My Charmed Life by Stroke.it@yahoo.com ©2020
This story is intended for adults who enjoy reading about gay male sex. If this isn't you then you shouldn't be reading it. If it's illegal for you to access this, or you think it's offensive, then you shouldn't be here either. It is fiction—fantasy—even though it may have been inspired by some actual experiences. And any similarities to real events or persons are mere coincidences. This is the fifth installment of a multi-part saga.
These stories are free to the reader because of the wonderfulness of Nifty. I know because I read them for lemendy-nine years before I started writing. So, message me if you like it or have any suggestions. And send them some bucks sometimes. Soon. If you can. Keep those nasty stories coming! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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Chapter 5: College 1
For the first two years, I stayed local to conserve bucks. I had saved a little during high school, and the folks would help as much as they could, but they were going through lean times just then. I worked in the college print shop to supplement my financial aid. It was a small liberal-arts college; very picturesque. In a wealthy town, on a superb river, beautiful campus, lots of big trees. Not as selective as their brochures suggest. About 80 percent of the students were from Connecticut, Westchester County, Long Island, `Bahston'; and drove Mercedes or BMWs. Then there were us townies with our used Dodges and Chevys.
Something else, and this was serious. I learned quickly that the powers in my department did not approve of students being openly gay. So, I would have to remain mostly closeted. I had been looking forward to really being OUT!
I was single during this period, but frequented the adult book stores for relief. The bit of danger that came with visits to those stores made it more exciting. Why do young guys think about sex all the time? I've got news for you: If I'm any indication, old guys think about sex all the time too. There were a couple of cruisy spots on campus but I resisted because the school was too small to keep secrets secret.
That first fall of college, I happened upon an ABS that was miles out of town. Of course, I stopped in. They had the usual magazines, leather, and marital aids in the front, but the movie-booths were amazing. You could tell they were new and built by a skilled carpenter. Really big, you could have an orgy in a couple of them. Most had glory holes, some had openings so large that a small guy could put his whole bottom half in the neighboring booth. Wide hallways for lazy strolls checking out the other fellas. Well, guess what? I became a regular. Plus, they were open late on weekends and it got looser. The cashier(?), manager(?) or whatever you call him would stay at the entrance to the movie area but watch the front door (the only door). If a LEO (law enforcement officer) entered, he would flash the lights (the switch was right there where he was standing), and everybody knew to zip up and get legal quick. It was when I figured all this out that I started tipping the guy every time when I left the store. He was probably an owner or manager, and I don't think he was actually gay, maybe a little bi-, but he kept us safe. Took good care of the gay guys. So, on those weekend nights, he would turn the lights down at midnight or one, even put some music on the audio system, and always look the other way no matter what you were doing. On Fridays and Saturdays, he kept the place open until dawn if there were still two or three guys there. We became friendly; had some good talks. I can't recall his name but will call him Dwayne here. I found out that he owned the place and was a part-time hustler. There was an office behind the counter with a door that locked, and after closing, Dwayne would have his liaisons in there. Sometimes when he was working, he'd unbutton his shirt and he had a really buff body, `shredded' they call it now, you really want to run your hands up and down his abs and bury your head between his amazing muscular pecs, even though he was a little rough looking and probably in his fifties. It was great for the gay guys, too: no hotel room to rent, just "Step into my office."
I happened to be in the front part of the store late one weekend night when Dwayne and his `client' came out of the office. Once the john was out the door, I said, softly, to Dwayne, "He looked satisfied."
"They always do," said Dwayne. "Why? You interested?"
"I'm a poor college student."
"Plus, you like younger guys, right?" I guess he was observant and had taken note of my preferences by then. Then a new customer entered and Dwayne figured he'd have to sell him tokens, so he said, "Talk to you later," and went back behind the counter.
When we talked later, he told me that he has two employees in the store. The first was Florence, who could be a sister or even his wife (Dwayne didn't provide that information). She'd come in for an hour or two to relieve him or free him up in case he had a `client' so she could watch the store. The second was Wes, who came in to clean the place in the wee hours, sometimes with a friend to help him. Then Dwayne pointedly said, "You'll like Wes. Stay late one night and meet him. He comes in shortly after I close up."
You know I was intrigued. "Okay," I said. "I will."
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A week or so later, I planned to stay late to meet Wes. I guess Dwayne, who was turning out to be very insightful, noticed something about me that night and, at a slow moment, said, privately, "Wes is a little slow. You know. Sweet kid, but not the sharpest. He's got a little trailer up the road. Keeps it real neat and clean. I can tell you're the sensitive type. You'll be a good friend to him. Don't give him more than 20 dollars." He looked me in the eye for a sec and then went about his business.
Around one, Dwayne gave Wes a quick call to let him know he closed the store and to come in. I hung around, and about 15 minutes after the call, the lock turned and in walks Wes. A blond vision. Probably six-four or -five, mid-twenties, beautiful face, the storied brick shithouse. He wore an undershirt (`wifebeater' they call it now), jeans that were obviously worn just for cleaning, and a pair of dirty work boots. Dwayne must have mentioned to Wes that he'd be meeting me that night, because he came in looking around for someone and Dwayne wasn't it. I gave Dwayne a look that said "yes, yes, Yes!" and he went over to Wes and motioned me to come over too. Speaking quietly, Dwayne looked at me, then at Wes and said, "Wes, this is Jay." We shook hands. Dwayne turned to me. "Jay, Wes has to work now. Why don't you go see him at the trailer tomorrow night? I'll tell you how to find it. Wes, is tomorrow night okay for you? About 11?" Wes nodded at Dwayne and smiled at me, and then proceeded to start his cleaning.
Lots of feelings driving home. A little embarrassed because I had agreed to pay a mentally disabled man for sex. Charged up because he was so gorgeous and I couldn't wait to jump on that body. A little unease because I wondered if he knew what was expected of him. I was sporting a healthy boner but did not want to jerk off tonight. Save it for tomorrow.
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The little trailer was as Dwayne described. Just down the street from the store. I parked beside it; Wes opened the door when I knocked. It had good a/c, was neat and clean and so was Wes, dressed in an undershirt and light blue boxers. He invited me to look around the 10-foot wide: the front was a sitting room, the middle was a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and at the end was a very small bedroom with a full-size bed and a tiny end-table with lamp. Wes was a big guy; he needed a large bed.
We went back to the front room and Wes told me to be comfortable. We both navigated around the coffee table and sat on the short couch. He broke the tension by touching my shoulder, then leaned over and kissed me on the lips. Softly. Very nice. I told him how impressed I was with his fitness and asked him how he managed to stay in such good shape. He explained that he had a special membership at the Y, which wasn't far away. He swam laps there a couple of times a week. Then every morning he did sit-ups and push-ups. Sometimes he ran, but not when it was very hot. He didn't like hot weather. He said he had a nice three-speed bike which he rode to get around. I said something really smart like, "Wow!" and then mentioned that I also enjoyed riding a bike.
Wes stood up and suggested we strip in this room and go to bed, since the bedroom is too small to stand in let alone change clothes. I agreed and we did just that. Wes was incredible naked. I'm afraid I stared, thinking I could spend all night touching and kissing him all over. He was muscular, but not like Mr. Universe; more like the Renaissance statues in Florence, Italy. His dick was cut, big, and beautiful. His eggs were hanging low in their sac. Feeling woozy, I was afraid I would wake up from this dream.
What followed was the most erotic and memorable session of sex in my young life. Wes had set the lights down low and let me take the lead. I wanted to go slow and stroke and explore. He picked up on that and showed off his physique to me, flexing and responding to my ministrations. I was amazed and turned on big-time by his arms, shoulders, and belly, but his pecs were my favorite part. (Well, of course, my second favorite part.) They were so perfect and hard. Wes' upper body was almost hairless. Just a few blond hairs between his tits and around his navel. I nuzzled in between the monstrous pecs and licked and sucked the quarter-sized nipples gently. He popped a boner right away, as did I. Both on our sides so we could face each other, we kissed and nuzzled and frotted and touched for a long time. To this point, I had not lowered my face to his groin. But I couldn't wait any longer.
I licked and kissed down his body, and stopped to just look at the gorgeous penis, then looked up at Wes, then back down at his member. Now long, thick, and hard, his dick would be a challenge to any cocksucker. I started by licking and kissing the oversized head, especially the underside below the piss-hole. Wes began making sounds which told me what he really liked, so I repeated those things. Then I really got busy. I found that once the head was in well, his seven-incher went down my throat smoothly. If I breathed through my ample nose and kept my head (the other kind) and neck lined up, I didn't gag and made my guy very happy.
After my second interlude on his balls, I went back to the head of his wonderful prick. I was in dicksucker heaven. After a minute or two of that, he said, "Better stop now, or it'll be over too soon." We took a pause.
Never knowing how to ask this question, I sheepishly said, "Who fucks who?"
I like to think of myself as versatile, but I'm probably mostly a bottom. It really depends on the guy. Here's the thing: I like all kinds of sex, except when implements are brought in. My feeling is that all it takes for great lovemaking is two people. Period. I guess I'm old-fashioned. Plastic, rubber, metal, or other material is unnecessary and, to me, a turn-off. Pain too. Nix on that. In this case, I was afraid that if I fucked Wes, I would jizz on the second thrust.
His response to my uneasy question was excellent: "Whatever you want."
I kissed his face, eyes, and one ear, then whispered in the other, "Turn over." I had mostly overlooked Wes' back and butt. I made up for it and did the grand tour. I can't accurately describe his butt. `Hard and fabulous and delicious' doesn't quite do it justice. After finishing the tour on his legs and feet (Ohmigod!), I tapped the insides of both legs, asking him to rise up on his knees. He did so.
I love this part. The region below a man's behind and under his balls usually gets too little attention (in my experience). For giver and receiver, the skilled mouth on that area is a real treat. He's a big guy, so I was able to turn on my back, shove my head between his legs, and slurp my way up from ballsac to dick. I loved the noisy reactions my kissing, licking, and almost-biting elicited from Wes. After we both were panting, I said, softly, "May I sit on your lap?"
Looking a little doubtful, he responded, "Okay, sure."
He sat up and I put a pillow behind his back for comfort. I gave his amazing cock a little more oral attention. I wanted it wet and hard. I took a gob of spit and lubed my asshole, then jumped aboard. It was the stuff of my best fantasies. Crotch-to-hole, eye to eye, a little athletic with him pumping and me bouncing. We came together.
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We put our clothes back on. I kissed Wes goodbye; I hugged him and, because of his height, I was able to lay my head on his chest. He hugged me back warmly. I said, "I hope we can do this again."
"Me too," he said. I put a 20 on the coffee table, slipped back into my Birks, and left. I knew I had to remember the details of this encounter.
More to come.