvertently
run into Big Daddy Overland Trucker, I sure as hell would not now be somewhere in the middle of dessert-like heat Texas in a fucking cheap motel room!" Then when memory at least momentarily tended to dominate my way of thinking, sudden recall much like memory on the computer reminded, "On the other hand, or the one that could not manage to restrain from holding the world's greatest phallus specimen, at least we were not signed in under my name, Harvey Peabody!" Names of frequent visitors to off-the-road less than first class motels have a way for showing up on walls in rest area men's rooms and those frequented by truckers at road-side truck stops. Like Grandpa used to say, " it's one thing to try something different once in a while. But be careful that that one thing is not enough to shake the entire neighborhood once the news gets out!" (I used to compare that in retrospect with "don't ask; don't tell." Better might be "try it, you might like it!")
Little boy and improvised bathtub games faded with other memories from the past. And that commonly heard and shared adage," if it feels good, do it!" sure did fit this situation. It was not the first time yours truly, Harvey Peabody sucked a cock since he never learned to suck his own. In analysis with a jelly bean is to a bowling ball, my mouth was an opening on a tube of toothpaste in analogy with an average man's piss slot and a train-accessible tunnel. "Try it! You'll like it!" made as much sense or logic in this situation as "don't bite off more than you can chew!" Discovering you ate too many hot dogs, popcorn, and Cracker Jacks at the ball game doesn't hit home until you're back home, in bed, and trying to sleep. This was more like pre-game ceremonies wherein J. O. was the great entertainer, and yours truly, hanging on to all I could get into my mouth at one time, Perhaps after all, little things do mean a lot. Without warning and barely the head of this sea mammal cock into my mouth like a rabbit's being carried away by an eagle, shots heard `round the world' saturated my throat with a thick, milky, and somewhat soothingly sweltering liquid. Were I a woman and my mouth a vagina, watch out world; her comes another population explosion! (Mary had a little lamb, and it hurt like hell!)
Completely exhausted from the long bumpy truck trip across the country, automatically blowing off a month's buildup of semen, I was more than ready to join J. O. for a much needed and too long belated nap. "Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care," to quote Lady Mac Beth as she walked in her sleep from the haunting guilt of having just murdered the king. However, this changing scene was beginning to look more like "The Tale of Two Cities."
Chapter IV -- A Bicycle Built for Two
The almost forgotten sound of a warning bell on the handlebar of a bicycle awakened me at the same time J.O.'s snoring ceased at least momentarily at the slurping like a dog's lapping a liquid from a bowl very close to where I had napped. No real shock to me had this unannounced visitor have been the effeminate clerk who checked us in. However, more amusing as well as a pleasurable shock, was discovering that room service had more than food to deliver to room number 2469. Perhaps to compensate for having brought oatmeal for breakfast last time J.O. passed through, he was dressed as if ready for a swim in the motel pool instead of perform in food service. "I am off duty," Mr. close to perfect addressed J. O. "Do you wish to go out for dinner with me, or shall we confine all the entertainment to the four walls of this damn room?"
No one gave any indications that he was either hungry for food or ready for a meal. Then as quickly as new arrival meal-on-wheels maitre de, off came his shoes, clothes, underwear, down to his naked skin. A three-ring circus is one great thrill to a boy's first exposure. Three naked men, one with side-show crown-gathering spectacle of a penis, newly arrival with a hair-lined asshole representative of the first cunt I ever fucked, and that leaves yours truly, "I came. I saw! And I hoped like hell to conquer!" As if repetitious habit, the assumed usual sixty-nine demanded some input from a spectator's point of view. While one hung over-aged busboy appeared to be choking to death, overland trucker man with the spare tire in his briefs gave a realistic Hollywood movie atmosphere replica of a man dying of thirst in the desert and some selfish son-of-a-bitch reasonable facsimile of a bar contest in a raw oyster swallowing competition for winner gets all the free bear he can handle. Remembering the days on the farm before Dad moved for a better income and upgrade in living conditions, that available tighter than J. O's, fur-lined with coarse male pubic hair had my name on it much like the controls of the old tiller. The instant my cock made it past the sphincter guarding the entrance to his asshole and the head feeling the soothing heat of his bowels much like a piece of female ass, his cock went off simultaneously with the very familiar signals that J.O. had done the same. "Let's all come together right now" might well be a song that has lost its popularity. And on this situation, instead of trying to bring it back, perhaps a reasonable substitute or facsimile might very well be," It Takes Three to Tangle!"
"Get your butt in this house and clean up," I could all but hear Mom's summons from days on that damn farm. "Bring your ass, Mr. Motel Employee, into my house at any old time day or night when you got that feeing of needing to get fucked!" Fantasying about the past, trying to put together segments of the immediate past, and most recently getting to experience my first all-male threesome," is there something I forgot?' I was asking myself. What does the future hold presented its own answer when in walked none other than the motel clerk, himself/ "Did you instruct room service to bring you two pancakes or three waffles?" (What a crop-out or faulty excuse for "I'm here to suck your cock!")
Morse code, cryptic messages, computer lingo, work-related jargon, or mere propaganda tricks will never come close in any sense of an accurate description of my very first foursome. Like tinker toys with missing parts, a miniature electric train minus the engine, or poppycock without either the poppy or the cock, and that spells "no room for broads!" Laying aside the suggestion to draw straws in order to determine who gets with whom. I first felt that the cards were not stacked in my favor when seeming inadvertently I landed effeminate motel clerk, Jason Ashcroft. For short, that's J. A. for `jack ass.' Not only did this turn out to be the best male ass I had ever had before, the way J. A. made use of organic materials for a lubricant before my cock penetrated his asshole, well, that's another deep subject.
Trucker and "Lucker," fast becoming the name for "fuck-me-one-more-time room service prick, seemed locked in a deep and unremitting sixty-nine as versus yours truly and hair-lined natural glory hole brining up the leftovers, While two very masculine men remained seemingly incessant in a binding sixty-nine, I put a deep fuck on "leftovers" while the helmet on his cock tried to penetrate the sphincter guarding the gate to Sodom City. Did we have a fucking good time? Is the pope Catholic? Does it still rain in the rain forest in Brazil? Do I still go with J.O. on his cross-country freight hauls? Wherein variety is the spice of invention as well as life, better and more practical living arrangements have a way for settling difference without any declaration of war, Mr. Bushy! My inherited two-bedroom home now sleeps four. To replace maid and lawn service, we four learned to share more than the enjoyment of regularly unscheduled sex. Does the world turn any faster? No, but we four do!
Wherein the number of the house we share on Sodom Street is not numbered 2469 as was true with the shared motel room, it does represent a digression from it, The motel room became the shared sex scene for 4469, and like J. O's age making him less hungry for regular participation, our place on this street numbers in at 6943 Sodomy.
By: De Bu indianhb@aol.com (mailto:indianhb@aol.com)
It Started with a Joke
Wherein, "if a woodchuck could chuck wood" failed as a workable introduction, while "cock robin" seemed a bit closer, without doubt, it was "the cow jumped over the moon," that finally made it. Not that long confirmed long-distance trucker, J. O. Cox deserved any sort of degrading title or anything to suggest his well shaped habits, but. . . . Within similar limitations as facts versus exaggerations, rumors had it that J. O. was more likely to come than to have gone. Wherein kids could never understand why this good neighbor never offered any of them a ride in his giant red truck, certain men could count on his reliability to the extent of almost replacing transportation to work and back. However, there was one catch that only those closest to J. O. were ever aware. For starters, happen in the showers at the gym as the same time J. O. was either showering or checking out the place. On the other hand, wherein the changing room at the local community park served as second choice, the one most preferred by confirmed devotees had to be a free ride on one of his overland trips away from town.
At twenty one his last birthday, of all likely candidates, Harvey Peabody seemed the most likely candidate. Wherein in was not common knowledge that J. O. had caught him in the nude at one of these most likely location, but the more exciting other less known and close to clandestine personality attribute. One evident bulge in the crotch of a young man's pants or better shorts, and it was like being at the top of Santa's list of most wanted toys. Commonly shared knowledge that circumstances were more often adjusted to fit the outcome translated more reliable as outcome was most likely to supersede circumstances. For a man known to be capable of either loading or unloading a giant eighteen-wheeler in record time all by himself even when not pressured with unavoidable circumstances, was also known to some men as more capable of coming before his partner had adequate time to go off. In other words, where classes in grammar go, "come, went, and gone," herein lies one of the most distinguishing personal characteristics of the one and only. J. O. Cox, not to mention that well past expanded metaphor comparing his sexual endowment with animals or exhibits in a zoo or a sideshow at a circus.
In the Hollywood movie with title "What do you say to a naked man," the meaning and/or purpose appeared hidden for the sake of pubic reactions. However, to "A few good men," it soon became common knowledge that the object of most interest resembles a complete reversal of participating candidates. What young man has not been completely captivated with the sight of a sexually aroused stud horse, circus or zoo elephant's taking a leak or a monkey drinking his own urine from his fully erect penis! As luck would have it for these very limited few, greater than attempting to believe the length and girth of this trucker's most atypical sexual endowment, the load J. O./ emptied outside of and not immediately associated with his truck lacked any closeness to a comparison with any state-wide sperm bank or stored for artificial insemination of cattle nationwide. Translation: 1) if a man chose not to be able to sit down or to sleep lying on is back for weeks, 2) experience incessant confusion between needing to piss or to find a way to shed some cum, or by no means the end to possible aftereffects 3) no longer able to distinguish between needing to go and not needing to go when he thinks he needs to go, and discovering that he has already been when he gets there. "Where is the light at the end of the tunnel" translates in this unique situation as "who the hell needs light when fact outdoes fiction without leaving any margin for error?" Once fucked my trucker J. O, and any remaining alive and breathing man will always remember that he has been fucked!
Chapter II -- That Long Haul to California
Who the hell needs fiction in the form of a written story? Or a violated promise disguised as such for the same of admitting what said was a lie. If there was one great outstanding characteristic about J. O. that tended to separate him from the ordinary, it had to be his gregarious and most inviting personality. In fact, we were well on our way to California when reality finally struck me in the face with authenticity. Wherein many if not most men are guilty
of daydreaming, seems as if I just woke up when J.O. pulled into the specified parking area at a motel. On second thought and yet not agreeing with myself that I should reveal my true identity at the moment, discovering that my eyes had been so glued to his crotch, that I lost awareness of anything else in the world. Still remembering that it was his taking in my naked body at the gym shower that eventually led to inviting me to go on the freight hall to California, how I was to explain my present situation? "It takes one to know one," I had heard so often especially when growing up, However, before enough time passed to let that thought bother me or to interfere with plans building up in my mind, the inverse of that same memory hit home instantly. If it takes on e to know one, how does that also define the other one? Give and take; come to think of it, that represented my present evaluation of J.O, the atypical trucker.
At first after stopping and J. O.' s parking his truck, I seemed to have made the same mistake of assuming one more time. Thinking the reason he failed to speak before making his way to the motel office was simply another inverse of a situation. Loosing count of innumerable hours I had spent hypnotized by his heavy bulging crotch up until this rising situation, the assumption made sense that J. O. chose to do the same. However, was I to learn a very significance when I decided to trace his steps to the registration desk. "No problem with the complete silence," I was telling myself as I watched while J.O. signed for the room and the clerk's actions gave more than any hint or suggestion that this hung trucker is more than a simple motherfucker, but a son-of-a-bitch of a hot and juicy suck! In motel business talk, frequent flyer.' In the absence of the familiar tickling with a finger the palm of the other man's hand as a sex signal, not only was the proper room key already resting on the counter separating the office space from the entrance and lounge areas, the hot clerk's tongue was wagging like a dog heavily breathing while J. O. s cock had puffed up until it came close to getting itself released from the captivity of his pants and underwear.
Still with no words exchanged between us and J. O. was approaching room number 169 like a late night piss call back home where the setting is more familiar, Before that last step and turn of the key, J.O. was buck baked save his boxer underwear and used-to-be white cotton sox. Had I not known better, my fairly perfect vision pictured his well educated cock unlocking that door. "Coup
de maitre," I could hear that old maid French teacher saying for masterstroke,' "Hell!" A sudden application of common sense finally struck home. " If that colossal fucker can unlock a door, perhaps I should have worn a metal chastity belt in stead of knitted soft cotton briefs!" (They didn't call himdoor jam' for the real hardware.)
No sooner was the more famous than first suspected trucker already completely naked and lying on the spread-covered bed than a call from the office came over the speaker in the room. Wherein news that room service would be later than usual suggested more than a meal on a portable table, how I was to fit in seemed less important than my next meal. Meanwhile, I caught myself storing more inquiries than facts much like a computer, One similarity is whereby the computer stores information as to where the operator has been online, in my case, and more trying to foresee the future as versus where J. O. and I had been, I was beginning to anticipate my very first ever threesome. *Buy one, get one free, Then buy two and get a third one thrown in." Most recent, it was evident that three not for the money and unattached were soon to be united in ways in which only inexperienced fools fear to tread, (Like Uncle Fuck used to say: "don't knock it `til you've tried it!" Of course, these was reasons
behind his dates back to high school days, nickname, Juice! Some attempted to get another non-birth certificate handle for J.O. going as far back as upper elementary grades. However, missile launcher never made it!
Chapter III -- Anecdotes and Who Eats Oats?
A little very good mouse died and went to heaven. As a reward, not only was he given anything he wished to eat, he had his choice of toys. After weighing all possibilities, the mouse settled for a miniature pair of roller skates. Once the nine lives of a pussycat placed him inside the pearly gates, his first request resulted in satisfying his hunger for food. Meanwhile trying to decide from a very lengthy menu, the cat finally indicated his preference, "I see that one's choice for entertainment and exercise is a case wherein size is adjusted to suit the need, I sure like the idea of meals on wheels!"
Meanwhile, rather than a feeling of choosing between two alternatives, ` along for the ride' fluctuated, (and probably later would vacillate) between " where to? What next?" ruled the roost. What at first gave an appearance of an emergency trip to the bathroom to relieve himself soon found long-haul trucker buck naked and in the bathtub with water still running. At this point not sensing any reservations, I made my way to the scene of most likely record-breaking exciting action in progress. Mental images from childhood placed a floating bar of soap as a ship set at sea and I the captain controlling the waves. Little did I know way back then that there were large fresh-meat hungry sharks and two supporting ballasts in case of a wind-tossed sea, As I continued to watch as if that boy visiting Sea World at feeding time, the head of this one-eyed sea mammal seemed to be burping up a whitish thick liquid. "What does it take to spell fool?" I found myself asking myself. "Should I invite myself to join J.O. in his bath? Suggest sharing the shower built into the bath? Or let it all hang out for a quick response per chance to establish my own identity for a change?"
"If you've seen one, you've seen em all!" J. O. s soothing words daunted my ears like soothing warm drops of oil to relieve an earache, "Hell!" I was thinking to myself. "If I had ever seen one this big before I inadvertently
run into Big Daddy Overland Trucker, I sure as hell would not now be somewhere in the middle of dessert-like heat Texas in a fucking cheap motel room!" Then when memory at least momentarily tended to dominate my way of thinking, sudden recall much like memory on the computer reminded, "On the other hand, or the one that could not manage to restrain from holding the world's greatest phallus specimen, at least we were not signed in under my name, Harvey Peabody!" Names of frequent visitors to off-the-road less than first class motels have a way for showing up on walls in rest area men's rooms and those frequented by truckers at road-side truck stops. Like Grandpa used to say, " it's one thing to try something different once in a while. But be careful that that one thing is not enough to shake the entire neighborhood once the news gets out!" (I used to compare that in retrospect with "don't ask; don't tell." Better might be "try it, you might like it!")
Little boy and improvised bathtub games faded with other memories from the past. And that commonly heard and shared adage," if it feels good, do it!" sure did fit this situation. It was not the first time yours truly, Harvey Peabody sucked a cock since he never learned to suck his own. In analysis with a jelly bean is to a bowling ball, my mouth was an opening on a tube of toothpaste in analogy with an average man's piss slot and a train-accessible tunnel. "Try it! You'll like it!" made as much sense or logic in this situation as "don't bite off more than you can chew!" Discovering you ate too many hot dogs, popcorn, and Cracker Jacks at the ball game doesn't hit home until you're back home, in bed, and trying to sleep. This was more like pre-game ceremonies wherein J. O. was the great entertainer, and yours truly, hanging on to all I could get into my mouth at one time, Perhaps after all, little things do mean a lot. Without warning and barely the head of this sea mammal cock into my mouth like a rabbit's being carried away by an eagle, shots heard `round the world' saturated my throat with a thick, milky, and somewhat soothingly sweltering liquid. Were I a woman and my mouth a vagina, watch out world; her comes another population explosion! (Mary had a little lamb, and it hurt like hell!)
Completely exhausted from the long bumpy truck trip across the country, automatically blowing off a month's buildup of semen, I was more than ready to join J. O. for a much needed and too long belated nap. "Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care," to quote Lady Mac Beth as she walked in her sleep from the haunting guilt of having just murdered the king. However, this changing scene was beginning to look more like "The Tale of Two Cities."
Chapter IV -- A Bicycle Built for Two
The almost forgotten sound of a warning bell on the handlebar of a bicycle awakened me at the same time J.O.'s snoring ceased at least momentarily at the slurping like a dog's lapping a liquid from a bowl very close to where I had napped. No real shock to me had this unannounced visitor have been the effeminate clerk who checked us in. However, more amusing as well as a pleasurable shock, was discovering that room service had more than food to deliver to room number 2469. Perhaps to compensate for having brought oatmeal for breakfast last time J.O. passed through, he was dressed as if ready for a swim in the motel pool instead of perform in food service. "I am off duty," Mr. close to perfect addressed J. O. "Do you wish to go out for dinner with me, or shall we confine all the entertainment to the four walls of this damn room?"
No one gave any indications that he was either hungry for food or ready for a meal. Then as quickly as new arrival meal-on-wheels maitre de, off came his shoes, clothes, underwear, down to his naked skin. A three-ring circus is one great thrill to a boy's first exposure. Three naked men, one with side-show crown-gathering spectacle of a penis, newly arrival with a hair-lined asshole representative of the first cunt I ever fucked, and that leaves yours truly, "I came. I saw! And I hoped like hell to conquer!" As if repetitious habit, the assumed usual sixty-nine demanded some input from a spectator's point of view. While one hung over-aged busboy appeared to be choking to death, overland trucker man with the spare tire in his briefs gave a realistic Hollywood movie atmosphere replica of a man dying of thirst in the desert and some selfish son-of-a-bitch reasonable facsimile of a bar contest in a raw oyster swallowing competition for winner gets all the free bear he can handle. Remembering the days on the farm before Dad moved for a better income and upgrade in living conditions, that available tighter than J. O's, fur-lined with coarse male pubic hair had my name on it much like the controls of the old tiller. The instant my cock made it past the sphincter guarding the entrance to his asshole and the head feeling the soothing heat of his bowels much like a piece of female ass, his cock went off simultaneously with the very familiar signals that J.O. had done the same. "Let's all come together right now" might well be a song that has lost its popularity. And on this situation, instead of trying to bring it back, perhaps a reasonable substitute or facsimile might very well be," It Takes Three to Tangle!"
"Get your butt in this house and clean up," I could all but hear Mom's summons from days on that damn farm. "Bring your ass, Mr. Motel Employee, into my house at any old time day or night when you got that feeing of needing to get fucked!" Fantasying about the past, trying to put together segments of the immediate past, and most recently getting to experience my first all-male threesome," is there something I forgot?' I was asking myself. What does the future hold presented its own answer when in walked none other than the motel clerk, himself/ "Did you instruct room service to bring you two pancakes or three waffles?" (What a crop-out or faulty excuse for "I'm here to suck your cock!")
Morse code, cryptic messages, computer lingo, work-related jargon, or mere propaganda tricks will never come close in any sense of an accurate description of my very first foursome. Like tinker toys with missing parts, a miniature electric train minus the engine, or poppycock without either the poppy or the cock, and that spells "no room for broads!" Laying aside the suggestion to draw straws in order to determine who gets with whom. I first felt that the cards were not stacked in my favor when seeming inadvertently I landed effeminate motel clerk, Jason Ashcroft. For short, that's J. A. for `jack ass.' Not only did this turn out to be the best male ass I had ever had before, the way J. A. made use of organic materials for a lubricant before my cock penetrated his asshole, well, that's another deep subject.
Trucker and "Lucker," fast becoming the name for "fuck-me-one-more-time room service prick, seemed locked in a deep and unremitting sixty-nine as versus yours truly and hair-lined natural glory hole brining up the leftovers, While two very masculine men remained seemingly incessant in a binding sixty-nine, I put a deep fuck on "leftovers" while the helmet on his cock tried to penetrate the sphincter guarding the gate to Sodom City. Did we have a fucking good time? Is the pope Catholic? Does it still rain in the rain forest in Brazil? Do I still go with J.O. on his cross-country freight hauls? Wherein variety is the spice of invention as well as life, better and more practical living arrangements have a way for settling difference without any declaration of war, Mr. Bushy! My inherited two-bedroom home now sleeps four. To replace maid and lawn service, we four learned to share more than the enjoyment of regularly unscheduled sex. Does the world turn any faster? No, but we four do!
Wherein the number of the house we share on Sodom Street is not numbered 2469 as was true with the shared motel room, it does represent a digression from it, The motel room became the shared sex scene for 4469, and like J. O's age making him less hungry for regular participation, our place on this street numbers in at 6943 Sodomy.
By: De Bu indianhb@aol.com (mailto:indianhb@aol.com)