The Writer I stopped by the library on my way to the post office, and as I was reading the paper, a new person came through the door. I stopped at the library almost every day to read the local paper, and even worked there on Tuesday afternoons as a volunteer. So, basically, I knew almost everyone who came in, and in a small town most people are either known by name, or are newcomers. The man was tall, had long dark hair that may well have been tied in a pony tail in the back, and wore a leather bomber jacket. I could tell his jeans were tight, and his legs were thick enough to stretch the material. He took a seat near the dictionaries, took off his jacket, and pulled a notebook and some papers from his book bag. He had only a dark blue t-shirt on, and tufts of hair jutted out from the stretched neckline. As he sat, I could see his forearms and biceps had been worked some, were tan for this time of the winter ( a clue he was a newcomer) and his long, strong fingers guided the pen across the paper. I couldn’t wait until Tuesday, when I would be working, and hoped he would still be in town so I could strike up a conversation with him. Well, Tuesday came, and sure enough, my writer friend returned to the same table at about the same time. He wore the same clothes, and went to work rather quickly after he came in. From my place behind the desk, I could study his features without being too obvious. His face has several days growth of dark stubble, but it could not hide the dimple in his chin and his thick, moist lips. His sideburns were down under his earlobes, which were thick and prominent, and the left one had a single stud ear post in it. His dark brown hair was thick, and seemed to fall into place easily. As he wrote, I noticed the muscles and veins in his arms move. I again marveled at his tan, somewhat unusual for Alaska in February. He must have come in from someplace like southern California or Florida. He was left handed, and seemed to be completely absorbed in his writing. I wondered, if he was a writer, why didn’t he use a computer? If he was a writer in the “starving artist” sense, where did he live? From my daydreaming state, he startled me back to reality, when he passed by my desk on the way to the bathroom. Oh how I wanted to follow him to get a peek, but knew it would be too obvious. For right now, I’d just have to gaze from afar. As he ambled lazily back to his seat from the bathroom, he lingered right by the desk. His t-shirt was tight to his body, and his waist looked like it had no fat what so ever. His pecs were well defined and hard. His shoulders pushed their way out of the tight t-shirt, forcing the biceps and triceps fully out. His arms almost looked too long and too big for his body, but it was the tight t-shirt that caused the illusion. He stopped right in front of the desk, my eyes level with his crotch. There was a definite bulge there that I wanted to check out, and soon. I looked up and gazed into deep brown eyes, a lustrous smile, and a solid hard jaw. He spoke with a deep resonant voice, “Say, do you know of any places for rent in this town? I’ve been here about a week, and I can’t find a thing. Staying at the local hotel is really expensive.” “Man, I know. Rent is really high here, if you can find anything at all. What kind of work do you do? Maybe someone at your work can help you find something.” “Well,” he started slowly, “I’m a writer.” His admission almost had an apologetic quality about it. “Hey, so am I,” I said, in a tone that sounded like I’d found a friend. “What kind of stuff do your write? Who’s it for?” “Well, I do articles for specialty magazines,” he said. “You know, so do I,” I said. In fact, I had had several articles on Alaskan life picked up by a couple of magazines, but nothing was on-going. “Hey, maybe we could compare notes some time. You know, serve as each others editor?” “Yeah, if I stay here. It’s a lot different from what I expected. If I don’t find a place to stay...” his voice trailed off, and he returned to where he was working. I thought about it for the rest of my shift. I had enough room in my apartment for two people. I could use a little help with the rent and utilities. I wouldn’t mind having another writer around to bounce things off of. But most of all, I couldn’t wait to get this hunk alone in a private place. Just about the time I was ready to leave, I could see that he was also packing away his things. I walked over and pushed a chair under the table. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I have a pretty big apartment, with two bedrooms, and it’s really private. I have been looking for a roommate, but I just haven’t found the right person. It would be a help to me. I work most days, and you’d have a lot of time to write. Heck, you could even use my computer. Then we could compare notes and writing, if you wanted to.” “Hey, thanks. You sure I wouldn’t be imposing?” he asked. “No. Let’s just try it out for a while and see if it could work. I don’t have any expectations, and when you get some money for some of your writing, you can pay what ever you can to help with expenses.” “Sounds great to me!” he said enthusiastically. “You know, I don’t even know your name,” I said, rather stupidly. Here I had just asked a man to come live with me, and I didn’t even know his name. “Joe,” he said. “Joe Sherwood from San Francisco.” He extended his hand and we shook. “Rod,” I said. “Glad to meet you.” We arrived at my apartment after a couple of stops on the way. I hoped there wasn’t too much clutter or revealing “stuff” lying around. We went in, threw down our bags and I put the groceries in the kitchen. “Just make yourself at home,” I yelled from the kitchen. I was secretly hoping he was curious and would check out the bodybuilding or gay porn magazines I had on the shelves. I didn’t do a very good job of hiding things. Maybe some of the video titles would give it away. While I was putting things in the cupboards, he did look around and did make himself at home. When I returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses, he was sitting on the couch, reading a bodybuilding magazine, looking very interested. “Great studs, huh?” I ventured. “Yeah, they sure are. I’ve met most of these guys because I used to live right on Venice Beach,” he said. He was unconsciously rubbing his crotch, and I knew he was getting hard. So was I. “Really? I’ve always wanted to go there but thought it would be a little intimidating,” I said. He was rubbing harder, and I could see the outline of his engorged shaft. “Oh, I don’t know. You have to let them know what you want and who’s the boss,” he said, still looking at the photos in the magazine. “Some of these guys are just as nervous as you are. They’re just human, too. Really big humans!” We both laughed and seemed to settle in a little. “Here, have a glass of wine and maybe you’ll loosen up,” I suggested. “Oh, man, one of my favorites,” he said looking at the bottle. We sat for a few minutes in silence, sipping wine and staring at each other. Every few minutes his pecs would flex, or his basket would expand, and I wondered what he was thinking. He seemed to be ready, willing, and able, but I wasn’t convinced. “So, tell me, Joe, what do you like to write,” I asked. “Short stories, mostly, about relationships, love, sex, and the modern world,” he grinned, and his face was incredible: beautiful and animated. “Well, where have any of them been published?” “Oh, not in any magazines you would have read!” he said. “Really? Did you check out the magazines on my shelf?” He stood and took a couple of steps over to the shelves. He scanned my magazines carefully, and pivoted around slowly. He had a crafty grin on his face, and I knew I would soon be glad the invitation had been extended for this potential roommate. “Somehow,” he started, “I knew you would be my type.” As if in slow motion, he completed his turn, stripped off his shirt, undid his belt, and moved over to where I was standing. With a grip of steel, he pulled my head close, and began to kiss me with the most passionate, hot mouth I have ever encountered. Deep into my mouth, exploring, drilling, sharing such passion. His saliva was like sweet nectar, hot and invigorating. At the same time I was aware that I had probably the hardest erection I’d had in months. My balls ached to release hot cum, but I decided to let my new roommate dominate. Slowly he released the lip lock, and took a step back. He ripped, quite literally, my buttoned down chambray shirt off, expertly pulled my belt from my jeans, and stripped them off in one quick move. With tenderness, but forceful manliness, he placed my bulging, wet dick in his mouth. With professional accuracy, he cupped my balls, stroked my dick with his tongue and mouth, and brought me to an eruption that I was sure was going to drown him. He took it all in and never lost a drop. He then stood, and pushed my head toward his hard man meat. His jeans were still on, so I used my teeth to rip the snap open. The zipper space open easily under the strain of the burgeoning appendage, and with the lack of briefs, shot it right out. The pre-cum was bubbling over, and tasted salty, but wonderful in my mouth. I worked his dick for a long time, all ten inches. It seemed like every suck just made it longer, harder, and hotter. He finally exploded in my mouth, and I gulped with reckless abandon. As he slid his dick out of my mouth, I saw for the first time a small tattoo near the base of his dick, on his flat, solid lower abdomen. Is said, “Love machine” and had a caricature of a muscular man with an over sized penis ballooning out. It was great! I chuckled out loud, and wondered what other surprises I’d discover. I was soon to find out. He raised me up and standing face to face, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, dick to dick, he placed his hard, experienced hand on my ass. He started massaging the cheeks of my ass, and the vibrations moved directly from the back to the front. My cock became hard again, and nudged his huge cock, which also sprang to life. His long fingers worked their way around to the opening of my anus. While pulling me closer, he massaged the rim of my butt hole, sending quivers from back to front. I pulled away from his massive grip, and turned around. I knew his desire was to put his love machine into my love receptacle. I reached across the counter and pulled open the drawer. He knew what to do with the industrial strength rubber I gave him. I knelt down next to the coffee table and hoisted my ready ass into the air. Joe slowly pulled his rock dick into my stretched anus. He stood behind me, rocking back and forth, until he was all the way in. He developed a slow rhythm, and pushed and pulled with great restraint. I know he wanted the fucking to last and last, but I was about to explode. When he finally came, and let out a long howl, I laughed again. This was so much fun, it didn’t seem fair. Only it was my turn now to rock his ass. And that was going to make it fair. I stood, hard on straining, and pushed him down on the couch. His ass spread in a natural way, and I discovered tattoo number 2. Right above his nicely shaved ass hole was a small tattoo of an arrow, with fancy writing that said, “Enter at your own risk.” This guy had such a sense of humor. I stretched a huge condom over my dick. I had to do it carefully, because I was about ready to explode. When I pushed my dick into his ready ass, I started a slow, steady rhythm. I wanted him to move with me, and he did. Slowly, and steadily, we moved, up and down, until I blew my entire load into his hot, hard ass. I literally collapsed on him, dick still inside, and wanted to just stay there feeling his heart beat and my own. “Do you think you can stand being my roomy?” I asked with a tone of irony. “Sure, if you can stand someone who spends a lot of time absorbed in his work,” he answered. “Oh yeah,” I answered. You never did tell me what it was you wrote.” “Haven’t you figured it out by now?” he asked with a sparkle in his eye. “I write stories about men loving other men. Mostly they are fantasy, but maybe now some of them will be based on experience.” “Oh, man, I don’t believe it,” I said. “That’s mostly what I write. One of these days we’ll have to share stories.” “Yeah, and share a little more lovin’ too,” he said, grinning. I sat up and looked again at this new roommate of mine. His body was in great shape, tanned from head to toe. His smile was picture perfect. His muscles bulged in the right places, and the hair around his body was just right. Then I spotted the third tattoo. It was on his left shoulder, near the back. At first I couldn’t tell what it was, but after I examined it I could tell it was two men locked in a position of loving. They were sucking one another in the shape of the number 69. It was so intricate and well done, and looked like Joe and I had looked just a little while ago. “I love your tattoos,” I said. “I think it’s just about time to get another,” he ventured. “Yeah? What would this one be?” “How about something like ‘Rod & Stud Club’!” he laughed. I leaned over and kissed him while I put a grip on his dick with my hand. He was already hard again, and I started stroking. He reached his hand over and did the same for me. Before I knew it we were both shooting white man juice all over my couch. This was the start of a great relationship. Two writers living the adventures they were writing about. It was going to be fun. The Writer I stopped by the library on my way to the post office, and as I was reading the paper, a new person came through the door. I stopped at the library almost every day to read the local paper, and even worked there on Tuesday afternoons as a volunteer. So, basically, I knew almost everyone who came in, and in a small town most people are either known by name, or are newcomers. The man was tall, had long dark hair that may well have been tied in a pony tail in the back, and wore a leather bomber jacket. I could tell his jeans were tight, and his legs were thick enough to stretch the material. He took a seat near the dictionaries, took off his jacket, and pulled a notebook and some papers from his book bag. He had only a dark blue t-shirt on, and tufts of hair jutted out from the stretched neckline. As he sat, I could see his forearms and biceps had been worked some, were tan for this time of the winter ( a clue he was a newcomer) and his long, strong fingers guided the pen across the paper. I couldn’t wait until Tuesday, when I would be working, and hoped he would still be in town so I could strike up a conversation with him. Well, Tuesday came, and sure enough, my writer friend returned to the same table at about the same time. He wore the same clothes, and went to work rather quickly after he came in. From my place behind the desk, I could study his features without being too obvious. His face has several days growth of dark stubble, but it could not hide the dimple in his chin and his thick, moist lips. His sideburns were down under his earlobes, which were thick and prominent, and the left one had a single stud ear post in it. His dark brown hair was thick, and seemed to fall into place easily. As he wrote, I noticed the muscles and veins in his arms move. I again marveled at his tan, somewhat unusual for Alaska in February. He must have come in from someplace like southern California or Florida. He was left handed, and seemed to be completely absorbed in his writing. I wondered, if he was a writer, why didn’t he use a computer? If he was a writer in the “starving artist” sense, where did he live? From my daydreaming state, he startled me back to reality, when he passed by my desk on the way to the bathroom. Oh how I wanted to follow him to get a peek, but knew it would be too obvious. For right now, I’d just have to gaze from afar. As he ambled lazily back to his seat from the bathroom, he lingered right by the desk. His t-shirt was tight to his body, and his waist looked like it had no fat what so ever. His pecs were well defined and hard. His shoulders pushed their way out of the tight t-shirt, forcing the biceps and triceps fully out. His arms almost looked too long and too big for his body, but it was the tight t-shirt that caused the illusion. He stopped right in front of the desk, my eyes level with his crotch. There was a definite bulge there that I wanted to check out, and soon. I looked up and gazed into deep brown eyes, a lustrous smile, and a solid hard jaw. He spoke with a deep resonant voice, “Say, do you know of any places for rent in this town? I’ve been here about a week, and I can’t find a thing. Staying at the local hotel is really expensive.” “Man, I know. Rent is really high here, if you can find anything at all. What kind of work do you do? Maybe someone at your work can help you find something.” “Well,” he started slowly, “I’m a writer.” His admission almost had an apologetic quality about it. “Hey, so am I,” I said, in a tone that sounded like I’d found a friend. “What kind of stuff do your write? Who’s it for?” “Well, I do articles for specialty magazines,” he said. “You know, so do I,” I said. In fact, I had had several articles on Alaskan life picked up by a couple of magazines, but nothing was on-going. “Hey, maybe we could compare notes some time. You know, serve as each others editor?” “Yeah, if I stay here. It’s a lot different from what I expected. If I don’t find a place to stay...” his voice trailed off, and he returned to where he was working. I thought about it for the rest of my shift. I had enough room in my apartment for two people. I could use a little help with the rent and utilities. I wouldn’t mind having another writer around to bounce things off of. But most of all, I couldn’t wait to get this hunk alone in a private place. Just about the time I was ready to leave, I could see that he was also packing away his things. I walked over and pushed a chair under the table. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I have a pretty big apartment, with two bedrooms, and it’s really private. I have been looking for a roommate, but I just haven’t found the right person. It would be a help to me. I work most days, and you’d have a lot of time to write. Heck, you could even use my computer. Then we could compare notes and writing, if you wanted to.” “Hey, thanks. You sure I wouldn’t be imposing?” he asked. “No. Let’s just try it out for a while and see if it could work. I don’t have any expectations, and when you get some money for some of your writing, you can pay what ever you can to help with expenses.” “Sounds great to me!” he said enthusiastically. “You know, I don’t even know your name,” I said, rather stupidly. Here I had just asked a man to come live with me, and I didn’t even know his name. “Joe,” he said. “Joe Sherwood from San Francisco.” He extended his hand and we shook. “Rod,” I said. “Glad to meet you.” We arrived at my apartment after a couple of stops on the way. I hoped there wasn’t too much clutter or revealing “stuff” lying around. We went in, threw down our bags and I put the groceries in the kitchen. “Just make yourself at home,” I yelled from the kitchen. I was secretly hoping he was curious and would check out the bodybuilding or gay porn magazines I had on the shelves. I didn’t do a very good job of hiding things. Maybe some of the video titles would give it away. While I was putting things in the cupboards, he did look around and did make himself at home. When I returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses, he was sitting on the couch, reading a bodybuilding magazine, looking very interested. “Great studs, huh?” I ventured. “Yeah, they sure are. I’ve met most of these guys because I used to live right on Venice Beach,” he said. He was unconsciously rubbing his crotch, and I knew he was getting hard. So was I. “Really? I’ve always wanted to go there but thought it would be a little intimidating,” I said. He was rubbing harder, and I could see the outline of his engorged shaft. “Oh, I don’t know. You have to let them know what you want and who’s the boss,” he said, still looking at the photos in the magazine. “Some of these guys are just as nervous as you are. They’re just human, too. Really big humans!” We both laughed and seemed to settle in a little. “Here, have a glass of wine and maybe you’ll loosen up,” I suggested. “Oh, man, one of my favorites,” he said looking at the bottle. We sat for a few minutes in silence, sipping wine and staring at each other. Every few minutes his pecs would flex, or his basket would expand, and I wondered what he was thinking. He seemed to be ready, willing, and able, but I wasn’t convinced. “So, tell me, Joe, what do you like to write,” I asked. “Short stories, mostly, about relationships, love, sex, and the modern world,” he grinned, and his face was incredible: beautiful and animated. “Well, where have any of them been published?” “Oh, not in any magazines you would have read!” he said. “Really? Did you check out the magazines on my shelf?” He stood and took a couple of steps over to the shelves. He scanned my magazines carefully, and pivoted around slowly. He had a crafty grin on his face, and I knew I would soon be glad the invitation had been extended for this potential roommate. “Somehow,” he started, “I knew you would be my type.” As if in slow motion, he completed his turn, stripped off his shirt, undid his belt, and moved over to where I was standing. With a grip of steel, he pulled my head close, and began to kiss me with the most passionate, hot mouth I have ever encountered. Deep into my mouth, exploring, drilling, sharing such passion. His saliva was like sweet nectar, hot and invigorating. At the same time I was aware that I had probably the hardest erection I’d had in months. My balls ached to release hot cum, but I decided to let my new roommate dominate. Slowly he released the lip lock, and took a step back. He ripped, quite literally, my buttoned down chambray shirt off, expertly pulled my belt from my jeans, and stripped them off in one quick move. With tenderness, but forceful manliness, he placed my bulging, wet dick in his mouth. With professional accuracy, he cupped my balls, stroked my dick with his tongue and mouth, and brought me to an eruption that I was sure was going to drown him. He took it all in and never lost a drop. He then stood, and pushed my head toward his hard man meat. His jeans were still on, so I used my teeth to rip the snap open. The zipper space open easily under the strain of the burgeoning appendage, and with the lack of briefs, shot it right out. The pre-cum was bubbling over, and tasted salty, but wonderful in my mouth. I worked his dick for a long time, all ten inches. It seemed like every suck just made it longer, harder, and hotter. He finally exploded in my mouth, and I gulped with reckless abandon. As he slid his dick out of my mouth, I saw for the first time a small tattoo near the base of his dick, on his flat, solid lower abdomen. Is said, “Love machine” and had a caricature of a muscular man with an over sized penis ballooning out. It was great! I chuckled out loud, and wondered what other surprises I’d discover. I was soon to find out. He raised me up and standing face to face, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, dick to dick, he placed his hard, experienced hand on my ass. He started massaging the cheeks of my ass, and the vibrations moved directly from the back to the front. My cock became hard again, and nudged his huge cock, which also sprang to life. His long fingers worked their way around to the opening of my anus. While pulling me closer, he massaged the rim of my butt hole, sending quivers from back to front. I pulled away from his massive grip, and turned around. I knew his desire was to put his love machine into my love receptacle. I reached across the counter and pulled open the drawer. He knew what to do with the industrial strength rubber I gave him. I knelt down next to the coffee table and hoisted my ready ass into the air. Joe slowly pulled his rock dick into my stretched anus. He stood behind me, rocking back and forth, until he was all the way in. He developed a slow rhythm, and pushed and pulled with great restraint. I know he wanted the fucking to last and last, but I was about to explode. When he finally came, and let out a long howl, I laughed again. This was so much fun, it didn’t seem fair. Only it was my turn now to rock his ass. And that was going to make it fair. I stood, hard on straining, and pushed him down on the couch. His ass spread in a natural way, and I discovered tattoo number 2. Right above his nicely shaved ass hole was a small tattoo of an arrow, with fancy writing that said, “Enter at your own risk.” This guy had such a sense of humor. I stretched a huge condom over my dick. I had to do it carefully, because I was about ready to explode. When I pushed my dick into his ready ass, I started a slow, steady rhythm. I wanted him to move with me, and he did. Slowly, and steadily, we moved, up and down, until I blew my entire load into his hot, hard ass. I literally collapsed on him, dick still inside, and wanted to just stay there feeling his heart beat and my own. “Do you think you can stand being my roomy?” I asked with a tone of irony. “Sure, if you can stand someone who spends a lot of time absorbed in his work,” he answered. “Oh yeah,” I answered. You never did tell me what it was you wrote.” “Haven’t you figured it out by now?” he asked with a sparkle in his eye. “I write stories about men loving other men. Mostly they are fantasy, but maybe now some of them will be based on experience.” “Oh, man, I don’t believe it,” I said. “That’s mostly what I write. One of these days we’ll have to share stories.” “Yeah, and share a little more lovin’ too,” he said, grinning. I sat up and looked again at this new roommate of mine. His body was in great shape, tanned from head to toe. His smile was picture perfect. His muscles bulged in the right places, and the hair around his body was just right. Then I spotted the third tattoo. It was on his left shoulder, near the back. At first I couldn’t tell what it was, but after I examined it I could tell it was two men locked in a position of loving. They were sucking one another in the shape of the number 69. It was so intricate and well done, and looked like Joe and I had looked just a little while ago. “I love your tattoos,” I said. “I think it’s just about time to get another,” he ventured. “Yeah? What would this one be?” “How about something like ‘Rod & Stud Club’!” he laughed. I leaned over and kissed him while I put a grip on his dick with my hand. He was already hard again, and I started stroking. He reached his hand over and did the same for me. Before I knew it we were both shooting white man juice all over my couch. This was the start of a great relationship. Two writers living the adventures they were writing about. It was going to be fun.
