I was born at Queen Of Angels Hospital on July 16,1924. I attended Cheremoya Avenue School, Le Conte Junior High and Hollywood High School. My parents, Tom and Rosemarie, were typical Midwestern kids who had come to Hollywood in hopes of making it into the movies. Mom had managed to get a small roll in a Chaplin short, but Dad was always a little too tall (or seemingly STRAIGHT) to ever be considered for a part.
When it became obvious that they were NOT going to be the new Pickford and Fairbanks, they settled for the next best thing. Mom became an usherette at Grauman's Egyptian Theatre and Dad became a streetcar conductor. I suppose there was a logic behind Dad's decision (beyond paying the rent) which reasoned that operating a streetcar was a logical alternative to acting. By the time I came along, they were well on the way toward becoming good, decent and completely boring citizens. All of this changed when, in 1928, Dad ran off with Jake; an apprentice carpenter he met on the Hollywood to Culver City run (So much for Straight). Apparently Dad had been pulling more than bell cords while Jake pounded more than three penny nails. It was a match made in heaven, but one that left Mom alone with a fledgling cocksucker to support.
While I am the first to admit that, as a history, all of this is positively anemic in comparison to that of Dracula or Lestat (it isn't even vintage "Bloodsucking Mutants From Uranus"), it DOES establish a jumping off point for my tawdry tale of bloodlust and debauchery.
It seems that my entire life has been influenced by the movies. My first exposure to man to man sex happened in the scenery dock of the Egyptian Theatre. It was 1929. and, since Mom was now the head usher, I had the entire backstage, basement and loft as a playground. One day, while recreating one of Fairbank's more daring scenes from The Man In The Iron Mask, I heard a moaning coming from far below. It was the Manager "interviewing" a job applicant.
Being careful not to bump anything that would make noise and give me away, I made my way across the cat walk for a better look. I peered down through the mass of ropes, counterweights and backdrops. Below was Mr.Shapiro, his pants around his ankles, fucking the shit out of this guy draped over a cart wheel. I guessed from the conversation that they were having a pretty good (if awkward) time. As Mr.Shapiro pounded away, the applicant pushed his butt back to meet Shapiro's thrusts. He was saying things like "Fuck me,sir" and "Let me feel your big cock in my ass" so this was definitely NOT the "cocksucking" I had heard the ushers talking about when Shapiro's name came up.
After what seemed like a VERY long time, Shapiro threw his head back and let out with a loud groan. Soon after, the applicant did the same and shot his load on the 8th, 9th, 14th and 23rd spokes of the wheel. Shapiro pulled out with an audible PLOP and they put themselves back together. I heard Shapiro tell the guy to report to the uniform exchange the next morning, so I assume all this "work" was worth it.
I waited until the door to the auditorium closed and then rolled over on my back, alarmed at the change that had come over my dick. I gently poked at it before opening my pants to investigate. I stifled a scream when I saw how big it had gotten. I lay there in a panic, hoping the swelling would go down. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what I had done to cause this.
Finally, putting two and two together, it hit me. THIS was related to THAT which I had just witnessed. Since that was obviously GOOD, this wasn't BAD. Since THIS was good, THAT was something I was going to do as soon as I possibly could. As fate would have it, another nine years would pass before I would experience THAT.
In the years that followed, I became a fixture in the usher's dressing room. Being a cute kid, and reasonably quick on the uptake, I was accepted as a sort of mascot. Little did they realize that I was taking EVERYTHING in for future reference. Now, when I saw one of the guys walk through the dressing room, absently stroking a hard on, I noted what he did next. "NEXT" was usually a quick trip to the restroom...followed by the sound of flesh against flesh...followed by a moan. Sometimes if two were similarly afflicted, they would duck into a stall, a pair of knees would appear below the door and there would be a "slurping" sound...followed by groans. *Hmmmm. File this under "Cocksucking, T Room:see JACKING OFF". Time passed quickly. In the years that followed that fateful day in the fly loft, I had become notorious in three theatre circuits. My best friend, Jack, had taken care of my virginity, on my 14th birthday, in the lower depths of the El Capitan Theatre. By the time I was 16, I had been "interviewed" by Mr. Shapiro and a fair number of Assistant Managers, Head Ushers and doormen. Even my childhood nickname, Mickey, had been replaced by one more descriptive. To be honest, I had never thought of myself as the "Donk" type, but I liked the attention it got me and I went with it.
By 1943 I was on my own. Mom had married Mr. Shapiro (I'm still trying to figure THAT one out) and moved to Boston, where he was to manage the Paramount Theatre. Jack, being two years older than I, had enlisted in the Navy and was somewhere in the North Atlantic. I tried to enlist the day after I graduated from Hollywood High but I was rejected for being a sleepwalker. Feeling somewhat alone and abandoned, I went to work as a bellman at the Hollywood Hotel. It was an exciting period in the city's history. Everyone had a common goal; to win the war. I, being the good American citizen that I was, made it my personal goal to make SURE every serviceman shipped out with a smile on his face, a song on his lips and a hard on that wouldn't go down for a week. It was a time of great personal sacrifice. Hollywood got a little bit wierder in the Spring of 1948. The McCarthy trials were terrorizing the upper echelons of Hollywood while a presumed serial killer kept the man on the street looking over his shoulder. I say presumed because there were never any bodies.
Men of a specific "type" were simply dropping off the face of the earth. If you were tall, blonde, blue eyed and between the ages of 20 and 25 you were in deep shit. By April the count had risen to 23 and I, blonde of eye and blue of hair that I was, found myself feeling very exposed and vulnerable in a city of smug brunettes.
I was living in the Alto Nido Apartments, at the top of Ivar, and spending a LOT of time behind my double locked door. Even with Jack, who was now safely out of the Navy, as my next door neighbor I never felt entirely safe. I always felt WATCHED. It was as if I was being sized up for something. It was a warm Summer evening. Jack had just been promoted to Assistant buyer for The Broadway Hollywood and wanted to celebrate his good fortune. Although I felt it was NOT in my best interests, I consented to catching the 10:00 showing of Easter Parade at The Los Angeles Theatre. This was not, in retrospect, one of my brighter moves.
Tuesday evenings are traditionally a bad night for films, and this night was not an exception. The theatre was all but empty as we walked into the cavernous auditorium. We found our seats and I decided to make a quick trip to the men's room Efficiency aside, the Red Cars were hell on the kidneys. As I left the relative safety of Jack and the auditorium, and made my way through the elaborate lobby to the stairway down to the lounge, it never dawned on me that I was also leaving behind all I had ever known and loved. The lower lounge was two levels below the street and as quiet as a cemetery on a Winter night. The indirects, having been dimmed to mask the water stains on the walls, cast small pools of light that looked like drops of pale blood on the threadbare carpeting. In a dark corner, a prism viewer, now fallen into disrepair, continued to reflect distorted and foggy images from the auditorium screen for eyes long since turned elsewhere.
I paused just long enough to allow my eyes to adjust and then descended the last three steps. I crossed the expanse, avoiding the "pools", and entered the men's lounge. A flickering pink spotlight at the far end of the room cast strange reflections on the carrera marble walls, giving the veins of color a look of pulsing life. I headed for the nearest stall, having reasoned that the urinals would leave me exposed to attack from behind. It was, of course, locked. As I made my way down the line, finding all of them similarly secured, a sense of unease washed over me and swept away all logic. My instincts told me what my mind rejected; I was being "corralled". It wasn't so much of a sound as it was a sensation that made me stop and turn around. It was as if the fabric of space and time had been shifted and torn. I forced myself to face whoever waited for me in the dark.
The distant shadows seemed to part as a man stepped into the first spot of light. He paused for a moment before advancing into darkness. Like a hunter, he seemed to be sizing me up before making his move. Again into light, again into darkness...into light ..dark .. light ...dark.
He was at last upon me, and I was not afraid. Like hell I wasn't! I took what I hoped would be enough steps backward to allow me sufficient forward momentum and then charged the fucker. Rosemarie's little boy was not about to go out without a fight.
Although I can only speculate as to the accuracy of this simile, the impact was like running head first into a streetcar doing 40 miles an hour and I was sent sprawling ass over boxers on to the tile floor. Shaking my head, I got up and charged again, meeting with pretty much the same results. There was no longer any doubt about it. They had definitely skimped on the ceiling when they built this place. I knew because I was becoming an expert on them very quickly.
Instead of becoming enraged, he actually appeared to be enjoying my futile attempts and continued forward. I got to my feet and braced myself for whatever was to come. My back against the wall, I raised my eyes to meet his. I had seen enough Ronald Coleman films to know when to face my destiny like a man.
My "destiny" was in the shape of the most (if the term can apply here) beautiful, utterly perfect man I could have ever imagined.The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were large, with thick lashes. It would be inaccurate to say they were devoid of color because they seemed to flash distant bolts of blue and green lightning. His face was framed by thick, unfashionably long hair that dropped to his shoulders in heavy waves. His slightly Roman nose was offset by a wide, sensuous mouth that revealed perfect white teeth when he smiled. His skin, while seeming to be unnaturally pale, was smooth and unlined.
He was tall, at least 6'5" and outweighed me by a good 15 or 20 pounds. He had broad, thickly muscled shoulders and powerful arms. His chest, which showed no signs of the rise and fall of breathing, was massive and well defined, as if chisled from years of hard physical labor. His long torso gave way to a narrow waist, a beautifully rounded ass and powerful legs. He was in an obvious state of arousal and sported what appeared to be a huge (and most likely uncut) dick that extended halfway down his thigh. Only years of practice could have revealed so much detail in what was no more than a flash in time. I looked away, afraid of what closer inspection would reveal. When I looked again, he smiled and.put his hand to the side of my *face. "No fear"
Hold it! Let's rewind the film a couple of frames here and get some facts straight. This is NOT a Lizabeth Scott programmer where the lady in distress finds her tormentor to be a good guy, somewhere in the last five minutes. Beautiful and perfect that he was, this guy had every intention of nailing my perfect little butt to the wall.
At this moment in time, the ONLY thing about him that I found to be attractive was the broad stretch of open tile that stretched out behind him. As I saw it, the only chance I had of avoiding whatever he had in mind for me was a last minute rescue by whatever knight in white armor happened to be galloping down Broadway at the moment.
I was, in a word, FUCKED!
As I fell deeper into his black and emotionless eyes, my will to fight grew weaker. I no longer had control of my vocal cords, so a cry for help was out of the question even if there had been someone to hear. In spite of my relatively large size, I found myself in his massive arms. He had picked me up like a small child and was carrying me toward one of the stalls. Without so much as a break in his stride, he raised his right leg and kicked in the locked door, sending it smashing into the marble wall with a loud report. He put me down in front of the ornate throne like toilet and then stepped back, all the while keeping me in his snake like stare. He paused, as if pondering his next move, and then spoke in a deep, almost inaudible voice.
"Take your clothes off" Unsure as to whether I had heard him correctly, I could only wait for him to repeat the command. Perhaps taking my inaction as modesty, he spoke again.
"I SAID take your clothes off" Determined to retain my dignity for as long as possible, I began by slowly unbuttoning my shirt. He didn't seem to mind my leisurely pace. Uncharacteristic of me as it was, I let it fall to the floor. I removed my shoes and socks and then hesitated again. He indicated with a glance that the pants were to go next. My hands trembled so badly that I was unable to loosen my belt. He reached out and, with alarming ease, broke it apart with a single pull. As the two halves fell to the floor I quickly opened my pants. It wasn't as if I would be needing them much longer, but it was the principle of the thing; kind of like why you should never wear torn or dirty underwear. I let them drop to the floor and stepped out of them. At least, if they found me, I'd have intact pants.
It was the moment of truth. I slipped my hands inside the waistband and slowly drew them down. I stood in front of him naked, vulnerable and (to my surprise) very hard. A faint smile played across his face and he started toward me. As he placed his right hand on my shoulder, a surge of power sent a jolt through my body that caused me to step back from him. He gently pulled me forward and moved his hand to my waist. Placing his other hand on the back of my neck, he coaxed my head upward with a slight pressure so that my throat was fully exposed. He ran his tongue across the exposed surface, along the line of my jaw and down the other side of my neck. I was aware of a slight stab of pain, really no more than a pin prick, before he stepped back contemplating his next move He brought his hands to my chest and ran his fingers through the mat of fine hair that covered it. His touch was hot as he pressed his palms against my hard nipples and began kneeding my pecs. Bringing them to the center, he kept them still for a moment, as if to feel the steady pounding of my heart, and began raking his nails lightly across my chest in ever widening circles. A moan escaped me as he dragged them across my nipples and I felt the stall tilt slightly. He brought his hands back to my heart, this time moving them downward as he dropped to one knee. I could feel his tongue as it traced down along the lines of my abdominal muscles and then upward along my right side where he buried his face in the pit of my arm. My nerve endings, already at a point of overload, threatened to explode as he lapped at the sweat. His hot hands continued to stroke and excite the areas he had already passed with his expert tongue.
Grasping my hips, he turned me around and spread my legs wide. I bent forward, bracing myself on the rim of the black marble toilet bowl. His tongue moved lightly down the crack of my ass, pausing briefly at the hole before continuing downward. I felt my heart leap as he began licking and sucking the underside of my aching balls. He moved his tongue back and forth, along the sides and then back up the crack. He spread my cheeks wider, his tongue probing the outer edge of my butthole. The brush of his moustache against the sensitive skin of my butt was almost too much to bear as his tongue pushed deep inside.
He stepped forward and ran his tongue up my spine. I could feel his hard dick pressed against my ass as he bent forward to gain access to the back of my neck. A chill ran down my back as he wrapped his arms around me,his hands resting on my heaving chest. While pulling me to an upright position, he brought them down across my stomach to my raging hardon and stroked it lightly before turning me to face him again. He dropped back to his knee and bagan running his tongue along my shaft. Aware that I could cum at any moment, he took the full length of my dick into his mouth and gave only a few strokes before pulling back. He stood up again and, still maintaining his hold on me, reached up and ran his fingers lightly across my forehead. He bent forward and whispered something inaudible in my right ear. Once again the room lurched as a feeling of renewed power washed over me. I stood motionless for a minute as it made it's way through my arms and legs.
I reached out with a stranger's arm and placed my hand on the right side of his chest. I brought the other up and, in a quick and violent motion, tore the shirt from his body. I tossed it in the corner of the stall and repeated the action with his pants. Reaching down between his massive legs, I grabbed his cock and balls and squeezed.
He closed his eyes and rolled his head back as I jacked his hard dick to an even greater erection. I pushed, shoved and manipulated his godlike body, with much less gentleness than he had afforded me, until he was facing the back of the stall. I shoved his torso forward so violently that his forehead glanced off the wall. He reached up and grabbed the top edge of the walls as I kicked his legs apart. Then, placing the head of my dick against his hole, I grabbed his waist and, in one swift motion, plunged it's full length deep inside him.
An unearthly howl escaped him that seemed to echo off the cold walls into the depths of hell. As my relentless assault continued, I bent forward and bit deeply into his shoulder. I lapped at the blood as it began to flow from the wound.He turned his head, hair falling in his face, and said something I was beyond hearing. All I could hear was the low growl that issued from my throat as it drowned out the grating of the wall brackets being torn from their moorings.
Each hard and grinding thrust was met with an equally violent push backward. He clenched his cheeks tightly around my dick as it slammed forward, as if trying to draw me deeper inside. We were like two perfect jungle beasts locked in combat. As my load churned it's way up from my balls, he stood upright, grabbed his dick and began to furiously jack himself off. As I shot my load deep inside his ravaged ass, he threw his head back onto my shoulder and released his load onto the black marble wall in front of him. As my load continued to gush forth, he turned his head to the side and, incisors fully extended, bit deeply into my exposed neck. My eyes flew open, and my pace slowed, as my still hard dick pulled out and I found myself facing him again. A small line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth as he pulled me into his arms and brought his lips to my throat and began to drink. My mind was filled with a rush of memories as my life drained down his throat. When my vision blurred, and the world went red, all I could think of was whether or not I was wearing clean underwear.
When I opened my eyes again, I was fully dressed and sitting on the toilet. I stood and then, after waiting for the dizziness to subside, opened the door. My foot kicked half of a broken belt on the floor as I staggered to the mirror. "Christ, I look like shit. I must have dropped off for a second." I ran a comb through my *hair and returned to my seat upstairs. Jack looked at me as I sat down.
"Jesus, Mike. You look awful. You OK, buddy?" "Yeah, just tired I guess. I'm alright." I don't remember much about the film. I was fascinated with the artery that pulsed in Jack's neck and watched it intently until he noticed me staring at him. Mistaking my hunger for lust (not entirely inaccurate), he reached over and gave my hardening dick a furtive grope. As the houselights came up at the end, we made our way up the aisle into the foyer. Jack stopped to admire the fountain at the top of the stairway, then remembered the hardon in the auditorium and hurried down the stairs.
As we walked up Broadway, he smiled in anticipation of one of my world famous blowjobs. I was good at that.
"Ya know, Donk, I think this is going to be a memorable evening. I think I'm going to like it a lot."
The temporary darkness that enveloped us when we stepped out of the glow of the marquee gave me a chance to briefly try out my new incisors before pulling them in again. I smiled and answered in a low, husky voice that made Jack giggle.
"I think so too,Jack. I think we'll have a LOT of fun".
When it became obvious that they were NOT going to be the new Pickford and Fairbanks, they settled for the next best thing. Mom became an usherette at Grauman's Egyptian Theatre and Dad became a streetcar conductor. I suppose there was a logic behind Dad's decision (beyond paying the rent) which reasoned that operating a streetcar was a logical alternative to acting. By the time I came along, they were well on the way toward becoming good, decent and completely boring citizens. All of this changed when, in 1928, Dad ran off with Jake; an apprentice carpenter he met on the Hollywood to Culver City run (So much for Straight). Apparently Dad had been pulling more than bell cords while Jake pounded more than three penny nails. It was a match made in heaven, but one that left Mom alone with a fledgling cocksucker to support.
While I am the first to admit that, as a history, all of this is positively anemic in comparison to that of Dracula or Lestat (it isn't even vintage "Bloodsucking Mutants From Uranus"), it DOES establish a jumping off point for my tawdry tale of bloodlust and debauchery.
It seems that my entire life has been influenced by the movies. My first exposure to man to man sex happened in the scenery dock of the Egyptian Theatre. It was 1929. and, since Mom was now the head usher, I had the entire backstage, basement and loft as a playground. One day, while recreating one of Fairbank's more daring scenes from The Man In The Iron Mask, I heard a moaning coming from far below. It was the Manager "interviewing" a job applicant.
Being careful not to bump anything that would make noise and give me away, I made my way across the cat walk for a better look. I peered down through the mass of ropes, counterweights and backdrops. Below was Mr.Shapiro, his pants around his ankles, fucking the shit out of this guy draped over a cart wheel. I guessed from the conversation that they were having a pretty good (if awkward) time. As Mr.Shapiro pounded away, the applicant pushed his butt back to meet Shapiro's thrusts. He was saying things like "Fuck me,sir" and "Let me feel your big cock in my ass" so this was definitely NOT the "cocksucking" I had heard the ushers talking about when Shapiro's name came up.
After what seemed like a VERY long time, Shapiro threw his head back and let out with a loud groan. Soon after, the applicant did the same and shot his load on the 8th, 9th, 14th and 23rd spokes of the wheel. Shapiro pulled out with an audible PLOP and they put themselves back together. I heard Shapiro tell the guy to report to the uniform exchange the next morning, so I assume all this "work" was worth it.
I waited until the door to the auditorium closed and then rolled over on my back, alarmed at the change that had come over my dick. I gently poked at it before opening my pants to investigate. I stifled a scream when I saw how big it had gotten. I lay there in a panic, hoping the swelling would go down. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what I had done to cause this.
Finally, putting two and two together, it hit me. THIS was related to THAT which I had just witnessed. Since that was obviously GOOD, this wasn't BAD. Since THIS was good, THAT was something I was going to do as soon as I possibly could. As fate would have it, another nine years would pass before I would experience THAT.
In the years that followed, I became a fixture in the usher's dressing room. Being a cute kid, and reasonably quick on the uptake, I was accepted as a sort of mascot. Little did they realize that I was taking EVERYTHING in for future reference. Now, when I saw one of the guys walk through the dressing room, absently stroking a hard on, I noted what he did next. "NEXT" was usually a quick trip to the restroom...followed by the sound of flesh against flesh...followed by a moan. Sometimes if two were similarly afflicted, they would duck into a stall, a pair of knees would appear below the door and there would be a "slurping" sound...followed by groans. *Hmmmm. File this under "Cocksucking, T Room:see JACKING OFF". Time passed quickly. In the years that followed that fateful day in the fly loft, I had become notorious in three theatre circuits. My best friend, Jack, had taken care of my virginity, on my 14th birthday, in the lower depths of the El Capitan Theatre. By the time I was 16, I had been "interviewed" by Mr. Shapiro and a fair number of Assistant Managers, Head Ushers and doormen. Even my childhood nickname, Mickey, had been replaced by one more descriptive. To be honest, I had never thought of myself as the "Donk" type, but I liked the attention it got me and I went with it.
By 1943 I was on my own. Mom had married Mr. Shapiro (I'm still trying to figure THAT one out) and moved to Boston, where he was to manage the Paramount Theatre. Jack, being two years older than I, had enlisted in the Navy and was somewhere in the North Atlantic. I tried to enlist the day after I graduated from Hollywood High but I was rejected for being a sleepwalker. Feeling somewhat alone and abandoned, I went to work as a bellman at the Hollywood Hotel. It was an exciting period in the city's history. Everyone had a common goal; to win the war. I, being the good American citizen that I was, made it my personal goal to make SURE every serviceman shipped out with a smile on his face, a song on his lips and a hard on that wouldn't go down for a week. It was a time of great personal sacrifice. Hollywood got a little bit wierder in the Spring of 1948. The McCarthy trials were terrorizing the upper echelons of Hollywood while a presumed serial killer kept the man on the street looking over his shoulder. I say presumed because there were never any bodies.
Men of a specific "type" were simply dropping off the face of the earth. If you were tall, blonde, blue eyed and between the ages of 20 and 25 you were in deep shit. By April the count had risen to 23 and I, blonde of eye and blue of hair that I was, found myself feeling very exposed and vulnerable in a city of smug brunettes.
I was living in the Alto Nido Apartments, at the top of Ivar, and spending a LOT of time behind my double locked door. Even with Jack, who was now safely out of the Navy, as my next door neighbor I never felt entirely safe. I always felt WATCHED. It was as if I was being sized up for something. It was a warm Summer evening. Jack had just been promoted to Assistant buyer for The Broadway Hollywood and wanted to celebrate his good fortune. Although I felt it was NOT in my best interests, I consented to catching the 10:00 showing of Easter Parade at The Los Angeles Theatre. This was not, in retrospect, one of my brighter moves.
Tuesday evenings are traditionally a bad night for films, and this night was not an exception. The theatre was all but empty as we walked into the cavernous auditorium. We found our seats and I decided to make a quick trip to the men's room Efficiency aside, the Red Cars were hell on the kidneys. As I left the relative safety of Jack and the auditorium, and made my way through the elaborate lobby to the stairway down to the lounge, it never dawned on me that I was also leaving behind all I had ever known and loved. The lower lounge was two levels below the street and as quiet as a cemetery on a Winter night. The indirects, having been dimmed to mask the water stains on the walls, cast small pools of light that looked like drops of pale blood on the threadbare carpeting. In a dark corner, a prism viewer, now fallen into disrepair, continued to reflect distorted and foggy images from the auditorium screen for eyes long since turned elsewhere.
I paused just long enough to allow my eyes to adjust and then descended the last three steps. I crossed the expanse, avoiding the "pools", and entered the men's lounge. A flickering pink spotlight at the far end of the room cast strange reflections on the carrera marble walls, giving the veins of color a look of pulsing life. I headed for the nearest stall, having reasoned that the urinals would leave me exposed to attack from behind. It was, of course, locked. As I made my way down the line, finding all of them similarly secured, a sense of unease washed over me and swept away all logic. My instincts told me what my mind rejected; I was being "corralled". It wasn't so much of a sound as it was a sensation that made me stop and turn around. It was as if the fabric of space and time had been shifted and torn. I forced myself to face whoever waited for me in the dark.
The distant shadows seemed to part as a man stepped into the first spot of light. He paused for a moment before advancing into darkness. Like a hunter, he seemed to be sizing me up before making his move. Again into light, again into darkness...into light ..dark .. light ...dark.
He was at last upon me, and I was not afraid. Like hell I wasn't! I took what I hoped would be enough steps backward to allow me sufficient forward momentum and then charged the fucker. Rosemarie's little boy was not about to go out without a fight.
Although I can only speculate as to the accuracy of this simile, the impact was like running head first into a streetcar doing 40 miles an hour and I was sent sprawling ass over boxers on to the tile floor. Shaking my head, I got up and charged again, meeting with pretty much the same results. There was no longer any doubt about it. They had definitely skimped on the ceiling when they built this place. I knew because I was becoming an expert on them very quickly.
Instead of becoming enraged, he actually appeared to be enjoying my futile attempts and continued forward. I got to my feet and braced myself for whatever was to come. My back against the wall, I raised my eyes to meet his. I had seen enough Ronald Coleman films to know when to face my destiny like a man.
My "destiny" was in the shape of the most (if the term can apply here) beautiful, utterly perfect man I could have ever imagined.The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were large, with thick lashes. It would be inaccurate to say they were devoid of color because they seemed to flash distant bolts of blue and green lightning. His face was framed by thick, unfashionably long hair that dropped to his shoulders in heavy waves. His slightly Roman nose was offset by a wide, sensuous mouth that revealed perfect white teeth when he smiled. His skin, while seeming to be unnaturally pale, was smooth and unlined.
He was tall, at least 6'5" and outweighed me by a good 15 or 20 pounds. He had broad, thickly muscled shoulders and powerful arms. His chest, which showed no signs of the rise and fall of breathing, was massive and well defined, as if chisled from years of hard physical labor. His long torso gave way to a narrow waist, a beautifully rounded ass and powerful legs. He was in an obvious state of arousal and sported what appeared to be a huge (and most likely uncut) dick that extended halfway down his thigh. Only years of practice could have revealed so much detail in what was no more than a flash in time. I looked away, afraid of what closer inspection would reveal. When I looked again, he smiled and.put his hand to the side of my *face. "No fear"
Hold it! Let's rewind the film a couple of frames here and get some facts straight. This is NOT a Lizabeth Scott programmer where the lady in distress finds her tormentor to be a good guy, somewhere in the last five minutes. Beautiful and perfect that he was, this guy had every intention of nailing my perfect little butt to the wall.
At this moment in time, the ONLY thing about him that I found to be attractive was the broad stretch of open tile that stretched out behind him. As I saw it, the only chance I had of avoiding whatever he had in mind for me was a last minute rescue by whatever knight in white armor happened to be galloping down Broadway at the moment.
I was, in a word, FUCKED!
As I fell deeper into his black and emotionless eyes, my will to fight grew weaker. I no longer had control of my vocal cords, so a cry for help was out of the question even if there had been someone to hear. In spite of my relatively large size, I found myself in his massive arms. He had picked me up like a small child and was carrying me toward one of the stalls. Without so much as a break in his stride, he raised his right leg and kicked in the locked door, sending it smashing into the marble wall with a loud report. He put me down in front of the ornate throne like toilet and then stepped back, all the while keeping me in his snake like stare. He paused, as if pondering his next move, and then spoke in a deep, almost inaudible voice.
"Take your clothes off" Unsure as to whether I had heard him correctly, I could only wait for him to repeat the command. Perhaps taking my inaction as modesty, he spoke again.
"I SAID take your clothes off" Determined to retain my dignity for as long as possible, I began by slowly unbuttoning my shirt. He didn't seem to mind my leisurely pace. Uncharacteristic of me as it was, I let it fall to the floor. I removed my shoes and socks and then hesitated again. He indicated with a glance that the pants were to go next. My hands trembled so badly that I was unable to loosen my belt. He reached out and, with alarming ease, broke it apart with a single pull. As the two halves fell to the floor I quickly opened my pants. It wasn't as if I would be needing them much longer, but it was the principle of the thing; kind of like why you should never wear torn or dirty underwear. I let them drop to the floor and stepped out of them. At least, if they found me, I'd have intact pants.
It was the moment of truth. I slipped my hands inside the waistband and slowly drew them down. I stood in front of him naked, vulnerable and (to my surprise) very hard. A faint smile played across his face and he started toward me. As he placed his right hand on my shoulder, a surge of power sent a jolt through my body that caused me to step back from him. He gently pulled me forward and moved his hand to my waist. Placing his other hand on the back of my neck, he coaxed my head upward with a slight pressure so that my throat was fully exposed. He ran his tongue across the exposed surface, along the line of my jaw and down the other side of my neck. I was aware of a slight stab of pain, really no more than a pin prick, before he stepped back contemplating his next move He brought his hands to my chest and ran his fingers through the mat of fine hair that covered it. His touch was hot as he pressed his palms against my hard nipples and began kneeding my pecs. Bringing them to the center, he kept them still for a moment, as if to feel the steady pounding of my heart, and began raking his nails lightly across my chest in ever widening circles. A moan escaped me as he dragged them across my nipples and I felt the stall tilt slightly. He brought his hands back to my heart, this time moving them downward as he dropped to one knee. I could feel his tongue as it traced down along the lines of my abdominal muscles and then upward along my right side where he buried his face in the pit of my arm. My nerve endings, already at a point of overload, threatened to explode as he lapped at the sweat. His hot hands continued to stroke and excite the areas he had already passed with his expert tongue.
Grasping my hips, he turned me around and spread my legs wide. I bent forward, bracing myself on the rim of the black marble toilet bowl. His tongue moved lightly down the crack of my ass, pausing briefly at the hole before continuing downward. I felt my heart leap as he began licking and sucking the underside of my aching balls. He moved his tongue back and forth, along the sides and then back up the crack. He spread my cheeks wider, his tongue probing the outer edge of my butthole. The brush of his moustache against the sensitive skin of my butt was almost too much to bear as his tongue pushed deep inside.
He stepped forward and ran his tongue up my spine. I could feel his hard dick pressed against my ass as he bent forward to gain access to the back of my neck. A chill ran down my back as he wrapped his arms around me,his hands resting on my heaving chest. While pulling me to an upright position, he brought them down across my stomach to my raging hardon and stroked it lightly before turning me to face him again. He dropped back to his knee and bagan running his tongue along my shaft. Aware that I could cum at any moment, he took the full length of my dick into his mouth and gave only a few strokes before pulling back. He stood up again and, still maintaining his hold on me, reached up and ran his fingers lightly across my forehead. He bent forward and whispered something inaudible in my right ear. Once again the room lurched as a feeling of renewed power washed over me. I stood motionless for a minute as it made it's way through my arms and legs.
I reached out with a stranger's arm and placed my hand on the right side of his chest. I brought the other up and, in a quick and violent motion, tore the shirt from his body. I tossed it in the corner of the stall and repeated the action with his pants. Reaching down between his massive legs, I grabbed his cock and balls and squeezed.
He closed his eyes and rolled his head back as I jacked his hard dick to an even greater erection. I pushed, shoved and manipulated his godlike body, with much less gentleness than he had afforded me, until he was facing the back of the stall. I shoved his torso forward so violently that his forehead glanced off the wall. He reached up and grabbed the top edge of the walls as I kicked his legs apart. Then, placing the head of my dick against his hole, I grabbed his waist and, in one swift motion, plunged it's full length deep inside him.
An unearthly howl escaped him that seemed to echo off the cold walls into the depths of hell. As my relentless assault continued, I bent forward and bit deeply into his shoulder. I lapped at the blood as it began to flow from the wound.He turned his head, hair falling in his face, and said something I was beyond hearing. All I could hear was the low growl that issued from my throat as it drowned out the grating of the wall brackets being torn from their moorings.
Each hard and grinding thrust was met with an equally violent push backward. He clenched his cheeks tightly around my dick as it slammed forward, as if trying to draw me deeper inside. We were like two perfect jungle beasts locked in combat. As my load churned it's way up from my balls, he stood upright, grabbed his dick and began to furiously jack himself off. As I shot my load deep inside his ravaged ass, he threw his head back onto my shoulder and released his load onto the black marble wall in front of him. As my load continued to gush forth, he turned his head to the side and, incisors fully extended, bit deeply into my exposed neck. My eyes flew open, and my pace slowed, as my still hard dick pulled out and I found myself facing him again. A small line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth as he pulled me into his arms and brought his lips to my throat and began to drink. My mind was filled with a rush of memories as my life drained down his throat. When my vision blurred, and the world went red, all I could think of was whether or not I was wearing clean underwear.
When I opened my eyes again, I was fully dressed and sitting on the toilet. I stood and then, after waiting for the dizziness to subside, opened the door. My foot kicked half of a broken belt on the floor as I staggered to the mirror. "Christ, I look like shit. I must have dropped off for a second." I ran a comb through my *hair and returned to my seat upstairs. Jack looked at me as I sat down.
"Jesus, Mike. You look awful. You OK, buddy?" "Yeah, just tired I guess. I'm alright." I don't remember much about the film. I was fascinated with the artery that pulsed in Jack's neck and watched it intently until he noticed me staring at him. Mistaking my hunger for lust (not entirely inaccurate), he reached over and gave my hardening dick a furtive grope. As the houselights came up at the end, we made our way up the aisle into the foyer. Jack stopped to admire the fountain at the top of the stairway, then remembered the hardon in the auditorium and hurried down the stairs.
As we walked up Broadway, he smiled in anticipation of one of my world famous blowjobs. I was good at that.
"Ya know, Donk, I think this is going to be a memorable evening. I think I'm going to like it a lot."
The temporary darkness that enveloped us when we stepped out of the glow of the marquee gave me a chance to briefly try out my new incisors before pulling them in again. I smiled and answered in a low, husky voice that made Jack giggle.
"I think so too,Jack. I think we'll have a LOT of fun".