Pearl District by Hot August Karl
Although I can't see his crotch, Will shifts in the driver's seat to make it more comfortable for the big boner he's popping. I know it's big because I've seen it, even if Will doesn't know that. I just told him a sex story that I mostly made up about a kid he's been dying to fuck. I say kid because Will likes guys that are half his age and discounts anybody over twenty-five years old, which includes me. I honestly don't get what a twenty-year old sees in making it with a thirty-eight year old. What do they talk about? Cartoons? Comic books?
I describe how this kid can take a guy's shaft, no matter how big, and suck it down his throat without any gag reflex whatsoever and then, if that wasn't talent enough, tongue the ballsac of the guy he is blowing. Will laughs, but shifts in his seat again and turns on the car stereo. It's after nine o'clock and the lights on the stereo cast a faint glow over the interior of his 1985 Toyota Corolla. We're on our way up to Portland for the weekend and have been listening to Harry Potter on CD. Will is dyslexic and doesn't like to read, but loves the Harry Potter stories. I open the book of porn by Bob Vickery I just bought and try my best at reading it using one of those little book lights that snaps to the top of the book, but who wants to read about guys on that exist only on paper when there's a real one sitting beside them, boner and all, listening to Harry Potter?
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes.
In Portland we're staying at the loft apartment of a friend of Curt's. The friend, Todd, has two or three homes and also this apartment in Portland where he sometimes escapes for a couple days. Lucky for us, he's not using it this weekend and we get the run of the place. It's right smack downtown Portland in the artsy Pearl District. I have visions of the rows and rows of books at Powell's and some maybe some noodles at some kind of trendy Thai restaurant, but Curt wants to go to the Silverado and pick up boys.
Dinner turns out to be Burger King. At that time of night we are the only two eating there that aren't high on something and I'm glad when Curt eats his fries quickly and we can go.
Silverado is kind of fun, though, with lots of guys in various stages of undress hooking up with other guys in various stages of undress. I leave my clothes on, however, and sneak out of the bar, having already arranged with Curt to meet him later back at the loft for a late night movie. He's already picked out Fight Club and since I've seen it, I might not be in such a hurry to get back for the start of the movie.
The night air is a little cool and after spending an hour in Powell's, I head up to the Eagle. The Eagle seems a little more hardcore than the Silverado. The guys are older, and might I say, without inhibition. A pair of muscular, furry arms circle me from behind and undo my jeans. My attitude about underwear has always been, why bother? It's all about outward appearances, and so I usually freeball. My jeans drop to the bar floor ad my junk is hanging out for everyone to gawk at. So much for keeping my shirt on at Silverado!
I feel calloused fingers parting my asscrack. Startled, I drop my Budweiser bottle on the floor and tilt forward slightly, sending my backside closer to the mystery man behind me. One finger leaves my hole and returns a moment later, wet and insistent at getting inside me. I am hard and leaking jizz and feel very, very naked. When a warm, wet cockhead presses against me, I snap to and pull up my pants and leave, but not before glancing back at my would-be lover and his leather buddies. They laugh as I head out of the bar.
I decide not to tell Curt this story and wonder if he's home yet.
When I open the door to the loft I hear the TV and a male voice that doesn't belong to Curt. In the corner of the loft that is the living room, I see Curt on the couch with a young guy. Blond, of course.
"This is Michael," Curt says, without letting his eyes leave the TV. "Michael, this is Danny."
I nod at Michael and sit in the chair next to the couch.
Michael looks to be about twenty-two and very slim. Once Curt told me he likes slim guys because their hips are hypnotic as they ride the wave of his pelvic thrusts when he's fucking them. His favorite position is on his back with the boy on top, doing all the work. Curt likes to watch their facial expressions as he picks up momentum, thrusting his hips higher and faster into them. He usually shoots his load before they do, depositing his "baby batter" deep inside.
I saw some photos Curt took recently of himself and one of his boys. The boy looked like he was being split in two. There were photos of Curt's dick all the way inside, almost all the way pulled out, halfway inside, just the head, etc. I went home after seeing those shots and lay on my bed, naked, my eyes closed and thinking about that fat cock, greased up and plowing into me, relentlessly. When I shot my wad, it was heavier and thicker than I had ever remembered it being.
"Do anyone fun tonight?" Michael is asking me a question.
"Oh, me? Uh, no. I went to the Eagle for a while. Had a beer."
Michael smirks the way only the young and beautiful can. I want to smack his face and watch his lip split open, like the scene on the TV, where Edward Norton's character keeps hitting and hitting Jared Leto until his beautiful angelic face is a bloodied mess. I am not a violent person by nature and these thoughts entice a slight shiver.
Michael gets up from the couch and sashays to the bathroom. He doesn't close the door and I can hear the stream of urine hit water. He doesn't flush.
"Is he staying?"
Curt nods.
Michael sits back down on the couch, only now he is naked except for white gym socks. His hips are very slender as is his uncut cock. He looks over at me, smiles and grabs Curt's hand, cupping it over his genitals. Curt is disinterested at first, but as Michael grows hard under Curt's hand and so Curt starts to play with Michael's flap of foreskin, sliding it down and up and over the head of his penis. I can't help but watch as my fully dressed friend manipulates a totally undressed stranger right before my very eyes.
Curt occasionally tears his gaze from the TV down to the task at hand and then back to the TV. Michael has his head thrown back and his hips are undulating to a rhythm of their own. I watch, fascinated, as the color of Michael's turgid dick changes from the pale of the rest of his body to a deep, angry purple. His nutsac draws close to his body and he's breathing in short, sharp pants.
I feel like I should pretend to be watching the movie, but the scene before me is a lot more exciting than Fight Club.
On the other hand, Curt is totally engrossed in the movie and is working over his date's cock like someone who might just as well be snapping beans for dinner. During a commercial Curt grasps the boy's shaft with one hand and gives it a few powerful jerks. As he does so, I watch as he wets his finger with his tongue and inserts it into Michael's ass. Michael's legs are propped open and I can see his sphincter clamp down on Curt's finger. Michael's hips rise up off the couch and lock tight as five or six spurts of ropey white cum arc through the air and hit his hairless chest.
Curt's finger withdraws and he goes back to watching the movie. Michael lays there, panting for a few moments and then gets up and walks past me to the bathroom. As he walks by, a couple of drops of jizz hit my arm, seemingly sizzling as they hit my skin. This time Michael shuts the bathroom door.
The loft has one king size bed and a couch that makes into a bed. Rather than bother with pulling the couch apart, I set up camp on the floor and shut my eyes, the last couple hours of the day replaying over and over in my mind. I can still feel the rough fingers that searched my ass earlier and the image of my buddy fingering the twerp he brought home from the bar. And the drops of cum hitting my arm. Blood rushes down to my groin and my cock jumps several levels of hardness under the single sheet I have. I don't dare stroke myself off as Curt and Michael are just ten feet away, talking in hushed tones.
Sure enough I hear the rustling of covers and the slight sound of wood on wood as somebody fumbles with the nightstand drawer next to the bed. What seems like an eternity later there are low groans, and I know that it's Michael's ass is the one that is being invaded and I wish it were me, instead of him. I wished I could get fucked by a stranger in a leather bar while his buddies cheered on. I wish could be just a few years younger some good looking guy like Curt would pick me up, take me back to his loft and finger fuck me on the living room sofa in front of his best friend.
I endure the unmistaken sound of balls slapping up against buttcheeks. The aroma of sweat and poppers travels across the room and I drink deeply. The rhythm of the flesh ballet picks up and I know Curt is close. I imagine his nuts churning in their silky sack and drawing close to his body, like mine do, just before he blows his load. The sound of Curt's thrusts stop and I strain to hear where his load is lands. On the sheets? Skin? The pillow? But I don't hear anything else except the low murmur of voices and then, hardly moments later, snoring.
I wait a few minutes and go to the kitchen and pour myself some vodka. I am drinking the fiery liquid and staring out the floor to ceiling glass windows. Portland is amazing at night. Thousands and thousands of people, and yet in the wee hours, it is quiet.
"Can I have a sip?"
I start, but not because Curt's trick for the night startles me, but because I am standing buck naked in the kitchen and am usually not exhibitionist by nature. I turn and offer my glass.
"Your fucker friend didn't even wait for me to cum," he says, and takes a long swallow from the glass.
"I guess he figures he already got you off earlier on the couch."
Michael squares his shoulders defiantly but doesn't say anything. He's standing there in the nude as well, his cock lengthening as he's sizing me up.
"What about you? Do you ever get off with a guy?"
"You mean am I gay?" I ask. "Of course."
"No, I mean do you ever get laid? Or do you just watch other guys get all the action?"
Even in the darkness I can see his lips curl wickedly.
"I could have gotten fucked at the Eagle tonight. I chose not too."
Michael's cock is at full mast now and the tip is shiny. I briefly think about what it's like to be twenty two and ready for sex, twenty-four seven. Because I haven't been laid in a long while, I feel something kindle in my own groin. I don't break my gaze from this kid and he in turn holds my stare. He steps forward, setting the glass on the counter and grasps my now fully engorged shaft, giving it a few strokes.
I don't make any pretense of not wanting what he's offering. I can hear Curt gently snoring just a few feet away. It's a turn on to know that I am going to get to have a bit of what he enjoyed earlier.
Michael turns and bends over slightly. I press my hand between his shoulder blades and am amazed at how warm and soft his skin is. I bend him forward a little more and nudge my cock between his thighs. I'm not going to lie and say my cock is nine or ten inches, but it's certainly a nice handful and cut thick.
The kid has a slight bit of hair on his asscheeks and it tickles my belly as my cockhead searches for home. When I find it, his hole is still slick from a mixture of lube and Curt's jizz and the head of my cock pops in easily. He clamps down on my intruding shaft and I give an involuntary shudder.
Michael sighs and the pressure on my cockshaft eases slightly. My fingers dig into the flesh of his hips and I drive myself all the way forward. He's wet inside and I know I am feeling Curt's load inside Michael's asschute, bathing my cockhead in slickness. The sensation is enough to bring to me the edge, so I hold off for a moment or so until my little fuck buddy starts wiggling his hips impatiently. So I start off with slow strokes, pulling almost all the way out, waiting, and then plunging back in with one fluid motion. The dim light from the clock on the kitchen stove reflects onto the sheen on my shaft from Michael's ass juices and I am transfixed. Sensations mix in my groin, belly and thighs and ass.
I feel Michael jerking his dick in rhythm with my quickening thrusts. I'm fucking him with quick, short jabs and briefly consider reaching around him and get him off with my own hand instead him having to use his, but I am too greedy with my own pleasure. My nuts tighten in their sack and Michael is now bucking his hips back to meet my thrusts. I'm not worried about whether Curt is sleeping or watching and my hips are moving involuntarily. I run my hands quickly over Michael's velvet skin and reach under and grab his balls.
He comes at that moment. No warning groans and I try to catch a couple drops in my fingers, but most of it is wasted on the kitchen floor. As his come jets through the air, his ass muscles spasm and massage the underside of my shaft. I quicken my thrusting and within seconds I shudder violently, emptying my balls deep into Michael's ass.
Cool air rushes against me as I pull away from Michael with a soft pop. I grab some paper towels from the roll above the sink and wipe off my cock. Michael is still bent forward, catching his breath, so I part his cheeks and clean him off. He murmurs a thank you and heads to the bathroom. I hear water running and the sound of post-coital cleanup.
I pick up the vodka and finish it, wondering if he's going to leave my load inside himself to mix with Curt's or whether he'll sit on the toilet and expel them both.
With cum droplets gleaming on the kitchen floor, I look out the window at the city again and wonder if Curt will bring someone home tomorrow night.
Copyright 2007 by Karl August visit me at karlaugust.com or email hotaugustkarl@gmail.com