His name wasn't Stan, but everyone called him that. It came from a nickname he had, and we'll get to that. Stan worked as a fry cook at a diner: one of those places that has a reputation for breakfast and lunch, closed for dinner. It was located smack in the part of down where police headquarters, and the courthouse, were located. The diner sold a lot of coffee, a lot of donuts, a lot of basic stuff like burgers, "BECs" on rolls, and so forth. Stan took care of much of that cooking. Burgers, eggs, if you could griddle it, he did it. And the food was more than passable: it was good. It never stopped being busy from 6, when they opened, to 2, when they started cleaning up. Since the first food orders didn't really start rolling in until 7, that's when Stan started. The place was closed on weekends, and Stan got another day off , on Tuesdays.
If you passed Stan on the street, you wouldn't look the other way: nondescript face, receding hairline, an average body, little musculature, pale skin. But if you were looking for an escort to plow you good, hard and long, you knew Stan. You knew him as "Stan the Snake."
See, whatever gifts Stan had not gotten, he had been endowed with a cut cock that was somewhere between 10 and 11 inches. In the parlance, it was a "shower , not a grower." When it hardened, which happened pretty easily, it essentially stayed the length it was. Years before, someone had suggested to Stan that he could make good money working as an escort. He laughed, but one day, he gave it a try. He never looked back. While he usually only took clients on weekends, and Monday night, he earned more money on those three days than he did the whole week at the diner. Some of his friends urged him to give up the restaurant and to start fucking for pay, full time, but Stan wasn't interested. "Gotta give Roscoe a rest," he would joke. Roscoe was the nickname he gave his wand.
Apart from the huge cock, Stan was known for being a really good escort. He knew that if someone wanted to take that cock, it was normally not going to be an easy process. He was patient. He had an assortment of different lubes, and he prepped his clients as best he could with exercises like finger fucking, prostate massage, etc. Still, most were just never able to take it completely. The same was true for oral sex. Stan had gotten used to knowing "the moment" when his clients had "the look" and their oxygen was cut off. That's when he'd pull out and ask "why don't we take a break?" His attentiveness brought him a lot of repeat clients, and there was one time, he used to joke, when he was booking clients 3 weeks in advance.
Stan was pretty assiduous about his little business. A potential client who didn't show up (Stan would do in and out calls), would not be given another appointment. His regulars got discounts, because his rates were pretty steep (although they were NOT 100.00 per inch per hour, as one client had joked), and he tried to offer a drink or a snack to clients at the end of what could be a very exhausting hour, or two hours. (Stan usually recommended 2 hour appointments, because he had to proceed carefully with clients, unless they had been with him for a while, and could handle it all).
He had been doing this for about 5 years, when he crossed paths with Rick. Or, as they called him at the police department where he worked "Slick Rick." Rick had transferred to the NY department from a department in California. He had been a star detective in California, and his specialty was sex crimes. Changes in the law in California had made it much tougher to make a valid arrest, and NY had its problems. He was recruited by the NYPD, and after a wooing period of about four months, he took the job, packed up, and headed to NY.
His success in the sex crimes division was not surprising. His beautiful dark skin, and his shaved head were joined by a muscular body , kept that way by regular trips to the gym - sometimes 3, but always 2 a day. He spent more than he should on clothes, used a tailor to fit what he wore to his body, and had an instinctive ability to know what people - men or women liked . So, for example, he was interrogating a suspect once, and getting nowhere. He smiled, got up, took off his jacket, and sat down. Now the suspect - a middle aged man - could see Stan's biceps, and how his chest pushed against his shirt. Rick didn't wear a tie, and he reached up, and , smiling, opened a second shirt button. The suspect, who was implicated in a prostitution ring, gave up the necessary information immediately.
Rick was gay, and open about it. He spent many evenings at local bars, looking for his "type": blond bottoms. Rick was gifted himself, with 9 cut inches. His reputation was that, when you got him in bed, he was "ruthless." "He fucks like a machine," one young man told his friends, as he sought to have Rick take him home a second time (he didn't. With all the choices in NY, Rick considered himself a "rolling stone.). Once he took his tricks home, he was in charge: kissing was ok, but touching his upper body, was not. (Rick had a weakness: in addition to the 9 inches, he had a pair of nipples which, as he said, were "hot wired" to his anus. NO ONE touched those tits).
Rick would get coffee, (black, no sugar), and salads (dressing on the side), from Stan's diner. He never saw the man who took care of all the food he didn't eat, until one day, when he had to use the bathroom , while waiting for his salad. Stan had gone to the bathroom at the same time.
Rick walked in while Stan was peeing, and made small talk. He couldn't help himself: he checked out Stan, as secretly as he could. But when you see an anaconda like Stan's, it's hard to not be amazed.
"HOLY CRAP" spilled out of Rick's mouth before he knew it. He stood there, zipping up, embarrassed. Stan grinned. "Yeah, I get that a lot. No worries. You look embarrassed." "I AM Sir. I am so sorry. None of my business." Stan laughed. "Again, no worries. You're not the first person who reacted that way, won't be the last. " He paused. "You've been polite about it, way more than most. I'm Stan. I'd shake your hand, but, between the room and the grease, I'd suggest a rain check.
"Rick here. Nice to meet you. " He smiled. "you must get a fair amount of action with a piece like that."
"I get my share. Can't complain. "
"I hear ya. I got 9, but you got me beat by a few." Stan laughed. "You ever hear that old story about how guys pair up? They measure cocks. Bigger one tops." Rick laughed. "How did you know I was gay?" "I can hear chat from the griddle. You've been mentioned in this place before. Never saw you, to be honest, but I will admit, I was on 'yellow alert' for the snappy dressing black detective' as I heard one woman call you." "Word gets around, I guess." "No worries Rick, I keep my head down, and get out at the end of the day." "Smart. Nice to have met you." Stan went back to his station. Hot man. Stan's work had kept him from having a relationship, but this guy... he couldn't explain it, but there was something about him. Rick's reaction was a little similar, but it took a raunchier term. He HAD in fact heard the story about measuring cocks. He followed it, and that's why he had almost never bottomed. That and how much guys seemed to like what he had to offer up front. But he had seen Stan's cock: it had him beat by a few inches. "I wonder if I could take it," he thought to himself, followed by "I guess that's one I'll never know."
That night, bored, and without a date, Rick went on one of the "dating " sites, although this was one of the sites that offered escorting. The wording was encoded, but everyone who used those sites knew what "companionship " meant, especially when the ad included words like "top" "versatile" "bottom" "sub," "dom," etc. As he scanned the ads, looking for someone who he thought he could fuck, his eyes stopped on one for "Stan the Snake." No picture of his face, but his cock, in full glory, at various angles. Price structure for an hour, two hours, and overnight. "I don't do weekends." was included in the ad, and Rick laughed. Who could handle a piece like that for a whole weekend anyway.
So Stan rented it out? Hmmm. Might be worth a try. There was a number for texting. "Hey Stan the Snake. Think we met. Rick here. Diner. Love to spend a couple hours with you. Let me know, if you can. Have a good one."
A few hours later, after Stan left another very satisfied customer, he read his texts. More people looking for a few hours than he could handle. And then he saw Rick's email. He smiled. That one got an answer back right away. "I've got Friday night open right now. Let me know, and I'll put you in my calendar." He got an answer in ten minutes "Seven o'clock?" "Seven to Nine." Looking forward to it." They had a date.