Tangled Sheets (12 page)

I worked his belt buckle open quickly, pulling at it with trembling fingers and unzipping him. I tugged both pants and underwear down his legs and freed the cock I had been teasing earlier. It fell out and hung between his legs heavily, the head drooping down over the set of full balls I'd had only a small taste of. He was cut and very thick. His bush was heavy but short, and the first few inches of his shaft were sprinkled with the same beautiful auburn fur. His skin was slick with the precum I had milked from him, and more of it drizzled from the slit on his dickhead.

I took him all in one quick slurp, burying his prick in my throat and pushing my nose into his crotch. He cried out as I swallowed him, and I felt his dick fill with heat as he almost came from the sensation, but I clamped my lips around the base and waited until he had calmed down enough for me to begin working up and down the length of him. His cock was perfect, straight and full, and I slurped up every last drop of his musky juice as I washed him, sucking it down like water. He groaned as I worked his shaft with my lips and tongue, and pumped his hips slowly in and out of me.

I worked open the buttons of my own pants, managing to free my desperate piece. I stroked it while I sucked Aiden's prick, matching the strokes of my hand with the movements of my mouth along his tool until I was ready to blow my load all over the floor. When I was just about to come, I let Aiden's cock fall from my lips. “Now suck me,” I said, looking up at him. “Do what you've always wanted to.”

I stood up and Aiden dropped to his knees, pausing first to give me another deep kiss. He held my aching cock in his hand and started to lick the head slowly, in teasing circles. I grabbed his hair and shoved my prick down his throat until he started to gag. “Like that,” I said, moving him up and down my prick by holding his head. “Suck it like you know you want to.”

Aiden relaxed, letting me slide in and out of his mouth at will while I fucked his handsome face. I could tell he'd never done it before, but he was giving it his best shot, and he was going to be one fine cocksucker with some practice. But right now I was horny as hell and didn't have time to show him how to do it right. I wanted something else from him. After a few minutes of working on his hot mouth, I pulled away. “Stand up,” I told him.

He stood up facing me, and I turned him around so that he was facing the small mirror over the even smaller sink. Moving behind him, I pressed myself against his ass and ran my hands around him, feeling once more the beautiful hair on his chest. I pulled back and unbuttoned my shirt so that I could feel him against my bare skin. When I held him again, my own hairy chest slipping over the skin of his back and shoulders, I saw his smile in the mirror.

“You like this, huh?” I said, slipping my cock into his ass crack while I grabbed his dick from behind.

Aiden humped my cock sensuously. “Oh, I like it all right,” he said. “It's even better than I thought it would be.”

I continued to stroke his cock while I slid a finger in between his butt cheeks. Finding his asshole, I fingered it slowly while I jerked him off. In the mirror, his reflected face was a vision of ecstasy. He gripped the edge of the sink and pushed back onto my hand, impaling himself on my finger. For a moment, all I heard was the soft humming of the airplane engines while he rocked on my hand, his balls filling my palm as they swayed with the motion of the plane.

I pulled my finger out and spat into my hand. It wasn't the best lube to use, especially for his first time, but it would have to do. Besides, we were both so horny I probably could have dry fucked him and he would have taken it with no problem. Spitting some more, I rubbed it into his hairy hole, stretching him a little more. Then I positioned the head of my dick against his opening and pushed in. He stiffened as I slid deep into him, but the only sound from his throat was a soft moan.

When I was pressed tightly against his ass, I started to pump his dick with my hand as I fucked him in short thrusts. My other hand played with his tits, moving from one to the other while I slid in and out of him. He was stiff and full in my hand, and every thrust from my dick made his jump, spilling out a fresh load of precum that I used to slick his shaft. I increased my movements until I was pulling nearly all the way out of him and plunging back in.

Just then, the airplane hit a spot of turbulence and dropped slightly. The sudden movement forced me up into Aiden, and I felt his ass tighten around me like a fist. I began to fuck him harder and harder as the plane was jostled by the winds. He took every beat of my cock with another moan, and I could tell by the way his dick was throbbing in my hand that he was close. I started to pump him faster, and soon he was groaning loudly. “I'm going to come,” he said, his head falling back against my shoulder. “I'm going to fucking come from your dick inside me.” His hands reached back to grip my waist, as if he was trying to push me even further inside him.

“Do it,” I ordered, giving his prick several more strokes. “Shoot your load all over my hand.”

Aiden began to gasp as his balls released, sending a thick arc of jism spurting across my hand and the sink basin. It smacked into the metal wall in front of him with a wet retort and slid toward the floor. This was followed by several more long streaks of white that blew from his cock and splattered his belly and the sink with more spunk until my hand was making a sloppy lather along the length of his overworked tool.

“Oh, shit,” I said, starting to come. “That looks so damn hot.” My own dick exploded in Aiden's virgin ass as I held his still-hard meat in my fist and released my load. Over and over again I emptied rounds of cum into his welcoming shitter, pulling him onto me and holding him tightly in my arms until I was spent.

When I had finished coming, I looked in the mirror. Aiden's front was covered in small drops of his own cum. The sink and the wall were streaked with his load, and he was grinning like an idiot. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I kissed his neck while my cock slid out of him, and his hand closed around mine. I could feel his wedding band on his finger as he held me.

“You look really great,” I said, the realization that once the plane landed he'd be back in a woman's arms dampening my enthusiasm. “But somehow I'm not sure your wife would approve.”

He nodded. “Doubtful,” he said seriously. Then he turned to me, his eyes shining as he pulled my hand to his greasy, hardening prick once more. “Especially when I tell her why it is I'll be holed up with a Yank sports writer in Sydney for a while.”

“W
atch his left, Tom,” someone shouted from behind me. McCauley was sidling forward, his meaty fists held up in front of his red face. My last punch had landed neatly in his stomach, and for a minute he looked like he might go down. But he had rebounded, and now he meant business.

Seeing that the Irishman was back in the fight, the men crowded around to watch began betting furiously. Crumpled bills were pulled out of pants pockets and changed hands like leaves in the wind. Anxious voices yelled out encouragement to the man their money, in some cases a week's pay, was riding on. For many of them, whether they would be able to buy dinner for their families that night depended on who was left lying on the ground and who was left standing.

McCauley and I circled one another slowly, each waiting for an opportunity to land the punch that would bring the fight to an end. McCauley was a nasty son of a bitch who worked on the docks moving freight, and he had both the muscles and the bad temper that went with the territory. He had been known to down a dozen pints and take on three men at one time when his mood went sour or he thought he had been slighted, and more than one street fighter had his career ended after going a round with the man.

I usually tried to avoid fights that drew a lot of attention, preferring smaller rounds with guys who'd had a few too many and wanted to prove something to themselves or their buddies by taking on a bigger man. At six-four and 253 pounds, I gave them something to dream about. I let them get in a few good shots until the crowd that inevitably gathered to watch was in a betting mood. Then, once the pot got big enough, I'd go into action. One good sock to the jaw and the other guy was usually out like a light. When he woke up, he didn't know what hit him, and I'd be a couple of bucks richer.

But in the years after the stock market crashed, Hoover sent the American economy into the biggest downward spiral in history, and he left office with the dubious distinction of having midwifed the Depression. I'd made it through the first few years after the crash relatively easily, picking up some action here and there around the city's drinking areas. But by 1932, money was difficult to come by, and I'd had to raise the stakes.

That's why I was sweating it out trying to hold off the big dockworker. So far I'd managed to stay away from McCauley's strong left by keeping one step ahead of him. But that also prevented me from getting in any good punches myself. If something didn't happen soon, we ran the risk of the cops hearing the cheering and coming by to break up the action.

The bettors were anxious to have the fight over with as well, each one calling out encouragement to the man his hopes were pinned on. McCauley, probably because he was better known and this was his turf, had the most supporters. But when I landed the hit to his gut, the chorus of voices calling my name had swelled a little, renewing my quickly fading confidence.

I waited for the opening I needed, my fists balled in front of my face as I danced around. Suddenly McCauley faltered, dropping his fists momentarily. Sensing the opportunity, I stepped forward. As I did, McCauley recovered from his bluff and landed a solid left to my nose. My head flew back under the impact and blood scattered in a dark splash. The Irishman's trick was a common one among back-alley scrappers, and I should have known it. But I was anxious to get the fight over with, and now I was paying for it.

The crowd went into a frenzy as those who had bet on McCauley began to collect their winnings. They stopped when they saw that I was still standing. Even McCauley was staring at me in awe, as if waiting for me to crash like a tree that has been cut through and is holding on by one last filament. My white shirt was speckled with red, and I looked down at it as if it were the first time I had seen my own blood. I touched the side of my nose and felt pain bloom in my head.

McCauley, furious to see me still standing, rushed at me with a howl. I caught him in midstride with a jab to the chest, knocking him back. As he staggered under the unexpected blow, I landed a right hook to his jaw, sending him to the ground for good. The crowd, at least those who had bet on me, cheered, and the winners collected their rewards.

A couple of men came over to pat me on the back and say congratulations, but I was more interested in the money I'd won. I found the guy I'd delegated to be my holder and he handed me some bills. “About fifteen bucks there, I'd guess,” he said. “Most of it you won in the last three minutes of the fight.”

I thanked him and pocketed the cash. It wasn't the most I'd ever made, but it would hold me over for a few rounds of drinking and pay for a couple of nights at the flophouse I was crashing in. And as soon as the word got around that I'd decked McCauley, every two-bit tough in town would want to try and get a piece of the new boy who'd downed their king. It wouldn't be hard to keep a string of fights going.

My nose was still hurting, so I stepped into a bar for a shot of whiskey to dull the pain a little. Although Prohibition had knocked most of the gin joints out of business, you could still find a watering hole if you knew where to look, especially in this part of town. The do-gooders with their signs and Bible verses were too scared to come down there and drive out demon alcohol.

The bar—actually a small room you got to by going behind the beef carcasses in a slaughterhouse—was filled with smoke and the smell of home-brewed liquor. I waited while the bartender pulled a couple of drafts for some customers and then ordered my drink. Although the flophouse I was staying in was no palace, I wanted to get back and get some sleep.

The bartender brought me my beer, as well as some ice for my nose. I put a couple of coins on the counter and pushed them toward him. As he was putting his hand on them, an arm reached out and stopped him. “Hold it, Pete. This one's on me.”

I turned to see who the voice belonged to and found myself looking at a man in a dark jacket. A few inches shorter than I, he had a dark complexion and eyes. His short black hair was neatly combed and slicked back over his head, and he was clean shaven. He smiled warmly and shook my hand, his grip firm and sure. A thick gold ring encircled a finger on his right hand, and the watch on his wrist was expensive looking. He wasn't the type to be hanging around this part of town, and I wondered what he was looking for.

“That was a great fight out there,” he said, the accent in his voice heavy with the masculine cadence bred on New York's rougher streets and out of character with his expensive clothes. “You won me seventy-five bucks. Figure I owe you one.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

The man took a long sip on his whiskey and wiped the foam from his lip. “You always been a fighter?”

I laughed, wincing at the pain shooting through my head from my sore nose. “Used to be a steamfitter. But I kept coming home from the bars with a split lip or a black eye. Finally figured if I was going to get roughed up I might as well get paid for it. Been doing it ever since.”

The man chuckled. “Funny how we get ourselves pushed into things, isn't it?” He took a cigarette out of a pack in his shirt pocket and lit it. The smoke swirled from the end and hung thickly in the air around his head. “By the way, my name's Haber.”

“Tom. So, you really won seventy-five bucks off me, huh? That's quite a bit of dough to have to throw around these days.”

Haber laughed. “Guess it is if you don't have it.”

He downed the rest of his whiskey and looked at me. “How'd you like to make another hundred?”

I stared at him in amazement. A hundred bucks was more than I'd ever make from two weeks of fighting. I tried to look cool as I asked him, “How?”

Haber leaned toward me. His hand brushed against my leg. “I'd like to get my own taste of that body of yours. Come out back with me and the money's yours.”

This guy was gambling big. If he'd asked the wrong guy what he'd just asked me, he might have ended up with his head bashed in. Now I knew what he was doing at the bar, and I knew I'd be able to give him just what he was looking for.

I finished my drink, giving him a minute to worry about whether I was going to deck him or not. When I saw him start to get fidgety, as if he were about to run out, I nodded. “Sure. Let's go.”

I walked ahead of Haber, leading him out the bar and across the sloppy floor of the slaughterhouse to the back door. The alley behind the bar was dark except for a dim light coming from a sign that buzzed outside the entrance at the end where it emptied onto a side street. Once it had said MEAT, but somewhere along the line the
A
had died out, leaving a gap in the word like a missing tooth. The alley was largely empty except for a few scattered bottles and the stink of piss from the men who sometimes used it to empty themselves before going home.

Haber walked carefully through the alley to the rear, where some crates of empty Coca-Cola bottles were stacked. I stood in front of him, letting him look at me in the dim light. He reached out a hand and ran it lightly over my shirt, fingering the suspenders that ran down my chest and connected with the buttons on my waistband.

“You're a tough guy, Tom,” he said softly. “I want you to show me just how tough you can be.”

I pushed him back, feeling his back meet the wall with a dull thud. Leaning forward, I pressed my mouth against his. His lips were full and smooth, and I could taste the remnants of the cigarette and whiskey on them like a thin skin. The feeling of my two-day beard growth against his face excited me, and I kissed him harder, forcing my tongue between his teeth and flicking it against his.

As we kissed, Haber's hands ran over my sides and around my back, pressing me against him. I could feel the hardness of his cock through his pants, pressing against my leg. It was surprisingly big.

“I want it rough,” he whispered. “I want you to do it to me hard.”

I pulled away from him and stood looking at him, my hand rubbing my own prick as it stiffened inside my pants. Haber looked at it stretching along my thigh and began to moan softly. I massaged my balls roughly, enjoying the lust I saw building behind his eyes.

“Would you like to touch me, Haber?” I asked him.

He nodded, licking his lips nervously.

“Good. Then I want you to strip for me. Get rid of those clothes.”

Haber undressed quickly, throwing his jacket on the ground, then stepping out of his highly polished shoes and kicking them aside. His shirt went next, revealing a chest covered in dark hair that ran down his stomach and ended in a thick patch at his waist. When he unzipped his pants, he pulled them off hurriedly. He was not wearing underwear, and his cock swung freely when he stood back up. It was even bigger than it had felt through his pants. The heavy shaft ended in a wide head, and the balls beneath it were plump and round.

Haber stood in front of me completely nude, seemingly oblivious to the fact that someone could walk out and catch us at any time. I stepped forward and took his hand, placing it on my chest. Haber began to fumble with the buttons of my shirt, his hands shaking as he tried to loose the buttons from their holes until finally I had to help him. When my shirt was open to the waist, he reached in and stroked the muscles of my chest, letting his fingers glide over my smooth skin. My nipples were stiff, and he tugged at them gently, pinching them between his thumb and forefinger.

Putting my hands on his shoulders, I pushed him to the ground. When he was on his knees in front of me, I leaned back against the wall. Sliding my hand into my pants, I slowly unbuttoned my fly, watching the hunger in Haber's face grow as he waited to see what I had in store for him. Leaving my suspenders on, I spread the material open and reached in. Pulling my cock out, I let it hang in front of Haber. He stared at the shaft, thick as his wrist, and at the fat head that swayed before his lips. Because I still had my suspenders over my shoulders, my pants pulled up and under my hefty balls, pressing them close to my prick and making it stand out even further.

“Now,” I said, “I want to see that dick in your mouth, and I better not feel any teeth on it. Is that clear, Haber?”

Haber nodded, then leaned forward, brushing his lips against my dickhead. He opened his mouth and began to slide the head into his throat. Grabbing him by the hair, I pushed forward, slamming the full length of my cock into his tight throat. He let out a yell that was muffled by the thick meat stretching his mouth, then sucked hungrily.

“You like sucking my big cock, don't you, Haber?” I growled, doing my best to sound like the street rough he wanted me to be. “You like sitting naked in this slimy alley servicing my prick.”

Haber answered by squeezing the length of my prong tightly with his lips and throat. His spit was slicking my skin, and I slid in and out easily, my hand guiding his head so that he maintained the speed that gave me the most pleasure. I got off on watching my cock disappear between his appreciative lips, then emerge again until the head appeared and he waited, lips slightly apart, until I buried it home again.

After a few minutes of deep-throating him, I pushed Haber away. Pulling him up, I looked him in the face. “That's one hungry mouth you have, cocksucker. I hope your asshole is just as hungry.”

I pushed Haber over the stack of Coca-Cola bottles next to me. His upper body lay across the top crate, his butt spread out in front of me. The mounds of his ass were round and firm, covered with the same hair that dusted the rest of him. I slapped one of them sharply, enjoying the feel of my hand on his tensed muscles.