Bobby

He wore his gayness like a badge of honor. No apologies, no shame, no closets for Bobby. I knew all of this from across the bar, just looking at him, watching him talk to his friends. I had to meet him, even just talk to him for a few minutes, I was drawn to him. He was cute in a feminine sort of a way, pretty, almost childlike in his innocence. He was 23 years old, very thin, with a small body. His hair was black, his eyebrows even blacker, his lips were red enough to make you wonder if he was wearing lipstick.

He wasn't. Maybe five feet and seven inches tall, wearing tight bluejeans and a black tee shirt. He had a baseball cap on, backwards like the kids do these days. Everything about him was arranged to broadcast to the world his youth, his energy, his sense of joy at being alive. His nose was thin like his face. His skin was pale and looked like it must be soft and smooth. His legs were thin and they met at a rear end that was round and cute and tiny. I wanted to bury him under my kisses. I wanted to make his dreams come true. I called the bartender over, and I bought him a drink, and I smiled when he looked over at me, and he gave me a wink. I motioned to the empty stool beside me with a look on my face that I hoped he would not resist. He came over. He sat down. He told me his name was Bobby, it seemed to fit him very well. "Thanks for the drink." "Think nothing of it. How are you this evening ?" "Oh, OK I guess, just hanging around. How about you ? Are you new in town ? I've never seen you here before." "Well, I'm not from around here, in town on business, and I've never been here before.

I'm fine though, better now that you're here." He blushed, he actually turned beet red. I felt like I had embarrassed him by being too direct. We went on talking, small talk, for an hour or two. He asked about my work and my life and me in general. I found out that he had recently had a lover who had left to join the Army. He seemed a bit lonely but not sad. His eyes were brown and warm. The light danced across them when he laughed. His chest was flat and hard looking. He was a very handsome guy. I wanted to do him. Bobby invited me to his place. He wanted to show me his new giant screen TV. His friends made a big deal of saying goodnight very loudly as we walked out together. It was just a few blocks so we left my rental car in the lot. Walking down the street with him, moonlight on his black hair, cars whizzing by us, I could not keep my eyes off him. Two kids on the street, walking toward us, two teenagers. One of them locked eyes with me, and he could tell, and he just smiled as he walked on by. I guess I was oozing sexual desire all over the place. Bobby was too.

We got to his door and I just stood there, leaning against the door jamb with my shoulder, smiling at him while he fiddled with the lock, I guess I was teasing him. He got so nervous when I did that, the knowing smile. He didn't really want me to see his TV and we both knew it. He wanted me in his pants, and I intended to oblige. The door opened abruptly and we stepped inside. A large livingroom completely dominated by this huge TV in the corner, deep piled carpet, dark, sort of navy blue, an enormous sectional couch that wrapped around one and a half walls, blue also, a bit lighter than the carpet. Gay magazines on the table, an entertainment center with a component stereo system, Advent speakers, everything in order, neat, cozy. He told me to sit on the couch, and he went into the kitchen and got us some beers, and he sat down beside me and picked up his remote control. He turned on the stereo and the TV and the VCR, they were all wired together, and the screen was filled with a video of two guys fucking. I knew I was in for a pleasant evening. I had gone right from my customer's site to this gay bar downtown, by this time it was only seven o'clock. It was dark and cool outside, Albany - New York in the fall, but Bobby's apartment was warm and friendly, and Bobby was friendly, and I was interested. I moved closer to him, my leg against his, and I felt that spark. I put my hand on the pocket of my slacks for a second to make sure my condoms were still there.

I loosened my tie. It hit me that the tie had been a gift from a lover of mine. Bobby told me to take it off. He took off his shoes and I took off my sneakers. I felt Bobby's breath on the side of my face. I turned and his lips were right there. I kissed him. He kissed me back. Now there were five guys on the video doing everything I had ever done, but all at once. Bobby was pressing his body up against me as we kissed and touched and rubbed. His hands were all over my head and my neck and my shoulders. He was making noises deep down in his throat while we kissed and it tickled me. Our tongues were busy exploring each others mouths. I was running my fingers through his black hair, it was as smooth as silk and short in the back so I could brush my fingertips across his neck and down under his collar, warm air from his heat rising inside his shirt. There was a little pimple on his back, between his right shoulder and his spine.

I reached up under the front of his shirt to touch his chest, but as I did he just pulled the shirt off over his head. I hugged him to me and my fingers were all over his skin. Dark streaks of hair on his smooth belly, gathered together to dive under his waist, pointing down to the pleasure zone, calling me there. Kissing one tit now, hand on the other, I lean back and pull him up onto my lap. He presses his chest against me hard, breathing faster, hands on the back of my head, holding me to him, urging me on. I move up and start to nibble on the strong muscles that run from his neck down to his shoulders. My spit leaves it's mark, a shiny coating on his skin. He puts one knee on each side of me on the couch, he mounts me, he moves up until he is sitting on my lap, facing me, his face pressing down against mine now, lips on my lips, tongue in my mouth. His hunger is overpowering me. My hands go to his belt. I open it and unsnap his jeans, his breathing is much faster, the air streaming out of his nostrils tickles my face, he pushes me down onto my back, turned around on the couch, my feet on the floor and he is on top of me.

He seems to weigh nothing at all. His crotch is rubbing against mine now, it's as if he was fucking me through our clothes. My hands feel their way to his zipper. Slowly and deliberately I pull his zipper down and then finally I reach inside and feel his hardness through the soft cotton inside. "Bobby, oh Bobby, you're so HOT!" "Don't stop, don't stop, please keep going." I cannot reply, his face is covering mine again. Kisses all over me, the muted soundtrack of the porn movie through his stereo, competing with us for best love sounds of the night. I put a hand under each of his arms and pull him up so his crotch is right above my face. He takes the cue, his arms arch out to hold his weight, I lift my head to the white cotton of his briefs. I kiss his erection through them, he trembles as I do. He presses down now, warmth against my face, desire for my mouth, I want to please him. I pull his jeans down as far as I can and now the white cotton is filled with his hardness inside. I curl my lips over my teeth and begin to bite on his cock, he goes wild. Rubbing and pushing and stroking against me. My hands go to the waistband. My tongue in his navel, wet, hair, curls, smell of a man. I pull the edge of his briefs forward to clear his cock and then in one motion they are down to his knees. The wonderful smell of his crotch, a drop of precum on the head of his cock, hard and strong and waiting for my lips. I guide him to my mouth, he is laying on top of me, one of my hands on each side of his gorgeous ass, I pull him down as I swallow him, all the way, back of my mouth, I suck him in. We both want the same thing at the same time. His motion begins, he is fucking my face. This guy is so hot, so boyish but virile.

His cock is delicious and cut and long and thin. Each time he pulls up, nearly out of my mouth, I flick my tongue along his piss slit. Then he thrusts in again, sliding along my tongue, veins on the bottom of his cock, head hits the back of my throat. Now again, more tongue on the head, sucking him hard, slurping sounds, faster. I see his hairy chest above me, black swirls on pink flesh, my hands go back to his tits. A thumb on each nipple, barely touching, circles, he pumping my mouth. His tempo increases, harder on the tits, pinching them now, his face full of passion and lust. "Steve, oh Steve, it's so good, oh Steve" I know he is close now. I feel it approach, short strokes, amazingly fast, irregular rhythm, spasms in his legs and arms. It seems he can hardly hold himself up now. My hands go back to his ass, fingertips, barely touching, so round and soft, I play with his hole. He pulls nearly out of my mouth, major tremor, his fluid bursts into my mouth. It is warm and sweet and there is so much of it. I swallow it quickly so it will not be lost, still more, spurts and drips and then I suck the last few drops. My tongue circles around his cock to get every bit. Wonderful taste, sticks to my throat, man cum, delicious. I look up and our eyes lock and he smiles so nice and sweet. I pull his ass lower to force his cock deep into my mouth one more time. So nice, softer now, all man. He pulls out. He lies down on top of me, face to face, deep kiss, tasting himself in my mouth. "That was so nice Steve, thank you.

You give great head." "Head nothing, that was my head, my throat and half of my left lung!" We laughed and hugged and he was running his fingers through the curls on the top of my head. His body on top of me was like a blanket, my arms wrapped around his tiny waist, smelling his hair as it lay across my face. I could have stayed like that for hours. But now his hands go down between us, pulling my shirt up, revealing my hairless chest. I move my legs up onto the couch and shift into relax mode.

He sits up, his little ass between my legs on the couch. Staring down at me, a different look in his brown eyes now, a smile, it must be my turn. A hand under each of my thighs, he lifts my legs as if I weighed nothing and puts one over each of his shoulders, my crotch is right in his face now, he leans over. Gentle kisses on my slacks, two hands on my ass, air rushing from his nostrils right through the fabric. He puts his teeth on my belt and he almost gets it undone before I decide to help him. I unbuckle the belt and unsnap for him, he puts his hand on the zipper and looks me right in the eye. I smile. He smiles. Down goes the zipper. I had these tiny little pink nylon bikinis on.

He traces his fingernail up and down the length of my semi-hard cock, he kisses the pink nylon. He reaches for the remote control and suddenly we are listening to the Pet Shop Boys. The video is still on, they're fucking now, Bobby is eating my cock through my shorts. Wet nylon, fully hard now, legs squeezing tight on his neck. "Would you stand up please so I can undress you ?" I do and he does. First my shirt, his fingers on my buttons, pulling the sleeves off, then my tee shirt, my naked and nearly hairless chest before him, nipples hard, he kisses my navel as he pulls down my slacks. He uses his teeth to pull down my briefs. His nose brushing through my pubic hair. My cock bounces out of it's cage, straight at him, hard and ready. I step out of the clothes all wrapped about my ankles. Nothing on now but my pink socks and my watch. "Lay down on your back please" He fixes a throw pillow under my head.

All smiles, a look on his face, intent on what he is doing. I am being very cooperative. As he says, so shall it be. "Just relax Steve, I'll try to make this good for you" "I'm very relaxed, thank you, very relaxed" He kneels on the floor beside me. He bends over my chest and kisses the hollow spot between my tits. He licks my chest now, back and forth from one tit to the other. Now up, to my neck, across the stubble on my neck, my chin, on to my lips, a kiss, a long kiss. His tongue roams around inside my mouth. My chest and neck all wet with his saliva. He circles my face with his tongue, now he licks my earlobes, one, then the other. I feel my cock growing stiffer. He stands up and then lays down on top of me, his naked skin to mine, his cock against mine, both of us hard. His weight is a comfortable pressure. Our sweat mixes and rolls down my side onto the couch beneath me. As he begins to kiss me my hands go down to his ass. Soft and smooth, round, delightful. He reaches down between us, hand on my cock, lifts his hips as he guides my cock between the globes of his boyish ass.

He rubs it up and down along the crack. I begin to move my hips, slowly, not very far, enjoying my cock against his skin. He makes a noise, sort of a "hu" sound, soft, his face against my curly hair, close to my ear, the sound is only for me. He likes this. He wants me. He wants me to fuck him. "We need a condom Bobby." "Yes, you're right, of course." "Wait, don't get up." I grab my pants on the floor beside me, reach into the left front pocket, and pull out a little package of Probe lubricant and a Lifestyles condom, clever name, yellow. As I begin to open the condom, he takes it from my hand. I hand the lube to him also. "Please, may I ?" "Be my guest", I smile. He gets up again, reaches under the couch and pulls out a towel, an old towel, torn a bit, faded flower print, beige. I arch myself up on my neck and my heels and he slides it underneath me. Another kiss. He whispers my name in my ear, nothing else, just my name, twice.

He kisses the head of my cock, it is damp with a drop of clear fluid, he runs his tongue up and down along the side, the bottom, the top. His left hand on the base of my cock, he rolls the condom down onto me, slowly, erotic. My hand on the back of his neck, twirling his hair, fingertips light on his skin. The tension is fantastic, the room smells like sex. He gives the lubricant back to me. I twist off the end, squeeze a bit into his hand. He rubs it over the condom, slowly, gently, that sound again from his throat. My breathing is faster, I can feel my heart beat. We lock eyes, the brown in his eyes so warm and inviting, he smiles and kisses me again. I glance again at his big TV, still fucking, but we'll catch up. I squeeze more lube into my hand this time. "Stand up Bobby, show me your ass." He stands and turns his cute little ass toward me, he leans over, a hand on each of his cheeks, and spreads himself wide for me. Rosey and puckered, hungry for pleasure, his ass is right before my eyes. I wipe the cool, wet lubricant around on the outside of his hole. More now, tip of my finger, gently inside him, he is loose and easy to enter.

One more time I add lubricant and now I use two fingers to spread it inside him, making him ready for what is to be, warming him up. I finger fuck him like this for several minutes, faster, harder, deeper. His motor starts running, he pushes back against me, wanting me deeper, far inside him. I'm still on my back on the couch, towel underneath me, Bobby pulls away, off my fingers, he turns and faces me, fierce look in his eyes. More kisses, tongue way inside me, we battle to get our tongues in each other's mouth. Without breaking the kiss he kneels over me, a knee on each side, and lowers his small little ass to my crotch. Still kissing, hand down between us, he guides me up to his hole. Slowly he lowers himself down onto my cock, I feel myself enter him and the pleasure is almost too intense. Bobby, gay Bobby, he wants me inside him. I raise my hips to go further and he lowers himself more. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he takes all of me inside. His knees each side of my chest, legs bent sharply, I put my hands on his back and begin to massage as he goes up and down, riding me, taking all of me in.

His motions are quicker and I'm thrusting too, lifting the weight of both of us with my thighs and my back, ridges of muscle deep in his torso, ripples of joy on his back. I break away from his kiss and lean my head up until I can reach his body with my face. I bite the hard, firm muscles that run from his neck to his shoulder, nibbling, sucking, sounds from our loving drown out the music, his noise again, that sound. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu" Each thrust up inside him, as I bottom out, that place where he feels it best, Bobby makes his sound. My teeth digging into his flesh, almost breaking the skin, red marks up and down. His muscles are firm and tight, his ass a warm hole for my cock.

I want him so badly, want to fuck him hard, I want to cum up inside him. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu hu, hu" The rhythm is perfect, his sound turns me on, he is humping and sliding, my balls are soaking wet with the juice running down from our fucking. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu" I move to his other shoulder and my teeth are scraping his skin. Hands just above his ass, on the small of his back, pushing him down onto me, harder, biting, wanting him all. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu" Faster now, I'm getting close, my thrusts almost lift him off me, my ass off the towel. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu" The sweat between us is like a small puddle, laying between my tits, running down to my armpits, it tickles. My arms around him tightly now, squeezing him to me, still biting, he tastes good. "Hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu" He's driving me crazy with his sound, making me so hot, teeth scraping flesh, wet and slippery, way up inside him, I can't fuck him any harder than this, I squueze him as hard as I can and thrust way up and hold and the spasms run all through me. I cum. Once, twice, three times my cock sends it's juice, each time I feel this burning pleasure that shoots down through my legs. I can't hold myself up anymore. I collapse and he does too, weight full on me, his neck and his shoulders all red from my teeth, wet. We laid there a long time together, Bobby on top of me still.

Then slowly he pulled up off me as I held the condom, I had gone half soft inside him. Feels good sliding out of him as he lifts. Juice runs down all over me, love juice, Bobby's and mine. We rolled on our sides and just touched each other softly for a while, facing each other, tiny kisses, hands through his hair. "Thank you Bobby" "Thank you" We took a shower together, we needed it, and we dressed and went out and had a meal at Big Boy's down the street. I sat and just looked at his face, pretty face, and hardly touched my food. I walked him back to his place. Hug and a kiss at his door. I never saw Bobby again.

Like A Virgin

When was the last time you had a big cock up your ass? If you're like most of us, it's been a while, unfortunately. But we can still look back and remember.... I was in the Navy, stationed aboard the USS Buchanan out of San Diego. We were on WestPac and had just hit Hong Kong. It was 1977 and I had just come out a few months before. I'd had a shitty day; the canvas cover had blown off a piece of deck equipment I was in charge of and I couldn't get liberty until I'd repainted it. I finally did, though, and decided that I wasn't gonna spend any more time on board the ship the rest of the time we were in port. I left the ship and checked in at the Royal Arms hotel. That night I went down to the hotel's bar for a few drinks.

There were about 20 Australian sailors having a darts match. I ordered a Bud. One of the Aussies came up and said, "Why don't ya have a REAL beer, cobber?" and offered me a pint of Foster's Lager. "Sure," I shrugged and took a swig. "I'm Bert," he said. "Me and me mates're havin' a bit of a match over here. Care to join us?" I smiled at the tanned, blond man and replied, "I've never played darts before." "That's all right, Yank," he grinned. "We can teach you." "Okay," I said. That was one lousy game of darts. The Aussies kept plying me with so much beer I could barely hit the dart board, let alone the bullseye. Finally, Bert took pity on me and got me up to my room, where I immediately passed out. I woke up sometime the next day and there was Bert in bed next to me. He must have been waiting for me to wake up, because he rolled over and said, "Good mornin', Yank. How's yer head?" I don't get hangovers, so it was okay. I probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, because I was staring at the huge, hard prick jutting out from his body. He followed my gaze and smiled. "He's a beauty, ain't he?" Bert asked.

"His name's Jack. Want to get better acquainted with him?" "You bet my ass!" I exclaimed and grabbed for that piece of meat. I took the head in my mouth and started sucking. I couldn't get it all the way in my mouth, but I damned well tried! Bert stroked the back of my head and murmured, "Oh, yeah, Yank. Suck that wad. Make Jack feel good!" I sucked it, all right. I used my tongue in every way I had learned in the four months I'd been out. Every time I started going too fast, Bert would slow me down, saying, "Take it easy, mate! We got all day for this!" Finally, he lifted me up and said, "Roll over. I wanna fuck you." I didn't move. "I've never been fucked," I said. "Well," he replied, "there's a first time and all that." He rolled me over and started licking my asshole. Chills ran up and down my spine at the feel of his tongue washing out my asshole. Then he repositioned himself between my legs and pressed the head of his huge manhood into my tight, virgin pucker. And SHOVED. He gave a grunt and was deeply buried in my ass. The pain was incredible; I couldn't help screaming into the pillow. "Just relax," Bert advised.

"Take it easy or you'll hurt yourself." I tried my best to relax, but it wasn't possible. Finally, my asshole must have relaxed a bit, because Bert started pumping in and out, slowly and gently. It still hurt, but now, as he massaged my prostate, the pain was being overcome by an orgasmic sensation. It was not only feeling better, it was feeling better than I ever thought it could! Suddenly, I shot off all over the sheets. I groaned and Bert stepped up the pace, plunging in and out of my ass like an engine piston.

Finally, he started groaning and yelling. He grabbed me to him tightly and pushed his cock all the way in, letting out a bellow of pure ecstasy. For the first time, I felt a man shoot off inside my ass. He kept cumming for seemed hours and then slumped down onto my body, nibbling at my ears and shoulders. After a while, he pulled out and rolled me over, laying on top of me. We necked for a while and then he started sucking me. He was an expert at sucking cock, taking my seven inches all the way down his throat in long thrusts and pulling back again until just the tip was in his mouth. It didn't take long before I was about to cum again. I started breathing deeply and groaning. I grabbed the back of Bert's head and pushed him down on my cock all the way and shot off down his throat. He kept sucking for a while after I had finished cumming, but there was nothing left to come out.

Later, after we'd cleaned up and were having breakfast, Bert smiled at me and said, "Listen, mate, how's about if me and some of me mates come up to your room tonight? I'm sure they'd enjoy a night with you." I smiled. "I'm sure I'd enjoy it, too. Sure, cobber, some on up." He laughed at my use of the Strine word. That night was a blast, too. As I said, it's been a while since I was last fucked. But I still have Bert's uniform cap and if I want to remember my first time, all I have to do is take it out and look at it. Sometimes nostalgia is fun, too. Especially with such sexy memories.

The Christmas Trip

Waiting in the San Francisco Terminal for the bus to Santa Monica. The ride will take twelve hours along the Pacific Coast Highway.

This station, unlike many I've seen, is kept clean condition. The majority of the people here are black people of color. Some are white people of color and some are students of no discernable economic color at all. (Though being a student often makes one white.)

I should mention the other queen in the crowd. He wears a knee length overcoat, a jacket, silk blue shirt buttoned all the way up, white sox, black penny loafers, blond hair done in a just so bang and silver ear bob.

I wear a black leather jacket with little silver crosses pinned to the lapel, black turtle neck sweater, grey sweatpants, jade socks and well polished black Rockports.

The other queen examines me and winks.

Arrived Santa Monica 5:30 am. My favorite cheap motel: the Highway Robber has burned down. Checked out prices at the Travelodge (85.00 a night.) and decide to wait until seven when the hostel opens (10.00 a night.)

In the meantime I was cruised by a chunky guy on a bicycle who turned out to be a "clinical Psychologist"

"What are you doing?" he asked a lone man stumbling around in the dark with a forty pound pack strapped to his back.

"Nothing." I replied.

"Whattaya doing in Santa Monica?" he continued.

"I'm here on business." I felt odd saying it and added: "though it doesn't look like I am."

We crossed to the park and sat down together on a well lit bench; I looked at him with exhaustion. "What kind of business?" he asked.

"No kind." I answered.

Dawn spread: Green and blue. He announced his profession which was followed by even gloomier silence and rode away.

Santa Monica's Third Street Mall has been decked out with wreaths, trees and a makeshift Santa.

As soon as I settled into the hostel I met one of my bunkmates, Mark, a "chap" from South Africa.

Mark is a practicing Christian who thanks God he made this trip to the U.S. He says: "America is too free--

"New york is the worst. Pornography everywhere. We'd be locked up back home. And racism. Your blacks are more violent. They don't seem to have any faith in your system."

I replied: "I've often felt that if I left my country I'd see how rotten it is. Alas, I can only guess."

Mark's face grew red. "South Africa has apartheid, yes. But at least we're honest--and call it that."

12/14/91 Purple smoke billows up from a wrought iron trash container. A hand pushed espresso cart squeaks by. At 11:00 the shopping has just begun. What appears to be a minor siege will become a full scale invasion.

Santa Monica Place is a closed mall with doors that open onto the Third Street Mall which is an open air mall. Wilshire Boulevard is another stretch of boutiques and nailories from Santa Monica to Downtown L.A..

One might ask why I haven't mentioned the beautiful beach. If I mention the beach I will mention the rides and the boardwalk: and the wonderful bike path from Santa Monica to Venice. I will also mention the sheer joy of the young people who play on the beach or within sight of the water. Wonders that stem from co-operation between God and Man (persons.)

But if I mention the park in Santa Monica that overlooks beach: I have to mention the homeless, the drug addicted, children who are restlessly hungry: who cry as limousines speed by. Santa Monica is beautiful because the land is beautiful. Perhaps this suffering amidst beauty is what some mean when they refer to the human condition.

The number 4 bus cuts down Santa Monica Boulevard through Brentwood, Westwood and so on.

The riders are mostly Blacks and Hispanics (maids of color.)

A peek into the large plastic bag of the woman who sits next to me provides me with a view of many cleaning agents: a can of Ajax without its freshness peel; a ragged old rag. As the bus passes through Brentwood & Westwood the hispanic women get older and the plastic bags more numerous. By the time the bus reaches the junction of Santa Monica and Sunset Boulevards the maids have been replaced by gang members who are busy cutting graffiti into the windows with sharp jewelers stones. Those of us who were too old to participate were silenced by fear.

Coffee at a table on the sidewalk provided by the Conga Cafe.

Jim Morrison, the real Jim Morrison and not the guy who played him, has just declared His Generation insane (The End)

Judging by the impeccable dress worn by the men and women who pass, who in fact look as if they've spent hours preparing to look casual for their morning stroll, Morrison's Generation suffers from Photogenic Disorder. A new disorder marked by Genetic Endowment artificially primed to the maximum. The ugly become fair, the fair pretty, the pretty beautiful--at which point one enters the category reserved for the obsessively ravishing. Photogenic. Yes. picture perfect. But not just in face. Blouses worn to reveal the latest breast or chest implant. Slacks fit to a tee. And since everyone is a sex object: equality between the sexes has been achieved.

Was robbed last night at the Santa Monica Hostel: a simple theft from my wallet. Called an ex-lover (there are so many) who works in the Bunker Hill Complex and was granted a loan of $100.00.

Thus I slaved onward toward that smoggy heaven: three days growth of beard, thick black leather jacket, sweating profusely under the hot Noon Sun magnified by the shiny shit that hangs suspended in the air. The harder I walked the further the skyscrapers seemed. For the first mile of my walk I looked as if I fit in with the homeless locals--however, as I neared Bunker Hill the people grew pale; their complexions more refined: completely free of sweat and debris. Unfortunately the phrase City of the Angels began to repeat itself in my mind--and I was moved to stop in a local liquor store to buy a comb. I neared the street with my ex-lover's tower perched on it and discovered to my sweaty joy an escalator. That was when I noticed that the Angels of Bunker Hill were staring at me as if I'd been belched into their presence. I combed my hair.

My ex-lover, who is compulsively too busy, was too busy to give me the money personally. An envelope with the money in it had been left with his receptionist. I stood before her and perspired all over the front of her desk while she sorted through various papers before finding the obviously placed envelope. As she gave it to me she pressed a button on her phone and demanded that someone from housekeeping be sent to her desk immediately.

Going downhill is always easier than going uphill and I was soon returned to the chaos of the bus station. The Muzak version of Little Drummer Boy was infiltrating the station. A marvelous woman in stiletto heels and rhinestone sunglasses, who was later identified as a Customer Service Rep, managed to be everywhere I looked.

The bus to El Paso was called and those of us who had been waiting for an hour or more for a choice seat tore through the gate. I made my way to the rear of the bus and took my usual: the last seat on the left. This is where the sexy guys sit and since I suffer from the usual sins of denial and vanity I assumed that this was the place for me.

As the bus filled a community took shape and the laws of bus travel went into effect.

1. There is always one blistering drunk who sits next to me and threatens to vomit.

2. There is always one loud and miserable baby who is accompanied by and ineffective Mother. This law is never broken.

3. Either an old person or a person who doesn't speak English will lock himself in the bathroom. This law varies in certain states.

4. There is always one horny queen in the last seat on the left. This law only applies when I travel.

The community shifted dramatically in Phoenix.

The line of forty or so people waiting to board bus #1732 appeared to consist of psychopaths of all ages and sensibilities: screaming toddlers clutching mangled dolls, two drag queen whose troubled beauty had fallen on hard times, a desperate drunk who was attempting to smuggle on a gallon of vodka. I giggled as the scene presented itself. I heard a voice behind me:

"Then give me three Pepsis then!"

It was the drunk attempting to negotiate with the station guard who was tugging the vodka from his hands.

"Passengers holding boarding pass 157--" those of us who had boarded the bus in Los Angeles were called back on. I marvelled as the drag queens and their entourage settled around me. One snapped at one of her male-ish companions: "Don't start jacking off Jason!"

"That's what I brought your lips for, Theresa!" he answered. And the bus chugged out of Phoenix.

Immediately the drag queens switched on their overhead lights and began trading makeup. Jason announced that he had "free condoms for three dollars." This caused waves of nervous titters to cascade up the bus. Mothers clutched babies who screamed louder. One of two boys sitting in front of me looked at the drag queens as if assessing possibilities. In the meantime the drag queens babbled in Spanish to each other.

"I get the Playboy channel on my Watchman!" announced Jason.

The drag queens applied blush.

"I'm in cocaine heaven." sighed Jason.

The boy in front of me leaned across the aisle and said: "Ma'am. You shore are pretty."

His companion in the window seat buried his face in his arms and produced what a kind person would take for sneezes.

12/17/91 El Paso I received my first impression of El Paso from a dizzy queen with a british accent who worked the front desk of the Gardener Hotel on Franklin Street--who, though I was the only person checking in, forgot why I was there.

This was serious business. After riding the bus all night with coked up drag queens and insufferable infants I was in no shape to do someone elses thinking.

"Right! Now you would like a room!"

"Now is right."

"For how many nights?"

"As many as it takes."

RING! RING!

"What's that?"

"It's the telephone--Hellow--uh--Gardener Hotel. Yes, we do. Three nights? Fine. (click) Right. Now. Did you want a room?"

"Yes I did!" And so it went until I gratefully gave him 28.00 and stumbled into the dormitory. Woke up 12 hours later with the feeling I would never wake up. After pissing around in the hotel's kitchen (guests are allowed to cook their own meals) I decided I had see Downtown El Paso. El Paso is more Mexico than America--but unlike the Mexico I've experienced in L.A. or San Francisco. There are the shops, yes, running shoes: $11.00--gold lame gowns: $29.00 (drag queens take note), but, the streets were spotless and there was none of the feeling of oppression such as I get from San Francisco's Mission or L.A.'s Main Street. The few White People I saw (three actually) were women wearing furs (the day was wet--not cold) stepping into and out of large obtrusive cars.

I was so excited by what I saw that I felt compelled to shop: sweat pants $5.00--six pairs of socks: $3.00. I couldn't account for it: the hodge podge of prices and sounds: rock from Mejia's and Spanish from Kress. And while one can experience these things in the aforementioned districts of the aforementioned cities--one cannot get them from people who seem in control of their lives. The Mexicans of El Paso did not behave as if they had to defend themselves. That said: I must confess that my enthusiasm was excessive. As I was walking back to The Gardener all ga ga I ran into the British Queen (named Mark). He stopped and I gushed:

"What a Wonderful city El Paso is!"

He replied: "Oh yes! Isn't it glamorous!"

I turned to see if he was addressing someone a few blocks behind me.

"I can't believe I got running shoes for $11.00."

"Oh my yes!" he said again. "Actually, people come here for the shoes!"

I was beginning to hate this queen as I realized he was a rock solid bitch. "You've been here too long, haven't you?" I asked.

He began to move on. "I can tell you all about it at the hotel."

"Oh, by the way, I can't seem to find a Catholic Church."

Mark opened his umbrella. "Good." he said. And it started to pour. I've been hit with the Bejing Flu--which I've heard is epidemic in El Paso. I've been in bed for two days with the exception of a two hour walk, taken yesterday, to the Venus Adult Theatre.

The Venus is located on the four thousand block of Montana Avenue. One passes Churches, Madonna Shops and 7 Elevens along unending blocks until one finally reaches 4812 Montana. Then one sees a plastic sign indicating VENUS ADULTS and an arrow which points to a blank facade and a door: "At last!" I coughed to myself, feeling much like an explorer of the American sort. I opened the door and staggered in and immediately felt like a fool. My head throbbed, I was queasy and broke out in a feverish sweat. But such was my desire for adventure that I thought like Lewis and Clark or whoever, let me die on my quest.

The Venus was like every other porn shop I've visited: dicks, cunts and faces in that order. There was an arcade, a movie theatre and private viewing booths. I chose the theatre. Bad choice. It was cold and damp. The screen was dark. And my head throbbed more. On top of it all I was the only one there: a situation that continued. I left abruptly and exited into drenching rain. This, I thought, is a message. The bus came and shortly poured me back into the Gardener Hotel. I went to bed.

I woke up feeling better and was certain that my horny fantasies about Texans and Mexican boys would be realized. First I went to Mass, stopping first in the Ave Maria, a religious shop, for a Rosary.

The Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception is located on Kansas Street. When I entered and saw the alter I felt as if I was hallucinating. It consisted of a hundred shadow boxes. In the center was a crucifix with the corpse of Jesus nailed to it. In front of it was a statue of Mary: hands folded in prayer. Spreading outward and upward were saints, angels, cupids, gold scrolls, candles, incense, incense burners, wings--and what looked like a menorah, and a huge painting of Mary ascending into Heaven. I fell to my knees and wept from shock.

I had entered in the middle of a ceremony in which the body of Christ (the Communion Wafer) had been placed in what looked like a large golden eye called a Monstrance. It was being shown to the congregation by the Archbishop of El Paso. I must confess that I love ritual and was at full attention. After this the body was returned to its place in the alter and the Archbishop left. Three tolls of a bell signalled the beginning of Mass. The congregation sang in reedy unison: He is the King.

After Mass I hopped the bus to the Venus, which I had begun to think of as a fly trap.

One can easily see that the church and the porn shop are both places of worship. People pop into both places during lunch, fulfill some private need in public ritual, and leave.

I watched the Venus for awhile from the bus stop. Soldiers, business men and construction workers stepped in and within minutes were out. But some stayed. Where did they go? I thought of the theatre. It was 4:00. I ran across the highway and into the shop. "Theatre please."

I couldn't see a thing.

I didn't remember it being so dark and felt that maybe, because I'd been to mass, I was struck blind. But soon my eyes adjusted and I could see that I wasn't alone. I went to the john. On the wall was written: 12/20/91--Back Row--show hard--love to suck and fuck and wear women's panties.

This was impossible.

I stayed for a few minutes to get a look at the creature who'd written this. From what I could see he was naked, except for a bra, and a pair of blue nylons.

The latest guest of El Paso's Gardener Hotel is a young Aussie named Peter Lapis: a 35 year old blond who talks a mile a minute. For reasons of divine configuration or boredom he convinces me to join the gang at the Ramada Inn for drinks. the gang consisted of Peter, Martin--a dutchman who was nicknamed The Viking, a young Cockney named Steven, Craig--a red headed Frenchman, and yours truly--an American Queen in disguise.

The very thought of going to the Ramada Inn for anything struck me as perverse; the thought of going in to cruise chicks and drink brews was beyond the pale.

The feeling I had as we made our way through sleet and cold wind was that of camaraderie. The fetters of gay identity and middle age began to slip away.

We entered the lavishly orange lobby of the Ramada Inn and commandeered an elevator to the 17th floor. It was Friday night and this was El Paso's Top of the Sixes: a place for getting drunk and feeling in control all at the same time. We lined up at the bar and ordered our drinks. I had a Miller Lite. The dee-jay spun Sexual Healing.

"I love these musics!" said Craig. He and Steven made a clump next to me at one end of the bar; Peter and The Viking were passionately cruising chicks at the other. "You like this?" Steven asked Craig.

Craig replied: "Oh yes! I love the American 50's: Elvis Presley, Petula Clark. Do you ever hear The Platters?" Craig asked me.

I said: "I think I remember them from the Ed Sullivan Show. But Petula Clark was not a singer from the American 50's."

Craig winked and sipped his beer. The dee-jay slid into Blue Christmas.

"These is the best musics," Craig continued, "America's gift to the World!" he turned to me, "Do you not think so?"

I sensed that something mean and lovely was going on. The beer was making me extravagant: "There would be no musics without the Beatles." I said.

"Ah!" Craig raised his glass, "America's greatest gift!"

The three of us laughed. Peter leaned down the bar toward us:"Dudes! Lets go into Juarez."

I was game.

"Too cold." Steven said.

"I think there is no adventure in this group!" boomed Martin, "Den we go to Tap."

Tap is a Mexican bar on San Antonio Street. We arrived at Midnight to the sound of Linda Ronstadt pouring her heart out in Spanish: "PORRRE UNE AMORRREEE!"

"PORRRE UNE AMORREEE!" sang the drunken crowd.

Martin chose our booth so he could see the waitress who worked the table. "Nice ass." he said as she left to get our pitcher of beer. I decided to see that what he said was true when she returned and left with our money.

The following blur of events has been brought to you courtesy of a three day drunken binge.

12/22/91 Peter confesses confusion--

Woke to the scent of stale beer and beans and Peter Lapis as my bunkmate. "Don't drink much do ya." he said as I tried to lift what remained of my head from my pillow and throbbing memories of the previous evening played themselves out in my mind. Sancta Maria was the name we had given our waitress. Sancta and I danced the Samba until her drunken husband who had been passed out for most of the night at the table across from ours woke and upon noticing that I was an excellent dancer got huffy. A fight ensued which resulted in much cursing in English, French, Dutch and Spanish. Sancta Maria begged us to leave before the Police arrived. "PORRE UNE AMORRE!" I sang until the cold winds of El Paso blew across my face. Peter was responsible for getting me safely to bed. "Don't drink much, so ya?" Peter asked.

"Drinking takes practice like anything!"

10:00pm--We were back at Tap. Sancta Maria eyes us warily. She has begged us not to sit in her station. I have eaten alot of macaroni. The Vikings theory is that macaroni sops up booze which results in more even handed drunkenness. By 12 I am necking with Sancta Maria in the kitchen. Our group departs at two without incident.

12/24/91 Straight like Me--

9:30pm Everyone is leaving on Christmas. We decide to go out for a small farewell drink which leads to tequila which leads to Kahlua which leads to opening my eyes at 4:00am and finding Sancta Maria asleep in my bunk. I wake up Peter who wakes up Sancta and explains that she must leave. I can live with her, she says. Peter explains that this is unsatisfactory. This is the first time I notice that Peter speaks Spanish. Sancta brings her little feet to the floor and makes a face. She moves a toe to reveal a used rubber.

Bus left at 2:45pm and should pass through Houston at 3am. Light snow alternates with rain. The sky is expansive and dark and grey. Thunder strikes followed by lightning. The driver, quite out of nowhere, announces that thunder is usually followed by lighting. The drowsing passengers, of which there are only a few, seem not to care.

8:30am Lake Charles, Louisiana-- Woke up after a miserable sleep. "Mighty long ride!" said my seat companion, who had evidently crawled in next to me during the night. Last stop I remember was Houston where we picked up three passengers: a boy and a blind man who was leading his dizzy sighted wife by the hand.



Viewing the sights out of Lake Charles I have the sense of coming home. The Governor Duke signs still tacked to the trees reminds me of the billboard I once saw as a child when we drove into Georgia: NOW ENTERING KLAN COUNTRY.

Pine trees line the highway. Mud flats and squat rundown shacks, some with boards nailed across the windows. At 8am the sky is pink and flocks of migrating birds ripple overhead. One can smell the wet Earth. Thick black clouds move in.

Crossed the brown and swollen Mississippi into New Orleans. Ran around the city for thirty minutes trying to find a bank machine that would take my ATM card. Dozens of little Savings & Loans; many closed down and more with smashed windows. New Orleans reminds me so much of Charleston S.C.--Wrought iron gates, French Colonial houses painted pink and green, narrow one way streets--I prayed for a Bank of America and found a Hibernia. The machine addressed me by name and offered me a twenty. Picked up the cash and headed for a taxi. Five dollars brought me to the Marquette House. Ten got me a dormitory style room, much like the one at the Gardener, except for a large low ceiling fan that made me nervous about decapitation. There is no pleasure like removing ones shoes after 24 hours of bus travel.

Miguel is a splendid forty. Thick black hair and olive complexion, his Argentinean accent has been altered by six years of living in Australia. I thought, at first, that he was gay because there was so much sex in his gaze. I mumbled hallelujah and stuck my feet under the blanket lest he think I harbored a new and distinctly smelly fungus. He told me a sad story about losing his luggage (he had made the mistake of checking it with Greyhound) and my heart and wardrobe went out to him.

Miguel agreed with me when I said that Bourbon Street was best explored with a buddy. So after showering and dressing we set out on St. Charles Street. That was when MIguel told me the story of the first time he lost his clothing.

"I was on the beach at Cancun and had met a pretty lady and we became passionate and were stripping our clothes off and what the hell--you don't notice other people when you are with a pretty lady so some people were watching and when we went into the dunes everything was gone!"

"Maybe you're meant to go naked." I said. Miguel laughed.

We decided to try a restaurant named Scarlettes. I had the Frankly My Dear seafood salad and Miguel had Rhettes Hot Gumbo. We topped it off with Chicory Blend Coffee and two slices of Miss Pitty Pats Apple Pie. I laughed at the menu and Miguel gave me a puzzled look.

"Don't you recognize the characters from Gone with the Wind." I asked.

Miguel shook his head and I saw there was not much more to say. "It was a big movie."

He replied: "All the movies in the United States are big. Americans are like autistic children who are trapped in bad imaginations."

We took St. Charles Street and passed freshly painted Ante Bellum houses or modern homes made to look Ante Bellum. When we hit Canal Street we turned right and searched for Bourbon Street. We couldn't find it and entered a rather stuffy Mariotte and asked directions.

"Bour-bon Street? Bour-bon Street?" Said the clerk behind the information desk as if he'd never heard of it.

"I was told it was in New Orleans." said Miguel.

The clerk leaned across his desk and pointed North: "It's that way."

As it turned out Bourbon Street was a mere two blocks from the stuffy Mariotte. Juke joints, jazz clubs, blues clubs, strip shows, French orgies, American orgies, topless and bottomless hookers, voodoo shops, peep shows and laughing gas sold everywhere for two bucks a hit. A red glow rose from the street and saturated what looked like thousand of people milling about in confusion. We made our way through the crowd until the party came to an abrupt end. Ahead was more Bourbon Street, but darker. I entered a bar called the Tool Box and realized we'd found the Gay Section. I entered the bar and saw the straight people across the street peer down the alley and turn around. There was Miguel: looking around for me. I thought he'd followed me into the bar. I had the funny thought that one had to bay Gay to cross through the invisible barrier between these two slices of Bourbon Street. All around me were the usual men in brightly colored caps and leather jackets. I could have been on Castro Street. I left the bar and strolled back across the street and announced to Miguel that I had found a Gay Bar. We stood together for a moment and watched more men enter and leave the Tool Box.

"Yes," he said, "They have their own culture."

This whole business of separate cultures based on sexual behavior bored me. I don't think that the straight men I had been invited to party with were free of doubt regarding my sexual preferences. What happened was that my silence on the politics of the subject allowed us to relate to each other without the defensive posturing that straight men and gay men adopt with each other.

It was morning and I watched Miguel dress. First deodorant, then cologne. Finally he put on silk tiger stripe underwear. I couldn't help but laugh. "They look like panties." I said.

"But the ladies like them," he replied, "and I always do what the ladies like."

The bunks of the Marquette Hotel remind me of what I've seen in the media of prison bunks: Six to a room. The mattress of mine rises on the sides and swallows me up. I sleep and dream that I'm back in San Francisco looking for an apartment. I find one in the Mission District already occupied by a lesbian. I can share her apartment and have a room of my own. I can sleep in the room to see if I like it. I'm about to fall asleep when I look up and see Liz Taylor creeping up the foot of my bed. She's young and not at all surgeried. Her violet eyes are full of lust.

I awaken to the sound of Miguel stumbling in. It's 2am. While I've been asleep the other four bunks have been taken. There are either bodies or backpacks sinking into the mattresses. Miguel switches on the lights.

He says, "Man, you like to sleep, man."

I do not respond which seems to encourage a monologue. Miguel continues: "I almost bought a whore tonight and I reckon I would have at one of those strip joints on Bourbon Street. The first one I entered was seedy and the girls looked like they needed to be in hospital so I went into this other: Chez Paree, I think, and a whore with a pretty face motioned to me to come over and started rubbing her tits against me--I think to excite the audience. I don't normally go for whores but she had such a pretty face I asked how much it would cost to fuck her. She said, $150.00. If she had said $50.00 maybe yes. But $150.00 is too much. I came home."

Miguel and I were walking down Riverwalk along the Mississippi River. We passed a homeless woman and Miguel, who'd been silent for much of our walk, which had been down Canal Street and up St. Charles, looked at the woman and stopped. "I suppose you know that this year marks the Bi-Centennial of your Bill of Rights."

I had to confess that I was only dimly aware of it.

He continued: "You Americans think you are so free--but homelessness is terrible bondage. Your Corporate Class says: if you don't play our game we will render you homeless and starve you to death. When I was in San Francisco my friends called them Reagan's Children. But they really belong to all of the U.S.--don't they."

We walked on. Miguel continued: "It's not like that in Australia. Oh it's coming, and it terrifies me. I don't want to be one of these calculating yuppies--but I don't want to starve. I came to America to find a city I could live in--and I see that's impossible. Your Bill of Rights is like a ring in which the diamond has been replaced with glass. A country that allows it's citizens to starve and roam homeless is not a country in which 'Freedom Reigns'. Tell me, do you see it this way?"

"I think this is a bad time for Americans and I think we're confused and I think that thinking about is heartbreaking."

Miguel asked: "It breaks your heart?"

"It hurts me deeply."

We were passing through the French Market and paused to hear a streetband. Miguel smiled and bought a praline and broke off a portion and gave it to me. We resumed our walk. Again he was silent--until we reached the corner of St. Peter and Bourbon. On a stopsign were posted two stickers. One read FAG and the other read DYKE. Miguel turned to me:

"Tell me. You're a homosexual."

"Yes and no," I replied. "first I'm a creature on this planet."

"Ah, but that's avoiding the question. You are a creature of this culture and therefore you have an identity."

"Go ahead." I said.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Maybe I thought I could seduce you."

Miguel laughed: "Maybe you did! But I'm much too fond of the ladies!" Then he got serious, "The homosexuals are not free in this country."

"Are they free in Australia?"

"No--but the Homosexuals of Sydney share the same delusion as the homosexuals of San Francisco. They think that because they can have a parade they're free."

Flores! Flores por la morte!

After feasting on fresh alligator and gumbo at the Cajun Commando we walked up Bourbon Street. Was that Miguels hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. I looked up at him and smiled. We stopped to watch a street mime. I reached into my pocket to fetch a cigarette, Miguel lit it--I took a puff and smiled.

We went to the World Beat for drinks. Miguel pulled my chair from the table and invited me to sit down, he took his seat and, when the waitress came, ordered.

I leaned across the table: "Miguel--are you looking for a job as my personal valet or what?"

"You don't like my manners."

"These manners are meant for a woman!"

"In Argentina when a man likes a lady he does things for her."

"Well I ain't no lady," I said, "so cool it!"

Miguel sat back and grinned at me. There was so much sexual tension at the table that I thought he'd ordered it from the waitress. We were listening to a band that was in the middle of a set of Cajun Waltzes. Several couples were up and dancing. One woman was so graceful that, watching her, I felt taken to the 1800's. "She's beautiful." I said to Miguel.

He answered: "Yes. If I'd had her twenty years ago."

This annoyed me.

"Watch her dance." I said.

"Yes," he replied, "she's beautiful."

The evening wore on and on. We left the Cajun Commando and strolled up Bourbon to the gay section. Just as it had been two nights ago: it was almost completely unintruded upon by the straights just a few feet across the street. I said to Miguel, "C'mon." and entered the Tool Box. Miguel came up the stairs, stopped, and said: "No! No! I can't!" He was in a panic. I left the bar and led him back across the street. "I think," I said, "that the reason the straights don't cross over to the other side--is that they're afraid they'll really cross over."

Woke up this morning to the following note: Dear Rob, I have decided to check out of the hostel and see the countryside: maybe Northern Louisiana and beyond. Stay kind and insightful--Miguel.

Dan is a 24 year old blond who arrived from Mass. late last night and was seen staggering around Bourbon Street at 3:00am. He took the bunk above mine.

Peter also arrived last night. A blue eyed sharp featured 28 year old from what used to be called West Germany.

Rob is a 25 year old from a small English town outside of Liverpool. He insists that he' never heard anything written or sung by the Beatles.

Once we were all properly introduced the New Years Eve celebrations began. That night we went with a group of women from Argentina and Lar, another German fellow, to the Club Brazil to hear a group called the Squirming Snakes. The lead singer was a woman in the mode of Janis Joplin: from the large paper magnolias in her thick brown hair to her bright red satin dress. The crowd was ecstatic and encouraged her every move.

"Are you ready for me?" she asked.

The crowd moaned: "Oh yes!"

The group from the hostel stood to the right of the stage. The band struck up and we danced. This continued for over two hours. The floor was slick with sweat and spilled drinks. The singer's voice rose, she shimmied across the stage, tossed her hair, fell back on her knees, then lifted a large palm leaf with which she fanned herself.

"Any catholics out there?" she asked.

"Yeh!"

She continued to fan herself languidly: "I know how ya'all love that dead meat!"

"Yeh!"

"How 'bout some live meat? Wanna little live meat?"

"Yeh!"

She did a little grind and hiked up the hem of her skirt. Peter, Rob and I stood at the foot of the stage--transfixed. "I love you!" Rob shouted.

She heard this and raised the hem of her skirt a few more inches.

"I love you!" shouted more of the crowd.

Crash of drums! She was off on another set.

Later--Rob, Lar, Peter and I gathered at Igors Bar, Grill and Laundromat. We were exhausted but awake. Lar's blond hair was in that extraordinary disarray only possible in youth. It rose like a blond halo. He looked like a fallen angel. He got up to throw quarters into the jukebox.

Fixing a Hole by the Beatles began to play.

Lar returned to the table and closed his eyes. A pitcher of beer arrived. Peter poured and proposed a toast: "To travel and friends from all over the World!"

"Cheers!" said Rob. I smiled and raised my glass and also offered a silent cheer to old friends and spent youth. Suddenly Lar looked at Peter and said: "And I offer another toast! To a strong and victorious Germany!"

Rob raised his glass: "We could use another war."

Peter lowered his: "I do not toast such things."

Lar looked at me and mischief played in his eyes. Again he raised his glass: "What we did not do militarily we will do economically."

Peter was horrified. "Du benimmster dich wie ein dumme esel!" (You are behaving like a stupid bore.)

Lar smiled: "My friend does not like to hear such things."

"It is a bit of a drag--" Rob turned to me: "Is it time to exhume Churchill? But then he might accidentally declare war on Bush."

"That's true, "I said, "Lar--if you want a Nazi Government--move to the United States."

Peter had not stopped glaring at Lar. "I had hoped that such things would never again be said by a German!"

This time Lar spoke in German. "Es ist keine shanda zu gewinnen." (There is no shame in winning.)

12/31/91

The internationalism of our room amused us. We referred to each other as delegates, with Dan the delegate from the East Coast and I the delegate from the West.

The gag was that the bombing would commence on the 1st at Noon. When this was said Dan would fire a pen or pencil at Peter, the delegate from Germany.

We lay in our bunks until 1. Lar knocked on the door and invited us to go to the swamps. Peter smiled: "He wants to make up." And it was true. Lar was contrite. When we refused he offered us the use of his car so we could go alone. He left and we discussed this sudden change in temper. What was Lar up to? Was it an act of friendship or gross seduction? What should the delegates do?

We decided to forego the swamps for sleep. We slept until 7 and went again to the Club Brazil via Jackson Square and the French Market. Fireworks went off in the air and at our feet. Again there was a disagreement between Lar and Peter. Lar wanted to join the line of overdressed Yuppies who were waiting to get into the MTV party at the Hardrock Cafe. Peter insisted that we stick to our plan and proceed to the Club Brazil. The group stood in embarrassed silence as Lar and Peter argued in German.

Our Australian friend, Carl, was having trouble with Deanna, the girl he was traveling with. Everyones first impression was that they were a couple. That wasn't the case. It was Peter who observed Carl's effeminacy and wondered if he was hiding.

On New years Eve Deanna squared off with Rob and two other guys from the hostel. This set Carl off on a drunk that culminated in a scene played out for everyone at the Club Brazil.

It started with Carl's teary collapse in the doorway. We moved Carl under a streetlight where he began to sob quite loudly. He was instantly surrounded by a group of Argentinean women who collectively patted his face and hands. When this didn't work Deanna was called.

She arrived, paused to correct her lipstick, and knelt beside Carl.

"Let me take you back to the hostel." she said.

"Carl shoved her back: "Get away from me you bitch! You don't care about me!"

Peter and I stood watching from a police barricade. Peter looked at me: "What do you think."

"I think he's punishing his identity."

Deanna tried three more times to make Carl stand and hail a taxi-- each time he shoved her away. When she tried a fourth time he rose and shot in a zig-zag toward Bourbon Street.

Deanna followed him. Peter said: "I think maybe we should go with them. I'm afraid he'll hurt her." I agreed but suggested that we hang back.

Deanna and Carl fought with each other through the crowds, down the one way streets and in front of the jazz clubs of the French Quarter. Finally they entered the Gay Section. It was as if they'd done it consciously. Deanna looked at Carl and cried: "I can't cover for you anymore, besides, you hate me for it!"

Carl wept too. "Please, just go away."

Deanna walked toward us. "Take him home," she begged, "I'm afraid he'll hurt himself!"

Up the street Carl had collapsed in front of the Tool Box. Peter reached him first. he sat and gently lifted Carl's head and cradled it in his lap.

For reasons that are probably obvious but confusing I have, over the past twenty years, shut myself off from straight men and viewed them as I imagine they view me: with hatred, suspicion and fear. Last night when Peter lifted Carl's head to his lap I felt my love for him and it was a love that transcended our sexual preferences and future histories. I loved Peter because he had consoled another man's pain, though that pain would never be his--and in so doing he provided me with a vision that served as an antidote to the cruelty I've witnessed on much of my travel in the United States.

The various delegates crept out of bed at noon. No one mentioned Carl's scene. It was time for us to move on or go home. I gave Peter my address with the sincere hope that he would let me know something of how his life continues.

Out of the Sun

Sitting on the sand I lazed against a rock having mixed feelings of pain and pleasure as the rough surface pressed into my back. The sun toyed my near naked body as I laid my head back, closed my eyes and listened to the waves break against the sand. I could almost see them gliding up the beach and slowly receding, only to be overpowered by another wave rushing to consume the beach. Back and forth it went on rhythmically lulling me into unconsciousness.

I woke not knowing how long I'd been asleep. Looking dreamily around I noticed a man staring at me. When he caught my gaze he smiled. I looked down shyly and was startled to discover how noticable was my full erection. I quickly reached into my pack for my shorts and pulled them over my speedos while cursing the thing for embarrassing me so.

At 23 I felt like I was the only virgin in the world. I wasn't even sure what I wanted. I sort of suspected I was gay, but had never endeavored to find out. At the moment I was happy to be able to steal half a day to lay in the sun. My thoughts strayed.

Then he was next to me. I was surprised because I didn't see his approach. I shielded my eyes with my hand and attempted to look into his face. The sun was far to bright.

"Howdy." It almost sounded like a question.

"Hello," I replied.

"It's a scorcher," he stated.

"Yes," I said sardonically. It was like sitting next to a telephone and having someone notify you of its ringing.

"Can I join you," he hesitantly asked.

"Why, am I coming apart," I thought, but said "sure you can," and moved to offer him the bottom half of my towel. He dropped his bag and sat where I indicated.

We talked for quite a while. I discovered he was a 30 year old public servant who didn't like his job or the 'system' as he put it. He was gay and had relationships of varying lengths. I still remember in detail the things he'd told me. He has a dog named Bud and was currently, like myself holidaying here at Palm Beach.

"Well Adam," I said "I'd better be getting out of the sun." I had an uncomfortable feeling about him. It was raw unmitigated lust.

His voice was as soothing as a back rub. He had a cute child like manner and his eyes were vivid and alive. He had lovely smooth, tanned skin with a hint of definition. He'd told me he started working out in a gym six months before, but you really couldn't tell.

He looked lost for words as he smoothed his ragerty straight black hair. He placed his hand gingerly on my knee, looked questioningly into my eyes and said, "can I give you my number?"

I blushed so badly that even though my skin was already pink from the sun it was noticeable. It was then he realized.

"Your new to this aren't you?" He asked.

I just looked at him; I was burning with desire. He reached across and squeezed my cock, wincing as he felt it's firmness. I groaned involuntarily. He suggested we go to his Hotel. I agreed, so we picked up our things and started the two block walk.

He led me into his room then went for a leak. I sat on the end of his bed wondering what the hell I was doing there. I was getting cold feet and beginning to think this a mistake. I was nervous and inventing excuses to leave when he returned and sat next to me.

I looked at him seriously and said, "I've never done this before." Corny I know.

"You can tell me to stop anytime you want," he reassured and with that placed his hand once again on my swelling innocence.

We hugged and kissed passionately, haphazardly ridding each other of our clothes. I felt as clumsy as a dyslexic octopus.

We laid together. I could feel his magnificent penis rubbing against my stomach. His hardness sending tremors through me. He moved away, but I held him close. He whispered into my ear, "it's alright," so I let him go. He moved down and started licking my left nipple. He moved again running his tongue down to my navel. My breath came in quick short gasps and I held it as he took me into his mouth.

It was so perfect, so wonderful, then he gagged and mumbled something offensive.

I hungered to feel him in my mouth and tried to push him until he understood my intentions. He turned, but his lips never left me.

His cock stood gallantly a few centimeters from my face. I molested it's beauty with my eyes. It was thicker than mine, but not as long. I watched the veins curling around it and then ran my tongue along them. I licked around just under the head and was amazed to watch it grow larger. A small bead of pre-cum was oozing from the eye like a single tear.

I moved closer again and put my mouth over it as far as I could without it touching the sides. Then I closed. I felt him hum with delight as I applied pressure with my tongue.

He increased his pace and I felt myself begin to cum. I tried to pull away but he held onto me as I exploded into his mouth.

Time for me ceased to exist for those few moments.

He came up smiling and I smiled back.

He wispered his pleasure to me like a golden secret. I obeyed and began licking his balls as he brought himself to climax. His semen looked brilliant white in contrast to his skin. I watched it run down his side and moisten the sheet.

We laid together in silence and after a while I heard him drift into sleep. His breath deepened and rhythmically, like the ocean, lured me out of consciousness.

Threeway on the Freeway

I was on Interstate 80, maybe fifteen miles East of Fairfield, CA heading towards Sacramento. Up in the high, flat country with the golden grass in the summer. It was hot, very hot, but I had my windows open enjoying my new state. At 70 half the traffic seemed to be passing me. I was heading to my sister's house for the weekend, and in no particular rush since I was three hours early. I was dying for something to drink, maybe a Snapple, when I saw the van on the shoulder up ahead. I was already in the rightmost lane. It was pretty far ahead. I tapped my brake pedal to kill the cruise control and started trying to see what was going on with the van. It was an older Ford Econoline, fixed up as a camper, with a raised roof and perfectly dull gray paint. The side doors were open toward the guardrail and nearly touching it. I could see someone standing in front of the van. I decided to play Good Samaritan.

As I slowed down and got really close I saw a young guy on the shoulder in front of the van, nice build it seemed, possibly cute. As I passed the van I saw that there were actually two guys there, both young, and both good looking. I pulled over in front and stopped a few car lengths ahead. When I stepped out of my own van I saw one of them, the guy with brown hair, running toward me. "Hey man, thanks for stopping" "No trouble, what's wrong" "It just seemed to die all of a sudden, and there's a wire loose around the engine" "Well, let's take a look at it" He was maybe twenty three or so, thin, short, small bodied, Just the way I like them! And he was really very attractive too. He had an oval shaped face, very dark eyebrows, a deep tan that looked like it lasted all year. His hair was sort of wavy, every time a car would go bye it would fly up, and then fall back where it was before. There was a nice little bit of his hair laying across his forehead that stimulated me immensely. It would wiggle with the blast from the cars and it seemed like it ought to tickle him. I wanted to tickle him.

Out here on the pavement it was amazingly hot. We walked the short distance to the van and I saw that his friend was all covered with grease from his hands all up to his elbows. But he was very attractive too, dirty blond hair with tight curls, a sharply defined chin, no hair on as much of his chest as I could see. He was wearing a plain white muscle shirt which had streaks of grease on it. He was smiling as his friend and I walked up to him. He had a heavy copper wire in his hands. He looked gay to me. He was certainly cute, much cuter than his friend who was also cute. It occurred to me to wonder if they might be a gay couple. As I got closer I saw that he was holding this wire near the alternator. "Hi. Loose wire huh ?" "Yeah, thanks for stopping, you wouldn't have any tools would you?" "I've got some small tools, let me have a look, OK?" The brown haired guy introduced himself as Nate, he told me his friend's name was David, I smiled and told him my name too. We shook hands and I didn't want to let go. Nate was Mediterranean I decided, Greek maybe. David seemed to be Nordic or maybe German. They were both wearing shorts, David's were denim cutoffs that had once been Levi 501 jeans, Nate had a pair of bright green nylon shorts on with a tye died shirt.

They were both so sweet looking. The wire was the one that carries the output of the alternator. It had somehow broken out of the end, which was still fastened on the back. It looked like there was enough bare copper to fit back under there and at least make a connection. The strands of the wire were all black though, corroded, I had a knife and some box end wrenches in my van. I smiled again. "Well, this belongs on the back of your alternator here, see?" "Yeah right." "I think we can cleanup the wire and arrange it between this connector and the post and get it to work for you. I need some tools from my van first." David walked back to my van with me. He was going on about what a nice guy I was for stopping, and how much he appreciated it. He told me they were on their way to Denver, oddly enough he was going to see his sister too. When he told me they were going so his sister could meet Nate I was sure. A gay couple. Young, and both of them pretty. Now I was really happy I had stopped, they seemed like really nice people. Very much Out too, somehow I felt proud of them for a minute. Tools now in hand, we returned to David's van. It was easy to scrape the wire clean. The nut on the back of the alternator was a bit more trouble. It was hard to get at first of all, and my wrench was a short one, not much torque. The wrench jumped off the nut and my hand brushed against the exhaust manifold, and I got a burn and a cut at the same time. Nate was horrified.

He ran to the side of the van and grabbed an old towel, and Nate and I took care of my hand while David got the nut loose. They were both full of apologies. The cut wasn't that bad but my hand was dirty, and the blood was dissolving some of the dirt and it stung pretty bad. Or was it the burn stinging? Nate was playing nurse and now I noticed that he sort of sounded gay. It turns out he had been a nurse in the Navy. I explained to David how to weave the strands of wire around the post and then retighten the nut. By now Nate had stopped the bleeding, I had some Aloe Vera gel in my van so we went to get that for the burn, it was a small little thing. I told Nate to grab my overnight bag, it was in there. With all the blood on my one hand we decided he should find it. He kept pulling out all these condoms, well, I had quite a few, you never know. We started joking, he found a red one and said it was his favorite color. I think he knew. By the time we found the gel and put some on my hand David had started his van already. Now they were thanking me profusely. Nate was worried about my hand.

He insisted it needed to be washed and bandaged, would I stop with them at the next exit, they wanted to repay my kindness. I agreed. There was one of those modern gas stations that sells everything at the exit. Nate and I went into the rest room, I asked David to get me a Snapple. In a few minutes my hand was clean as new and Nate and I returned to their van. Inside was a fold down bed. David was there rolling a joint. We all sat down and closed the doors. His engine was running, the air conditioning on full blast, finally a cold drink, Nate was wrapping gauze around my right hand. David lit the joint. "Have a hit Steve, thanks a lot, you're a really great guy." "Thanks, you guys are pretty cool too, you know." "What do you mean ?" "Well, um, you're a couple right? I admire that." "Oh, so you understand about that?" "I'm gay too guys." They both sort of looked at me for a second. I was sitting in between them. Then they looked at each other and Nate sort of blushed. David put his hand on my shoulder. "You are?" "I am what?" "Gay" "Yes, I'm gay, some people are, you know?" "That's great Steve. Are you in a real hurry to get to Sacramento?" "Um, no, not especially." "Well then, let's have another joint, ok?" "Sure, thanks, I mean you guys don't owe me anything, I would have helped you even if you were straight." Laughter mixed with the tension. We had parked off in a corner of the lot, near the restrooms, no-one else was really around. There were curtains on the windows.

The doors were shut to keep the cool air inside. David took off his shirt. His smooth, almost hairless chest was a sight to behold. Just enough flesh to cover his ribs, not an ounce of fat. Smooth skin, tan, flawless. "Your shirt is a mess Steve." "Yeah, I guess it is." "Let me help you off with it." Now Nate took off his shirt. Much nore hair, black hair, curls, sweat, huge gobs of hair under his arms, very masculine. His skin was much darker than David's, leathery looking, creases evenly spaced when he sat down. My Snapple was gone, the joints were gone, I felt very relaxed. David put his hand on my thigh. Nate put his hand on my shoulder. David kissed me. "Have you ever had a threeway Steve?" It was David again. "Umm, uh, no, no I haven't." "Do you like us?" "Oh yes I do, you guys are fantastic." As if on a cue somehow they both stood up and told me to lie down and relax. David's face was right in front of mine, he kissed me again, fully, passionately, he used his tongue. I felt hands on my pants, my belt was being undone, it was Nate. I started to moan. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Nate told me to lift up and I did. He pulled my jeans down to my ankles, then I felt him untying my sneakers, he took them off and slid my jeans off as well. I had nothing on now but a pair of boxer shorts and my socks. They were pink socks. The boxer shorts had stripes. Nate started kissing my cock through them. David had my mouth occupied already. Time seemed to stop.

I grabbed David's cutoffs and started massaging him. He had no belt on, with a figure like his he did not need one. I started to unsnap his fly. He was huge! Inside was a tight pair of bikini briefs. I was rubbing him through the thin fabric and he was hard already. Nate took my cock out through the fly of my shorts. He started to lick my cock. Moaning louder now. The cool air from the front of the van, David still kissing me, My hand on his cock, Nate sucking me now, taking it all, I pulled David's cutoffs down to his knees, he was kneeling beside me, the van smelled like sex inside. Nate was going faster, I didn't want to cum yet, I twisted around to pull my cock out of his mouth.

Then I pushed David away a second, long enough to sit up and pull him to his feet, and finish undressing him. What a beautiful cock he had! Now I stood up and moved over to Nate. His green shorts had a snap in the front, and a zipper. I pulled them down. He had no underwear on, he had an uncut cock. Longer and thicker than David's or mine. Precum glistened around the end. I asked them if we could all lie down on the bed, we all fit. Nate was against the paneling, leaning on his side, facing me. Then me, and David between me and the edge of the bed. We kissed and hugged and stroked each other for a few minutes. I came up for breath and saw my jeans on the floor behind David. "Excuse me David, let me reach over here a second" "Sure" I fished my keyring out of my pocket. I got a condom out of the little pouch. Laying down again now, between these two hot guys, I reached behind me and handed the condom to Nate. He understood. They had made a storage compartment in the wall of the van, Nate reached in there and got something. He started to spread it on my ass, it felt cool but his touch was warm.

I was kissing David again. Nate pressed his cock against me from behind, my favorite position too. I pressed back against him, feeling him start to push his way in. I pressed harder. David had his face firmly against mine, his tongue and mine making circles in each other's mouths. My right arm wrapped around David, pulling him closer, our chests together now as his lover thrust deep inside me. I shook with joy. Nate suddenly worried he was hurting me, he asked if he should stop, I heard him clearly but I wasn't about to speak with his lover's young face merging with mine. I reached around behind me and pulled him tighter against me. He understood. Kissing David was very nice but I wanted more. Nate was nibbling on my shoulder from behind. He had his hand on my cock. He was stroking me. David finally let me breathe for a second and I asked him to move up. He did too, he put his crotch right in front of my face and it wasn't there for two seconds before I had his cock in my hand. I started to run my tongue around in circles on the head of his cock while Nate, behind me, started pumping into me faster and faster.

I took David into my mouth, slowly, salivating, making him wet, until I had all of him. My nose was buried down in the pubic hair at the base of his cock. Smell of his manhood, deep in my throat, Nate fucking me from behind. I started to move my head up and down on him. Faster now, bringing him close. He was moaning and so was Nate. Suddenly David pulled away from my mouth, he stood up. "Steve, would you like to fuck me?" "Yes!" He reached over Nate and I and grabbed a condom. It felt great as he rolled it on me. Then he lubed himself and laid down again in front of me. Nate was still pumping away in my rear. David eased back against me as I reached down to guide my cock into him. I entered him slowly, but easily, not a virgin, nice ass, nice guy, I was ready for this. I let Nate set the pace, as he would push into me I in turn thrust deeper into David. Soon the van was rocking side to side with the rhythm of our three bodies. Nate couldn't take it any more, he was biting me, my shoulder, my neck, I could feel his teeth as he went faster and faster. I paused inside David to let Nate get his release.

Each thrust he made I pushed back against him, I wanted as much of him inside me as I could get. Faster now, harder, biting me harder, I felt his climax as his whole body started to shake. He stopped, but he stayed inside me, fingers holding his condom, I turned my attention back to David. Reaching around David now, my hand on his cock, I started to stroke him while fucking him hard. I licked the back of his neck. Wetness now on the head of his cock, was it my saliva or his precum, the smells inside that van, David's curly hair against my nose, his small little ass taking me inside, it was all I could take. Hard and deep, a final thrust, juice spurting out of me, then David shot his load with me, all over the blanket, white, sticky, lots of it too. I grabbed his right earlobe with my lips, sucking it as I shot more and more of my cum. So deep inside him, warm, tight. I felt Nate pulling out of me. I collapsed between them, two gorgeous guys, hunks, men. A few minutes passed in utter silence, then we got up, and cleaned ourselves, we had fun handing each other various items of clothing, joking, telling each other how good it had been. We kissed goodbye and then they left. I got to my sister's house right about on time. "Hi, how was your trip?" "Oh, wonderful, really great!" "What do you mean ? What happened?" I told her the story, she called me a slut. I smiled again.

Roadside Attraction

When I was a teenager in the late 'sixties, I was the complete hippie--long hair, wild clothes, drugs, parties, and sex in every way shape and form. Since I was quite attractive, with not such a great face, but with a wonderful bod which I'd show off in tight tight pants with no underwear, I used to get a lot of sexual offers. And since I was adventurous and believed that saying no was the most negative type of human communication, I accepted most of them.

I started my sexual career when I was thirteen in a manner I might someday relate here. But I'd like to share this experience I had when I was seventeen, since it has remained one of the most vivid memories of my life and a masturbatory stand-by.

I was hitch-hiking in South Carolina. Yeah, I was crazy. Everybody said that if I hitch-hiked down south with long hair I'd be lucky to come out alive; but I didn't really have much choice: I'd been given a ride to the army base down there by a colonel and his wife who took me to bed and kicked me out afterward.

So I'd gotten this ride from a guy in a pickup who thought I was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen and dropped me off on this country blacktop about 11:00 in the morning. There wasn't much traffic and since it was a hot day, I took off my shirt and started walking. I walked for about 20 minutes when I came up to a long line of men working alongside the road, fixing the tar. Convicts, I guessed from the state police car sitting at the beginning of the line. There were about fifty men, stretched out at about 20 foot intervals. I said hello to the state cop who scowled at me, and I started to walk past the convicts. It was a pleasure to see many of them, shirtless and sweaty as they wielded pickaxes or spread new tar along the road's edge. A lot of them called out rude comments as I passed, or whistled. I enjoyed the feeling of having dozens of pairs of hungry eyes staring at my ass as I passed.

Finally I approached the end of the line. Next to the last was a young black guy, who looked to be no older than me He just stared at me and smiled a big friendly smile. I smiled back, but my attention was distracted by the last guy in line--a sandy-haired kid with a taut slim body and a narrow handsome face.

"How you doing?" I said as I came up to him.

"Hornier'n hell!" he replied, looking directly into my face with great intensity. The black guy behind him laughed and I did too. I was tempted to stop and talk to him, but I could see a second cop car just up the way, under a big tree, so I walked on. When I got to the cop car, however, I saw that the cop was sound asleep.

At first, I just kept walking, but the thought of that kid made me stop and consider. There was a clump of bushes about halfway between the cop car and the men. I could always say I had to go to the bathroom, I thought. So I headed back, right along the edge of the underbrush. Not many of the men could see me, but the sandy-haired one and his black friend could. I could see them watching me.

With my heart beating a mile a minute and several backward glances at the cop car, I reached the bushes and turned to go behind them. There was a dip in the ground behind them--a kind of hollow, and I almost fell down. I got to the bottom and checked that I couldn't be seen from the road. Then I sat down on my backpack to wait. I knew I was making a fool of myself and that nothing was going to happen but still I waited.

It seemed like an hour, but it was probably only a couple of minutes before I heard a rustling in the bushes. Then the sandy-haired kid came sliding down the slope into the hollow.

"Jesuus, I dint know this was here." I remained sitting.

"Hi," I said, though it's a wonder I could speak at all, I was so excited. "What's your name?"

"My name's Ray. Well, it's really Justin, but everybody calls me Ray."

He had come to within three feet of me and I could smell his sweat. Without a semblance of subtlety, I stared at his crotch. I couldn't tell whether there was anything happening there or not.

"What do you want, Ray/" I asked.

"I dunno. Like I said, I'm real horny." He brushed his hand across the front of his pants.

"You want to come a little closer?"

He moved closer, so that his belt buckle was about a foot from my eyes. I could see the bulge of his dick now and I reached out to touch it. He shuddered.

"I ain't never done nothin' with a man before."

I said nothing but reached up and began unbuckling his belt. I couldn't figure out how it worked, so he pushed my hand aside and quickly got his pants down around his knees. I pulled his wet underpants down.

His dick was only half hard, but it was a beauty, not too long--about 6 1/2 inches, I would judge--but thick and weighty. He was uncircumcized and I could just see the tip of his dick protruding from the foreskin. This was my first uncut cock and I was fascinated. I took the foreskin between my fingers and pushed it back over the head which was wet and glistening with sweat. A long drop of natural lubrication oozed from the slit.

"I dasn't be gone too long," he said glancing back over his shoulder nervously.

Taking that as my cue, I ran my tongue around the head of his dick, tasting his sweat and eliciting another shudder from him. Then I started sucking on it. He moaned.

"God damn! That feels good!"

I slowly worked my way further and further down the shaft of his now-rock-hard cock. I had recently learned to deep-throat, and I was looking forward to taking his whole dick.

"God damn! Y'all like suckin' on my thang, don't y'all?"

I was a little out of practice, so when I tried to push the head of his dick into my throat, I couldn't do it. But then he grasped my head with both hands and forced his dick all the way into my throat. He then started a pumping motion, still holding on the back of my head, with his heavy balls swinging against my chin. I was the one doing the moaning now, and gagging, feeling the hot bile try to erupt and being stopped by that large plug. All I could see was the thick blonde pubic hair at the base of his cock. I put my hand under his balls and at that minute he started groaning and arching his back with his dick pushed down my throat as far as it could go. I could feel the head of his dick swelling to what seemed an enormous size. With my tongue, I could feel the spasm as the cum shot through his tubes, and then I could feel it shooting down my throat over and over, while he cried out unintelligibly and I came in my pants.

Finally, he was finished. He pulled his still-hard cock out of my throat and I licked the last of his surprisingly sweet cum from the crack.

"Great god almighty! I ain't never felt nothin' like that before."

"Me neither," I said, pointing to the large wet stain in my crotch.

"Y'all got your nut jes from suckin" on my thang?"

"Yeah." I leaned over and started sucking on it again. I could feel it start to stiffen. Then he pulled away.

"I gotta get back."

Abruptly, he pulled on his clothes and disappeared up the slope. At the top, he stopped, turned, and grinned.

"See y'all."

"Yeah, see you, Ray."

I sat there for a fairly long time, savoring the moment and then trying to wipe some of the come off my pants. Then I heard someone coming. My heart almost stopped because I thought it was the police. But it was the black dude who'd been next in line to Ray.

I would reproduce what he had to say, except that he was speaking in a dialect that I just couldn't catch. When he realized that I didn't know what he was saying, he came over to me, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. My first thought was "Wow, two uncircumcized cocks in one day." His cock was still soft, but already bigger than Ray's had been. I took it in my mouth and started sucking softly, thrilling to the feeling of its gradually hardening and getting longer and longer. My own cock was stiffening as well. When his cock was three-quarters hard, I let it slip down my throat, figuring that when it got fully hard, I might not be able to do it. Then he asked me something.

"Mm?" I responded, not understanding, but not wanting to stop sucking.

"You take it up the butt?"

I understood that all right. My first reaction was to shake my head no. I had been fucked maybe five times by then, but never by anyone with a very big tool. I went on sucking. He didn't say anything more, but he leaned over me and started caressing my ass. Then he forced his hand down the back of my pants. It felt good. I knew that if I didn't stop him now, I'd never be able to. But it felt so good! I undid my pants, and my ass was exposed to his exploration.. Using both hands now, he massaged both buttocks and then his finger slipped down the crack of my ass and came to rest on my asshole. I could now feel his cock grow entirely hard in my mouth as he pushed his finger against my asshole. I stopped sucking and looked up at his face. Not smiling now, but looking at me imploringly. What could I do?

I stood up and my pants slid down around my ankles. Smiling now, he started to turn me around.

"Just a minute," I said, "I've got some vaseline in my backpack."

I bent over the backpack, searching frantically. He was pressed against me, and I could feel the head of his dick resting hard on my asshole. He spat in his hand and started rubbing it into my hole, his finger penetrating up to the second knuckle.

I fould the vaseline in the last place I looked and handed it back to him. I could hear him putting it on his dick and then slapping a large gob on my asshole and rubbing it in deeper and deeper. I bent over, resting my hands on a stump. He started pushing gently against my sphincter muscles. Pressure. Relax. Pressure. Relax. It just wasn't going to work. I started reaching for my pants.

Then, when I was not expecting it, he seized my hips hard and gave a mighty thrust which wrenched the sphincter muscles apart and he had buried the head of his large dick in my ass. The pain was excruciating, worse than the first time when I'd been so stoned that I hadn't really felt anything. I tried to pull away, but he had me firmly in his grip. We stood there for a couple of minutes, frozen, me impaled on his dick, and him leaning into me, breathing heavily on my neck and whispering sweet words in that language which I could not understand. Gradually, the pain subsided as the muscles got used to having that great and powerful battering ram in there. Then he began moving, slowly at first, a kind of circular in and out, each thrust carrying him deeper and deeper. I felt the head start rubbing against my prostate and I found myself saying over and over:

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me."

And fuck me he did, long slow powerful strokes, pushing aside the flesh of my insides, until finally I felt the bristling touch of his pubic hairs and felt his balls swinging against mine. Then faster and faster, harder and harder, lifting me off my feet with each thrust, pain and pleasure intermixed. We were both panting and crying out. The sweat from both our bodies was running in rivulets. I could not have stopped if a policeman had come and held a gun to my head.

As he aproached his climax, and I mine, he began to fuck at a seemingly impossible rate of speed, short hard strokes as far inside me as he could go. The friction on my prostate brought me to an orgasm. Crying out, I saw an arc of cum shoot out at least eight feet from my dick. At the same time, he lifted me completely off my feet, groaning loudly, and I could feel spurt after spurt of warm cum pumping deep inside me.

I was exhausted. I fell limply to the ground, but he, grinning that beautiful grin of his, simply got his pants back on and was gone.

I fell asleep there on the leafy ground, my pants still down arounf my ankles. How long I slept I'm not sure, but it couldn't have been too long. I dreamed that someone was touching my cock. When I woke up, Ray was squatting next to me. Had he touched me? I couldn't tell. I just knew that I had a hard-on and that I was staring deep into his eyes, which, I had not noticed until now, were green.

"How y'all doin?

"Uh, okay, I guess."

"I came back."

"Yes."

"I was hopin' maybe I could git some of what Lavelle got."

"Gee, you are hornier than hell, aren't you?'

He grinned. "I guess y'all could say that."

"Well, okay, but let me suck on it first."

While he slipped his pants down, I pulled mine completely off and lay down on my back on the soft ground.

"Fuck me in the mouth."

He sat down on my chest and then straighted up on his knees to stick his beautiful cock in my mouth.

"No, the other way around. You can't fuck me properly in this position. So he swung around the other way, into the 69 position. Yeah, I was hoping he might give me a little head, but he didn't. Still, as he pushed his dick down my throat, which ached for it, I thought I could feel his hot breath on the head of my cock once in a while, as if he was considering it.

Then he pulled out.

"If I'm gonna cornhole y'all, I gotta do it fast. Turn over."

"No, do it from the front."

He hesitated for a minute as though he didn't want to do it that way, but then he knelt between my legs, I put my legs on his shoulders and craned my neck so I could watch his take his dick in hand and guide it into my asshole which I was straining to push onto him. After Lavelle's cannon, Ray's cock slipped easily into me, accompanied by a groan from both of us. He bagan to fuck me slowly. I slipped my legs down around his waist and he leaned over me so that my hard cock was rubbing against his body and I was staring deep into his eyes only three inches away. I was fucking him with my eyes as much as he was fucking me in the ass. On a sudden impulse, I put my arm around his neck and kissed him. He tried to pull away, but I held him and I felt him relax and then respond. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and I felt his cock give a jerk. Suddenly, he began to kiss me back, ravenously, his tongue darting in an out of my mouth. As his body began its orgasmic spasms, we continued our kiss, panting breath into each other. As I felt him start to come, I thrust my tongue as deeply into his throat as I could and held on to him as his whole body seemed to be exploding into uncontrollable spasms.

Then I asked him to stay inside me while I finished myself by hand. I was happy to see that he didn't turn away but watched closely as I pumped my third load out onto my stomach. Then I pulled him to me, so his hard stomach was rubbing my cum drenched own. And I kissed him again. Finally, he pulled away and looked at me.

If I could take any single moment of my life and bottle it so I could relive it over and over, it would be that look. His eyes were filled with astonishment, and fear, and happiness, and, yes, love.

"I jes don't know," he said. Nothin' like this has ever happened to me."

Was I in love with him as well? Yes, at that moment, certainly, I was, though the intensity of his gaze frightened me. Nothing like this had ever happened to me either in my seventeen years, and it scared me. And I realized we were in a glade in Sout Carolina. There's a cop fifty yards away who, if he caught us like this, would probably shoot the both of us. And I'm about to be on my way to new adventures while Ray is going back to jail.

"What are you in jail for?"

"Stealin'"

"What did you steal?"

"A TV."

"How long you in for?"

"Another year and a half."

"You want me to write to you?"

"If you want to. An' I'd write y'all back."

So I took his address and we wrote. I still have some of his letters, badly spelled, poor in grammar, but infinitely touching in their simplicity. And yes, when he got out we saw each other again, but that's another story.