Gay Erotic Stories

That night...that's when everything changed. Now Wayne was the one makin’ plans, sittin’ down and all but drawin’ a map of how it was gonna go, and Bill was the one holdin’ back. It would’ve been funny, if Wayne wasn’t so fuckin’ serious about it. First he asked me "what position" I wanted Shayes to be in when I fucked him. I told him on his back, his legs in the air is best. "Like fuckin' a girl." "Plus you can get in really deep that way," he said in this real snickery kind of voice. "I like ‘em to feel it," I sneered back, "so it means somethin’ to ‘em. So when I’m done, they know what happened." Wayne almost stopped breathin’, he was so excited. "What about from behind?" he asked. "Hanging by his wrists? His ankles secured? Are you open to that as well?" "I dunno," I said. "I can't picture it." So he went online with this bondage website to show me what he was talkin’ ‘bout. I gotta tell ya, I never seen the kind of shit they got out now that you can buy, all of it aimed towards tyin’ a guy up so you can do what you want to him. Leather straps, thick leather gags with things stickin’ out of ‘em like dildoes and connected by little buckles...like they were sandals for your mouth...or with little colored balls to stick in their mouth that were the size of golf balls; harnesses like you find on horses, hammocks to strap a guy to so he could hang in the air when you fucked him; not to mention all the handcuffs and hoods and little pouches for God knows what. The only thing I really recognized was a silver cock ring ‘cause this one queen that bought me a few weeks back asked me to wear it while he sucked me off. Took me forever to cum, and when I did...it was weird. What Wayne was talkin’ ‘bout was havin’ Shayes hang from the ceiling by a rope or chain, wrists wrapped in some wooly-lined leather straps so there’d be no marks, legs held apart by some kind of leather "restraint" tied to his ankles. They’d be wide enough apart for me to slip ‘em over my shoulders and fuck him standing up, if I wanted...just like he was on his back. "I can do it," I said...shrugged, really, "but it's kinda weird, don't ya think?" Bill nodded when he saw it and said, "Yeah, you...you’ll never get him to cum if...if you do it like that." I looked at him, wonderin' if he was tryin' to egg me on. Then Wayne worked up a sketch of what he wanted to do to a shed they had in their yard behind the condo. He was gonna cover the walls with foam blocks to muffle the sound and attach hoops or hooks to the ceiling to string Shayes up. The only furniture'd be a bed and dining chair to tie Shayes to. Between the mattress and box springs of the bed, he was gonna lay in these straps that got chrome rings you can loop rope through. They had a picture of this one guy tied to it, spread eagle and goin’ nowhere, that looked kind o’ creepy. It also looked like I wasn’t the only one gonna have some fun with the fucker. I was gettin' to where I knew who Wayne was -- in his brain, anyway. The quiet ones, they’re always the ones that're plannin’, thinkin’, figurin’ out ways to rock your world in one way or another. I could almost picture him havin’ these long talks with himself, plannin’ the whole thing out like it's a military campaign then goin’ through the actions in his head as he whacked off. Made me wonder if he’d been tryin’ to figure out some way to do this to me. Wayne got hold of this bondage catalog from the back of some "Tie Me Up" rag and ordered all the "restraints". He did it under a fake name, paid for 'em with a money order and had ‘em sent to this mailbox place on Wilshire, where he had a box. Had ‘em sent FedEx so the guy at the place’d sign for ‘em. He got a blindfold, too, and he showed me this weird leather gag that had a tube in the middle of it. "What the fuck’s that?" I asked him. "Force the tube between his teeth," said Wayne, usin’ Bill to show me, "tie it in back and, tah-dah -- he can't yell, can't speak...can't bite." Then he stuck his finger in the hole and poked Bill’s tongue, makin’ him gag. "Hole ain’t big enough," I sneered. "Depends on what you do with it." "What're you plannn', Wayne?" I asked him. He looked at me, dead on, and said, "Oh...ways to make it time well spent." "What the fuck -- you don't think we’re gonna do a three-way?" "What's the matter, Curt?" he asked with this freaky little smile. "Is this becoming too queer for you?" "Yeah," I snapped. "All I wanna do is fuck him up!" "So do I!" Wayne snapped right back at me. "But I need these things to hold him down as I fuck him! And suck him off! And make him taste my dick! All of it! I need them to help me make him see he's as big a queer as he pretends not to be." "You’re fuckin’ crazy, man," I said. "Am I? Or am I just finally fighting back against these homophobic motherfucking vice cops with the only weaponry they really understand?" I must've been lookin’ wary or somethin’, ‘cause he got real nice, sayin’, "Don’t worry, Curt; I won't even touch him until you're done. That way it won't seem like sex to you. Hell, I won’t touch you throughout the taping." "Taping?" Then he showed me he bought another camera just like Bill’s and another VCR. Now THAT freaked me out. "Two cameras?!" I yelled. "What you fuckin’ think you’re gonna do!?" Wayne smiled and said, "Tape it. Edit it. Sell it on the Internet. Show the world what vice cops really like." Now I was pissed. "Meanin’ people’ll see me on it, too!" That's when Wayne showed me this head mask. He was dolin' out the surprises like they were Halloween candy. "You’ll wear this the whole time," he said. "And we’ll cover your tattoos with makeup...or change them so you can't be identified." "Forget it! It's bullshit! I’m not out to make a porno flick! I just wanted to do some damage to the fucker!" "And that's what we’ll do," he said, his voice all gentle and soothin’ again. "Think about it, Curt. What will hurt Shayes more -- you putting your dick up his ass...or his buddies watching you do it? And watching him ejaculate as you fuck him, and then cum again as I suck him off? Won’t that give you even more pleasure? Won’t that cause even more damage? All the other guys you’ve done this to -- it's a secret kept between you and them; this time, our boy won’t have the option to keep it quiet. I’ll send a carefully edited version to vice to let them know ‘we’re mad as hell and we ain’t gonna take it no more’." "Will you say what th' fuck you mean, for once!?" "I'll tell them we’ll do it to their other vice decoys, too...unless they leave us alone." "We?!" "Me. Once I see how you do it, I’ll be able to copy you." "But the cops’ll..." "Yes...the police will be furious. And they may come looking for me. But many will still wonder if Shayes didn’t really want it and just got caught on tape. This’ll at least drive him out of vice. As for the rest, they'll begin to wonder if we mean it...and worry that the next time they pull their shit on a fag, they might wind up being taken down by a dozen more of us and gang-banged in some alley." It made a kind of sense and...well, that scared me. Any time I ever got myself into deep shit, it was by usin’ these same kinds of arguments to talk myself into doin’ it. That's how I wound up in Mid-State -- listenin’ to these dumb-fuck buddies of mine convince me how we could grow pot to sell for "medicinal purposes." "It's the law in California, man," they said, over and over till I swallowed it, whole. That's what got a judge to give me nine years and screwed for the rest of my life -- "literally," as Wayne would say. And deep down somethin’ was warnin’ me it was gonna happen again...but it was a tiny voice...real soft and gentle...so it was easy to ignore. And then Wayne was promisin’ me more cash on top of Bill’s offer -- lots more. Now I needed both money and a car real bad, no question...but I got to be honest, here -- I liked the idea of screwin’ with the cops again, "literally." So I kept on with it. ‘Course, that's when Bill started tryin’ to weasel out of the mess. "It was just a one-time bet," he whined, "and it didn’t happen. It wasn’t meant to happen." Wayne sneered at him. "Don't play so innocent, Bill; you were all set to partake of Officer Shayes when he was just Jeremy, so you’re part of this, too. You don’t have to join in -- you can just run the cameras -- but you’ll be there the whole time. It's your punishment for almost getting us arrested." "It's my car," said Bill. "And my camera. I won’t let it happen." I thought Wayne was gonna have a stroke, he got so red. He yanked Bill off to one side and said some things to him I couldn’t hear -- but I sure could tell they were NOT nice or pretty -- then he came back to me. Bill stayed away, sitting on the same couch arm he’d sat on when Shayes first tried to bust us, lookin’ like he was about to cry. He never tried to stop us again. For sure I was gonna keep my eye on Wayne. So...I also started keepin’ a low-key eye on Shayes. I was perfectly set up for it, workin’ nights just off and on and things gettin’ nastier and nastier between me and Connie. Seemed like she was yellin’ at me more and more, and for nothin’ most of the time. We weren’t fuckin’ like we used to, so I guess she was findin’ out that's all we had in common, or somethin’. Not that I gave a shit. I mean, her doin' the cunt-wagon got me to hatin' her...and every time I went to Wayne’s, I wound up with a blow job from him or Bill and a hundred bucks in my pocket. It got to where that was better than sex with her’d ever been. The only good thing about her goin’ on the rag was it gave me an excuse to bust out of the house. Shayes was way too easy. He worked the late shift, got off at midnight or so. I followed him home one night -- it was easy to do in the dark -- and wrote down his address. Up in Woodland Hills. Pricey, but not too much so. I went back a couple times over the next two weeks to scope it out, and found out from sneakin’ a look at his mail that his full name’s Jonathan Robert Shayes. "The third." And I caught on to how he’s got a wife and three kids -- two girls and a boy, none of ‘em in grade school yet -- two cars and a membership at this gym in Van Nuys. He’d pump iron, shower and shave before headin’ to work, four days a week. Almost like clockwork. Wayne got a buddy of his at some TV news station to pull up some of Shayes’ arrest reports, both before and after our encounter. The bastard busted a dozen guys over the space of four months with the same routine -- them callin’ him up, him goin’ over and then writin' 'em up or slappin’ the cuffs on ‘em. A couple were guys from out of town, probably away from the Mrs. for a sales job and thought they’d have some fun in La-La land doin’ what they really wished they were doin’ back home...and wound up gettin’ fucked over for it...so they'd plead "no contest" and pay their fines as quietly as they could and hoped nobody'd find out. Now, I didn’t like Shayes, no question, but I didn’t hate him, at first...not like Wayne seemed to. Watchin’ him drive his year old Ford and mow his lawn in ratty old GAP shorts and skanky tee-shirt and wave at people in the neighborhood and play with his kids and his dog and his cop buddies when they came over for a barbeque...he just made me tired. Beyond belief. He was a nothin’ guy in a nothin’ world doin’ a job bustin’ guys who refused to act like they had nothin’ lives, too. But readin’ those reports, seein’ how they all read the same, almost down to the word...knowin’ it meant it didn’t matter what did or didn’t really happen, that when Shayes went off on his little visits, it was with the sole intention of bustin’ up somebody’s life ‘cause they weren’t what the world saw as acceptable and...well, I started hatin’ him, too. I started seein’ in him all the assholes who ever put me down, who told me how to live then turned their backs on me when I tried to be like they wanted, who punished me for not just lettin’ ‘em kill what little difference I had inside me, who let others try to tear me apart to prove I was breakable. He was those guards on my first night in prison, who put me in a cell with three beaners knowin’ full well they’d fuck me in the mouth and in the ass. He was that fuckin’ minister who told me to live by God’s word then didn’t do a fuckin’ thing to help me do it when I was freed. He was that fuckin’ dealer who gave me my first snort then got me to haulin’ for him to pay off my habit. He was Connie always ridin’ my ass ‘bout not doin’ better with my life. He was my mom for not bein’ my mom. He was shit to me, and I was gonna show him just how shit gets treated. We decided the best time to take the fucker was before he hit the gym. Nobody’d notice he wasn’t there, so he wouldn’t get missed till he didn’t show for work, and by then we’d be havin’ our fun with him. I had it worked out how to grab him; all Wayne had to do was drive the van. Shayes always left his house right at one-fifteen, so me and Wayne were ready and waitin’ by that time. I dunno ‘bout Wayne, but my heart was poundin’ and I could barely sit still, I was so up for it. I kept tryin’ to figure out how things could go wrong and lay plans to take care of that. My only real worry was if he had a pistol in his car. I hadn’t seen him carry one with him to the gym, but bein’ a cop, he had to have one...somewhere. What if he pulled it when I went for him? I wasn't worried about gettin' shot; I was worried I might go off and kill him...or get killed. I mean -- yeah, Shayes was worth prison, but not the needle. I did my best to keep thoughts like that out of my head. But Wayne, shit, he just sat there behind the wheel, hummin’ some kind o’ sixties tune I couldn’t quite make out, not lookin’ at anything. It sort of ticked me off, ‘cause I was wonderin’ if he really understood what we were about to do...no, I was wonderin’ if he really cared. That's what's dangerous ‘bout doin’ the crime -- not carin’ ‘bout gettin’ caught. That's when you fuck up and lead the cops straight to ya. And me, I’m a one-timer, already -- not countin’ County -- so I don’t want to get caught. So after a couple minutes of Wayne’s non-music, I was close to tellin’ the fuck to shut up and pay attention. Then Shayes popped out the front door. He was wearin’ his favorite ratty shorts and tee-shirt, thick white socks and Nikes already on, gym bag in one hand, hanger with fresh clothes in another. Wayne perked up a little and said, "My God, your legs are better than I imagined. But, honey, lose the shorts." What the fuck? Was he tryin’ to be funny? "What're you on about?" I asked. "They’re ugly," he snapped back. "I realize breeder boys don’t have much clothes sense, but any idiot could see those baggy long khaki things make even the best legs look stunted. It's a disgrace to human anatomy." Shit, fuckin’ Wayne: bitchy like always. All I could do was laugh. Shayes dumped his bag in the trunk and set the hanger in its hook in the car, hopped in and drove off. Shit, just like clockwork. Fucker never even glanced at us. Wayne followed him, and I got to admit -- he was like ice the whole time. Drove like a guy out for a drive, not like he was tailin’ somebody. But he kept us right behind Shayes for over a mile, makin’ every turn the guy made, not changin’ lanes even when Shayes did, and never losin’ sight of the guy...till I made Wayne take a short cut, one I found out so Shayes wouldn’t have reason to notice us followin’ him. I mean we knew where he was headin’; better to get there first. We parked at a meter two blocks down from the gym just a couple minutes before Shayes’ Ford zipped past. He was goin’ faster than we thought he would, so Wayne had to peel out to follow him...and we almost got side-swiped by this truck that came out o’ nowhere. It honked and the guy flipped us off, but Wayne kept his cool. He just shrugged a "sorry" at him then caught up to Shayes at the next light. The gym had a parking lot, but nine times out of ten it was packed to the point where people were sittin’ idlin’ in their cars, waitin’ for somebody to pull out, so Shayes always put his car on this residential street nearby. That way he didn’t have to feed a meter. That street was lined with trees and lots of bushes and didn’t have much traffic. It was perfect. He drove on down to the street and turned, never once lookin’ at us. Wayne slowed down as we turned after him, so we could pull on some ski masks to hide our faces. Shayes parked a block down, behind this huge SUV and popped his trunk from the inside. That's when Wayne slowed down even more to let me out...then he stopped right by Shayes’ car, so close the cop couldn’t open his door or see inside the van. Then I snuck around to the other side. Shayes noticed the van and honked his horn, irritated. "Hey, hey, I'm trying to get out!" He didn't even notice me till I'd smashed in the passenger window and unlocked and yanked the door open. All Shayes could do was jump and say, "Holy shit!" before I had one of Wayne’s carving knives to his throat and was pressin’ him hard against the door. His eyes got so big and wide, I could see white all around the pupils as I whispered, "Shhh...shhh...one word and you’re dead." He put his hands up and whispered, "Okay, man. Okay." Wayne drove the van out of the way, then I forced Shayes out through the driver’s door. He moved like he was readin’ my thoughts. "Get out. Nice and slow. Don’t move too sudden. I’m followin’ ya so be careful." I moved out with him. He was shakin’ so he stumbled a bit. I grabbed him with my free hand. I still cut his neck a little -- by accident -- but that was the only problem. One back door to the van swung open and Wayne yanked him inside. I jumped in, after them, and held the knife to Shayes as Wayne wrapped the plastic strap ‘round his wrists. Then he forced the tube-gag into Shayes’ mouth. The fucker didn’t want to take it, but I slit his chin -- deliberately, this time -- and he let Wayne put it on him. Then I tied his feet together and strapped the blindfold ‘round his eyes. He was bleedin’ a little from the two cuts, but nothin’ serious. When he was done, I scrambled back and grabbed the gym bag from the Ford's trunk and scrambled back into the van. The second I closed the door, Wayne jumped in the driver’s seat, whipped off his ski mask and calmly drove away. Took us a total of twenty seconds. So far, so good. He drove fast but careful, not exactly like a typical L.A. driver. I mean, they are the freaks out here. We turned back onto Van Nuys and hit down to the 101. The plan was to head for the Cahuenga pass then to go down Highland to Sunset and back to the condo: Just a van on the road in the middle of the afternoon; nothin' special about it. "Rather like Dean Corll and Elmer Wayne Henley," Wayne'd told me when he plotted it out. I had zero idea of who those two characters were, so he said, "A couple of men in Houston who did something similar, albeit with adolescent boys instead of men." My only response was, "Gross." Wayne had nodded in agreement...I noticed he knew all about 'em. Anyway, I stayed in the back and watched Shayes to make sure he didn't try anything. And seein' him lie there -- his legs tied at the ankles with a strap, his hands strapped together at the wrist, his eyes and mouth invisible behind the gag and blindfold -- it made me feel...I dunno, nice. I mean, I could do anything I wanted to this guy, right now...and I was just sittin' here...watchin' him, noticin' how his shorts had rode up his legs to reveal his briefs...and how one arm of his t-shirt had gotten almost torn off -- when, I don't remember -- and how the hair on his legs lay flat against his skin, like mine. I saw how he'd taken off his wedding ring -- so he could hit on the pump-bunnies at the gym, I guess -- and how his fingernails looked neat and clean but not too perfect. And how his feet weren't all that big but his calves were. I dug through his gym bag and found his wallet, then rifled through it and saw he was thirty-one, weighed 185, had brown hair and blue eyes, and was an Aries, and I looked at pictures of his wife and kids, all perfectly posed, and counted out eighty bucks in cash that went straight into my pocket. On top of it all, he had two credit cards and full insurance coverage. A real stand-up guy in the "real" community. His bag held socks, briefs, t-shirt, towel -- all "Sprintime fresh" -- soap, deodorant, sandals, workout gloves, sweat rag, pack of Doublemint gum...and his pistol, buried at the bottom. His badge was there, too...gold and shiny and big. I smiled...knowin' full well he'd never get these back. Then I just sat there, watchin’ him...and feelin' how soft his towel was. It took Shayes a few minutes to calm down, he was breathin' so hard and shiverin' so much. But then I could almost see the gears startin' to work in his head, tryin' to figure out what the deal was, why we'd grabbed him, where we were goin', anything he could make out in spite of the blindfold. He started to mutter stuff -- things like, "Hey...hey...is somebody there?" and "What's going on?" His voice was muffled and garbled and hard to understand, but I could make out what he was sayin'. Fuckin' movies -- they make you think puttin' a gag on somebody shuts 'em up, but it don't. They can still yell and chatter and make plenty of noise. I always had to laugh when some "bad guy" would put his hand over the "heroine's" mouth to keep her quiet. I tried that once with Connie and she only screamed louder and nastier...and nearly bit a finger off. So here was Shayes, his little cop brain goin' ninety to nothin', tryin' to talk to somebody, tryin' to figure out what he can do to get back in control. But he was gone, lemme tell ya. Didn't know it yet, but he was mine...and I was havin' fun just sittin' there, quietly watchin' him squirm. After a couple minutes, he scrunched together and started tryin' to sit up. The van was jerkin' and rollin' a little and it slowed him down some, but he finally got to where he was leanin' against its side. Then he sort of tried to look around under the blindfold. I knew I was out of his line of sight, if he had any, but I was close enough in case he tried somethin'. All he did was work at the straps 'round his wrists. I shook my head. Fuckin' cop'd used the same fuckin' things so many times in the past and nobody'd gotten loose; why'd he think he could get out of 'em? It was funny to watch. Pretty soon, we were getting' off at Highland. He could feel us slowin' down...feel us jumpin' over the little bridge and swingin' down to connect with the road just above the Bowl. He got real still...then when we stopped at a light, he began poundin' his back against the side of the van, screamin' at the top of his lungs! I was on him in a flash! I grabbed his shirt, yanked him back onto the van's floor, straddled his gut and rammed a forearm across his neck! He shut up real quick. "Try that, again," I whispered, "you're dead." "Please, don't do this," he muttered from behind the gag. "Just let me go. You don't have to do this." I just smiled. Then I realized I was on top of him. I could feel him breathin' hard between my legs, feel him squirmin' 'cause his arms were pinned under him and his shoulders were strainin' at the position. I'd torn his shirt when I yanked him down: not much, just enough to show he had some good pecs and they had flat swirls of hair over 'em, just like his legs and arms. No way was I ever gonna think of Connie when I was doin' this guy...but I still started breathin' hard...and my dick still got goin'. I don’t know why, but I shifted down to where I was restin' on his hips. I guess it was to take some pressure off his shoulders. He squirmed and stretched as best he could and rose up to rest on his elbows. The bottom of his shirt had ridden up some, so I could tell he had a decent six-pack, also covered with some hair. And sittin' on him like that...I wanted to touch him. I slipped my free hand over his abs and up to his chest: Solid muscle. He jerked but couldn’t do much more. I pulled the t-shirt open some more where it was torn -- not too much; Wayne wanted to "undress" him on camera -- and saw one of his tits. It was brown and soft and hair swirled around it. I played with it a little. Shit, even if I closed my eyes, I'd still feel the hair if I sucked on it. He really began to squirm then. "What...what's goin' on? What're you doin?" "What the fuck you think, faggot?" I snarled. Then I twisted...and let my hand go down his leg...and drew it back up, pullin’ one shorts leg up with it. He tried to buck me off, but I smacked my legs against his sides, winding him. He stopped, tryin' to catch his breath. Then I shifted around to straddle his chest and looked down at his crotch...and I unzipped his shorts and saw he’s wearin’ white Haynes or Jockeys or somethin' generic, like that. Nice and clean, too. I could just hear Shayes whisperin’, "Please, please, you don’t want to do this. I’m not that way. Please. I got a wife. I got kids. I...I haven’t seen you. Any of you. Please, just let me go. I...I won’t report it. Please." "Don’t worry," I whispered in his ear. "We’re just gonna have some fun." Then I pulled his briefs up away from his dick...and saw he was small and clean and cut. Just like he promised. He tried to wriggle away, so I let his briefs snap back into position and shifted 'round on him again, to where I was lyin' on top of him. Man, my dick was poundin’ against my jeans, beggin’ to get out...and he could feel it grindin' against his own. I held him tighter...like I was comfortin’ him...and I could feel how quick he was breathin’...and I could feel his heart poundin’...and I could smell some kind of stuff on him...like Brut or Old Spice...mixed in with his own sweat...the kind of sweat that still smells clean...still smells alive. And I owned him, right then. He was mine, pure and simple...completely. "Oh, Jesus, Christ," he muttered, "please don’t hurt me." "We won’t," I said. "Much." Then Wayne turned onto his street and slowed down even more, and turned down an alley. He pulled up to his back gate and stopped. The shed's door was right beside it. Bill was there, waitin'. I could just hear Shayes whisperin’, "Please, really, you don’t want to do this. I’m not like that. It won't be any good. Please, just let me go. I...I won’t do anything to you. Please." Then Wayne yanked open the side door and it slid to a loud stop. Shayes gulped and started heavin’. Wayne noticed. "Sit him up," he said. "Head between his legs. We don't want him puking into the gag; he might choke to death." I did what he said, then Wayne put an arm on Shayes' back and whispered, "Hold on. Get back in control. Breathe deep. Don’t talk. Don’t even try. If you do, you'll vomit and you'll choke." Shayes tried real hard to get back in control...but he wasn’t havin’ much luck. So Wayne pulled out a bandana and wrapped it around Shayes' neck, then he undid the gag. "Coke," was all Wayne said...and a second later, Bill had a can of it and was offering it to him. Wayne took it, pulled Shayes back by the bandana and forced some of it down his throat. The guy choked and coughed...and stopped heavin'. "Better?" After a second, Shayes nodded. Then Wayne coiled the bandana tighter and said, "Don't even try to call for help. Understand?" Shayes nodded again. Not to sound dense, but that was the first time for sure I knew Wayne’d done this before. Maybe not with a guy like Shayes, maybe just with some punk he picked up in a bar or off Santa Monica or even paid to let him do it, but he’d done this before. I mean, I could palm all the other crap -- the careful planning, the wild imagination, the way he wanted the string him up -- all of it on just bein’ caught up in the idea of it. But knowin’ how to keep this guy from hurlin’ and doin’ it without much of a thought -- he’s had practice. What's weird is, that calmed me down...and it made me even more careful when I was around Wayne. He kept hold of the bandana as I picked Shayes up to carry him out. The cop struggled a little -- not much -- but I still felt...strong carryin’ him into the shed. He’s not a little guy, and holdin’ him like this...one hand cupped under his knees and the other around his back...I even felt...oh, I dunno, just plain powerful. It all felt good. The shape of his legs was right. His skin was smooth and healthy and right. Even the hair on his calves ticklin’ the hair on my arm was right. And havin’ the side of his butt pressin’ just above my crotch, it got me close to shootin’ in my briefs. Shit, this was gonna be like that kid and that guard...it was gonna be too fuckin’ good. I knew I shouldn't be feelin' like this. I mean...I'm straight...I really am...but, swear to God, I know I should've stopped myself, right then...but I really couldn’t wait to own him. Whole.