Mark Wildyr's Blog, page 26
September 1, 2015
Excerpt from A Short Story, THE VALDETIANMy short story, ...
Excerpt from A Short Story, THE VALDETIAN
My short story, THE VALDETIAN, appeared in the Cleis Press anthology SHOW-OFFS. The book, edited by Richard Labonte, was published in 2013. Here’s a sample of a story that's a little different from my usual work.*****THE VALDETIANI lay panting as my companion crawled off of me and strode into the bathroom. Stretching lazily on the bed, I waited to witness one of the most marvelous transformations on God’s green earth. Ajax Froman had entered the shower a handsome, virile, sexually sated adult; he would emerge as a fetching, loose-limbed nineteen year-old adolescent in baggy clothes trailing an air of naïve innocence. The amazing thing was that both images were accurate. At times, he seemed downright otherworldly…for lack of a better term. He was an incredible sex machine packaged in a slender, lightly sculpted body who considered an intimate relationship with another male as no big deal. Nonetheless, he had thus far honored my request to guard our secret from the rest of the world.“Hey, man.” Jax gave me a crooked smile as he returned to the room running long, tapered fingers through dark brown locks that curled when damp. “That was awesome. I dig doing it with you.”“Right back at you.” I adopted his patois. “I dig that big equipment you sport, Sport.”Jax beamed like he was lit up by neon. “You like it, huh?”“Sure do, my man. But I can’t keep from wondering who else gets a helping of it.”“Nobody. I kinda like to stick with one guy until it’s time to move on.”That sent a spasm of alarm through me. “Anybody else on the horizon?”“Naw.” He shifted into a more comfortable slouch. “Well, there’s this jock at school. He’s been sniffing around. Think he might be about to make his move.”I sat up abruptly and tried to hide my fright. “A jock? Didn’t know you went for that type.”He gave a characteristic shrug that was so sexy I started tingling. The scent of soap and body lotion assailed me. “Don’t usually, but this guy’s hands-down hunky. The kind you get wet dreams about. Only problem is, he probably sees himself as a top, too.”“He know about you?”“Naw. He’s just…attracted, I guess you’d say.”Jax went through his usual pat down, checking pockets for keys, wallet, and whatever else he carried in his camo pants. “Gotta go, Babe.” He leaned down for a kiss. Jax was a kisser. Learned it from movies and TV, I expect. And he’d learned damned well. The taste of his full lips almost rekindled my fire.“When can I see you again?” I asked as he pulled away. “Next week?”“Can’t. Got midterms. Be studying or taking tests all week. How about the week after?”“Fine, so long as you don’t find time to squeeze in that jock.”“Robert? Naw. Don’t think so. Probably won’t happen for a while.”As usual, I suffered withdrawal symptoms the moment the door closed behind his trim butt. The beautiful kid had really gotten to me after only three sessions, the first of which was purely platonic. To fight my “post-Ajax depression,” I got busy around the house. At the top of the list was the front lawn, assuming I had enough strength to follow a mower around the yard, which was problematic. The sun was almost down, so perhaps the twilight air would revive me.As I headed for the garage door on uncertain legs, the phone rang. At least I thought it did; the tone was weak and off-key. I picked up the receiver and answered. There was silence for a moment, but as I started to hang up, a wracking rattle that could have been a breath came over the wire.“H…hello?” I said uncertainly.“That boy…he did you good. Really good.”As shocked as I was, I managed to notice the voice was strange—metallic, yet with intelligent inflections. It had to be someone playing tricks with one of those voice-altering devices. I grinned broadly.“Ajax? Is that you? I’ve already admitted that you’re the best.”“A-jax. He is a beautiful human being, is he not? And he has a big appendage. Much bigger than yours.”“You don’t have to fish for compliments, you good-looking son of a bitch. You come on back, and I’ll show you how beautiful and manly you are. And, yeah, you’ve got a big sausage.” Silence. “Ajax? Are you there?”“The handsome A-jax, he is not here,” that odd voice replied.Angered and fearful that I was being outed, I gripped the phone and made my voice harsh. “Who is this? Answer me! Who’s on the phone?”Silence, and then a noise that could have been laughter, although it sounded like no laughter I knew. “This is your phone speaking.”“Yeah, yeah! Who is this? If this isn’t Ajax, how did you know about him? What’s going on here?”“I know about A-jax because I watched him perform his fantastic sex act upon you. He does it so gracefully and so forcefully.”“You what? Impossible! We were in a—” I swallowed my tongue.“Yes, in a closed room. But I watched nonetheless. It is a pity he can perform only for such a short time. He is a great pleasure to watch.”“Such a short time? The kid worked on me for better than thirty minutes!” Oh, crap! I’d admitted it aloud. Yes, but to whom had I confessed? Someone from work? From the law firm where I’d practiced for the past three years? “Who is this? You bastard, tell me who you are!”Silence for a long moment. “You would not understand.”“What’s to understand? Just tell me who you are so I can sue your ass to hell and gone for invasion of privacy.”A crackle of static came out of the receiver, and somehow I understood it was a sigh. “I am from far away, a place you will not know.”This joker spun a good tale, but he wasn’t perfect. As he talked, his voice lost some of its tinniness, sounding more normal. “Try me. I’m pretty good at geography.”“Geography will not help you. I am a Valdetian.”“Where the fuck is that? And what’s your name?”“Far away.” The voice took on a note of resignation. “Beyond reach. And my name would be unpronounceable to you. You may call me Valdetian.”“Where are you?” I started going into my lawyer’s deposition mode.“All around you.”My back puckered as I scanned the room. I was alone. “Bullshit!” I lost some of my professional cool. “Cut the crap and come out where I can see you!” The hair on my arms stood up.“You are not ready yet. I am not like you.”“Then what are you like?” My skin crawled. My eyes searched the room, and I wished that I had turned on the lights. It was coming up on dark, and the vanity lights from the bathroom Ajax had left burning only half-relieved the gloom.Another silence, and then, “Like this house.”“My house? My house is talking to me? I’m supposed to call my house Valdetian?”“I am not your house. I merely…utilize it.”“You’re not making any sense.”“I warned you would not understand. Perhaps this will make it clearer. I have two forms; my own, and this house.”“Where in the house?” I grabbed the question out of the air. Was I going crazy or was this was really happening?“Everywhere. I can abandon my own shape to shelter in an inanimate environment when danger threatens.”I snorted…actually snorted. “Come on!” My turn to pause. “This Valdetia, is it in Europe or Asia? Or maybe Africa?”“My home is Valdetia. I am Valdetian. Like your home is America, and you are—”“Yeah, yeah! I get it. Look, fella. I’m a reasonably intelligent man…for a lawyer, that is. You don’t expect me to really believe—”“Hang up the telephone,” the voice ordered so sternly that I instantly obeyed. “You see,” my grandfather clock said to me, “we do not need an instrument of communication to communicate.” I about jumped out of my skin. “Get outa here!” I was reduced to street talk.*****What in the world is a Valdetian, and what does one look like? If you’d like to learn the answer to those questions, get a copy of SHOW-OFFS, ISBN: 978-1-57344-817-8 or 978-1-57344-843-4 for the E-book.
Guys, as usual, thanks for reading, and visit the site again … please.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month
My short story, THE VALDETIAN, appeared in the Cleis Press anthology SHOW-OFFS. The book, edited by Richard Labonte, was published in 2013. Here’s a sample of a story that's a little different from my usual work.*****THE VALDETIANI lay panting as my companion crawled off of me and strode into the bathroom. Stretching lazily on the bed, I waited to witness one of the most marvelous transformations on God’s green earth. Ajax Froman had entered the shower a handsome, virile, sexually sated adult; he would emerge as a fetching, loose-limbed nineteen year-old adolescent in baggy clothes trailing an air of naïve innocence. The amazing thing was that both images were accurate. At times, he seemed downright otherworldly…for lack of a better term. He was an incredible sex machine packaged in a slender, lightly sculpted body who considered an intimate relationship with another male as no big deal. Nonetheless, he had thus far honored my request to guard our secret from the rest of the world.“Hey, man.” Jax gave me a crooked smile as he returned to the room running long, tapered fingers through dark brown locks that curled when damp. “That was awesome. I dig doing it with you.”“Right back at you.” I adopted his patois. “I dig that big equipment you sport, Sport.”Jax beamed like he was lit up by neon. “You like it, huh?”“Sure do, my man. But I can’t keep from wondering who else gets a helping of it.”“Nobody. I kinda like to stick with one guy until it’s time to move on.”That sent a spasm of alarm through me. “Anybody else on the horizon?”“Naw.” He shifted into a more comfortable slouch. “Well, there’s this jock at school. He’s been sniffing around. Think he might be about to make his move.”I sat up abruptly and tried to hide my fright. “A jock? Didn’t know you went for that type.”He gave a characteristic shrug that was so sexy I started tingling. The scent of soap and body lotion assailed me. “Don’t usually, but this guy’s hands-down hunky. The kind you get wet dreams about. Only problem is, he probably sees himself as a top, too.”“He know about you?”“Naw. He’s just…attracted, I guess you’d say.”Jax went through his usual pat down, checking pockets for keys, wallet, and whatever else he carried in his camo pants. “Gotta go, Babe.” He leaned down for a kiss. Jax was a kisser. Learned it from movies and TV, I expect. And he’d learned damned well. The taste of his full lips almost rekindled my fire.“When can I see you again?” I asked as he pulled away. “Next week?”“Can’t. Got midterms. Be studying or taking tests all week. How about the week after?”“Fine, so long as you don’t find time to squeeze in that jock.”“Robert? Naw. Don’t think so. Probably won’t happen for a while.”As usual, I suffered withdrawal symptoms the moment the door closed behind his trim butt. The beautiful kid had really gotten to me after only three sessions, the first of which was purely platonic. To fight my “post-Ajax depression,” I got busy around the house. At the top of the list was the front lawn, assuming I had enough strength to follow a mower around the yard, which was problematic. The sun was almost down, so perhaps the twilight air would revive me.As I headed for the garage door on uncertain legs, the phone rang. At least I thought it did; the tone was weak and off-key. I picked up the receiver and answered. There was silence for a moment, but as I started to hang up, a wracking rattle that could have been a breath came over the wire.“H…hello?” I said uncertainly.“That boy…he did you good. Really good.”As shocked as I was, I managed to notice the voice was strange—metallic, yet with intelligent inflections. It had to be someone playing tricks with one of those voice-altering devices. I grinned broadly.“Ajax? Is that you? I’ve already admitted that you’re the best.”“A-jax. He is a beautiful human being, is he not? And he has a big appendage. Much bigger than yours.”“You don’t have to fish for compliments, you good-looking son of a bitch. You come on back, and I’ll show you how beautiful and manly you are. And, yeah, you’ve got a big sausage.” Silence. “Ajax? Are you there?”“The handsome A-jax, he is not here,” that odd voice replied.Angered and fearful that I was being outed, I gripped the phone and made my voice harsh. “Who is this? Answer me! Who’s on the phone?”Silence, and then a noise that could have been laughter, although it sounded like no laughter I knew. “This is your phone speaking.”“Yeah, yeah! Who is this? If this isn’t Ajax, how did you know about him? What’s going on here?”“I know about A-jax because I watched him perform his fantastic sex act upon you. He does it so gracefully and so forcefully.”“You what? Impossible! We were in a—” I swallowed my tongue.“Yes, in a closed room. But I watched nonetheless. It is a pity he can perform only for such a short time. He is a great pleasure to watch.”“Such a short time? The kid worked on me for better than thirty minutes!” Oh, crap! I’d admitted it aloud. Yes, but to whom had I confessed? Someone from work? From the law firm where I’d practiced for the past three years? “Who is this? You bastard, tell me who you are!”Silence for a long moment. “You would not understand.”“What’s to understand? Just tell me who you are so I can sue your ass to hell and gone for invasion of privacy.”A crackle of static came out of the receiver, and somehow I understood it was a sigh. “I am from far away, a place you will not know.”This joker spun a good tale, but he wasn’t perfect. As he talked, his voice lost some of its tinniness, sounding more normal. “Try me. I’m pretty good at geography.”“Geography will not help you. I am a Valdetian.”“Where the fuck is that? And what’s your name?”“Far away.” The voice took on a note of resignation. “Beyond reach. And my name would be unpronounceable to you. You may call me Valdetian.”“Where are you?” I started going into my lawyer’s deposition mode.“All around you.”My back puckered as I scanned the room. I was alone. “Bullshit!” I lost some of my professional cool. “Cut the crap and come out where I can see you!” The hair on my arms stood up.“You are not ready yet. I am not like you.”“Then what are you like?” My skin crawled. My eyes searched the room, and I wished that I had turned on the lights. It was coming up on dark, and the vanity lights from the bathroom Ajax had left burning only half-relieved the gloom.Another silence, and then, “Like this house.”“My house? My house is talking to me? I’m supposed to call my house Valdetian?”“I am not your house. I merely…utilize it.”“You’re not making any sense.”“I warned you would not understand. Perhaps this will make it clearer. I have two forms; my own, and this house.”“Where in the house?” I grabbed the question out of the air. Was I going crazy or was this was really happening?“Everywhere. I can abandon my own shape to shelter in an inanimate environment when danger threatens.”I snorted…actually snorted. “Come on!” My turn to pause. “This Valdetia, is it in Europe or Asia? Or maybe Africa?”“My home is Valdetia. I am Valdetian. Like your home is America, and you are—”“Yeah, yeah! I get it. Look, fella. I’m a reasonably intelligent man…for a lawyer, that is. You don’t expect me to really believe—”“Hang up the telephone,” the voice ordered so sternly that I instantly obeyed. “You see,” my grandfather clock said to me, “we do not need an instrument of communication to communicate.” I about jumped out of my skin. “Get outa here!” I was reduced to street talk.*****What in the world is a Valdetian, and what does one look like? If you’d like to learn the answer to those questions, get a copy of SHOW-OFFS, ISBN: 978-1-57344-817-8 or 978-1-57344-843-4 for the E-book.
Guys, as usual, thanks for reading, and visit the site again … please.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month
August 1, 2015
An Excerpt from the upcoming novel, MEDICINE HAIR
STARbooks Press has delayed the publication of MEDICINE HAIR, the fourth novel in the Cut Hand series, until December, so I thought I’d give you a short excerpt from the book. The novel continues the story of John Strobaw (War Eagle/Night Sky Hair) and Matthew Brandt (Shambling Bear). By the time we reach the following scene, we are aware of changes in worldwide weather and atmospheric conditions caused by the eruption of Krakatoa on the other side of the globe in late August 1883. John’s brother-in-law, Captain Gideon Haleworthy, learned of this event via the army’s telegraph and passed the information along. The following is an exchange between John and a small group of Lakota men who have slipped off the reservation to forage for their families. This takes place in Chapter Two of the book.*****MEDICINE HAIR
Crow Hop motioned with his chin to the hill. “One of us keeps an eye out for a patrol.” My eyebrows shot up. “You are renegades?” Firm Foot shook his head. “Nay, not as you mean it. But the army declares any who leave the reservations renegade. When we leave, they call it ‘breaking out’ and figure we’re digging up hatchets to make war. I’m surprised they haven’t put you on an agency.” “I have too much white blood for them to make the effort. Besides, my <i>tiospaye<i> is gone. Murdered over thirty years ago by American soldiers. Dragoons they called themselves back then. I’m a farmer, and that’s what they want us to be, isn’t it?” Firm Foot looked down his nose. “They’ll not make a dirt scratcher of me. I am a warrior. The militia turned me into one the day they shot down Grass Dancer and my sister on Trickling Water north of here.” Crow Hop nodded. “The white men are good at turning us into warriors. Not so good at turning us into farmers.” “I have nothing except coffee and tea and water to drink, but you’re welcome to that. I can probably find enough bread and cheese and jerky for a meal.” He accepted my offer. Fifteen minutes later, we all gathered on the porch, most of my guests sitting on the planking to eat and sip and converse. After more talk, it became clear they were on the hunt for provisions because allotments at the agency were slow and often short. I offered one of my steers. Even though this was why they had come, they remained seated. Lord, don’t let this turn into one of those long, protracted things where it takes forever before a blood gets around to talking turkey. Nature intervened to speed things along. One of the younger braves grunted and lifted his chin. Most of us were under the cover of the porch and had to stand in the yard to see he was pointing to a sun enveloped in a wispy purple hue. “Witchcraft!” someone muttered. Crow Hop nodded agreement. “A bad omen. Something’s gonna happen.” I spoke without thinking. “It already has.” They all turned in my direction. Then Crow Hop walked over and removed the hat from my head. “Tell us what you know about these things, Night Sky Hair.” Others of the group muttered when they took in the strange peppering of yellow in my black mop. Now that I’d stuck half a foot into the affair, I regretted it. The reservation schools hadn’t been very successful if I understood correctly, so most of these men probably had little formal education. “I know why the sun is playing tricks on us and the moon is changing and sunsets look like prairie fires.” “Pho!” Firm Foot exclaimed. “Tell us.” “Far beyond Turtle Island, so far that it is on the other side of Mother Earth, there is an island the foreigners there call Krakatoa. During the last moon, a volcano on the island blew up. You understand what a volcano is?” “It’s like the Yellowstone country where hot water shoots into the air and smelly mud comes up out of holes.” This from the young brave who’d spotted the sun changing colors. “Yes, like that, except it springs from a mountain and is many, many times more powerful. It blew up – what they call an eruption – and threw most of the island into the sea. The explosion spewed a thousand times more dirt into the air than the Yellowstone geysers. And it changed everything.” “How so?” Crow Hop wanted to know. “It threw so much ash and pumice and smoke into the air that Father Sky waved it away to keep from choking and sent it all around the earth. And that cloaked the sun and covered the moon and infected the sunsets. We will see these things for a long time.” “How do you know this?” Firm Foot asked in a rising voice. “Medicine,” Crow Hop said. “Can’t you see from his hair that he has medicine? My father told me this man’s Spirit Dream foretells great joy and dancing and a bloody slaughter. A battle we will not win.” “And the murder of a great man,” I said. “One of our own.” Firm Foot regarded me for a moment before stepping forward to finger my hair. With a somber face, he announced that from this point on, I would be known as Medicine Hair. “You misunderstand,” I said. “I learned all of this from the whites who have singing wires that circle the world. You know that Mother Earth is round, don’t you? Like a ball.” Most of them nodded, but some put a lie to the gesture with widened eyes. Crow Hop and Firm Foot put their heads together for a moment, and then Spotted Panther’s son walked up to face me. “I do not trust anyone who claims to be a medicine man. Better that he should demonstrate it and let me discover him as such. I now understand why my world has changed, and it is you who have given me this knowledge. It is as I said. You are Medicine Hair to me now.”
*****And so it is that John Strobaw, a young half-breed with some of his mother’s Scandanavian blond hair scattered among the black covering his scalp receives his last and most significant name … Medicine Hair.
Guys, as usual, thanks for reading, and come back soon.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month.
July 1, 2015
DJH’s Story – Finale
Daniel’s discovered that two of his hunky cousins are very, very into what he’s been hankering for. Very satisfactory results. So what happens next? Let’s find out.#####MORE HUNKY COUSINS
Farm work conspired to rob us of the time to meet in the straw stack for the rest of the week. At least it kept me from the secret room, but in my mind’s eye, I saw Jim and Frank going at it hot and heavy. I despaired of getting back with them before they ran out of semen to share with me. After all, they were both married. That meant they not only had to satisfy each other and me, they also had wives to service. My family, in fact most families in this little farm town, were big on marriage. It was de rigueur. Necessary. Required. I was still in school, so my single state was acceptable. The next time I got some free time, I scooted over to the hay barn just in time to see Jim scaling the straw pile. With my heart in my throat, I broke into a run, anxious to get there before too much had gone on. Was I afraid there wouldn’t be enough to go around? Halfway up the side of the stack, I knew they heard me because everything went quiet inside. Then Jim popped up through the opening. He grinned when he saw who it was and waved me on up. “It’s the new blood,” he yelled down inside. “Daniel’s hot and ready to go.” And I was. I’d sprung a bone as soon as I saw his handsome face. When I reached the top and looked down inside, my eyes popped golf to ball size and my mouth fell open so that I almost drooled down into the room. Not only was Jim there, still fully dressed except for boots, but Frank was lying on his back, nude as he could be – with hard, naked male flesh on either side of him. My mouth snapped shut as I recognized two more cousins, Lynn and Darrel. Made me wonder if four handsomer men ever got together anywhere … bare-assed, that is. I froze until Darrel, my brown-haired, brown-eyed first cousin with a bubble butt I’d dreamed about for years, looked up and yelled for me to come on down. That’s all it took. I slithered down, and Jim caught me or I’d have landed hard and broken my stiff cock for sure. Then everything was like it was before, except there were four of them yanking my clothes off and examining my equipment like they were buying a bull at the sales barn. “Yep, that’s a Hawley cock,” Lynn said. “Looks like yours, Jim.” I beamed. Jim had the best-looking prick in the family as far as I was concerned. “Big balls. You guys ain’t been giving them enough action.” Darrel squeezed my sac gently, which made my cock jump in Lynn’s hand. “Haven’t seen him in a week,” Jim said. “But they’re gonna get drained today.” They put me on my back and then took charge of different parts of my anatomy. Darrel’s full lips gave me a hard kiss on the mouth. Linn attended my nipples and torso. Jim lowered his head to my cock while Frank got between my legs and started rubbing them. Pretty soon, I felt him reach for more sensitive flesh. Before Jim got me halfway to ejaculation, Frank’s fingers teased my pucker string. They were all still working away when I started jerking like a spastic. That orgasm about put me into orbit. But I soon struggled back to earth. There were games to be played! Jim took charge of the arrangements. He put me on my belly with Lynn at my head and Darrel mounted in the rear. I could tell from his entry this wasn’t Cousin Darrel’s first time. So I gobbled Lynn’s prick while Darrel fucked my ass. As soon as they were finished, they sat back and watched as Jim and Frank took over. This time, Frank presented his cock to my mouth, while Jim fucked me most of the way to Nirvana. After an hour, I knew that Darrel had the biggest cock among us, but my hero, Jim, was the best fucker of the bunch. Everyone insisted I gave the best blowjob. I think that was the best summer of my life to that point.***** I believed I had the most wonderful family in the entire Western World. I could hardly wait for summer and spring break vacations because I could return to the greatest sex parties – bar none – including college hijinks. One by one my cousins got married. First, it was Lynn and then Darrel. By the time I graduated college, I was the only one who hadn’t found a flesh and blood wife. The summer after graduation was a little different. The sex was still great, but I started getting a few little hints about settling down and building a family. I expected this from my parents and grandparents, but from my cousins? But there it was. “It’s time, bro. Find a heifer and take her to the cowshed.” I don’t know how many times I heard that one before I broke down and asked a girlfriend to marry me. To my surprise, she did. I don’t want to confess how many years our romps in the straw shed went on. I should have been the happiest guy around. But I’d made a mistake, and probably realized it – at least subconsciously – while I was making it. I stuck it out as long as I could, but my marriage fell apart. And I knew exactly why. I was crippled from living a sham marriage and for denying who I was. So I stood up like a man and did what was right. I got a divorce and came out of the closet. I expected the experience to be painful, but it wasn’t. It was liberating. However, what came next was hurtful. To a man, my four beautiful, sexy cousins who had fucked me, sucked me, and jerked me off for years, who had allowed me the most intimate liberties with their manly bodies told me they couldn’t have anything to do with me. They weren’t gay and couldn’t afford to associate with anyone who was. I was devastated and struggled with the rejection for years, but I persevered and survived. I’ve learned a bit in the intervening time. There are a lot of screwed up people out there who don’t even realize they are crippled by their need to “conform.” Oh, I think my cousins are convinced they are happy with their lives. But then, so was I until I came to my senses. Who knows what would have happened if Jim or Frank or Lynn or Darrel had faced facts. Maybe nothing. Maybe what they have is all they want … or deserve. As for me, I’ve lived the life I wanted and never regretted a thing except for being estranged from some people who were pretty important to me at one time. I’ve had a successful career. Even more, I have enjoyed a long and open relationship with a loving, handsome man who complements me physically and intellectually … and best of all, spiritually.#####Readers, I do not know "Daniel" beyond a few electronic communications and one telephone call. We may be able to meet in person when he and his companion come to Santa Fe in October for a professional meeting. I’m looking forward to that possibility.
Even so, I’m convince that his cousins are the losers in this situation. They deprived themselves and their families of the company of a pretty solid citizen. At any rate, DJH, thanks for telling me your story and allowing me share it with others.
Guys, as usual, thanks for reading, and come back soon.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month.
Farm work conspired to rob us of the time to meet in the straw stack for the rest of the week. At least it kept me from the secret room, but in my mind’s eye, I saw Jim and Frank going at it hot and heavy. I despaired of getting back with them before they ran out of semen to share with me. After all, they were both married. That meant they not only had to satisfy each other and me, they also had wives to service. My family, in fact most families in this little farm town, were big on marriage. It was de rigueur. Necessary. Required. I was still in school, so my single state was acceptable. The next time I got some free time, I scooted over to the hay barn just in time to see Jim scaling the straw pile. With my heart in my throat, I broke into a run, anxious to get there before too much had gone on. Was I afraid there wouldn’t be enough to go around? Halfway up the side of the stack, I knew they heard me because everything went quiet inside. Then Jim popped up through the opening. He grinned when he saw who it was and waved me on up. “It’s the new blood,” he yelled down inside. “Daniel’s hot and ready to go.” And I was. I’d sprung a bone as soon as I saw his handsome face. When I reached the top and looked down inside, my eyes popped golf to ball size and my mouth fell open so that I almost drooled down into the room. Not only was Jim there, still fully dressed except for boots, but Frank was lying on his back, nude as he could be – with hard, naked male flesh on either side of him. My mouth snapped shut as I recognized two more cousins, Lynn and Darrel. Made me wonder if four handsomer men ever got together anywhere … bare-assed, that is. I froze until Darrel, my brown-haired, brown-eyed first cousin with a bubble butt I’d dreamed about for years, looked up and yelled for me to come on down. That’s all it took. I slithered down, and Jim caught me or I’d have landed hard and broken my stiff cock for sure. Then everything was like it was before, except there were four of them yanking my clothes off and examining my equipment like they were buying a bull at the sales barn. “Yep, that’s a Hawley cock,” Lynn said. “Looks like yours, Jim.” I beamed. Jim had the best-looking prick in the family as far as I was concerned. “Big balls. You guys ain’t been giving them enough action.” Darrel squeezed my sac gently, which made my cock jump in Lynn’s hand. “Haven’t seen him in a week,” Jim said. “But they’re gonna get drained today.” They put me on my back and then took charge of different parts of my anatomy. Darrel’s full lips gave me a hard kiss on the mouth. Linn attended my nipples and torso. Jim lowered his head to my cock while Frank got between my legs and started rubbing them. Pretty soon, I felt him reach for more sensitive flesh. Before Jim got me halfway to ejaculation, Frank’s fingers teased my pucker string. They were all still working away when I started jerking like a spastic. That orgasm about put me into orbit. But I soon struggled back to earth. There were games to be played! Jim took charge of the arrangements. He put me on my belly with Lynn at my head and Darrel mounted in the rear. I could tell from his entry this wasn’t Cousin Darrel’s first time. So I gobbled Lynn’s prick while Darrel fucked my ass. As soon as they were finished, they sat back and watched as Jim and Frank took over. This time, Frank presented his cock to my mouth, while Jim fucked me most of the way to Nirvana. After an hour, I knew that Darrel had the biggest cock among us, but my hero, Jim, was the best fucker of the bunch. Everyone insisted I gave the best blowjob. I think that was the best summer of my life to that point.***** I believed I had the most wonderful family in the entire Western World. I could hardly wait for summer and spring break vacations because I could return to the greatest sex parties – bar none – including college hijinks. One by one my cousins got married. First, it was Lynn and then Darrel. By the time I graduated college, I was the only one who hadn’t found a flesh and blood wife. The summer after graduation was a little different. The sex was still great, but I started getting a few little hints about settling down and building a family. I expected this from my parents and grandparents, but from my cousins? But there it was. “It’s time, bro. Find a heifer and take her to the cowshed.” I don’t know how many times I heard that one before I broke down and asked a girlfriend to marry me. To my surprise, she did. I don’t want to confess how many years our romps in the straw shed went on. I should have been the happiest guy around. But I’d made a mistake, and probably realized it – at least subconsciously – while I was making it. I stuck it out as long as I could, but my marriage fell apart. And I knew exactly why. I was crippled from living a sham marriage and for denying who I was. So I stood up like a man and did what was right. I got a divorce and came out of the closet. I expected the experience to be painful, but it wasn’t. It was liberating. However, what came next was hurtful. To a man, my four beautiful, sexy cousins who had fucked me, sucked me, and jerked me off for years, who had allowed me the most intimate liberties with their manly bodies told me they couldn’t have anything to do with me. They weren’t gay and couldn’t afford to associate with anyone who was. I was devastated and struggled with the rejection for years, but I persevered and survived. I’ve learned a bit in the intervening time. There are a lot of screwed up people out there who don’t even realize they are crippled by their need to “conform.” Oh, I think my cousins are convinced they are happy with their lives. But then, so was I until I came to my senses. Who knows what would have happened if Jim or Frank or Lynn or Darrel had faced facts. Maybe nothing. Maybe what they have is all they want … or deserve. As for me, I’ve lived the life I wanted and never regretted a thing except for being estranged from some people who were pretty important to me at one time. I’ve had a successful career. Even more, I have enjoyed a long and open relationship with a loving, handsome man who complements me physically and intellectually … and best of all, spiritually.#####Readers, I do not know "Daniel" beyond a few electronic communications and one telephone call. We may be able to meet in person when he and his companion come to Santa Fe in October for a professional meeting. I’m looking forward to that possibility.
Even so, I’m convince that his cousins are the losers in this situation. They deprived themselves and their families of the company of a pretty solid citizen. At any rate, DJH, thanks for telling me your story and allowing me share it with others.
Guys, as usual, thanks for reading, and come back soon.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month.
June 1, 2015
DJH’s Story – Part 3
Still getting comments on this story, so we’ll go with it again for this post. You will recall that we left our protagonist lying atop the hay stack gazing down into a secret room to see two cousins, including his boyhood hero, Jim, naked and going at it hot and heavy. Let’s find out what happened after that.
*****MY HUNKY COUSINS
I didn’t know whether to fall off the hay pile and run or slither into the secret room and suffer whatever fate awaited me. Either way, I’d probably break something vital. Because my hard-on was bigger than any I’d ever had in my life! Frank had leaned back on his hands to expose himself to me, so buff, handsome Jim was now totally visible. My idol held up both hands and smiled. I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life. Michelangelo would have painted him just that way. Wide shoulders, ribs tapering to a small waist, hips slightly wider, and great thighs and legs. And then there was that big, pulsing, circumcised cock throbbing against his belly. “Come on down, man. We’ve been thinking about inviting you to join us.” Incapable of speech, I merely gulped and nodded. “But you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone,” Frank said. Geez! He was gorgeous, too. Curly blond hair on top, and darker, slightly reddish cock hair. Were all my cousins hung like these two? “What’s it gonna be?” Jim called. I scrambled so hard to get down into that room I nearly fell right on top of them. In a New York second, I was flat of my back with two muscled men tearing at my clothes. Once I was as naked as I was ever going to get, they both sat back on their heels and gave me a good examination. “Yep, he’s family,” Frank observed. “I’d recognize that cock and pair of balls anywhere.” Frank turned serious. “Solemn vow, Daniel. You don’t ever tell anyone about this. Not now. Not never.” Still breathless, I worked up enough saliva to confirm what my nodding head was saying. “Not ever. I swear.” Frank took charge of the upper end; Jim, the lower. Two pairs of hands rubbed me from stem to stern. Gentle touches. Then firmer. When Jim grasped my raging cock, I almost jumped a foot off the floor. Heck, was I cuming? I took a breath. No, but it wouldn’t take much to get me there.I let out a gasp when Frank leaned down and bit my left tit. Then he sucked on it like a newborn calf at his mama’s udder. “Relax, man,” Jim said. “Enjoy.” The first part of that was hard to do when he licked my slit, but the second part was automatic. Then he went down on me all the way, and I had two sexy males sucking on two sensitive parts of me. Frank switched to the other nipple. I would have figured this was Nirvana if the hay wasn’t scratching my back where my left shoulder had slid off the pile of clothes beneath me. But … I … would … put … up … with … some … straw … for … Man,” I moaned. “Oh, man. I’m cuming, guys! I’m gonna … shoot … Oh, unghhh!”I came. And came. Like never before, I came. Frank sat up and watched me squirm through those delicious, electrical discharges, but Jim kept right on sucking until I grabbed his head and held it still. When he finally came up off me, he swiped his mouth with a muscular arm and grinned. “Pretty good discharge, cousin.” I sucked in enough air to respond. “Pretty good blowjob, cousin. How long you guys been doing this?” Frank shrugged his naked shoulders. “For a while now. You like it?” “I love it!” “Girls love things,” he came back at me. “Guys get a charge out of them.” “Man, what a charge.” Jim splayed his legs out in front of him. “Turn about’s fair play. You have a problem with that?” “Hell, no!” Problem? This was my nighttime dream coming true in the daylight. I squirmed around to gobble that big prick. “Lie down on your belly,” he instructed me. Propped back on his hands, he allowed me to do something I’d craved since before I had cock hair. I grabbed his manhood and licked the big, bulbous end like an ice cream cone. It jumped in my hand. I took him in my mouth determined to give him the best head he’d ever had. As I was happily slurping on Jim’s hard prick, Frank started playing with my buns. He got a grunt out of me when he stroked my crack. I opened my legs. A fingernail touched my sphincter. Wow! Frank got between my legs. The next thing that touched my pucker hole was big and wet. He got another grunt out of me when he pushed, but I didn’t miss a lick on Jim’s cock. Not even when Frank entered me. Oh, man, what a feeling! I was servicing two hot, heavy dongs at the same time. The only problem was, when Frank really got to going at it, he kept pushing me up off Jim’s dong. So I adapted. I went up on the hot cock in my mouth when Frank lunged, and deep-throated it when he withdrew. Worked like a charm. Before long, Jim groaned and shot his load. I took him all and tried to measure the actual taste of his seed against the imaginary times I’d done this. This was better! By a factor of zowie!” It was a good thing he shot off when he did, because when Frank got close, he really assaulted my ass. I had to put my arms around Jim’s waist to keep from getting shoved all the way to the wall. Man, hugging that hard, naked chest made it all the better. By the time Frank exploded, I went over the edge again and came all over the clothing I was lying on. For a few minutes all I could hear was heavy panting. Then finally Jim found his voice. “Daniel, remember your promise. Don’t ever tell anyone about this.” “If you do, you can’t come back,” Frank warned. “You …” Puff. “You don’t have to worry about me! I’ll be back for more.”*****Sounds like the beginning of a great summer to me. Are there more surprises coming, or is this the way it’ll be until Daniel returns to school in August? Maybe we’ll find out next month.
Hope you liked Daniel’s story so far. Thanks for reading, and come back soon.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month.
*****MY HUNKY COUSINS
I didn’t know whether to fall off the hay pile and run or slither into the secret room and suffer whatever fate awaited me. Either way, I’d probably break something vital. Because my hard-on was bigger than any I’d ever had in my life! Frank had leaned back on his hands to expose himself to me, so buff, handsome Jim was now totally visible. My idol held up both hands and smiled. I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life. Michelangelo would have painted him just that way. Wide shoulders, ribs tapering to a small waist, hips slightly wider, and great thighs and legs. And then there was that big, pulsing, circumcised cock throbbing against his belly. “Come on down, man. We’ve been thinking about inviting you to join us.” Incapable of speech, I merely gulped and nodded. “But you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone,” Frank said. Geez! He was gorgeous, too. Curly blond hair on top, and darker, slightly reddish cock hair. Were all my cousins hung like these two? “What’s it gonna be?” Jim called. I scrambled so hard to get down into that room I nearly fell right on top of them. In a New York second, I was flat of my back with two muscled men tearing at my clothes. Once I was as naked as I was ever going to get, they both sat back on their heels and gave me a good examination. “Yep, he’s family,” Frank observed. “I’d recognize that cock and pair of balls anywhere.” Frank turned serious. “Solemn vow, Daniel. You don’t ever tell anyone about this. Not now. Not never.” Still breathless, I worked up enough saliva to confirm what my nodding head was saying. “Not ever. I swear.” Frank took charge of the upper end; Jim, the lower. Two pairs of hands rubbed me from stem to stern. Gentle touches. Then firmer. When Jim grasped my raging cock, I almost jumped a foot off the floor. Heck, was I cuming? I took a breath. No, but it wouldn’t take much to get me there.I let out a gasp when Frank leaned down and bit my left tit. Then he sucked on it like a newborn calf at his mama’s udder. “Relax, man,” Jim said. “Enjoy.” The first part of that was hard to do when he licked my slit, but the second part was automatic. Then he went down on me all the way, and I had two sexy males sucking on two sensitive parts of me. Frank switched to the other nipple. I would have figured this was Nirvana if the hay wasn’t scratching my back where my left shoulder had slid off the pile of clothes beneath me. But … I … would … put … up … with … some … straw … for … Man,” I moaned. “Oh, man. I’m cuming, guys! I’m gonna … shoot … Oh, unghhh!”I came. And came. Like never before, I came. Frank sat up and watched me squirm through those delicious, electrical discharges, but Jim kept right on sucking until I grabbed his head and held it still. When he finally came up off me, he swiped his mouth with a muscular arm and grinned. “Pretty good discharge, cousin.” I sucked in enough air to respond. “Pretty good blowjob, cousin. How long you guys been doing this?” Frank shrugged his naked shoulders. “For a while now. You like it?” “I love it!” “Girls love things,” he came back at me. “Guys get a charge out of them.” “Man, what a charge.” Jim splayed his legs out in front of him. “Turn about’s fair play. You have a problem with that?” “Hell, no!” Problem? This was my nighttime dream coming true in the daylight. I squirmed around to gobble that big prick. “Lie down on your belly,” he instructed me. Propped back on his hands, he allowed me to do something I’d craved since before I had cock hair. I grabbed his manhood and licked the big, bulbous end like an ice cream cone. It jumped in my hand. I took him in my mouth determined to give him the best head he’d ever had. As I was happily slurping on Jim’s hard prick, Frank started playing with my buns. He got a grunt out of me when he stroked my crack. I opened my legs. A fingernail touched my sphincter. Wow! Frank got between my legs. The next thing that touched my pucker hole was big and wet. He got another grunt out of me when he pushed, but I didn’t miss a lick on Jim’s cock. Not even when Frank entered me. Oh, man, what a feeling! I was servicing two hot, heavy dongs at the same time. The only problem was, when Frank really got to going at it, he kept pushing me up off Jim’s dong. So I adapted. I went up on the hot cock in my mouth when Frank lunged, and deep-throated it when he withdrew. Worked like a charm. Before long, Jim groaned and shot his load. I took him all and tried to measure the actual taste of his seed against the imaginary times I’d done this. This was better! By a factor of zowie!” It was a good thing he shot off when he did, because when Frank got close, he really assaulted my ass. I had to put my arms around Jim’s waist to keep from getting shoved all the way to the wall. Man, hugging that hard, naked chest made it all the better. By the time Frank exploded, I went over the edge again and came all over the clothing I was lying on. For a few minutes all I could hear was heavy panting. Then finally Jim found his voice. “Daniel, remember your promise. Don’t ever tell anyone about this.” “If you do, you can’t come back,” Frank warned. “You …” Puff. “You don’t have to worry about me! I’ll be back for more.”*****Sounds like the beginning of a great summer to me. Are there more surprises coming, or is this the way it’ll be until Daniel returns to school in August? Maybe we’ll find out next month.
Hope you liked Daniel’s story so far. Thanks for reading, and come back soon.
Feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. on the first of every month.
May 1, 2015
More Fun in the Hay (DJH’s Story – Part 2)
Sorry I was late getting this up, but time got away from me. No excuses.
Judging from the comments I had, many of you are waiting for more of DJH’s story about the family hayloft. So here it is. This takes place a few days after our protagonist and his good-looking cousin, Jim, had an abortive counter that left DJH frustrated and panting for more.
*****SECRET ROOMS
A few days later, I saw Jim and another cousin, Frank, skirting the dairy barn heading in the direction of the hay barn. Anxious for more contact with Jim, even if it was innocent socializing with another cousin, I decided to join them. Besides, Frank was kinda hunky, too. Shoot, I had a whole slew of male cousins who’d turn a fellow’s head. But when I got to the hay barn, they were nowhere to be found. Puzzled, I searched everywhere I could think of, but to no avail. I had given up and started back to the house when sounds of laughter coming from the straw shed pulled me over there. The shed is exactly what it sounds like, a roofed area with no walls. It's designed to provide protection from rain for the straw bales stacked beneath it. I walked completely around the place, but no Jim or Frank. I stopped and scratched my head. What the hell? More laughter. I glanced up. Could they be on top? Then I heard something that sent me climbing the bales as quickly and quietly as I could. Groaning. Or moaning? Moaning, definitely moaning. But when I reached the top, there was no one there. The sounds continued. I climbed the last bale and discovered a hole in the middle of the hay bales. Slithering toward the hole, I glanced down at a big hollowed out place and thought my heart would fail me. Jim, as naked as the day he was born … but not looking anything like a baby … lay on his back atop his clothes. The first thing that caught my eye were the twin spots of hair at his armpits. He’d folded his hands back of his neck to cradle his head. I hadn’t realized how developed his pecs were. Flat, but pronounced, they were sexier than any woman’s boobs I’d ever seen. He had a little bit of dark hair trailing down his chest and onto his belly. But view of the rest of him was blocked by Frank’s head. Also naked as a jaybird, my other cousin bent over Jim moving his head up and down and making slurping noises. Just as Jim gave one of those long groans that had pulled me up the hay pile in the first place, he glanced up and spotted me staring down at them. Frank, alerted by his reaction, lifted his head and stared upward, as well. I’ll never forget the sight. Jim’s big, long cock – shiny with Frank’s spit – was so hard it pulsed up and down on his belly. His balls seemed full enough to burst. The V where his hips joined his torso was so pronounced and sexy, I about fell off the bale. Frank leaned back on his hands, giving me a good view of him, too. His cock was long and slightly curved like a banana. It looked like a drop of pre-cum had dewed the slit on his bulb. Farm work had put a good build on him. His hair was sandy colored, and he had a crooked grin that could be good-natured or devilish. The one I was getting now was more on the devilish side. I didn’t know whether to jump off of the hay pile or fall into the secret room. Either way, I’d probably break something vital. Because the hard-on I had was bigger and better than any I’d ever had in my life!
*****
So what will it be? Will he be sent scooting with his tail between his legs by his older cousins or dragged down into the secret room? And if it’s the latter, will it be for a beating and a warning never to tell a soul? Or maybe … just maybe it’ll be an invitation to participate.
Don’t go making wild guesses now, because this is based on what really happened to one of my readers. It could be any of the above.
Hope you enjoyed. Next time we’ll definitely get back to DJH’s story.
Please feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
Judging from the comments I had, many of you are waiting for more of DJH’s story about the family hayloft. So here it is. This takes place a few days after our protagonist and his good-looking cousin, Jim, had an abortive counter that left DJH frustrated and panting for more.
*****SECRET ROOMS
A few days later, I saw Jim and another cousin, Frank, skirting the dairy barn heading in the direction of the hay barn. Anxious for more contact with Jim, even if it was innocent socializing with another cousin, I decided to join them. Besides, Frank was kinda hunky, too. Shoot, I had a whole slew of male cousins who’d turn a fellow’s head. But when I got to the hay barn, they were nowhere to be found. Puzzled, I searched everywhere I could think of, but to no avail. I had given up and started back to the house when sounds of laughter coming from the straw shed pulled me over there. The shed is exactly what it sounds like, a roofed area with no walls. It's designed to provide protection from rain for the straw bales stacked beneath it. I walked completely around the place, but no Jim or Frank. I stopped and scratched my head. What the hell? More laughter. I glanced up. Could they be on top? Then I heard something that sent me climbing the bales as quickly and quietly as I could. Groaning. Or moaning? Moaning, definitely moaning. But when I reached the top, there was no one there. The sounds continued. I climbed the last bale and discovered a hole in the middle of the hay bales. Slithering toward the hole, I glanced down at a big hollowed out place and thought my heart would fail me. Jim, as naked as the day he was born … but not looking anything like a baby … lay on his back atop his clothes. The first thing that caught my eye were the twin spots of hair at his armpits. He’d folded his hands back of his neck to cradle his head. I hadn’t realized how developed his pecs were. Flat, but pronounced, they were sexier than any woman’s boobs I’d ever seen. He had a little bit of dark hair trailing down his chest and onto his belly. But view of the rest of him was blocked by Frank’s head. Also naked as a jaybird, my other cousin bent over Jim moving his head up and down and making slurping noises. Just as Jim gave one of those long groans that had pulled me up the hay pile in the first place, he glanced up and spotted me staring down at them. Frank, alerted by his reaction, lifted his head and stared upward, as well. I’ll never forget the sight. Jim’s big, long cock – shiny with Frank’s spit – was so hard it pulsed up and down on his belly. His balls seemed full enough to burst. The V where his hips joined his torso was so pronounced and sexy, I about fell off the bale. Frank leaned back on his hands, giving me a good view of him, too. His cock was long and slightly curved like a banana. It looked like a drop of pre-cum had dewed the slit on his bulb. Farm work had put a good build on him. His hair was sandy colored, and he had a crooked grin that could be good-natured or devilish. The one I was getting now was more on the devilish side. I didn’t know whether to jump off of the hay pile or fall into the secret room. Either way, I’d probably break something vital. Because the hard-on I had was bigger and better than any I’d ever had in my life!
*****
So what will it be? Will he be sent scooting with his tail between his legs by his older cousins or dragged down into the secret room? And if it’s the latter, will it be for a beating and a warning never to tell a soul? Or maybe … just maybe it’ll be an invitation to participate.
Don’t go making wild guesses now, because this is based on what really happened to one of my readers. It could be any of the above.
Hope you enjoyed. Next time we’ll definitely get back to DJH’s story.
Please feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
The Contestant
I heard from more of you about last month’s DJH story than any other post I’ve done. Pleased so many of you were interested in the narrative. I already had the following post--another short, short tale--planned, but we’ll get back to DJH soon.
*****THE CONTESTANT
I arrived at the auditorium late, but Squirrely Jones had saved me a seat on the aisle down front. The Sci-Quiz contest was well underway, and I was sorry to have missed any of it. This match pitted Eastern science students against Central’s. Eastern was much larger college, but our guys and gals were a spirited group and were determined to redeem CC for its defeat by EC last year. I had helped tutor some of the kids in preparation for this eclectic quiz. A quick once-over of the six opponents seated at a table opposite our team was not too encouraging. They looked much more mature than our guys.Squirrely, who took his nickname from some of the shenanigans undertaken as a student in this same college in the not too distant past, removed his eye from a camcorder and leaned over to whisper in my ear. The sharp smell of his aftershave made me dizzy.“That guy on the end is giving me a raging hard-on. Would you look at what he’s doing with his leg? Oh, man!” That last came out as a moan.I fixed my gaze on the kid in question. Kid? Okay, maybe. Upper classman, but probably a junior, not a senior. Looked like he belonged on a soccer field or a basketball court. Knitted shirt fit him like a body-sock, revealing more muscles that I realized the human torso contained. Coal black hair moved wistfully at the whim of the air conditioning unit. Snapping eyes that were probably dark brown. A devilish black-Irish face as beautiful as any woman’s.But I saw what was getting to Squirrely. The contestants were seated side by side at a long, open table, and the kid in question was nervous. His method of dealing with it was the same as mine. He jiggled. He moved his knees up and down or wiggled his leg back and forth restlessly. This constant movement disturbed the substantial mass hidden behind the fly of his pants. But it was the wiggling that was about to make Squirrely cream. As the kid’s lean thighs opened, it pulled the material of his slacks tight, clearly outlining a solid hunk of sexy flesh. As he closed his legs, the outline of his cock disappeared, only to become evident again a moment later. It was a fascinating and utterly erotic thing to watch … spellbinding. If I stared hard enough, it appeared the boy’s cock was growing, that he was masturbating against his own leg without touching himself. He wasn’t, of course; it was an optical illusion.Devon Bryant, according to the inked nameplate in front of him, seemed completely oblivious of the show he was giving. I glanced around, but found no one else with his eyes fixed on Bryant’s crotch and decided the display was only visible to a few seats in our vicinity.“Oh, man, I can’t take this,” Squirrely mumbled, his camera back at his eye again, no doubt documenting the phenomenon.“Just pay attention to the contest,” I whispered as I folded my hands in my lap for decorum’s sake. My growing erection was no mirage. With an effort, I turned my attention to the intellectual events taking place on the stage.Our team was holding its own, but it was a close-run thing, and the opposing contestant hurting us the most was that handsome devil, Devon Bryant. I noticed that he only stopped that nervous tic with his leg when he was actually answering a query in a nice, throaty baritone; one that would doubtless grow deeper in the throes of wild sex.Certain series of questions were answered in turn by members of the respective teams, but others were fair game for the first contestant to gain the attention of the moderator. Devon’s long arm had a way of attracting attention. Too much so. The contest ended with Eastern ahead by a hair.Our kids were good sports and circulated around the stage congratulating their opponents. I sat where I was for a few minutes and watched the by-play. Bryant was busy accepting congratulations from his competitors, but after I cooled my tool and went up to add my plaudits, his wry smile let me know he was aware of what Squirrely and I had been observing.“I’d like to see the video,” said in a raspy whisper. “How about this evening … in your room?”I popped another bone. This time right in front of everyone.
*****
Hope you enjoyed. As I said, maybe next time we’ll get back to DJH’s story.
Please feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
*****THE CONTESTANT
I arrived at the auditorium late, but Squirrely Jones had saved me a seat on the aisle down front. The Sci-Quiz contest was well underway, and I was sorry to have missed any of it. This match pitted Eastern science students against Central’s. Eastern was much larger college, but our guys and gals were a spirited group and were determined to redeem CC for its defeat by EC last year. I had helped tutor some of the kids in preparation for this eclectic quiz. A quick once-over of the six opponents seated at a table opposite our team was not too encouraging. They looked much more mature than our guys.Squirrely, who took his nickname from some of the shenanigans undertaken as a student in this same college in the not too distant past, removed his eye from a camcorder and leaned over to whisper in my ear. The sharp smell of his aftershave made me dizzy.“That guy on the end is giving me a raging hard-on. Would you look at what he’s doing with his leg? Oh, man!” That last came out as a moan.I fixed my gaze on the kid in question. Kid? Okay, maybe. Upper classman, but probably a junior, not a senior. Looked like he belonged on a soccer field or a basketball court. Knitted shirt fit him like a body-sock, revealing more muscles that I realized the human torso contained. Coal black hair moved wistfully at the whim of the air conditioning unit. Snapping eyes that were probably dark brown. A devilish black-Irish face as beautiful as any woman’s.But I saw what was getting to Squirrely. The contestants were seated side by side at a long, open table, and the kid in question was nervous. His method of dealing with it was the same as mine. He jiggled. He moved his knees up and down or wiggled his leg back and forth restlessly. This constant movement disturbed the substantial mass hidden behind the fly of his pants. But it was the wiggling that was about to make Squirrely cream. As the kid’s lean thighs opened, it pulled the material of his slacks tight, clearly outlining a solid hunk of sexy flesh. As he closed his legs, the outline of his cock disappeared, only to become evident again a moment later. It was a fascinating and utterly erotic thing to watch … spellbinding. If I stared hard enough, it appeared the boy’s cock was growing, that he was masturbating against his own leg without touching himself. He wasn’t, of course; it was an optical illusion.Devon Bryant, according to the inked nameplate in front of him, seemed completely oblivious of the show he was giving. I glanced around, but found no one else with his eyes fixed on Bryant’s crotch and decided the display was only visible to a few seats in our vicinity.“Oh, man, I can’t take this,” Squirrely mumbled, his camera back at his eye again, no doubt documenting the phenomenon.“Just pay attention to the contest,” I whispered as I folded my hands in my lap for decorum’s sake. My growing erection was no mirage. With an effort, I turned my attention to the intellectual events taking place on the stage.Our team was holding its own, but it was a close-run thing, and the opposing contestant hurting us the most was that handsome devil, Devon Bryant. I noticed that he only stopped that nervous tic with his leg when he was actually answering a query in a nice, throaty baritone; one that would doubtless grow deeper in the throes of wild sex.Certain series of questions were answered in turn by members of the respective teams, but others were fair game for the first contestant to gain the attention of the moderator. Devon’s long arm had a way of attracting attention. Too much so. The contest ended with Eastern ahead by a hair.Our kids were good sports and circulated around the stage congratulating their opponents. I sat where I was for a few minutes and watched the by-play. Bryant was busy accepting congratulations from his competitors, but after I cooled my tool and went up to add my plaudits, his wry smile let me know he was aware of what Squirrely and I had been observing.“I’d like to see the video,” said in a raspy whisper. “How about this evening … in your room?”I popped another bone. This time right in front of everyone.
*****
Hope you enjoyed. As I said, maybe next time we’ll get back to DJH’s story.
Please feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
As always, thanks for reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
April 1, 2015
Getting Hot in the Family Hay Barn
The following short story is based upon the actual experience of a valued reader of mine who has gave me permission to create a story from the material. DJH, I hope you approve of the liberties I took with your tale.
*****GETTING HOT IN THE FAMILY HAY BARN
My mother was one of twelve children, so roughly ninety percent of the people in the little farming town where I grew up was family. Most of my relatives were farmers … except for my father who owned a small mercantile store. Early on, I learned that during summers I had an option of working in the store or on mom’s parent’s farm. I chose the rural life. Harder work, but there were compensations. Like working alongside some of my hunky cousins, for instance. And one in particular … Cousin Jim. I’ve known since I was a little kid that I was different from the rest of the boys in town. But exactly how didn’t come into focus until the day Jim and I were moving last season’s hay in the barn loft in anticipation of putting recently cut bales behind the older hay. I’d always liked to be around Jim. He was pleasant-natured and fun. But more than that, he was as handsome as any man I’d ever seen on a movie screen. And built, too. Although I’d never seen him buck naked, just with his shirt stripped off. Tearing down one stack of hay and lugging each bale fifty or a hundred feet to start building another is hot work in a stuffy barn with no breeze. Sometimes I was virtually swimming in sweat. Pieces of straw got under my clothes and itched. Baled hay’s got an odor all its own, and its not sweet like new-mown hay. It was even heavier in this enclosed space. About three hours into the morning, I noticed Jim had disappeared. I was considering hunting him up when a whole bucket of cold water sloshed all over me. After I got over the shock, I turned and saw Jim laughing his head off. Half glad and half mad, I took after him over the hay bales. Just as I got to the top, he grabbed me and pushed me over on my back. That was okay, I enjoyed the physical contact. But then he started tickling me, which I can’t stand. When I opened my mouth to let out a yelp, he covered it with his hand. And something happened. Things changed. Staring straight into my eyes, he slowly and deliberately lay down right on top of me. His legs on mine. His groin pressed into me. Belly to belly. Chest to chest. His big, chocolate brown eyes inches from mine. A mischievous smile stretched his broad handsome mouth. The musky man-smell of him did something to me. Clean hard-earned sweat dripped on my cheek. But it was the heat of his body that made me understand how I was different. I got hard. I got so hard, I knew he felt it pulsing against him. My face got warm from embarrassment. And something else. Excitement. What was going on? Guys don’t get hard for guys. Besides, Jim was married with three children. But that didn’t matter because I was experiencing something so different it was hard to avoid putting a name to it. Sexual excitement. I was trembling-chill-bump-aroused at being so intimate with a handsome, hunky guy I admired so much. The straw scratched my back uncomfortably, but I would have lain there the whole live-long day if he’d just stay where he was and look at me like that. At length, he spoke. His raspy voice came from low in his throat. “You promise not to yell, and I’ll let you up.” My head must have nodded all on its own, because I sure didn’t want him to let me up. He slowly lifted his body from mine and stood. His britches were full like always, but it didn’t seem like he’d sprung a bone like mine. With a wry grin, he studied my bulging groin before climbing down off the stack and going back to work, leaving me to will away as big an erection as I’d ever had. When I came down to join him, we worked side by side without mentioning what had happened. In fact, we never talked about it. But Cousin Jim had opened my eyes and made me understand something fundamental about myself. I was different. Probably different from every one of the four hundred or so other souls in my little town.
*****
Hey, DJH, thanks for letting me take liberties with your story. We’ll hear some more of it later. Hope it held you interest.
As always, thanks for reading, fellas ... and gals. You can always contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
March 1, 2015
Sterling Silver Scissors
Let’s go with a piece of flash fiction for this post. Hope you enjoy.
###STERLING SILVER SCISSORS
The sterling silver scissors reflected ambient light as I circled the body. The six-inch tangs had penetrated Oliver Swinson’s torso between the fourth and fifth ribs. Oliver, himself, lay sprawled across the Persian carpet in his opulent study. A teak cabinet in the far corner was filled with examples of good origami.“The vic’s a back-east financier who recently retired out here,” Sgt. Munroe said. “His nephew, Binky, found him this morning. The only other people in the house were William Halston, who’s visiting from back east; Mary Blane, the housekeeper; and Joseph Blane, the butler.“Okay, let’s go talk to them.”The four people gathered in the living room had arranged themselves according to social status. Halston, a haughty, thirties-something man, perched on the divan. The eighteen-year-old nephew slouched in a recliner. A pile of reddish brown knitting yarn beside him morphed into a shaggy dog. Mary Blane, as broad as she was tall, stood against the back wall. Her husband, a cadaverous shadow, hovered at her elbow“My name’s Detective Williams. The sergeant has taken your statements, but I have a few questions.” I glanced down at the nephew. “Do you use the study often? Nice origami, by the way.”“Thanks. Uh-uh. The place was UO’s private reserve.” The kid hovered somewhere between handsome and pretty, but a studied nonchalance detracted from his image.“UO?”“Uncle Oliver.”I asked a few innocuous questions of the Blanes before returning to the nephew. “Hand me that ash tray on the coffee table, please.”Managing to look bored, he passed over the Baccarat crystal.“Mr. Halston, what’s the purpose of your visit?”“Purely social. Oliver and I go back a long way.”I considered his voice and cadence a moment, after which I dismissed everyone. The Blanes bustled off to the kitchen. Halston headed for the stairway. Binky rose gracefully. The multi-hued dog plodded along in his wake.“That’s it?” Munroe asked.“That’s all I need. I know what happened.”The sergeant’s eyes widened.“Did you notice the kid handed me this ash tray with his left hand?”“So?”“Those scissors in Swinson’s chest are left-handed.”“They have left-handed scissors?”“Sure. Each scissor—and it takes two to make a pair—is asymmetric. That’s because human hands are asymmetric. Left-handed scissors are constructed to accommodate this phenomenon. I’ll wager that pair belongs to Binky. He uses them to prepare paper for his origami art.”“And from this you know he offed his uncle?”“Binky probably wasn’t Swinson’s nephew. He was his ‘boy.’”“And he just up and killed his sugar daddy?”“He did after Uncle Oliver passed him over to Halston last night. Halston was probably one of Swinson’s boys before he got too old.”“You’ll play hell proving that.”“Oh, I don’t know. Lean on them the right way, and we’ll make the case.”
###
Hey, guys, thanks for taking the time to check out the site and read my story. Hope it held you interest. You can always contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
Again, thanks.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
###STERLING SILVER SCISSORS
The sterling silver scissors reflected ambient light as I circled the body. The six-inch tangs had penetrated Oliver Swinson’s torso between the fourth and fifth ribs. Oliver, himself, lay sprawled across the Persian carpet in his opulent study. A teak cabinet in the far corner was filled with examples of good origami.“The vic’s a back-east financier who recently retired out here,” Sgt. Munroe said. “His nephew, Binky, found him this morning. The only other people in the house were William Halston, who’s visiting from back east; Mary Blane, the housekeeper; and Joseph Blane, the butler.“Okay, let’s go talk to them.”The four people gathered in the living room had arranged themselves according to social status. Halston, a haughty, thirties-something man, perched on the divan. The eighteen-year-old nephew slouched in a recliner. A pile of reddish brown knitting yarn beside him morphed into a shaggy dog. Mary Blane, as broad as she was tall, stood against the back wall. Her husband, a cadaverous shadow, hovered at her elbow“My name’s Detective Williams. The sergeant has taken your statements, but I have a few questions.” I glanced down at the nephew. “Do you use the study often? Nice origami, by the way.”“Thanks. Uh-uh. The place was UO’s private reserve.” The kid hovered somewhere between handsome and pretty, but a studied nonchalance detracted from his image.“UO?”“Uncle Oliver.”I asked a few innocuous questions of the Blanes before returning to the nephew. “Hand me that ash tray on the coffee table, please.”Managing to look bored, he passed over the Baccarat crystal.“Mr. Halston, what’s the purpose of your visit?”“Purely social. Oliver and I go back a long way.”I considered his voice and cadence a moment, after which I dismissed everyone. The Blanes bustled off to the kitchen. Halston headed for the stairway. Binky rose gracefully. The multi-hued dog plodded along in his wake.“That’s it?” Munroe asked.“That’s all I need. I know what happened.”The sergeant’s eyes widened.“Did you notice the kid handed me this ash tray with his left hand?”“So?”“Those scissors in Swinson’s chest are left-handed.”“They have left-handed scissors?”“Sure. Each scissor—and it takes two to make a pair—is asymmetric. That’s because human hands are asymmetric. Left-handed scissors are constructed to accommodate this phenomenon. I’ll wager that pair belongs to Binky. He uses them to prepare paper for his origami art.”“And from this you know he offed his uncle?”“Binky probably wasn’t Swinson’s nephew. He was his ‘boy.’”“And he just up and killed his sugar daddy?”“He did after Uncle Oliver passed him over to Halston last night. Halston was probably one of Swinson’s boys before he got too old.”“You’ll play hell proving that.”“Oh, I don’t know. Lean on them the right way, and we’ll make the case.”
###
Hey, guys, thanks for taking the time to check out the site and read my story. Hope it held you interest. You can always contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.
Again, thanks.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
February 1, 2015
Yeoman’s Oak
Before we start, I heard nothing from qbs regarding my last post. Alas, I gather he doesn’t read my blog.
This week, I’d like to post one of my short stories. It needs no introduction because we’ve all been there regardless of the name or the size of the town. Enjoy.
*****YEOMAN’S OAK According to legend, 150 years ago, George Armstrong Yeoman, an accused horse thief, dangled from the tree catty-cornered across the street from my dad’s ice cream parlor. That’s how it got the name of Yeoman’s Oak. It wasn’t much as far as oaks go, standing only about forty feet tall. The town that grew up around it, also called Yeoman’s Oak, wasn’t much as far as towns go, either. I figured about 150 families called the place home, most with 2.4 kids. That would put the population at 1020. This kinda thinking was part of what made me different. The other guys spent their time dreaming about sports and hunting and fishing and sneaking off to the military so they could kill somebody. Here I was calculating the town’s population. The girls, of course, thought about nothing but boys. I shouldn’t be so snarky, because that’s the real thing that made me different. I thought about guys just like they did. Exactly like they did. I was eighteen-years-old, and all I’d done was pull my own pole. Nobody’d ever touched me, and I’d never touched anybody else. Oh, I got sly, sarcastic hints I could suck on Quarterback Jack’s dick or jerk off Right Fielder Fred, but that was just a trap to prove what they already believed: Jamey Jaxton was a queer. A subhuman, fair game for whatever they wanted to dish out. Somewhere in this world there had to be other people who felt like I did. Someone who’d permit my touch, consider my desire a compliment. The girls could gossip about their secret thoughts, but not me. Not in Yeoman’s Oak. Summers, I worked full time in the ice cream parlor. That might have bought me some popularity if I’d given away free cones. But I wouldn’t even let a double dip slide by as a single. That earned remarks like “Two man-sized balls on that cone, Jaxton, not faggot balls.” Or, “I’m watching, don’t you dare lick my balls.” My senior year, a new family moved into the house next door. In the way of small towns everywhere, everyone knew Mr. Hillsmith was the new manager down at the electric company office who’d waited to move from Fort. Worth until his son, Tim, graduated high school. Mrs. Hillsmith was labeled a snob before anyone set eyes on her. Me, I just figured I had another jock living right next door. I didn’t work weekends, so the Saturday after the Hillsmiths moved in Tim Hillsmith came walking across the lawn just as I left for the little public library in Mrs. Charleston’s garage two blocks over. He must not have heard the rumors about me because he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. He was an inch taller than me, had glorious golden hair like his mom, broad shoulders like his dad, trim hips and a package like Jake, and a voice a decibel lower than Fred’s. He allowed me to stammer my name before asking if I had a tennis racket. Somehow, I found myself standing across the net from the handsome guy down at Yeoman’s Oak’s only tennis court. Tim was way better than me, but I managed to make a game of it even while trying not to stare at the bulge in his tennis shorts and the tawny hairs on his calves. The next day, when I saw him playing touch football with the other guys, I figured that was the end of that. But he surprised me. He kept inviting me to play tennis. My heart would leap when I saw him and almost stopped beating when he was with other guys. Fear or jealousy? After a month, it occurred to me that I had a friend. One Saturday afternoon, he borrowed his dad’s car so we could drive out to the lake. I had a great time walking the woods with Tim, but when he suggested we go skinny dipping at the deserted end of the lake, I panicked. As soon as he dropped his tennis shorts and exposed two, smooth golden globes, I got hard. My knees went weak when he faced me, giving me a flash of a long cock dangling from a tawny bush. “Last one in’s a chicken,” he yelled. I stripped to my underwear and tiptoed into the water. He swam and romped, seemingly unconcerned he displayed his privates at times. Later, as we lay on the shore atop our clothing, he chided me about my wet jockeys so much, I finally hung them on a low limb to dry, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable … and excited. After a while, he closed his eyes and quit talking. This was too rare a day to nap away, so I rose to my elbow for a good look at him. Smooth and sleek with rolls of muscle hiding beneath fair skin. Little black tits grew in the middle of big, brown aureoles. His cock had a big head with a slit at the end shaped like a keyhole. His voice made me jump. “Did you get a good look?” I felt my face go red as I looked into his startling green eyes. I expected anger but saw teasing humor. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can touch, too. If you want, that is.” My hand snaked out and cupped one of those bewitching nipples. My thumb made the tit stand up. He wiggled like it tickled but didn’t say anything as I rubbed his broad chest and slipped down to his flat belly. Then I got brave enough to take his cock in my fingers. “Ummm,” he mumbled as it grew in my fist. I risked another glance at his eyes They were still smiling. I pumped with my hand. He spread his legs. After a few minutes, he brushed me away and rose on his elbow to face me. “Okay, you got a look. Now it’s my turn.” I lay flat of my back, eyes closed so I wouldn’t see disappointment in his eyes. Again, his voice surprised me. “You’ve got a nice one.” My eyes flew open as his fist closed around my cock, making it leap to attention. He laughed. “Man, you are ripe and ready. Tell you what. I’ll do you, and then you do me. Deal?” I tried to speak, but my voice was lost somewhere in my throat, so I nodded. He pumped me gently while he felt of my balls and my belly and my tits. It was great. Greater than great. Wonderful. “Oh,” I mumbled. “I’m coming. I … I can’t stop, Tim. I’m coming!” He gave a silver laugh. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” And then I shot. And shot. My legs trembled as little electrical shocks squirreled all through me. I reached out and grabbed his leg while the exquisite tremors wracked me. His hand slowed, and I felt a finger playing with my tip, rubbing around in all the oozing goop. In my cum. He finally let go of me and swiped his hand in the grass. With an effort, I sat up. “Can … can I do you now?” “That was the deal.” He lay on his back and cupped his hands behind his head. He had little tufts of blond hair in his armpits. I took him in my hand and wondered at the silken feel of him. I was so timid, he urged me to go faster. Fascinated, I watched his bulb swell even more as I set up a rhythm. “Play with my balls,” he murmured. So I did. I did everything he asked, happily, eagerly – even when he told me to lick it. Once my tongue made contact with a slit already slick with pre-cum, it seemed only natural to take his glans in my mouth. I felt his hand on my head, pressing me down on him. I took more of him. I choked, came up, and tried again. Soon it felt more natural, more exciting. And then: “Oh, shit, Jamey! I’m coming. I’m coming … coming. Oh!” I took his seed and gloried in it. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my life. I was doing to this handsome guy what all the girls in town wanted to do. Make him shoot his wad. Ejaculate. And, man, did he cum. At long last, he pressed my head against him and held me tight. As I lay there with his spent manhood in my mouth, his cum all over both of us, I realized I’d done what I had always avoided. Let one of them get to me. Tomorrow it would be all over town that Jamey Jaxton gave blow jobs. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me now. He’d be like all the others. Tim released me and stretched. Reluctantly, I met those handsome green eyes. Then he smiled and said the greatest words in the English language. “Wow, that was great! You wanna play tennis tomorrow?”
******
Bring back memories for anyone? At one time or the other we were all Jameys and Tims. Some of us might even have been Jacks and Freds, but I hope not.
Thanks, guys, for visiting the site. Keep on reading, and if anybody knows qbs, please tell him to read last week’s post.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
This week, I’d like to post one of my short stories. It needs no introduction because we’ve all been there regardless of the name or the size of the town. Enjoy.
*****YEOMAN’S OAK According to legend, 150 years ago, George Armstrong Yeoman, an accused horse thief, dangled from the tree catty-cornered across the street from my dad’s ice cream parlor. That’s how it got the name of Yeoman’s Oak. It wasn’t much as far as oaks go, standing only about forty feet tall. The town that grew up around it, also called Yeoman’s Oak, wasn’t much as far as towns go, either. I figured about 150 families called the place home, most with 2.4 kids. That would put the population at 1020. This kinda thinking was part of what made me different. The other guys spent their time dreaming about sports and hunting and fishing and sneaking off to the military so they could kill somebody. Here I was calculating the town’s population. The girls, of course, thought about nothing but boys. I shouldn’t be so snarky, because that’s the real thing that made me different. I thought about guys just like they did. Exactly like they did. I was eighteen-years-old, and all I’d done was pull my own pole. Nobody’d ever touched me, and I’d never touched anybody else. Oh, I got sly, sarcastic hints I could suck on Quarterback Jack’s dick or jerk off Right Fielder Fred, but that was just a trap to prove what they already believed: Jamey Jaxton was a queer. A subhuman, fair game for whatever they wanted to dish out. Somewhere in this world there had to be other people who felt like I did. Someone who’d permit my touch, consider my desire a compliment. The girls could gossip about their secret thoughts, but not me. Not in Yeoman’s Oak. Summers, I worked full time in the ice cream parlor. That might have bought me some popularity if I’d given away free cones. But I wouldn’t even let a double dip slide by as a single. That earned remarks like “Two man-sized balls on that cone, Jaxton, not faggot balls.” Or, “I’m watching, don’t you dare lick my balls.” My senior year, a new family moved into the house next door. In the way of small towns everywhere, everyone knew Mr. Hillsmith was the new manager down at the electric company office who’d waited to move from Fort. Worth until his son, Tim, graduated high school. Mrs. Hillsmith was labeled a snob before anyone set eyes on her. Me, I just figured I had another jock living right next door. I didn’t work weekends, so the Saturday after the Hillsmiths moved in Tim Hillsmith came walking across the lawn just as I left for the little public library in Mrs. Charleston’s garage two blocks over. He must not have heard the rumors about me because he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. He was an inch taller than me, had glorious golden hair like his mom, broad shoulders like his dad, trim hips and a package like Jake, and a voice a decibel lower than Fred’s. He allowed me to stammer my name before asking if I had a tennis racket. Somehow, I found myself standing across the net from the handsome guy down at Yeoman’s Oak’s only tennis court. Tim was way better than me, but I managed to make a game of it even while trying not to stare at the bulge in his tennis shorts and the tawny hairs on his calves. The next day, when I saw him playing touch football with the other guys, I figured that was the end of that. But he surprised me. He kept inviting me to play tennis. My heart would leap when I saw him and almost stopped beating when he was with other guys. Fear or jealousy? After a month, it occurred to me that I had a friend. One Saturday afternoon, he borrowed his dad’s car so we could drive out to the lake. I had a great time walking the woods with Tim, but when he suggested we go skinny dipping at the deserted end of the lake, I panicked. As soon as he dropped his tennis shorts and exposed two, smooth golden globes, I got hard. My knees went weak when he faced me, giving me a flash of a long cock dangling from a tawny bush. “Last one in’s a chicken,” he yelled. I stripped to my underwear and tiptoed into the water. He swam and romped, seemingly unconcerned he displayed his privates at times. Later, as we lay on the shore atop our clothing, he chided me about my wet jockeys so much, I finally hung them on a low limb to dry, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable … and excited. After a while, he closed his eyes and quit talking. This was too rare a day to nap away, so I rose to my elbow for a good look at him. Smooth and sleek with rolls of muscle hiding beneath fair skin. Little black tits grew in the middle of big, brown aureoles. His cock had a big head with a slit at the end shaped like a keyhole. His voice made me jump. “Did you get a good look?” I felt my face go red as I looked into his startling green eyes. I expected anger but saw teasing humor. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can touch, too. If you want, that is.” My hand snaked out and cupped one of those bewitching nipples. My thumb made the tit stand up. He wiggled like it tickled but didn’t say anything as I rubbed his broad chest and slipped down to his flat belly. Then I got brave enough to take his cock in my fingers. “Ummm,” he mumbled as it grew in my fist. I risked another glance at his eyes They were still smiling. I pumped with my hand. He spread his legs. After a few minutes, he brushed me away and rose on his elbow to face me. “Okay, you got a look. Now it’s my turn.” I lay flat of my back, eyes closed so I wouldn’t see disappointment in his eyes. Again, his voice surprised me. “You’ve got a nice one.” My eyes flew open as his fist closed around my cock, making it leap to attention. He laughed. “Man, you are ripe and ready. Tell you what. I’ll do you, and then you do me. Deal?” I tried to speak, but my voice was lost somewhere in my throat, so I nodded. He pumped me gently while he felt of my balls and my belly and my tits. It was great. Greater than great. Wonderful. “Oh,” I mumbled. “I’m coming. I … I can’t stop, Tim. I’m coming!” He gave a silver laugh. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” And then I shot. And shot. My legs trembled as little electrical shocks squirreled all through me. I reached out and grabbed his leg while the exquisite tremors wracked me. His hand slowed, and I felt a finger playing with my tip, rubbing around in all the oozing goop. In my cum. He finally let go of me and swiped his hand in the grass. With an effort, I sat up. “Can … can I do you now?” “That was the deal.” He lay on his back and cupped his hands behind his head. He had little tufts of blond hair in his armpits. I took him in my hand and wondered at the silken feel of him. I was so timid, he urged me to go faster. Fascinated, I watched his bulb swell even more as I set up a rhythm. “Play with my balls,” he murmured. So I did. I did everything he asked, happily, eagerly – even when he told me to lick it. Once my tongue made contact with a slit already slick with pre-cum, it seemed only natural to take his glans in my mouth. I felt his hand on my head, pressing me down on him. I took more of him. I choked, came up, and tried again. Soon it felt more natural, more exciting. And then: “Oh, shit, Jamey! I’m coming. I’m coming … coming. Oh!” I took his seed and gloried in it. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my life. I was doing to this handsome guy what all the girls in town wanted to do. Make him shoot his wad. Ejaculate. And, man, did he cum. At long last, he pressed my head against him and held me tight. As I lay there with his spent manhood in my mouth, his cum all over both of us, I realized I’d done what I had always avoided. Let one of them get to me. Tomorrow it would be all over town that Jamey Jaxton gave blow jobs. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me now. He’d be like all the others. Tim released me and stretched. Reluctantly, I met those handsome green eyes. Then he smiled and said the greatest words in the English language. “Wow, that was great! You wanna play tennis tomorrow?”
******
Bring back memories for anyone? At one time or the other we were all Jameys and Tims. Some of us might even have been Jacks and Freds, but I hope not.
Thanks, guys, for visiting the site. Keep on reading, and if anybody knows qbs, please tell him to read last week’s post.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
January 1, 2015
The Importance of Readers’ Reviews
When I started writing novels (after almost a hundred short stories), I decided I wanted to examine the cultural position of gays from both a historical and a contemporary viewpoint. My Cut Hand series (Cut Hand, River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, the upcoming Medicine Hair, and the in-progress Wastelacapi … Beloved) take the historical approach. My two contemporary novels, The Victor and the Vanquished and Charlie Blackbear, address the other side of the equation. I also have another contemporary novel, Johnny Two-Guns, in the offing.
One of the things that keeps me writing (besides needing to make life interesting enough to live) is the reaction of my readers. You guys have been great at keeping the creational blood pumping. Your comments are generally supportive and make a real difference in my life.
So when I went to Amazon’s Author Central the other day to check on my new book, Charlie Blackbear, I got my come-uppance. There were two reviews, one a Four-Star, and the other a One-Star. The handle of the One-Star reviewer was familiar to me, causing me to search all of the customer comments posted by Author Central.
The reader, qbs, had written three other reviews on my books, all Five-Star and very positive. He began one review with: “If Wilder writes, I read …” Now he begrudgingly awards Blackbear the lowest rating possible, saying he was so disappointed he didn’t even finish the book.
This caused me to stop and think. What was there about Charlie Blackbear that so turned off this valued reader? It couldn’t have been the “contemporary” approach, because qbs awarded V&V five stars. So what was it?
Charlie Blackbear is a different cat from my other protagonists. He’s a high-school dropout living on a small Indian reservation who loves chasing … and catching … women. His attitude is totally different. He spits in the face of society and does what he does best: drink booze and chase females. His awakening to the other facets of life (both his sexuality and what life can really offer a young man) takes place slowly. He is genuinely shocked when he falls half in love with Boots, a saucy, damaged divorcee and head-over-heels in love with his childhood friend, Daniel Warhorse. From a state of total confusion, he fights his way back to reality and accepts his bi-sexuality. Under Daniel’s influence, he begins to order his life in such a way that it becomes meaningful. We even meet Wilam Greyhorse and Joseph Sixkiller from V&Vbriefly.
After my own review, I sincerely believe that Blackbear is as good a story as V&V. I wish qbs would pick up the book he’s already purchased and finish the novel. Then I would be genuinely interested in his opinion.
What say, qbs?
Thanks, guys. Keep on reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
One of the things that keeps me writing (besides needing to make life interesting enough to live) is the reaction of my readers. You guys have been great at keeping the creational blood pumping. Your comments are generally supportive and make a real difference in my life.
So when I went to Amazon’s Author Central the other day to check on my new book, Charlie Blackbear, I got my come-uppance. There were two reviews, one a Four-Star, and the other a One-Star. The handle of the One-Star reviewer was familiar to me, causing me to search all of the customer comments posted by Author Central.
The reader, qbs, had written three other reviews on my books, all Five-Star and very positive. He began one review with: “If Wilder writes, I read …” Now he begrudgingly awards Blackbear the lowest rating possible, saying he was so disappointed he didn’t even finish the book.
This caused me to stop and think. What was there about Charlie Blackbear that so turned off this valued reader? It couldn’t have been the “contemporary” approach, because qbs awarded V&V five stars. So what was it?
Charlie Blackbear is a different cat from my other protagonists. He’s a high-school dropout living on a small Indian reservation who loves chasing … and catching … women. His attitude is totally different. He spits in the face of society and does what he does best: drink booze and chase females. His awakening to the other facets of life (both his sexuality and what life can really offer a young man) takes place slowly. He is genuinely shocked when he falls half in love with Boots, a saucy, damaged divorcee and head-over-heels in love with his childhood friend, Daniel Warhorse. From a state of total confusion, he fights his way back to reality and accepts his bi-sexuality. Under Daniel’s influence, he begins to order his life in such a way that it becomes meaningful. We even meet Wilam Greyhorse and Joseph Sixkiller from V&Vbriefly.
After my own review, I sincerely believe that Blackbear is as good a story as V&V. I wish qbs would pick up the book he’s already purchased and finish the novel. Then I would be genuinely interested in his opinion.
What say, qbs?
Thanks, guys. Keep on reading.
Mark
New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
Mark Wildyr's Blog
- Mark Wildyr's profile
- 24 followers
Mark Wildyr isn't a Goodreads Author
(yet),
but they
do have a blog,
so here are some recent posts imported from
their feed.
