Manhandled (14 page)

As clouds continued their arabesques in the skies above and then gave way to gentle moonlight, I was able to admire my new
companion’s distinguished, bronzed chest.

My hand moved forward to touch his sculpted, earth-brown body, encircling his pecs and alighting upon his firm, aroused, quarter-size
nipples. I became aware of our breathing—communal, though individually patterned and separately identifiable.

My body was aroused, but I remained relaxed and calm. My eyes had begun to grow accustomed to the semi-darkness. I noticed
red-checkered tablecloths stacked unceremoniously and condiments gathered and placed on a metal tray table.

As if in a trance I continued to follow this moving bronze form, marching forward in a relaxed, tropical beat, the off-white
stick marking time as we continued our dance in the dark.

Without turning around he reached back and lightly grazed my body—not to arouse, but to stop further progress into the room.
He placed one of the checkered tablecloths on the floor. Removing his pants, he lay down upon the tablecloth, then slid my
pants down and pulled me on top of him with a hungry urgency.

It was then that I noticed his legs: thin, almost nonexistent. They didn’t belong to the sculpted torso that my hands had
traveled over only a few moments ago. I was transfixed, unable to move, a weighty block of cement.

The butterfly hand that met mine was now tense, and I felt its urgency.

“No, I can’t.”

I wanted to escape; I felt betrayed. But those almond eyes delivered a message without words, unspoken words that commanded
my body to move forward upon his, aroused once again. He guided my throbbing member between his legs, just below his scrotum.
His heavily veined and muscular hands pressed upon my back and drew me forward; I melted into him as our colors collided and
I felt his ball sac cradle my blood-engorged shaft. I found his thick, cinnamon lips, moist, energetic. I slipped my tongue
into his mouth as he slipped his into mine and we both explored the caverns within.

I licked a path down his cheek and pulled at his ear-lobe in a playful manner, blowing hotly into his ear. I continued with
a darting tongue lash that aroused him to extend his body upward, pushing my cock into a deeper spot near his anus. At the
same time I felt his throbbing member press into my abs and gently pulsate while I completed my exploration above the equator.

I broke loose from the hold he had on my cock, and we quickly changed positions, then both inhaled sweat and sex while sixty-nining
one another. We rocked back and forth, pummeling hungry mouths, as we both grew in size.

I began fondling his sphincter and rammed three fingers up his tight hole. He screamed with delight, panting, and I felt his
muscle tighten around those fingers like a clamp.

I repositioned myself, kneeling between his splintered legs, pushing the head of my dick into his opening, my purple bulb
asking for entrance. He handed me a rubber and a bottle of olive oil. I massaged his butt cheeks and manhole with 100 percent
virgin oil while he sheathed my cock and guided it into his lubed entrance.

I cupped his balls with one hand and ran my fingers up and down his eight-inch shaft with the other. He pulled on my buttocks
with his butterfly fingers, pulled hard with an intense urgency and bucked up toward my engorged monster.

Entering him, I began an urgent thrust, fucking him as if it were our last night on earth, and this our last taste of lust.
His cock swelled in my hand as I pounded his ass. His excitement furthered my own, and I knew our fevered union could not
stand this pace for long. We were two night moths being drawn inevitably toward an orgasmic flame. And then suddenly we were
engulfed. Our bodies quaking, he shrieked out an orgasm, tightening his butt and accelerating my climax, causing me to fire
off a thick, hot, white load.

I slowly pulled away from his body. Nothing was said. I knelt, then rose from my kneeling position as he reached for his cane
and inched himself up slowly, trembling ever so slightly.

He escorted me to the entrance, the cane once again marking our departure.

“Promise you’ll return.”

“Tomorrow,” I heard myself whisper.

I drifted out the door as if in a trance. I focused on the cracks in the cement pathway and edged myself forward; then I stopped
suddenly and looked back.

I saw the butterfly fingers moving in the storefront window. It began to sprinkle, and I welcomed the coolness of the rain.
I looked up at the streetlight and saw moths fluttering and whirring above.

Night moths in Acapulco. A delicious sight, I thought, as I retasted the night.

Dale Chase

I
didn’t get the part. Never mind how long I’d known the director or how many times he’d fucked me in the past, he gave the
role to someone else, and I had to wonder if Derek Fall was really a better actor or just a better fuck. Watching him prowl
the stage only complicated things. Every time I looked at him a battle started inside me: jealous fury squared off against
overwhelming desire.

The part was the best thing to come along in years, and every young actor in San Francisco auditioned. Six of us were called
back to the ancient Lindsay Theatre for a second reading, and it was then that I knew I was in trouble. Not only did Fall’s
reading match my own, but I got hard watching him. Winning a lesser part was little consolation, and I found rehearsals of
the four-man, two-act play more difficult than anticipated, because in addition to mastering my supporting role I had to balance
envy and lust, which caused me more than once to forget my lines and endure an embarrassing silence that Fall seemed to relish.
At those moments I could feel his smirk, even though his gorgeous James Dean face never betrayed a thing.

After a week’s rehearsal I was clearly undone, and writer-director Abel Groff, gay theater patriarch, called me on it. “If
you’re in some kind of snit at not playing the lead, please get over it because you are not doing justice to the part you’ve
been given, not at all. Don’t you see, Brian is trapped by his feelings, he’s tangled without hope, he’s suffering! All I’m
getting from you is distraction.”

I couldn’t respond.

“All right,” Abel sighed, “just work on it, will you? You’re a fine actor, Carl, and you’ll do a wonderful job if you’ll let
yourself get into the role.” He studied me then as only a man whose dick had been up my ass could do. “You probably just need
a good fuck,” he added, glancing at his watch. “I’d do you myself if I didn’t have an appointment.” And then he was gone.

I remained in the cramped communal dressing room long after the theater was dark. Fall’s image clung to me. He’d made a production
of changing from jeans to tight black slacks, enjoying, I was certain, my unease around his exposed cock. He’d revealed it
slowly, his sizable shaft lingering in the mirror, and I’d feasted on the sight of it, long, thick, and half hard. My asshole
had clenched involuntarily, my own dick stirring.

Anyone else I would have already approached, but Fall had a way of daring me to make a move while threatening me if I did,
all of it accomplished in a charged and brutal silence. I hated the way he hoarded his words, saving everything for the stage,
and the way he toyed with me like I was some defenseless prey.

His looks, of course, drove me wild. Never mind how cold the blue eyes, they bore into me like a rigid cock. His blond hair
and exquisitely cut features—he truly was James Dean incarnate—seemed almost crafted, and yet his presence was truly animal,
so base and raw that I was continually unsettled. Abel was right—I did need a good fuck. And I knew from whom.

Things were no less difficult onstage. Every time I was put up against Fall it was
my
erection prodding, never mind that of Brian, my poor tormented character. I passed that first week in bittersweet misery,
and Fall knew it and played me accordingly. We existed in a state of near perpetual arousal, and at night I devoured anonymous
cocks to exhaustion. By the next day’s rehearsal, however, I would be desperate all over again.

And then, after Abel’s admonishment, when I decided to forgo everything for a quiet night, an unattended ass-hole and lone
jerk-off, the dressing-room door opened and I looked up into the mirror and saw Derek Fall in all his glory.

He approached me as if it were scripted, and while I hated his arrogance, I stood for him, pulled down my jeans, and presented
the ass he had owned from day one. “Pussy boy,” he growled as he shoved his cock into me. He said it again as he began a vicious
stroke, and I responded as I knew he wanted me to. “
Your
pussy boy,” I said, riding his dick and crazy with heat because I knew how the scene would play because it
was
a scene, Abel Groff’s scene, although onstage the sex was simulated, clothed in shadow. Now it was alive, and as Derek Fall
rammed his sizable dick up my ass, I knew we were playing our respective parts, but, of course didn’t care. I had what I wanted,
I was getting my fuck, and as I writhed on that magnificent tool all that mattered was that cock up this ass, never mind if
the ass was Brian’s or mine.

Fall didn’t utter a word during the entire act, and outside of the rhythmic slap of flesh the room remained silent. I longed
to cry out but didn’t, taking his hose to the root and still wanting more. I couldn’t get enough of him now that he was inside
me; it felt like a cobra was sliding up into my bowels and my asshole pulsed in exquisite delight as it swallowed what seemed
a mile of cock. Other than hands on my hips and dick up my ass, Fall gave me nothing, and once he’d pumped his cream into
me in a massive gusher, he simply withdrew. His exit was as abrupt as his entrance, and I was still bent over the dressing
table as I heard the door close.

He didn’t seem to care that I too had delivered a massive load, the milky puddle validation that we had indeed shared the
act. My hand was still on my cock, as if it needed consolation, and my asshole throbbed in recollection. I stood up slowly
and stared at the door, knowing it was Fall who had fucked me but having the eerie feeling the encounter had been with his
character, that Jake Cavett’s prick had been the one up my ass.

“No, no!” Abel Groff screamed the next morning during rehearsal. “I told you how to play it. Can’t you follow simple directions?”
He was onstage in seconds, shoving me aside to show me Brian’s move toward Jake. When he turned to me after the demonstration
I offered nothing, and this enraged him further.

“Well?” he shouted.

“Yes,” I managed, glancing at Fall, who leaned against the sofa back, erection prominent inside his jeans. Approaching him
was agony, my own need overwhelming poor Brian’s. I didn’t care about scenes or characters or any of it anymore. I just wanted
to pull out Fall’s dick and climb on.

I managed to get through rehearsal but suffered a near collapse at day’s end and again remained behind in the dressing room.
I half expected Fall to come in for a repeat— he knew it’d be a given—but heard instead fading chatter and the clicks and
groans of a theater shutting down for the night. For a while I considered quitting the play—an eager understudy could step
in—but knew I’d go on, unable to resist Fall’s promise. Exhausted, I finally forced myself out the door.

A single light illuminated the stage, and I paused in its meager stripe to remind myself I was an actor in a play and would
be performing before hundreds of people. It was, after all, an act; I should simply get on with it. I had gathered a bit of
calm when I heard footsteps in the wings. Derek Fall stepped from the shadows and strode toward me, and I thought of Brian,
who lusted after Jake so pathetically—and yet I dropped my pants and waited.

Fall freed his cock, and as I stared at the magnificent pole I wondered if it ever went soft. The head was blue-purple and
swollen with need, precum oozing in stringy gobs. He backed me to the sofa and I eased down and raised my legs, offering him
the only thing he wanted. I watched his face darken as he slid his piston up my alley, and when he began pumping it was with
a jackhammer fury that sent shock waves of pleasure through me. As he fucked me I wanted more than anything to pull away his
clothes and confront the animal who took me with such authority. I wanted everything of his—lips, tongue, nipples, balls—but
for now took what was offered, the pile-driving cock that tore into my ass.

My dick stood tall, and I wrapped a hand around it and jerked madly as Fall’s prick drove deep into my rectum. He never let
up, hammering my ass with his fat bone, searing my chute until my gut began to churn. I searched his face for some kind of
reaction, some bit of pleasure, but he remained expressionless even as he slammed into me, balls banging my ass. I could tell
his load was rising only by his urgency, frantic now, cock wild and un-tamed, insatiable and pumping furiously. My own prick
was on fire and ready to let go but still I kept watching his face. I wanted to see him at that most vulnerable moment. I
wanted something of his besides another pint of cream, a grimace or groan or squeal; I wanted a man instead of an animal.