Tangled Sheets (3 page)

Watching him blow his hunky friend, I stroke my own cock in much the same way, my fingers miming the motions of his mouth. Now I am even hornier than when I woke up, and every touch of my fingers on my dick brings aching tendrils shooting up from deep inside me. My skin is rivered with sweat from the heat, and I can feel it rolling down my sides in tiny drops, dried by the occasional breath of wind on my body. I feel myself getting closer and closer, but I don't want to come yet, not before I see what the studs below me are going to do, how it will all end. I have a feeling it isn't over yet and hold off my own need as I wait to see what comes next in their after-hours scenario.

The man in the car is gripping the other one's neck firmly with both hands, pushing him down and then releasing him. I can tell he is going to come by the way his hips rise off of the seat as he drives his cock into the teasing lips. When the man on the ground tries to pull away, I know that he is shooting deep in his throat. He holds the man's head in place until he is spent, only letting him go when his climax has ended. The man on the ground turns his head to the side. He has not been able to swallow all of the man's load, and a string of cum slides from his mouth to the street. It hangs from his lips in a thick thread, swaying slightly before falling away. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

He stands up and steps away from the car, reaching for a bottle of beer to wash away the taste in his mouth. The man inside slides out, following him, and for the first time I see his face. He is very handsome. Not pretty like the men I see in the bars or in the fashionable parts of town, but rugged and somehow more real, more alive. His neck is thick, his jaw wide, and his whole body moves with masculine strength. His nose is slightly crooked, as though it has been broken in a long-ago game of football or during a brawl with another man over a lost bet in some dark bar. His hair is shaved so close to the skin that it forms a halo around his head under the streetlight.

Bending down, he unties his boots and pulls them off, following them with his pants. He stands barefoot and naked on the sidewalk beside the car. His body is bathed in light, and his still-erect cock stands out as he raises his hands and stretches them over his head. He reminds me of an animal, confident in both his power and in his complete control over his surroundings. I freeze, afraid that he will look up and see me watching him. But although he pauses for a moment, he does not turn around.

“Now you,” he says to the other man, who is leaning against the car watching him. “Strip.” It is a command, not a request.

When the other man does not move quickly enough, he steps in to help, tugging his shirt from his pants and pulling it over his head. Not as muscular as that of his friend, the dark-haired man's body is still remarkable. As his T-shirt slips over his head, I see two patches of hair beneath his arms, the only dark spots on his otherwise smooth body. His jeans are the next to go, dropping to the ground to reveal a short, fat cock already hard. His crotch looks as though it has been shaved clean, as do his balls.

The bigger man grabs the prick before him and begins to jerk on it roughly. “Nice piece you got here,” he says, fingering the hairless balls.

Dropping to his knees, he starts to suck the other man's dick while playing with his own cock, which throws a long shadow over the pale surface of the sidewalk. He works expertly, moving his mouth from the shaft to the balls beneath, his face buried between the spread legs. After a minute, the standing man places his hands on the wide shoulders below him, his fingers kneading the thick muscles, his prick slipping in and out of the man's mouth smoothly and evenly as he gets serviced.

I no longer care if anyone is watching me or not. My hand glides rapidly along my dick, squeezing thin strands of precum from the head as I take in the scene below. My arm aches from the repeated motions, and I can feel the skin on my cock turning raw, but I don't stop. I spit into my hand and use this to grease my shaft, cooling the searing heat somewhat. My back is pressed so tightly against the stairs that the metal has started to bite into the skin.

The big man stands up and takes his buddy by the arm, maneuvering him so that he is standing in the ring of light. He pushes the other man against the front of the car so that he is lying with his arms splayed out over the hood, his legs spread behind him. He pushes the waiting ass cheeks apart with his big hands and plunges one long finger straight into the hole at their center. The man on the car bucks slightly as the finger tears into him, pushing back against his invader, who shoves him roughly down until he is still. Sliding his finger in and out, he loosens the tight ring of muscle until the man beneath him is rocking back and forth on his hand easily.

Pulling his finger out, he positions the head of his cock between the man's cheeks and pushes forward, driving into him in one swift thrust. I can see the man's face grimace in pain as his chute is filled with his buddy's prick. Then the lines of his mouth slide slowly into relaxation as pleasure wraps its shining arms about him. As the man behind him starts to fuck him in slow strokes, he rubs his hands over the smooth metal of the car's hood as though it were the skin of his lover's back.

The man pumps the ass beneath him in ever-increasing movements, the shadows cast on his naked skin from the surrounding buildings trembling like leaves in the wind as they stretch and tense with his motions. I can see clearly his long cock as it pistons rapidly in and out of the smooth mounds as he enters and retreats. His hands grip his friend's waist tightly and the muscles of his ass dimple and fill in again as he thrusts harder and harder.

My hand moves over my prick swiftly as I watch them fuck. Spreading my legs, I slide my finger into my hole as far as it will go, massaging the opening as I imagine the man's cock pounding my chute. Bringing it to my lips, I smell the musky scent of my ass and pretend that it is his. I slip the finger into my mouth and suck slowly and hungrily as I continue to pound my tool in time with the men who have made me so excited. I am getting very close and hope I can hold out until the end.

The man getting fucked is running his face over the car's surface, his tongue licking at the metal. He puts his hands under him and tries to push away, to reach his own dick and give it some relief, but he can't. His hands reach up and grasp at the glass of the windshield as he writhes against the hood, pinned there by the weight of the larger man and the force of his hammering cock. Finally the man pulls back, allowing his captive to stand while still driving his prong into the tight ass. The dark-haired man's cock bobs free as his body is rocked by the motion. He grabs hold of it and fists it wildly, his balls slapping madly beneath his hand as he rushes to bring the action to its conclusion.

Leaning back, he rests his head on the other man's shoulder as he comes. A long arc of white blasts from his prick and scatters over the hood. His arm continues its pumping motions as wave after wave spurts into the air. Then he is pushed forward and collapses on top of the car as the other man pulls out and jerks himself the rest of the way. Standing with his legs spread, he thrusts his hips forward and cranks his meat in short, quick strokes until he too sends a gush of jism into the night. The thick spray flashes momentarily in the lights before raining down on the prostrate form of the man on the hood.

Having lasted to the end, I finally allow myself the release I have craved since waking. My balls tighten as I finish the last few strokes and blow my load. As my body shakes with the crash of my coming I have to bite my lips to keep from crying out. The cum shoots from my prick in four long volleys, and I watch glassy eyed and exhausted as it falls through the air to the street below, landing only feet away from the car but unnoticed by the two men. A final shot coats the steel bars of the fire escape with a sticky stain as I fall back against the stairs. When I open my eyes, I see that the two men have picked up their clothes and gotten back into the car. As I sit above them wrapped in the heat and darkness, the cum drying on my skin and my cock hanging spent between my thighs, I watch as the headlights shine on and the car moves slowly down the street away from me, leaving me alone with the quiet.

A
lbert Grant sat in the balcony of the Showtime All-Male Theater wondering if he was expected to jerk off. Just in case, he had stuffed several tissues into the pocket of his jacket as he left the house, and they made a small lump against his side that rustled lightly when he moved his arm. Also in his pocket was a crumpled advertisement that he had found three days earlier while walking from the grocer's back to his apartment. The ad, printed on a small square of blue paper, was twisted around one of the iron rail posts of his steps, and he had nearly stepped on it as he was ascending to his door. He'd picked it up not because he was interested in what it said, but because it annoyed him to have his freshly swept stoop dirtied.

He hadn't actually read it until he'd unpacked the groceries and put them away, the cans marshaled in neat rows behind the glass of the cabinet doors, the milk tucked neatly into the refrigerator. Then he'd taken the piece of paper from the counter where he'd dropped it and started to throw it away, stopping when he noticed that there was a picture of a nude man on it. The man had an unusually large penis, and Albert found himself staring at it helplessly, amazed at the way it hung between the man's legs demanding to be noticed. The ad had been very well printed, and Albert could see every curve of the man's big cock clearly, his eyes following it down from the man's neatly clipped bush to the point at which it flared into a fat, inviting head.

He'd looked at the prick for several minutes before moving his eyes up to scan the rest of the man's body. He appeared to be Italian, with a muscular body that had not been overworked and a chest covered in short, dark hair. Too rugged to be considered pretty, the man's face was what Albert thought of as handsome. His dark eyes looked out from under sleepy lids, the brows over them thick and arched. The shadow drifting over his cheeks suggested that his beard would be heavy.

He looked like any one of the construction workers Albert often saw standing around roadwork sites, their hands resting confidently on their waists and their deeply tanned torsos filmed with sweat as they gazed down manholes or off into the distance at something he himself could never quite see. He was both attracted to and afraid of them, and if one of them chanced to look in his direction it took him several hours to forget his face.

Apart from his big cock, what interested Albert most about the man was the easy way in which he stood in the picture, as if he'd just stepped out of his dusty work clothes and was headed for the shower or on his way to bed after a long day. There was nothing self-conscious about either his stance or his expression, and Albert wondered if the man was thinking at all about the many men who would see his picture and want to make love with him. He could not imagine exposing himself like that before a camera, and the idea that someone might look at his picture the way he was looking at the man's made him distinctly uneasy.

According to the ad, the man's name was Tony Gioconda, and he was going to be appearing live on stage at the Showtime three times a day for one week starting the next Tuesday. Albert had no intention of going anywhere near the Showtime. It was in a section of town frequented more by drunks and prostitutes who crawled out of the city's smaller cracks when dusk settled in than by architects who lived in brownstones. But he kept the ad anyway, folding it carefully and tucking it into his wallet behind his American Express gold card.

Over the next few days Albert found himself thinking often of the man. His face would drop into Albert's mind suddenly and without warning while he was doing something completely unrelated, like washing the dishes or drawing up the floor plans for a new restaurant. Once, when he was in the middle of giving a presentation to a client, the image of Tony Gioconda's prick rose up before him, eclipsing the face of the corporate president sitting across the table, and he'd had to excuse himself for a few minutes to go into the bathroom and jerk off thinking about the big cock sliding into his throat.

These interruptions of his usually ordered routine had a surprising effect on him, similar to what would occur if he turned a corner on a familiar road and suddenly found himself in a new place. At first they annoyed him, the way they rippled the smooth surface of his life in unexpected patterns. But then he began to welcome, even invite, them. Every so often he would take the ad out of his wallet and look at it. It pleased him to have the man's picture folded and resting in his back pocket, as if somehow they knew one another and shared some kind of a history. After repeated foldings, the paper was crossed by pale, thin lines that neatly sectioned Tony Gioconda's body into squares. Albert liked the way the different parts of Tony's body were framed by these windows, especially the way his cock hung in the center square like a fine cut of meat in a butcher's display, something for hungry men to gaze at longingly.

Once he had stood naked before a mirror and compared his body to Tony's. He would examine one part of himself and then look at the corresponding area of the picture, noting the differences between them. At thirty-seven, he was in very good shape. His stomach, while not as ridged and tight as Tony's, was flat. His chest was smooth and fairly hard, if not sculpted into the twin rises of the Italian's, and his arms were evenly muscled. His face was strong, his blue eyes intent beneath light brown hair.

Assuming the same pose as Tony held in the ad, he noted the way his cock and balls hung. In school he had often sneaked glances at the penises of other boys as they stood awkwardly in the showers trying to focus their eyes anywhere but where they really wanted to look. He had been especially intrigued by one boy, the son of a local politician, whose cock seemed always to be half-hard, rising slightly up and away from his balls in a thickening arc. The boy seemed either not to notice or not to care that anyone saw his erection, soaping himself as if he were in his own shower at home. Albert had stood next to him several times, and once the boy's dick had brushed his leg when he turned to rinse himself. He had made no apology, and Albert had been forced to cut his own shower short to avoid being caught with the hard-on that was beginning to rush up from between his legs. That night in bed he had masturbated furiously, his hand rubbing over the burning spot on his thigh.

He looked at his cock as it was reflected in the mirror's face. The head, rounded to a blunt point, hung a little ways beyond his balls. He was always amazed when he became hard how much larger his cock became. Soft, it always appeared slightly small, like it belonged to a teenage boy instead of a grown man. But hard, it grew to a surprising length, sticking straight out from his body in a thick line. He knew from his limited experience that men enjoyed it, but he had never been able to ask any of his partners how it compared to others they had had.

After inspecting the rest of himself, he had gone to bed, where he dreamed that he was once again in the school shower room. Someone was standing very close to him, and because it was very steamy, he couldn't tell who it was. Then the steam opened up and Tony had stood before him. Albert had looked on in surprise as Tony reached out and took his cock in his soapy hand, jerking it slowly until it was hard. Then he had dropped to his knees and begun to suck on it while Albert put his hands in Tony's shiny wet hair. The dream had been very realistic, and when he woke up he saw that he had come all over his stomach and decided that he would go to the Showtime that evening.

Having made his decision, he was able to work the whole day without thinking about it. Then, he had come home, changed his clothes, and taken the bus to a stop near the theater. The driver had not even looked twice at him, and Albert, who imagined that the man must know exactly what it was he was about to do, told himself that it was because the driver saw this kind of thing all the time. After walking several blocks past stores that sold liquor, cheap clothing, and videos catering to every fetish imaginable, he'd found the Showtime. The panes of glass on the doors were blackened, and there was a poster outside of Tony Gioconda, on which he was crouched so that the head of his penis nearly swept the floor.

He gave his money to a tired-looking Asian woman who sat behind a thick screen of Plexiglas, wondering if she knew that she was collecting the fare for men's most secret dreams, and went through the door into a stale, smoky hallway carpeted in red. There were several other men leaning against the walls, and they looked up hopefully when he came in. He glanced briefly at their faces. One, a silver-haired middle-aged man still wearing his suit from work, attracted him briefly, but he moved on. He quickly found the stairway to his left and went up into the balcony. It was empty except for three or four men scattered among the seats like grains of rice after a wedding.

Choosing a seat in the middle of the row directly behind the railing, he'd settled into the sagging blue velvet cushion, checking carefully first to make sure there was nothing still wet on it. As he waited for the minutes to pass until the show was scheduled to start, he looked around at the men he could see from his vantage point above the main floor. He had expected the population of the theater to be composed of the old and the unattractive, and was surprised that most of them looked very much like himself.

Behind the small stage at the front of the theater was a large white screen, on which was flickering a picture of two men, one white and one black, fucking on a bed. The bed appeared to be in a hotel room, and Albert was amused to see that the filmmaker had put a small Bible on the bedside table. The black man was fucking the white one, who was on his hands and knees with his head on a pillow. The black man was thrusting savagely at his asshole, and Albert wondered why it was that men in porn movies always slapped the asses of the men they were fucking. The image made his dick stiffen slightly in his pants, and he shifted his position to lessen the pressure at his crotch.

Just as the black man started to shoot his load onto his partner's back, the film was cut abruptly. The lights dimmed to inky blackness, and the house was swallowed by shadows. A white light swept over the stage, and the sound of music spat out of the mouths of tinny speakers set throughout the house. A curtain behind the screen parted, and Tony Gioconda walked onto the stage wearing a policeman's uniform and carrying a billy club.

Albert found himself very attracted to the uniform, and his attention was riveted to Tony, imagining the way the material would feel under his hands. As the music thumped and growled, Tony moved around the stage, grinding his body along with the beat. He was shorter than Albert had imagined and wore dark glasses that hid his eyes. Still, as he watched Tony come to the edge of the stage and run the billy club between his legs, he felt his balls tighten.

The first thing Tony took off was his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it and then turning to let it fall down his back to the floor like a great blue leaf. When he turned back to the audience, he was rubbing his hands over his chest, pinching his nipples and then pushing his hand into the front of his pants. After a few more minutes, he undid those as well, pulling them down and off in one surprisingly fluid movement.

Wearing only a pair of small dark blue briefs and black leather motorcycle boots, he began to tease the audience, pulling the underwear down until the top of his bush was exposed, then cruelly pulling them back up. He turned around and let them see the firm globes of his ass, bending over as though waiting for one of them to run on stage and begin to fuck him. Finally, he yanked the briefs off, revealing his cock.

From the balcony, Albert could not see in great detail, but he could tell that Tony's prick was beautiful. Long and thick, it swung heavily as he continued to move around the stage. Like the boy's in Albert's high-school gym class, it swung half-hard over his balls. Then he began to jerk off, stroking his cock slowly as he stood on the stage. His eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in the audience, and Albert wondered if he was looking at someone in particular. His hand made long pulls on the big dick, his fingers squeezing the head and holding it out toward the men sitting in the seats before him.

Making sure that no one was watching him, Albert unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, leaving his balls inside. He was filled with a peculiar excitement as he sat back and started to play with his prick, all the while keeping his eyes on Tony. He heard the quiet sounds of men moving in the darkness around him, and this made him even more aroused, knowing that if they looked closely they would see him taking part in this most personal pleasure. He kept his hand moving in time with Tony's, enjoying the feeling of his hot flesh beneath his fingers.

He brought himself to the edge several times, feeling a swelling in his groin and slowing his hand just enough to prevent his load from escaping. His balls were starting to ache, but he was determined to wait. Finally, when he saw Tony's eyes close, he knew it was almost time, and he began to pump himself quickly. As Tony grabbed his balls tightly and thick bursts of white streamed from his cockhead, tumbling onto the stage, Albert came in a rush of pleasure, squirting his cum onto the floor between his legs with a soft, wet sound.

Then it was over, almost as abruptly as it had started. The music ended, and Tony disappeared behind the curtains. The lights rose slightly and the men on the screen started in right where they had left off. The black man's face twisted into a grimace of pleasure as he finally released his load in a great white arc that covered the other man in a sticky sheet. Albert tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped up quickly. Standing up, he left the balcony and, pushing past two men kissing in the stairwell, exited the theater and rushed into the dark mouth of the evening.